Chapter Text
"Muichiro, there’s nothing here. Looks like we can head home," came the cheerful voice of a man with flame-colored hair
"Yeah," the boy replied shortly.
The two approached a parked car in front of a tall building and got inside. The spring landscape outside was bathed in the soft pink hues of sunset — sakura petals slowly drifted down, tinted by the sun's fading light.
"And yet," the fire-haired man spoke again, staring out the window, "what was that strange flash Iguro detected? It was so bright, powerful… and disappeared in an instant. I wonder if it’ll return."
Muichiro remained silent, his gaze fixed on the vanishing light. His face stayed calm, almost distant.
"We need to report to headquarters, then we’re free. You hungry?" the man asked as he started the engine.
The young man with long black hair tipped with turquoise and ocean-colored eyes glanced indifferently at his ever-optimistic companion and gave a small nod. The driver beamed with joy.
"Great! After HQ — let’s go to my place. Senjuro made sukiyaki. He’s been wanting to talk to you about university, by the way. I really hope he finds something he loves to do!"
"Alright," Muichiro responded briefly. "Let’s go, Rengoku-san."
Rengoku Kyojuro laughed and pulled out of the lot.
"Good thing it’s evening — the roads are clear. Still weird that they built HQ in the middle of Tokyo. What do you think, Muichiro?"
"I haven’t thought about it," came the indifferent reply.
"Hah, should’ve known better than to ask you something like that," Kyojuro chuckled and immediately switched topics: "Did I ever tell you about—"
Muichiro only half-listened. Kyojuro’s voice was vivid, loud, impulsive — like fire. From mission stories to food spots, from his brother to random thoughts, the ride passed quickly.
"We’re here," Kyojuro said brightly. "Time to report. Then — food. Ugh, I’m starving!"
"You’re right, let’s hurry. I hate reports," Muichiro muttered, stepping out of the car.
The organization’s headquarters resembled a private college in classical Japanese style — spacious buildings with tiled roofs, surrounded by carefully trimmed gardens and gravel paths. Wisteria branches reached skyward, their heavy flower clusters not yet in bloom. The atmosphere was both strict and tranquil — as if time itself slowed down here.
At the entrance, they were greeted by hunters in standard black uniforms with high collars — a contrast to the more personalized outfits of Muichiro and Kyojuro.
Muichiro preferred loose-fitting clothes, slightly oversized. Today, his long hair was down, giving him a lighter, freer look.
Kyojuro, on the other hand, was always put-together. His uniform fit perfectly, and on casual days, he favored button-downs or long-sleeves. His hair was tied in a neat bun, and a bright smile almost never left his face.
"Welcome, Rengoku-dono, Tokito-dono!" the hunters said in unison, bowing.
"Good evening!" Kyojuro waved cheerfully. Muichiro nodded.
"Iguro-dono is expecting you in his office."
"Perfect. At ease, guys. Let’s go, Muichiro?"
"Yeah."
Kyojuro knocked on the door, then opened it without waiting for a reply.
"Iguro! Good evening!"
The office was buried in paperwork. Behind the desk sat a man with bandages on his face and a high collar — Obanai Iguro, the Serpent Hashira. He was in charge of assignments and missions, and one of the most organized members of the Demon Slayer Corps.
"Rengoku, Tokito. Any news?"
"Absolutely none," Kyojuro said crisply. "No signs, no anomalies. We didn’t even sense anything. That’s what struck me as odd — considering how strong that flash was. Usually, anomalies leave some trace. But this time, nothing."
Iguro tapped his fingers on the desk, gazing at them thoughtfully.
"Strange. I expected you two to find something…" He shifted his gaze to Muichiro. "Especially you… our genius who senses demons better than they sense themselves."
His words carried a cold, cautious undertone. But Muichiro remained unfazed.
Kyojuro, sensing the tension, stepped in quickly.
"In any case, we checked thoroughly. If anything shows up, we’ll report back right away. For now, we’ve got one more thing. Muichiro, you need to pick up your sword, right?"
"Yeah. It was delivered this morning from the Nagano's forge."
"Perfect. Let’s not bother Iguro in his workaholic bliss," Kyojuro said, already heading for the door. "See you!"
"See you," Iguro muttered.
He was alone again. Sighing, he leaned back.
"Tch. Not even Tokito sensed anything. We’ll have to keep watching. So much for a weekend off… I wanted to ask Mitsuri out. Looks like I’ll be stuck here again till midnight."
The Forge was located in a separate building on the headquarters’ grounds.
Everything around resembled an ancient samurai estate — austere architecture, silence, stone pathways.
“We’re here,” Kyojuro said. “Muichiro, stop daydreaming. Go grab your sword — I bet Senjuro’s already waiting for us.”
Rengoku smiled warmly, and Muichiro nodded, disappearing behind a door that smelled of metal and smoke.
“Tetsuido-san, good evening,” he said as he stepped inside.
An elderly man stood by the anvil. He turned and smiled.
“Tokito-kun. I’ve been expecting you. Came all the way from Nagano just to deliver this sword personally.”
He handed over a black katana with a geometric tsuba. Muichiro drew the blade and looked at the steel. His turquoise eyes reflected in the metal.
“Thank you,” he said quietly, bowing low.
“Take care of yourself, Tokito-kun,” the old man replied warmly.
When Muichiro exited, Kyojuro was already chatting with a flustered blond-haired boy — Zenitsu Agatsuma.
“Rengoku-dono! I nearly died! That anomaly tried to eat me! Drain me dry!” Zenitsu panicked. “It was awful!”
“Agatsuma, you survived — that means you did just fine,” Kyojuro laughed and ruffled his hair.
“I don’t want to hunt anymore! I want a quiet life!”
Muichiro approached. Zenitsu immediately bowed.
“A-ah! Forgive me, Tokito-dono! I’m just on edge! Gods, I don’t know how to live anymore, what to do! Dying seems easier — and I’ve never even had a girlfriend!” he rambled. “Oh, by the way, we go to the same university, right? Aren’t you also taking that exam soon? It’s a nightmare! I—”
“Stop yelling. You’re annoying,” Muichiro said coldly.
Kyojuro burst out laughing at Muichiro’s blunt response — that kind of straightforward honesty always amused him.
“Alright, Agatsuma, we need to go. Good luck,” Kyojuro said as they turned to leave.
“I don’t need luck! I’m looser!” Zenitsu yelled after them.
“Funny guy,” Kyojuro chuckled, catching up to Muichiro. “I didn’t know you two go to the same university.”
“I’ve seen him a few times. He’s always shouting. I don’t like noise.”
“Well, you’ve got a point. Still, he’s one of Kuwajima-dono’s best students. Promising.”
“The old man made a mistake,” Muichiro muttered.
Kyojuro laughed again and said, “Alright, shall we?”
The Rengoku home wasn’t far. Their family came from an ancient bloodline that had served the Demon Slyer Corps for generations.
“We’re home, Senjuro!”
On the doorstep appeared Kyojuro’s younger brother — a perfect miniature version of him.
“Tokito-san! Good evening! We’ve been waiting!”
They were also greeted by the head of the household —Shinjuro Rengoku, a man with a stern face and tired eyes.
“Good evening, Tokito. Kyojuro, how are you doing?”
“Great! Father, you look better. Are Kocho’s medicines helping?”
“Yes. It’s eased up.”
“Good evening,” Muichiro said briefly, calmly meeting Shinjuro’s gaze.
He did look tired — the illness had worn him down. Kyojuro noticed the awkward pause and beamed.
“We’re starving! Senjuro, how’s that sukiyaki coming?”
“All ready. Let’s eat.”
Dinner turned out surprisingly delicious. Senjuro had cooked — and he clearly had talent for it.
“Senjuro, this is amazing!” Kyojuro exclaimed, scarfing food down. “Father, you’re a lucky man.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Shinjuro grumbled.
Muichiro ate in silence, but with clear appetite.
“By the way, Senjuro, didn’t you want to ask Muichiro about university?”
“Yeah! Tokito-san, you’re studying art, right? Do you enjoy it?“
“Yes, I do. Last week I drew a hand.”
“How was it? Difficult?”
“No. You just move the pencil. That’s all.”
Kyojuro burst out laughing.
“Well, modesty and eloquence really are your trademarks.”
Dinner continued in a warm, cozy atmosphere.
After dessert and tea, Muichiro stood up.
“Rengoku-san, I should go.”
“Come by anytime,” Kyojuro replied. “You’re always welcome.”
The Tokyo night was calm.
Muichiro walked along the streets near Sin Nakano's metro station. Stars shimmered in the sky. The April air was warm and fresh.
He reached a two-story white house and stepped up to the door.
“I'm back,” he said softly as he unlocked it.
He took off his jacket, removed his shoes, and slowly entered his apartment.
It was spacious but almost ascetic — nothing excessive. A few things were scattered about in creative disarray. White walls, some simple light wooden furniture, a large bookshelf, a desk buried in papers, textbooks, folders, and sketchbooks. In the corner stood an easel with an unfinished painting.
Muichiro walked into the kitchen, poured himself some water, and stared out the window while sipping.
The city lived its own life — neon lights, distant voices from bars, the faint hum of trains, and subtle vibrations of that same energy he had always felt. Since childhood.
But tonight, something was different.
By the park, for just a moment, he’d felt… a faint tremor.
Barely perceptible — like a flash just outside his field of vision. Not demonic, not magical, not human. Something else.
"Was it just my imagination?" he wondered, realizing the sensation had vanished in exactly one second.
He frowned, set the glass in the sink, and walked quietly to his bedroom.
Then lay on his back on the bed and closed his eyes.
Tomorrow, he had classes. Then patrol in his district. Then, perhaps, another call from HQ. Same routine for the past few years. But Muichiro didn’t dwell on it — he simply did what he was best at: protecting people from what shouldn’t exist in the real world.
From monsters.
From evil.
Notes:
Thank you so much for reading. I hope you enjoyed this chapter! 🌸
Chapter 2: When Silence Breaks
Chapter Text
Muichiro heard an unpleasant, high-pitched beeping through his sleep — like someone slicing through the air with a metal needle. He grimaced, reluctantly opened his eyes, and tried to figure out where the annoying noise was coming from. A moment later, he realized: it was his own alarm clock — the one he’d set the night before with a tortured expression.
He reached for his phone, swiped the screen, and finally silenced the sound. For a while, Muichiro just lay there on his back, holding the phone against his chest and staring out the window. The sky outside was beginning to brighten, painted in pale shades of blue and pink.
“Beautiful sky today...” he murmured with a sigh. “I hate getting up early.”
He lay still a little longer, eyes drifting aimlessly over the ceiling, then reluctantly sat up. The day promised warmth, so he pulled on a loose black T-shirt and simple dark trousers. As always, he tied his hair up in a high ponytail.
He didn’t need to wear his uniform — today was patrol, and formal attire wasn’t required. Besides, he found the uniform restrictive despite its loose cut. It always drew too much attention, and he hated that even more. As a Hashira, he could get away with bending the rules.
Once in the kitchen, Muichiro opened the fridge and, as expected, found only the glow of the light and a faint echo.
"Empty. I’ll have to grab something on the way. Do I have... a drawing class today?” he frowned, trying to recall.
A moment later, he brushed the thought aside and headed out toward the nearest store.
At the register, he glanced at the time — only fifteen minutes until class, and the university was a solid twenty-minute walk. He was used to running late by now.
He sighed — and then, out of the corner of his eye, spotted a bus pulling up. Without thinking, he left his money on the counter, grabbed the bag, and dashed out, catching the door just before it closed.
He took a seat by the window — and that’s when he saw her. A girl, out of breath, had run toward the bus but missed it by seconds. She stood frozen on the curb, clearly flustered. Something about her held his gaze. There was an odd, almost intangible feeling. A few moments later, the bus turned a corner and she disappeared from view.
Ten minutes later, he arrived. To his professor’s surprise, he made it just in time.
“Good morning, Tokito-san,” the elderly instructor greeted warmly. “Today we’ll continue working with the anatomical plaster models. Take any open easel.”
Muichiro gave a brief bow and took his place. The pencil moved smoothly across the paper — just like he had told Senjuro. The act of drawing was simple, calming, easing him into a familiar rhythm and sweeping away intrusive thoughts.
He didn’t even realize an hour had passed.
“Excellent work, Tokito-san,” the professor said as he approached. “Class is over. You’re free to go.”
Muichiro slowly pulled out of his focused state and nodded, slightly dazed.
“R-right. Thank you. Goodbye.”
He stepped out into the hall — and someone crashed right into his back.
“Ow— I’m so sorry!” came a soft, pleasant voice.
Muichiro turned around. It was her — the girl from the bus stop. She rubbed her forehead, wincing slightly. A delicate frame, white long-sleeved shirt, denim skirt, heavy boots. Her long chestnut hair spilled over her shoulders, and her bright emerald eyes locked with his.
“Did I hit you too hard?” she asked, noticing something on the floor. “Oh—”
Muichiro’s sketchbook had fallen at her feet. She quickly bent down, picked it up, and held it out to him.
“Looks like it fell when I bumped into you… Sorry again!”
She smiled awkwardly. Muichiro took the sketchbook without a word, his gaze unwavering.
“It’s fine,” he said quietly.
“Good! Sorry again!”
She bowed politely and hurried down the corridor. Muichiro watched her go. Something twinged in his chest — the same strange feeling he’d had yesterday, staring out the window. Only now it was stronger.
"That energy again... I felt it last night too." He frowned.
“Tokito-dono!” came a loud voice. “Tokito-dono! You're noticed something? Demons? What wrong ?”
Muichiro turned. It was Zenitsu.
“Don’t bother me,” he replied curtly and began walking toward the source of the energy.
“H-hey! Are you sensing something? Should we evacuate the students?”
“Stop it, you're too loud. I’m just going.”
His icy tone silenced Zenitsu, who followed a step behind. But soon, the strange energy faded. Muichiro exhaled, disappointed.
Meanwhile, the girl who had bumped into Muichiro was hurrying to the admin office.
"So begins my first day… and I’m already late," she thought, stopping at the door.
“I'm so sorry for being late!” she said as she entered. “My name is Amida Toki. I’ve just transferred and brought the rest of my documents.”
The elderly lady behind the desk gave her a kind smile.
“It’s alright, Amida-san. I’ll take care of everything. You can head to class — don’t worry.”
Toki sighed in relief and bowed.
“Thank you so much!”
She left and made her way to the history classroom. Her thoughts were all over the place.
"I’m lucky they even accepted my transfer. Usually they cut them off before the term starts… And I already missed a month. I’ll need to catch up, ask for notes…"
Then she stopped short.
"My bag…! Where’s my bag?! Oh come on!” she cried, nearly in tears.
Realizing she’d left it at the café, Toki hurried back. On the way, she once again locked eyes with Muichiro. His turquoise gaze bore into her. She felt suddenly uneasy. Grabbing her bag, she rushed off.
Muichiro, still in the café, sipped green tea and finished his breakfast.
"That energy again. And again next to her…"
By the time classes ended, he was on patrol. It was around four in the afternoon. The sun dipped low, painting the streets in soft gold and copper hues. Muichiro walked the nearby districts for over two hours — all quiet. And yet… something at the university still felt wrong.
He ordered the other hunters to continue without him and, using his status, returned to the building. Enshrouding himself in mist, he became invisible — a fog-like veil cloaking him from all sight.
"Something’s definitely hidden here," he thought, hand resting on the hilt of his sword.
Toki had stayed inside longer than planned. When she tried to leave, she realized — the doors were locked.
“What the hell?! I can’t get out!” she shouted.
The hallways were empty, the lights slowly dimming. The space around her turned eerie, oppressive. She hugged herself — it was freezing. Unnaturally cold.
“This is… strange…” she whispered.
A deep fear gripped her. She sensed it — someone was there. Someone dangerous. Something not human.
The darkness thickened, like a living thing swallowing the corridor in shadows. The chill sank into her bones, her breath fogging in the icy air. Then from the gloom, a shape emerged — a demon.
Its body was made of smoky shadow, warped and ever-shifting like darkness given form. Its eyes glowed crimson with a fire that paralyzed and terrified.
The creature’s claws scraped the stone floor, making a sound like metal teeth grinding. It crept closer, each step ringing with ancient menace. The air stank of rot and ash — as if death itself walked beside it.
“Got you,” it hissed, voice like dead leaves rustling in the wind.
“W-what are you?!” she gasped, stumbling backward.
Toki staggered, panic overtaking her. Her heart pounded wildly, her breath came in choking gasps, and no scream would rise from her throat.
The demon smirked and slashed.
“Maybe you’re one of them... Let’s find out!”
His claws ripped through her shoulder. Blood spilled. On her skin, a dark mark bloomed — the shape of a spider lily.
The demon's eyes narrowed like a predator that had its sights set on the distance.
Toki was fading. Her ears rang, her mouth tasted of metal. She tried to crawl away, convinced this was the end. She just closed her eyes.
And then — silence.
A figure stood before her holding sword in hand. The demon lay decapitated. Blood soaked the floor. Muichiro stepped forward, eyes cold and unreadable.
“So it really was your energy…” he said quietly.
Toki looked at him one last time before everything went black.
Chapter 3: The Point of No Return
Notes:
Hey everyone! Thanks so much for reading my fic. I hope you like this new chapter!🌙
Chapter Text
Muichiro realized the girl had fully lost consciousness. On her bare, bloodied, and battered shoulder, a strange pattern was slowly fading — a flower that resembled a spider lily. The petals melted away one by one, leaving behind only a faint trace.
This was no ordinary wound. His gaze narrowed.
“Tokito-dono!” The voices of the demon hunters cut through the darkness behind him. “Are you alright?!”
“Report to Oyakata-sama immediately. Tell him I found the source of the anomaly energy.”
Muichiro’s voice was sharp, yet quiet. He lifted the girl into his arms — so effortlessly, as if he wasn’t carrying a body, but the weight of fate itself.
“I’m heading to headquarters.”
“Yes, Tokito-dono!”
He exited the university building, leaving behind the hunters as they erased the traces of battle. A black car waited for him in silence. A shadow of doubt flickered across his face, but it vanished the moment he shut the door.
“Drive,” he said.
Tension hung heavy in the air at headquarters: the Hashira had gathered for an emergency council — for the first time in a century, such a powerful burst of energy had been detected.
Muichiro stepped out of the vehicle and immediately came face to face with Kyojuro. The Flame Hashira rushed over, his eyes darting between Muichiro’s face and the motionless body in his arms.
“You’re hurt...? Who is she?”
The questions came rapidly, one after another.
Muichiro didn’t answer right away. His eyes were fixed on Toki, filled with a detached, almost cold expression — he already knew she was different. Not a human. Not a demon. Something else entirely.
“I’ll explain later,” he said shortly. “Prepare that room.”
Kyojuro instantly caught the gravity of the situation. He turned to the hunters behind him.
“Get the chamber ready!”
“At once!”
Muichiro walked deeper into the headquarters, the girl's fragile body still resting in his arms.
Ahead, a door inscribed with ancient seals slowly creaked open. The markings pulsed red — reacting to a foreign presence — then faded mysteriously, letting the door unlock and swing wide.
He gently placed the girl onto a chair. Hunters entered behind him, carrying additional seals.
“Bind her. Keep watch. I need to report in,” Muichiro said calmly. Without another word, he turned and left the room.
In the depths of the headquarters, behind massive doors, the leader of the Demon Slayer Corps was already waiting.
Muichiro stopped, bowed deeply until his forehead nearly touched the floor, and spoke in a low voice:
“Oyakata-sama, this is Muichiro Tokito…”
Meanwhile…
Toki’s consciousness was slowly returning. Her head throbbed with pain, and the air in the room felt heavy—woven from dampness and cold.
When she opened her eyes, the first thing she saw was the dim flicker of candlelight and chains tightly wrapped around her wrists. The metallic clink rang in her ears, and a chilling fear curled inside her.
“W-where am I?”
Silence answered.
“Someone…” she whispered, her voice barely breaking the stillness.
Despair welled up within her. Memories flickered: a hallway, the demon’s rasping breath, blood, cold… and then — that boy with eyes like turquoise ice, who’d appeared again and again throughout the day.
Suddenly—footsteps.
She pressed herself back into the chair.
The door creaked open. Muichiro entered.
“You're awake,” he said flatly, almost without emotion.
Toki met his deep, unreadable turquoise eyes and asked,
“Why am I tied up? Who are you? What’s going on?” Her voice trembled, but she kept speaking.
Muichiro stepped closer and removed the heavy chains, leaving only cuffs on her delicate wrists.
“You’re in no position to ask questions. Come with me. Oyakata-sama is waiting.”
She tried to stand, but her vision spun. A warm hand wrapped around her waist.
“Don’t cause trouble,” he said just as coldly. “Follow me.”
Toki didn’t ask anything else. She simply nodded, the air around her pressing in like ice. She followed him in silence.
They walked through corridors where the walls seemed alive. Seals on the doors glowed faintly, then faded as the room with chains closed behind them. It had been so easy to believe it was just a dream — but the air she breathed was real. Cold. Unwelcoming. Like this entire place.
Toki looked around and felt déjà vu. As if she’d been here before. She couldn’t explain it, but each step sent chills down her spine.
They reached a tall, elegant building. Somewhere in the distance, ravens cawed — sharp and guttural. She flinched.
Muichiro didn’t look back. He simply walked forward, as if leading her to a place from which there was no return. For a second, she felt as though someone else was walking behind them — silent, touching only shadows.
Toki clenched her fingers. She was afraid of the dark. It always seemed to hide something waiting to kill her, erase her completely. She squeezed her eyes shut.
"Not now..." she whispered to herself.
“Don’t stop,” Muichiro’s voice sliced through the tension like a blade.
She kept walking, not even realizing her legs were shaking.
Inside — a hall lined with wood the color of raven’s wings. A warm glow came from the lamps, but it did not bring warmth.
Eight people sat in a semicircle, like judges. In the center, slightly elevated above the rest, sat a man with a pale, scarred face. His smile was almost kind, almost saintly — which only made it more terrifying.
“Thank you, Tokito-kun,” he said, then turned to her with a gentle, almost affectionate tone. “Welcome, Amida-san. I imagine you have questions?”
Toki clutched her hands to her chest.
“Where am I…? What… have you done to me?”
“You’re in a safe place,” Kagaya answered calmly. “We haven’t harmed you — but we must know if you might harm us. Do you know who you are?”
Toki looked up.
“I… I’m a student. I don’t understand why I was restrained. What’s happening? Why are people after me?!”
“You’re no ordinary girl,” he said, and her heart skipped a beat.
“What do you mean…?”
“For several days now, we’ve detected a strange, incredibly powerful energy. It turns out, it’s coming from you, Amida-san. You bore a mark — a flower blooming on your shoulder. That makes you something unusual… perhaps an anomaly, a curse. And likely, the demons want you. Why, exactly, we don’t yet know. But this is more complicated than it seems. You see, demons are merciless. If they need you, anyone who stands in their way will die.”
She went pale.
“What...? An anomaly…? Needed? By demons? You’re… mistaken…”
Kagaya smiled gently, yet it felt like a blade beneath silk.
“We’re never mistaken.”
She shook her head, panicked.
“This is insane. I’m just—”
“I understand how hard this must be. But it’s the truth. And now you have a choice.” Kagaya leaned forward slightly. “Help us… or die.”
A lump rose in her throat.
She glanced from Kagaya to Muichiro. He didn’t move. Didn’t even blink.
And suddenly—she understood. They had already decided everything for her.
Toki clenched her fists. Her eyes welled with tears, but she fought them back.
“F-fine,” she said. “I don’t want to die. And I don’t want anyone to suffer because of me.”
Kagaya smiled — this time, tinged with quiet sadness.
“Then, if any of you have something to say...” He looked each of the Hashira in the eyes.
Before she could take another breath, two warriors approached. Their expressions were stern, awaiting orders.
Behind them, the council was assembled.
A sharp voice rang out — Sanemi Shinazugawa, the Hashira whose eyes burned with fury.
“Oyakata-sama, she’s dangerous! The enemy will use her, and chaos will follow. Execution is the only answer!”
“We cannot destroy everything, Shinazugawa-kun,” said Shinobu Kocho softly, her smile gentle and calm.
Sanemi clicked his tongue, shooting her a glare.
“I want her to live,” said Kyojurou Rengoku, his voice steady and commanding. “Kocho is right — we can’t kill someone whose power is still a mystery.”
Gyomei Himejima bowed his head in prayer, murmuring words of thanks.
“Life is sacred. We must preserve it,” he said solemnly.
Tengen Uzui laughed brightly, gave a thumbs-up, and grinned:
“I’m with them — let her live! Who knows, maybe she’ll change everything. Besides, killing a pretty girl like that? Very unflashy.”
"Execution is a necessity," Obanai persisted, his voice hard. "The threat is too great."
"I agree with Himejima-san," Mitsuri Kanroji said gently, her gaze softening as she looked at Toki with understanding. "We must give her a chance. We must preserve her life."
Giyu Tomioka stood aside, silent, his eyes distant. He didn’t interfere, didn’t speak.
Kagaya raised his hand, and the murmurs in the room fell silent. His calm eyes gleamed with unshakable resolve.
"The decision is made. Amida-san will live. That is the council’s final judgment. No further objections."
A breath Toki didn’t know she’d been holding slipped from her lips. The tension lifted slightly — but the fear remained.
"What… will happen to my life now?" she asked in a hushed voice, unable to keep the tremor from her words.
"You will remain here. You’ll move into the headquarters and begin attending classes with the trainees," Kagaya said evenly. "You're free to continue your studies at the university, but Tokito-kun will stay by your side at all times. Remember this, Amida-san: his blade never hesitates.
Fear coils in Toki’s chest. Just now, this man had assigned her both a warden and an executioner — in one person.
Muichiro bowed his head, his expression unchanged.
"I will do as you command, Oyakata-sama," he said quietly.
Two hunters stepped forward and fastened a thin silver bracelet around Toki’s wrist — etched with delicate, arcane markings.
“This is a tracking artifact," Kagaya explained calmly. "Through it Tokito-kun will always know where you are. Even if you end up in another realm, he will find you. This is for your protection. I trust you understand that."
Toki flinched slightly but didn’t resist.
"Now then," the leader announced, "this meeting is adjourned. You may return to your duties. Thank you, all of you."
Everyone but Toki bowed. Kagaya gave her a strange, unreadable smile before turning away and vanishing into the shadows. But she still felt it — a crawling dread that clung to him like a second skin. He was not merely tired. He was afraid. Deeply.
Toki stood frozen, convinced this was all still a nightmare. But when she pinched herself, the sting on her arm told her otherwise.
A voice broke through the stillness — warm, bright, and full of life.
"I'm glad you made it out alive. I'm Rengoku Kyojuro — it’s a pleasure to meet you!"
He smiled, the warmth of sunlight in his expression, and turned to Muichiro.
"Muichiro, let’s take Toki to her room, and after that, I’ll give you a ride home. Sound good?"
Muichiro gave a quiet nod.
"Let’s go," he said plainly.
Toki felt a chill crawl down her spine at the cold edge in his voice — so empty, so detached.
But she said nothing. She followed them. One step at a time, deeper into silence.
There was no turning back.
Chapter 4: No Way Back
Notes:
Hi guys! New chapter is up. Hope you enjoy it! ♥️
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Kyojuro stepped out of the main headquarters building and took a deep breath.
“Ahh, nothing like fresh air after a meeting!” he said with enthusiasm, then turned to Toki. Seeing her downcast expression, he smiled warmly. “Toki, everything will be all right, I promise. You need to get some proper rest after all you've been through.
"Hey, Muichiro...” — he glanced at the boy standing nearby — “...stop daydreaming! Let's walk her to the residential wing — she needs rest, urgently.”
Muichiro nodded, then turned to Toki. She felt his cold, piercing gaze — a stare that made her want to shrink away, disappear, hide from the world. She crossed her arms over her shoulders, as if trying to shield herself.
Kyojuro noticed her reaction and, still smiling, said gently.
“He’s a good guy. Just... not much of a talker. Always deep in thought. You don’t need to be afraid of him.”
Toki looked first at Kyojuro, then at Muichiro. The latter still watched her calmly — even indifferently. Kyojuro rolled his eyes.
“Muichiro, say something, at least.”
“I…” the boy looked at Toki again, but words didn’t come. Something held him back.
A strange, unpleasant feeling stirred in his heart. He remembered how just a few hours ago she was merely late for university — how she smiled as she handed him his sketchbook. Back then, she had no idea what awaited her that night. She had been just a normal girl — and suddenly, she had become a victim. A simple, innocent victim.
Still, he exhaled and said:
“I’ll stay close. There’s no point in running.”
Toki flinched. It was as if invisible cuffs had snapped around her wrists. Someone had assigned her a warden — and that warden had just told her he would always be near. And though she hadn’t planned to run, the feeling of freedom vanished.
“I don’t even know where I’d run to…” she thought bitterly.
Kyojuro laughed at Muichiro’s words. He was used to the boy’s odd way of speaking — Muichiro often said exactly what he thought, without filter or subtext.
“All right, everyone’s tired. Time to rest. Toki, may I call you Toki-chan?”
She nodded.
“Perfect! You need proper rest tonight, and tomorrow I’ll explain everything — about the headquarters and your role here. Naturally, he...”— the Flame Hashira pointed at Muichiro — “...will be with us.”
With his usual bright, warm smile, Kyojuro walked ahead.
Toki and Muichiro followed him.
Ten minutes later, they reached a long, single-story building in a traditional Japanese style. A small garden stretched in front, with blooming cherry blossoms. Toki loved flowers, and despite everything that had happened, the sight touched her.
“Well, here we are,” Kyojuro said, sliding open the shoji doors. “There are about twenty rooms. Only two girls are living here right now, so you can choose whichever one you like.”
Toki looked into the dark hallway.
“I don’t care where I stay,” she replied wearily.
“I noticed — you like flowers?” Kyojuro asked suddenly.
She looked at him in surprise.
“You were staring at the cherry blossoms, and your eyes lit up with joy for a moment.”
Toki nodded, feeling a little embarrassed… and warm inside.
“Then pick that one,” he pointed to the far corner. “It has a veranda facing the garden. You’ll see the sakura from there, along with other flowers.”
“Sounds nice,” she said quietly. “I’ll stay there.”
“Excellent! Muichiro, escort her. I’ll go start the car. Toki-chan, get some rest. See you tomorrow!”
He left, and the two of them remained alone in the corridor.
Muichiro took a step forward.
“Let’s go.”
She sighed heavily and followed him.
The room was, in fact, cozy. A sliding door opened onto a view of the garden where the cherry blossoms bloomed. Everything looked peaceful — as if what had happened was just a dream.
“I’ll come by tomorrow. Be ready,” Muichiro said, watching her.
“All right,” she replied, stepping into the room.
He lingered for a moment, watching her clutch her shoulder — as if trying to hide. Her emerald eyes were filled with sorrow. He knew she felt uncomfortable around him. He was used to it. People often kept their distance — despite his appearance, status, or skill. Few were truly close to him. Only the Rengoku family had become an exception.
He was about to leave… but stopped and said softly:
“Goodnight.”
“Goodnight…” Toki answered, her voice quiet.
The room was dark. But it was quiet, and in its own way, peaceful.
She changed into a robe left in the closet — her clothes were torn and stained with blood. Her shoulder throbbed with pain, reminding her of the night’s events. She collapsed onto the futon, drained.
The cold air wrapped around her. Somewhere in the distance, a crow cried out. Her ears rang. The silence was oppressive. Every sound — a creak, a step, a rustle — filled her with fear.
She was afraid of the dark. Afraid to close her eyes.
“Where am I? Who am I now?”
She wrapped herself in the blanket, trying not to cry. The chill of the metal bracelet on her wrist felt like shackles. She closed her eyes and fell asleep.
The dreams were painful: crimson eyes, blood, darkness. And at the end — pale turquoise eyes, glowing with quiet serenity. She reached out to them — and in that moment, light touched her.
She woke up.
“Is it morning already?”
Toki stood up and walked to the window. In the courtyard below, three boys were training. One had maroon hair and a scar, another was cheerful with messy black hair, and the third — with yellow hair — was nervously running away from the others. They were sparring with wooden swords.
She watched them, feeling like a stranger. That kind of life seemed so distant, so far removed from her own.
A knock at the door.
“Yes?” she asked, shrinking slightly.
“Your belongings arrived. I’ll leave them at the door.”
She peeked outside and saw boxes stacked neatly.
"They found them so quickly… as if everyone already knows about me. Good thing I hadn’t unpacked much after moving. Still, it’s unsettling to think someone’s been inside my home."
She changed clothes — straight-cut jeans, and a simple black long-sleeved shirt. She tied her hair into a low ponytail, leaving two strands to frame her face.
In the mirror, she saw a tired, pale version of herself.
“At least I’m alive. That’s something.”
Another knock.
She opened the door — Muichiro stood on the threshold.
“It’s time. Rengoku-san will arrive soon.”
“Y-yes,” she replied, a flicker of fear and hesitation in her voice. “I’m ready.”
He didn’t respond. He simply turned and began walking.
“Should I have greeted her properly?” the thought flickered through his mind. “Next time, maybe.”
They left the room. As they walked down the corridor, Toki noticed a girl with a black ponytail and violet eyes — wearing the hunters’ uniform. Her expression was blank, emotionless.
"She must be one of the residents here," Toki thought, slowing her pace.
“Come,” Muichiro said again.
Toki exhaled shakily and followed.
Near the entrance, Kyojuro was already waiting — this time dressed casually in a white shirt with rolled-up sleeves.
“Toki-chan! Good morning. Did you get some rest?”
“Good morning, Rengoku-san. Yes, I feel a little better.”
“Excellent! Let’s grab some breakfast. I haven’t eaten a thing since morning.” He turned to Muichiro. “And you probably haven’t either, huh? I know you — always skipping meals because you oversleep!” he laughed heartily.
Muichiro didn’t respond, only nodded. He was, of course, completely right.
The cafeteria was nearly empty — it was already eleven, and the students had finished breakfast.
Kyojuro sat across from Toki; Muichiro took the seat beside her. The flame Hashira noticed this — Muichiro usually sat apart.
“While we wait for food, let me give you the basics,” Kyojuro began. “Our organization has been hunting demons for centuries. We save people, eliminate monsters, and conceal their existence. As you’ve probably guessed, I — and this cloudy-headed dreamer here,” he glanced at Muichiro with amusement, who simply sighed, “we’re Hashira. The strongest warriors in the organization. The entire complex you’re in is our headquarters. The government prefers to call our activities ‘accidents,’ ‘collapses,’ or ‘fires.’ That’s why our base is disguised as an elite college for gifted students who attend regular classes.”
He noticed the flicker of unease on Toki’s face — she seemed confused.
“You see, the hunter’s talent tends to awaken early. We start training them here from the age of sixteen. Before that, most study in special prep facilities outside Tokyo — but more on that later. As of today, you’re also considered a student of sorts. You’ll take part in lessons when you can, and live here on site.”
Their breakfast arrived, to Kyojuro’s great delight.
“Thank you! Let’s eat!”
They began to eat — a warm meal of rice with omelet, miso soup, and grilled fish.
“Mmm, delicious! Now, where was I? Ah, yes — what you’ll be doing, Toki-chan.”
The hunter smiled at her — she was listening carefully, though eating slowly, as she still had little appetite.
“We’ll teach you the basics of self-defense and try to figure out what kind of power you possess. You’ll need to learn how to protect yourself, since, as we’ve learned, demons are after you. Muichiro will act as your...” , he paused, glancing up at the ceiling in thought, then at the boy beside her, “... your mentor? No, that’s too formal. Anyway, you’ll be going on missions with him pretty often.”
Muichiro looked at Toki.
“Just don’t get in the way.”
Kyojuro laughed.
“Don’t mind him. He’s got a difficult personality, but he’ll protect you from anything that threatens you, Toki-chan.”
Muichiro turned his gaze away. But inside — something stirred.
“And now,” Kyojuro smiled, “it’s time to introduce you to the others.”
Notes:
Thank you for reading!
I’d truly love to hear your thoughts.
See you in the next one! 🌸
Chapter Text
As Kyojuro had said, there were few students in the "Elite College" of the Demon Slayer Organization.
Toki stood in front of them — their eyes on her as if she were some rare exhibit behind glass.
“It feels like I'm on trial. Their stares cut deeper than any seal. Why is it so hard just to breathe...?”
“Well, I’m sure you've already been briefed, but I wanted to introduce her personally,” Kyojuro said with his usual bright smile. With a theatrical gesture, he pointed to her. “This is Amida Toki, and starting today, she’ll be joining you as a fellow student.”
The students didn’t just look displeased — from the very beginning, there was a chill in their eyes. Some even looked openly hostile. Though the Organization had promised Toki safety, Kagaya Ubuyashiki himself had admitted her powers could be dangerous. The others had been warned — treat her with caution. In practice, they treated her almost like a demon — one that had been granted permission to walk freely among those sworn to fight them.
Toki felt uneasy. She bowed slightly and said quietly:
“Good morning. It’s nice to meet you.”
Lifting her head, she found only judgmental gazes waiting for her.
Sensing the oppressive atmosphere, Kyojuro clapped his hands loudly:
“Alright, that's enough! Whatever you've heard about Toki-chan, make your own judgments only after getting to know her.”
At his words, one boy stepped forward — the same one Toki had seen training earlier that morning. He had burgundy hair and a scar across his forehead. He bowed and smiled gently:
“It’s nice to meet you. I'm Kamado Tanjiro. If you ever need help, don’t hesitate to ask.”
“Now that is the right spirit!” Kyojuro said approvingly. “I expect everyone else to treat our new friend just as kindly.”
“She’s... cursed, isn’t she? Why’d they even bring her here?” the thought belonged to a girl with black twin ponytails, arms crossed, clearly displeased.
When no one else stepped forward, Kyojuro took it upon himself to introduce them:
“Alright, Toki-chan, let me walk you through the group. The one with yellow hair — that’s Agatsuma Zenitsu. He’s a gifted student of one of the old masters of thunder magic. But be careful — when he gets nervous, he can be... unpredictable.”
Zenitsu glanced at Toki with wary eyes, clearly afraid of her powers.
“The one with the black hair is Hashibira Inosuke. A bit... eccentric, but you’ll get along just fine. And that guy with the mohawk? That’s Shinazugawa Genya, younger brother of one of the Pillars.”
Toki flinched slightly, remembering the white-haired hunter who had demanded her execution.
“The girl with the violet eyes is Tsuyuri Kanao. Next to her is Aoi Kanzaki. Both of them are students of Kocho and live in the same dorm as you. I hope you get along.”
Toki remembered passing Kanao in the corridor that morning — and feels the cold stare her friend had given her.
“So, the group may be small, but we’re tight-knit,” Kyojuro continued. He smiled at Toki. “Your classes will begin next week. For now, rest. And as for the rest of you...” he looked around the group, “...head to the classroom. I’ll join you shortly.”
The students bowed and began to disperse.
Toki exhaled slowly. Kyojuro gave her an encouraging look:
“Don’t worry. They’re good guys. Oh, and by the way — we wear uniforms here. Yours will arrive soon.”
He turned to Muichiro:
“You’ve got class and patrol duty tomorrow, right?”
“Yes. That’s correct.”
Toki’s eyes widened — she'd just remembered she was still technically a university student.
“I-I have class tomorrow too. Actually... I was supposed to be at university today...” she said, glancing at Muichiro.
“Perfect! Then you’ll go together,” Kyojuro replied. “And don’t worry about missing class — the Organization took care of it.”
“I leave at ten,” Muichiro said as he stepped closer.
Toki hesitated before asking:
“C-could we go an hour earlier? My classes start at nine.”
Muichiro nodded without hesitation.
“I have patrol duty after class. You’ll return to HQ on your own.”
“Right! Toki-chan, you’re still recovering. Don’t overdo it — take the weekend to rest. If you have questions, call or stop by my office. I’m not just head of the Investigation Division — I also teach Demon Ability Theory, over there,” he gestured toward one of the distant buildings. “I’ll give you my number. You can text me anytime.”
He recited it, and Toki saved it in her phone with a nod.
“Alright, off I go! The students are waiting!”
Then, Rengoku turning to Muichiro:
“Show Toki-chan around HQ, will you? It’s easy to get lost here. Alright, see you soon!”
As he left, Muichiro turned his cold gaze to Toki.
“Follow me.”
They walked in silence. From time to time, Muichiro pointed things out.
“Academic building. Cafeteria. Main hall…”
They passed the training hall, where shouts echoed behind closed doors. The weapons storage was locked tight — its black metal doors looked more like prison bars than anything else.
Toki’s thoughts drifted.
“This place breathes war. Even the air feels sharp — like a blade.”
About half an hour had passed. At some point, he stopped — sensing they weren’t alone.
"Muichiro-kun, I was just looking for you," came the voice of Shinobu Kocho. She clasped her hands near her face and smiled sweetly. "I’d like to take a blood sample from her for research."
Muichiro noticed how Toki flinched at those words. She clearly disliked being treated like a test subject. He looked at Shinobu.
"Does it have to be right now?"
There was an unusual sharpness in his voice. Toki looked at him, surprised.
"Yes. By Oyakata-sama’s order, I must begin my research on her as soon as possible," Shinobu replied, equally surprised.
Muichiro exhaled quietly but gave a small nod.
At the infirmary, Shinobu drew Toki’s blood. The girl clenched her teeth.
“This is awful… I feel like a monster everyone wants to examine…”
Afterward, Muichiro walked her back to the residential building.
"I’ll come for you at eight tomorrow. Don’t be late."
"Understood," she replied and stepped inside her room.
“Finally, I’m alone. I just want my old life back… to be the ordinary Toki again.”
She spent the rest of the evening unpacking her things. Later, she went to bed, knowing she’d have to wake up early the next day.
To her surprise, Muichiro really did show up at exactly eight the next morning. Toki was already waiting at the entrance.
A car from the Organization took them to the university. Outside the building, Muichiro said:
"I’ll be waiting here. My classes end at 1 P. M."
"Mine too," Toki replied and walked into the building.
Muichiro watched her go. He didn’t rush to class — his own lecture didn’t start for another hour, so he stopped by a nearby café for a bite. He ordered a seafood sandwich and a honey latte, then opened his phone and checked his schedule: Ancient Civilizations — Room 16.
After eating, he headed to class… and to his surprise, saw Toki already there, writing something down.
He quietly walked over and sat beside her. She was so focused, she didn’t notice him at first. Only after a few seconds did she sense his gaze and look up.
"What are you doing here?" she asked, surprised.
"I have class here. And you?"
"Uh… same. Wait, are we in the same program? Are you studying history too?"
Muichiro leaned his chin on his hand and looked at her thoughtfully.
"No. I’m studying to be an artist."
Her pen slipped out of her fingers.
"You’re… an artist?"
"Yeah. What's wrong?"
”Nothing…"
The bell rang, and the lecture began. Toki took careful notes, occasionally glancing at Muichiro — who was sketching something in his notebook.
“When we first met, this sketchbook fell out of his hands… So strange. A demon hunter — and an artist.”
Muichiro suddenly looked her straight in the eyes. The intensity made her uneasy, and she quickly looked away. But he didn’t look away. He kept studying her face, as if trying to memorize every feature.
“She's so fragile…” he thought, before returning to his drawing.
The day passed quickly. The driver dropped Toki off at the headquarters first, then took Muichiro on patrol.
The city swallowed him in its restless glow, leaving Toki’s presence lingering somewhere far behind, like a fragile thread he wasn’t sure he should follow
Notes:
Thank you for reading and for the kudos 🫶
Chapter 6: First steps
Notes:
Hi everyone! New chapter is here! ✨
Hope you enjoy it!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The weekend had arrived — the first one Toki spent at the Demon Slayer headquarters. She hadn’t slept well and purposely left the nightlight on, afraid of the darkness and the crushing loneliness.
Waking up at dawn, she lay in bed for a long time, staring at the ceiling. Eventually, she got up, pulled on a gray hoodie, tied her hair into a messy bun, and headed toward the cafeteria.
On her way, she ran into Aoi, who scoffed quietly and looked away.
“Good thing I decided to come later for breakfast… I’d rather avoid unnecessary encounters,” Toki thought, trying to shake off the memory of Aoi’s disgusted expression.
She ate quickly, then decided to take a short walk — staying cooped up in the same room was starting to affect her.
Toki followed the same path Muichiro had chosen before, avoiding the main building and the eerie structure with the sealing charms. As she reached a steep staircase, she heard voices — students. The same ones she’d briefly met yesterday. Down below, in the training yard, young hunters were sparring. Focused, exhausted, yet burning with determination.
Toki stopped by the railing and watched.
Among the fighters, she recognized the ponytailed girl she had bumped into in the hallway. The girl moved swiftly, cutting through the air with wide, sharp arcs of her wooden sword. Toki simply observed from above, not wanting to draw attention by going down.
“I wonder what next week holds for me. Will I be training like them? Fighting? What kind of missions will I get? Muichiro found a demon at the university, didn’t he...? That could happen again.”
A chill ran down her spine. Goosebumps rose on her skin. Uneasy, she turned back and headed for her room. To her surprise, upon entering, she found a black uniform hanging neatly on a hook by the wardrobe.
“Rengoku-san did mention they’d bring it today…” she recalled.
Taking it down, she laid the uniform out on the bed.
“It looks just like the ones the others wore yesterday… though each of them had small differences,” she murmured.
The uniform consisted of a high-collared jacket with unusual puffed sleeves. There were two bottom options: a long pleated black jumper skirt, or pants that slightly widened at the hem — vaguely reminiscent of hakama.
Toki tried on both. To her surprise, the outfit fit pretty well.
The jacket fit well around her waist, the tailored shape giving her a neat, elegant look. The puffed sleeves added a subtle touch of playfulness. The pants were comfortable and fit her frame just right. The skirt softened the overall impression, making her appear approachable and calm.
“…It’s actually kind of nice,” she whispered. And with that thought came a wave of unease. “Am I really becoming part of this system…?”
Suddenly, her phone rang, and a name appeared on the screen: Rengoku Kyojuro.
“Hello,” she answered.
“Toki-chan! Hey! How are you? Getting used to the headquarters?”
“Yeah… I think a little bit, little by little. Thanks for asking. By the way, my uniform already arrived.”
“That’s good! Do you need anything?”
“No, I have everything. But thanks, Rengoku-san.”
“All right, if you need anything — I’m always here. See you Monday.”
After talking to Kyojuro, her heart felt warmer. He was like the sun, warming everyone with his rays.
Muichiro returned from patrol deep into the night. Exhausted to the point of collapse, he immediately collapsed onto his bed and slept until two in the afternoon.
He would have slept longer, face buried in the pillow without moving — the accumulated fatigue had drained him completely. But a phone call woke him. Waking up was agonizing. His head was pounding, and his body felt heavy as if made of cotton.
“Tokito,” came the voice of Iguro Obanai. “There’s a report of a demon appearing in the Nakano area. Several people are missing. Head there. The kakushi will pick you up soon. Seals and the barrier are set. The demon must not escape.”
“Understood,” Muichiro replied shortly and hung up.
He closed his eyes with his hand, shielding them from the sunlight.
"I have to get up."
Summoning all his willpower, he rose. His body ached, his eyes stuck together. After a cold shower, he headed for the fridge.
“Empty again…”
Through the window, he saw the kakushi vehicle pulling up. Muichiro quickly put on his uniform, threw on his jacket, and went outside.
“Tokito-dono, are you ready?”
“Yeah,” he nodded and got into the car.
They arrived quickly. Several kakushi and demon hunters surrounded the high-rise office building.
“The barrier is set,” one of them reported. “Everything’s ready.”
“Understood,” Muichiro said, drawing his sword, its steel pure white.
Despite the clear day outside, inside — because of the barrier — it was night.
The 26th floor. Something was pulling him there. He sensed a strange, sticky energy — demonic energy.
Muichiro stepped into the building, the barrier behind him sealing off the world outside. The sudden shift from bright daylight to unnatural darkness hit his senses like a blow. The stale air inside was thick with a heavy, oppressive presence — demonic energy clung to every surface like a suffocating fog.
His boots echoed quietly on the polished floor as he ascended the elevator. The numbers flickered rapidly — 26. With a soft ding , the doors slid open to reveal a bloodstained corridor. The metallic scent of iron filled his nostrils, mingling with something darker, more sinister.
He was not mistaken. As always.
From the shadows in the conference room came a voice — mocking, dripping with contempt:
“They sent a Hashira? How... amusing."
Muichiro’s gaze narrowed. The demon emerged, towering and grotesque, a twisted smile curling its lips as it cradled a lifeless body.
“If I eat you...” it taunted, but Muichiro had already vanished. “What the…?!”
The clash was sudden and brutal. Muichiro’s sword sliced through the stale air, gleaming as it met the demon’s claws. Sparks flew. The demon snarled, leaping back with unnatural agility.
“Predictable,” Muichiro murmured, voice cold and steady.
“Shut up! Portal!”
The floor cracked beneath his feet, forming a hole. The demon disappeared. Without hesitation, Muichiro leapt after it, landing hard on the technical floor below. The air here was colder, charged with volatile energy. Black blades shot from the surrounding portals, their edges gleaming ominously.
Muscles coiled, Muichiro deflected them all with fluid precision, his movements a deadly dance.
“Guess where I am? Or die!” the demon’s voice echoed from every direction.
His breaths came measured, controlled. Focused. He had to find the demon — or the mission would fail. Then, out of the shadows — a flash of pale skin, a flicker of crimson hair.
“Found you...” Muichiro said softly.
With a swift strike, the demon’s head tumbled to the floor, blood pooling beneath it. The silence that followed was almost unbearable.
The Mist Hashira sheathed his sword and climbed the stairs back to the street level.
“Tokito-dono, is it over?” came a voice.
“Yes,” he replied, voice low.
“Then let’s go back. Iguro-dono asked for a report.”
Muichiro didn’t like reports. Usually, he sent brief messages through other hunters. But surprisingly, this time the young man agreed. He sat in the car, staring out the window.
Iguro was surprised by the personal visit, but Muichiro gave a brief report and left quickly.
“At least he came in person…” Iguro thought, signing the document.
It was about five in the evening. The sky was painted in sunset hues. Muichiro walked through the inner courtyard, lost in thought. His head throbbed from fatigue. He almost passed the residential building but his gaze caught on a familiar figure.
On the veranda outside her room sat Toki. A light cardigan, her hair loose, a book in her hands. The wind lazily flipped the pages.
Muichiro froze. Then slowly approached. Toki flipped a page, blinked — and their eyes met.
She flinched.
“Gods… I didn’t notice you were here!”
Muichiro glanced away slightly.
“Hi,” this time he didn’t forget to greet her.
“Hi. You always show up so quietly?”
He shrugged. He wanted to say something — ask about her day, what she was reading — but stayed silent. Just looked at her.
Toki sighed.
“ He really doesn’t seem bad. Just strange. Okay… I’ll trust Rengoku-san.”
She noticed the katana.
“Were you on a mission?”
He nodded, gripping the sword a little tighter. Silence fell.
“Want to sit?” she offered, shifting. “I’m afraid to imagine what it’s like — fighting demons…”
He sat down beside her.
“Sooner or later, you’ll have to do it too. There’s no choice.”
She looked at him indifferently. Almost immediately regretted inviting him. The silence became heavy.
They both looked at the landscape. Muichiro — occasionally at her. For some reason, he was curious to study the girl.
Toki couldn’t bear it any longer.
“It’s getting cold. I think I’ll go. Bye.”
“Bye,” he answered, staying on the veranda for a while longer.
Muichiro gazed up at the sky, marveling at the stars that seemed ready to fall upon him at any moment. His mind was full of thoughts, unaware that soon everything would change — and most of all, he himself. The night was calm, broken only by the cawing of crows, as if warning of an approaching storm.
Kaguya Ubuyashiki looked up at the same sky, pondering.
”I need to learn about her abilities, as soon as possible — then maybe everything will change...”
Notes:
Thanks for reading! See you on Friday 🌙
Chapter 7: The Weight of the Blade
Notes:
Phew, I finally wrote it! 🫡
Chapters might get a little longer now, but I’m really enjoying it. Muichiro is so mysterious and interesting to describe, lol. Hope you have fun reading! 🫧
Chapter Text
Monday arrived — the very day when Toki was supposed to begin her first training sessions and receive an explanation of the hunter’s duties.
Muichiro remembered this and deliberately woke up early, not wanting to be late. Once again, he forgot to have breakfast — this time because he planned to take longer than usual. He looked great today: yesterday, finally, he had slept well on a day off from missions; in the morning, he took a long shower, dried his long hair, and tied it up in a high ponytail. He wore a black long-sleeve under his jacket. He smelled nice — something light and piney.
There was a knock at the door.
“Tokito-dono, the car is waiting for you!” came kakushi’s voice.
Muichiro silently went out and got into the car.
“Oyakata-sama asked you to come see him when you arrive at the headquarters,” kakushi said.
“All right,” he replied and, as usual, stared out the window, resting his cheek on his hand.
"Training? Interesting... I’ve never been trained by anyone myself ", he thought, watching the spring landscape outside.
The car arrived at headquarters. Muichiro headed straight to Kagaya’s residence.
He bowed deeply at the door:
“Oyakata-sama, this is Muichiro Tokito.”
“Tokito-kun, come in,” came a calm reply.
He opened the shoji doors and saw Kagaya leisurely drinking tea, looking at the garden.
“You wanted to see me?”
“Yes. Sit down. Keep me company.”
Muichiro sat across from him and accepted the cup.
“Today Amida-san’s training begins. Have you decided how you will start?”
“No,” he answered honestly. “I’ve never taught anyone before. I’ll start with an assessment.”
Kagaya smiled mysteriously.
“I see. After the training, you will go on a mission. Take her with you.”
He set the cup down and looked Muichiro in the eyes carefully:
“The sooner we learn her abilities, the sooner we’ll know how to act. Do you understand?”
Muichiro nodded.
“Yes, Oyakata-sama.”
"Well, I expected no less from you. My faithful sharp blade.”
Muichiro bowed.
“If you don’t mind, I’ll go now. I want to check her first.”
“Of course. Good luck, Tokito-kun.”
Kagaya watched him leave and quietly poured himself another cup of tea.
Muichiro headed to the residential quarters flower.
He stopped at Toki’s door. For some reason, he didn’t knock right away; his hand hesitated for a second.
"What am I waiting for?.."
Then he knocked.
Toki had long been ready. She opened the door and saw him — that cold look.
“Hi,” Muichiro said.
“Hi,” she replied.
She was already wearing the hunter’s uniform — jacket, pants, black sneakers. Her hair was braided. The uniform felt strange to her, as if she were betraying herself.
“Follow me,” he said shortly, put his hand in his pocket, and headed for the exit.
The training hall was empty. Muichiro entered first, took off his shoes, and stepped onto the tatami. Toki silently followed. He went to the rack and took two training swords. He tossed one to her.
Toki didn’t react in time, and the sword fell to the floor with a dull thud.
"Oh no!", she thought, shrinking a little.
Muichiro remained calm.
“Attack me. Use everything that comes to mind,” he said. He held his sword in one hand, the other tucked in his pocket.
Toki hesitantly raised her sword. Her hands were trembling.
“Is it… like this?”
“Doesn’t matter. Just attack,” he replied indifferently.
He wasn’t good at explaining; he always acted according to the situation.
Toki remembered a samurai movie she had watched long ago and couldn’t think of anything better than to run straight at him and attack head-on.
He dodged.
She fell.
“Ouch…” the girl said, rubbing her elbow.
“Get up. Attack,” he said calmly.
She didn’t understand the point of this “training.”
Toki looked up and thought:
“This is nonsense.”
But she didn’t argue. She attacked and fell. He easily knocked her sword aside, twisted her arm, disarmed her. Half an hour passed like this.
Toki was breathing heavily, sitting on her knees before him.
He didn’t even twitch a brow.
“You’re extremely weak physically. That needs fixing.”
Toki looked up in confusion:
“I know. I’ve never held a sword before…”
“That’s not the point. Your body is like crystal — easy to break. Kanroji will fix that.”
She blinked in surprise — wasn’t he supposed to train her?
“I’m still your fencing instructor, and I’ll be constantly watching all your training,” he added as if reading her thoughts. “We’ve been ordered to go on a mission together. Let’s go…”
He didn’t hurry to leave the headquarters, but for some reason headed toward the armory with the metal door. It was sealed with magical symbols.
Muichiro passed his hand over it — the seal dissipated.
“Like magic…” thought Toki.
He scanned the room with his eyes and took out a wakizashi with magical markings.
“Take this, it should be enough for now,” he handed her the blade.
“What is this? Why does it have symbols?”
“It’s a wakizashi for killing demons. The symbols enhance the cutting power, especially against those fortified by magic.”
Toki shivered.
“I don’t want to use it...”
They were taken to the mission site. It was an ancient shrine.
“Tokito-dono, everything is ready, the magical curtains are set up, we’ll be waiting for you. Good luck.”
“Yeah,” he nodded. Looked at the girl. “Don’t stray from me and don’t get in the way.”
“Sounds like two different orders…” she thought and gripped the blade tighter. She wasn’t going to leave his side. After all — he was the only one who could protect her.
The shrine was shrouded in fog. The stone slabs were slippery, omamori fluttered in the wind. Muichiro stopped.
“He’s here.”
Toki felt a chill run down her skin. From the darkness, a demon appeared.
Muichiro reacted instantly. A sweep of his snow-white, mist-like sword — and the pitch-black darkness flared with the blade’s reflections.
“A young hunter and a trembling girl? Ha! I’ve killed dozens; you’re just more humans!”
The demon vanished; his speed was abnormal.
“He moves faster than the others. Is that his ability?” Muichiro thought.
The demon burst into existence right in front of Muichiro, claws slicing the air. A sharp rip — his uniform tore, fabric fluttering where its talons had grazed his shoulder.
“Tch!”
It moved like a man, yet every step bent the world around it — twisted, jerking, wrong. Strong. Dangerous.
But to Muichiro, it was only another hunt. The fight was quick, his blade striking with unerring precision. Steel met flesh — a clean pierce, a harsh throw. The demon collapsed in the dust… but did not vanish.
“That’s it,” Muichiro exhaled, voice steady but carrying an undercurrent of urgency. “He won’t get up. Finish him.”
He turned to Toki. His voice was even, but there was urgency beneath it: time was running out.
“W-what? Finish him off?..”
“W-what? Finish him?..” The words trembled on her lips, her eyes wide with fear.
Muichiro’s gaze didn’t waver.
“Do it.”
He was cold and harsh. There was no warmth in his tone, only a cold edge. He knew — sometimes fear forced the dormant to awaken. And she needed to awaken.
Her fingers closed around the hilt. One step forward. Her hand trembled violently. Then—she saw it. A human face. Distorted, blurred, like a reflection in rippling water… but unmistakably human.
“I can’t,” she whispered. “He… was human?”
Her breath caught.
Muichiro stepped closer.
“He’s no longer human,” he said firmly. “And never will be again. If you hesitate — he’ll kill you.”
But Toki didn’t move. The sword sank, her knuckles pale, tears spilling freely. She couldn’t cross that line. It was wild to her.
Silence.
Then, without a flicker of doubt, Muichiro stepped in and struck. One swift motion. The head fell.
Toki flinched as if the cut had split the air between them.
From the shadows came a rasping, violent snarl.
“Second one. A twin?” the young man thought, noticing a copy of the one he had just killed seconds ago.
From somewhere behind, from the shadows — just like before but more furious. Another shape — identical to the one he had just killed — lunged forward, faster, more vicious. Its claws aimed for the weaker prey. Muichiro turned sharply, taking the strike himself. Pain flared white-hot in his shoulder, blood spraying across the ground. Muichiro spun and took the blow himself, shielding Toki. Blood splattered, he staggered but stayed on his feet.
“Muichiro!” Toki shouted.
The young man quickly turned and repeated the action a second time. The demon was defeated.
Muichiro held on.
“Deep wound, losing a lot of blood,” he thought, feeling pain in his shoulder and neck.
He fell to his knees. Toki caught him, her fingers brushed against his shoulder, and the world seemed to pause. From her touch, a strange warmth spread, almost liquid, weaving itself through torn muscles and shattered tissue. The wound knit together as if the flesh remembered its original form, stitching itself seamlessly, yet with an ethereal glow—like moonlight caught in morning mist.
It wasn’t just healing. It was creation. A quiet force, instinctive and alive, that flowed through her like rivers of light. Tiny sparks, almost imperceptible, danced along her skin and along the repaired area, dissolving blood and agony into something fluid, pure. The air around her seemed to hum, as though acknowledging that the impossible had just occurred. She hadn’t even thought to use it; it came forth on instinct, a fragment of herself she hadn’t yet understood.
Muichiro stared, realizing not only the scope of what she could do, but the danger it carried. He recoiled, pushed her hand away.
“No need. I can handle it.”
He realized that Toki hadn’t even noticed when she manifested her abilities. She hadn’t even realized what she’d done. It had been instinct.
“But you’re bleeding! It’s my fault,” her voice trembled, “If not for me…”
He looked at her calmly, without the cold detachment that always lurked beneath the surface.
“This is my job, and I don’t ask for pity. Especially not from you.”
She froze. Her chest tightened at the words.
“Let’s go,” he ordered and walked ahead.
They walked along a narrow path from the shrine, and neither of them said a word. Muichiro kept his posture straight, but his step became a little slower, uneven. His shoulder was torn, and though the bleeding stopped after Toki’s touch, the pain remained. He felt her walking beside him, as if half a step behind. As if afraid to be close. As if sensing fear and pain. He rejected her support out of habit. Besides, Oyakata-sama had said she was a tool, maybe even cursed. But he protected her. He would do it again. But why did it hurt so much to see her tears, her gaze — that fear, that terror, when she looked not at the demon… but at him?
The car ride back passed without words.
When Muichiro sent his report to Oyakata-sama, it was longer than usual, each detail carefully chosen:
Spontaneous tissue regeneration; touch — wound closed...
Kagaya reread it, fingers still. His eyes narrowed.
“Amida Toki. Could it be?”
He remembered the day of her trial. The seal. The strange, impossible flower.
“Spider lily…”
The name burned on his tongue.
He moved to the window, the moon a cold witness above.
“One flower. One person. One mistake — and everything we’ve feared will come true,” he murmured.
Then his voice sharpened, a quiet blade in the dark.
“But who said I’d allow that? All we need… is a little more time. And then…”
The smile that touched his lips was unreadable — neither kind nor cruel, but something in between. Something dangerous.
Chapter 8: Echoes of Emptiness
Notes:
Hii guys! 💫 I finally finished a new chapter~ This one has a bit of Muichiro’s past and some extra world lore. Writing Kyojuro was such a joy, he’s honestly such a warm and kind soul!!🔥
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The nightmares haunted her again. She saw a sword slicing through a neck and the demon’s head flying off to the side. Then, blood soaked everything.
Toki woke up in terror—her heart pounding wildly.
“I’m going crazy… There’s no way to get used to this,” she thought, clenching her teeth and covering her eyes with her hand. “Today I have my first classes. Looks like it’s going to be Rengoku-san’s lecture. That’s a relief. Rengoku-san is such a kind person, being around him feels warm and cozy. He is like sunlight after a cold winter.”
The girl glanced at her shoulder and noticed a strange shape like a lily.
“Hm, weird. Maybe it’s a scar left from a demon’s wound?”
Toki decided not to linger. She got ready, putting on her uniform. She dressed quickly, choosing a pinafore dress over a white shirt tied her hair back into a low ponytail and applied a light touch of makeup.
“Looks okay. A little blush should brighten up my pale face after those nightmares,” she whispered, then sighed.
She headed to the cafeteria. To her dismay all the students were already there. She let out a breath, grabbed a tray, and sat at the only empty table feeling a few uncomfortable stares on her back.
“Good morning, mind if I sit here?” came a familiar voice.
It was the same young man who had been the only one to show her kindness and greeted her back then—Kamado Tanjiro. Toki nodded.
“Good morning. Sure, have a seat.”
He smiled warmly and sat opposite her.
“Don’t mind them. They’ll get used to it. It’s just…”
“I get it. I’m kind of cursed. Not so different from the ones you hunt,” she replied coldly, her voice laced with sadness and bitterness.
Tanjiro sighed.
“Why did you decide to sit with me?” she asked directly.
“Well,” he smiled, “it’s sad being alone. I get how you feel.”
Toki was surprised. He continued.
“A year ago my sister and I moved to Tokyo. A demon attacked us and my sister was turned. Nezuko became a demon. But the organization decided to keep her alive for study. They hope to find a cure for these transformations. Nezuko’s kind of a failed sample—turned into a demon, but with side effects. Usually, such demons die, but she survived, that’s what they told me. I decided to become strong and joined the organization so I could have constant access to Nezuko, visit her even if she doesn’t remember my face. Many judge me, many hate my sister... but I don’t care. I believe she’ll come back.”
He smiled, but it was a sad smile. Toki realized that there were others here who didn’t want this either just like her. She felt a pang of sorrow.
“Thanks for sharing,” she said softly, then smiled. “You know, I’ll keep my fingers crossed for you. Help your sister.”
Tanjiro laughed warmly.
“Yeah! Rengoku-san’s lecture will start soon. By the way…” he said, taking a bite of fish, “…he was the one who helped me fit in here. Also, another Pillar Tomioka-dono protected me and my sister. He said he’d take responsibility for us and insisted that Nezuko not be killed but kept at the headquarters.”
“Wow...” the girl said in surprise.
“Are there really Pillars who don’t blindly follow orders but instead give chances even to people like his sister?..” she thought.
After breakfast, a strange guy with messy hair tipped in blue approached them. He was chewing a bun and loudly asked through his chewing:
“Hey, Kamaboko!”
“Kamaboko?” thought Toki, not understanding him.
“Inosuke-kun, we’re almost done. Want to go to Rengoku-san’s class together?”
“No! I wanna fight the demons!” he said, finishing the bun. Then swallowing the last bite, he spoke normally: “Let’s go! I’ll kick your butt!”
Tanjiro nervously smiled.
“Inosuke-kun, you shouldn’t train right after breakfast. Besides, we still have classes today. As far as I remember, you’re going on a joint mission with Uzui-dono tonight?”
Tanjiro skillfully changed the subject. Toki immediately caught on.
“Tch,” the other clicked his tongue annoyedly. “The teacher’s boring! He’s always unhappy and won’t let me thrash the demons! I keep telling him: I’m ready! I’m the god of battle, the great Inosuke-sama!”
“Maybe you should listen to Uzui-dono? After all, he took you as his tsuguku so you can learn from him personally.”
“That’s boring…” he declared. “Fine, I’ll ask Zunitsa if he wants to spar with me.”
The guy walked away.
“What was that?” thought Toki considering him more than a little strange.
Tanjiro noticed her reaction and laughed.
“Inosuke-kun is always like that but he’s a good guy.”
“I see...” she said, then asked, “Who are tsuguku?”
Tanjiro was surprised by her question.
“Well... Some students are taken under personal training by the Pillars usually because of similar magic or personal interest. It doesn’t happen often. There are three of us like that: Inosuke-kun is the tsuguku of Uzui-dono, the Sound Pillar. They’re similar in some ways, and Inosuke’s fighting style kind of resembles Uzui-dono’s style. Tsuyuri-san is the tsuguku of Kocho-dono. Actually, she was the tsuguku of Kochou’s older sister, Kanae, a former Pillar. She taught her magic but after an accident the younger Kocho took her sister’s place and continued training Tsuyuri-san.”
Toki listened with interest.
“And who’s the third?”
Tanjiro smiled awkwardly.
“Amida-san, you’re the third tsuguku. Tokito-dono took you under his wing. Of course, it’s a bit of a stretch... but basically, you are his tsuguko…”
Toki nearly choked on her tea, coughing in shock.
“What? Me?!”
“Yeah,” he smiled. “Exactly. Alright, it’s time. The class is about to start. Shall we go?”
The girl sat with a stone face, still processing reality. Tanjiro noticed and smiled.
“Let’s go or we’ll be late.”
The lecture took place in one of the spacious, bright rooms at headquarters — with matte rice paper partitions and rows of low seats. Outside the windows, the garden whispered: the rustling of leaves and birdsong sounded unexpectedly peaceful, as if pain had never touched this world.
“Greetings!” Kyojuro's voice rang out, loud and cheerful. He stood tall, arms crossed, his black uniform slightly loosened by an open button. His voice carried warmth without pressure — steady, confident, reassuring.
The Flame Hashira noticed that Toki looked more lively today. He guessed that Tanjiro was helping her manage her anxiety.
“He’s a good kid… The hardships he’s endured gave him a depth of understanding, enough to imagine himself in Toki-chan’s place.”
Everyone settled into the available seats.
Their teacher began.
“Today, since we have a newcomer among you I’ll tell you a bit of theory: how a hunter works, what demons are about. In general — how our world functions.”
Kyojuro looked at his students and continued:
“Demons prey on people consumed by strong emotions. Those they turn often die, unable to endure their new nature. Only a few survive”
Kyojuro glanced toward Tanjiro, who exhaled quietly.
“Muzan Kibutsuji, the strongest among them, is hundreds of years old,” Kyojuro continued, staring into the distance. “He is the one who started the cycle of turning with his sinister powers. He created most demons. Around him are many demons. The strongest among them we call the Moons. Though Muzan himself has long gone unheard of, his creations continue to appear.”
After a brief pause, he straightened up. His voice grew sterner:
“It’s important to understand: not all demons are the same. Some descended directly from Muzan — through his blood. These we consider created demons.”
He took a step forward, his gaze darkening.
“But some are different. Primordials. Not born of Muzan, but born from distortions in the world itself. Muzan was one of them. And others still walk the earth. One such being is Douma, Upper Rank Two. We don’t even know if he was ever human. His existence feels closer to a curse than a life.”
Kyojuro swept his hand through the air, as if trying to grasp an invisible thread.
“Besides demons, there are… anomalies. Shadows. Those we call curses. They have no flesh but influence the world. They do not always follow logic and are not always linked to demons. But they are no less dangerous. Also, I want to remind you about some very important people who don’t even realize their uniqueness — the Marechi.” Kyojuro glanced at one student with a mohawk and continued, “They are special individuals whose blood makes demons much stronger. That’s why we protect them like the apple of our eye, keep strict records, and check regularly. Their safety is our safety. Remember that.”
Toki felt uneasy, but the Flame Hashira smiled brightly and continued:
“But then—there are us. The Demon Slayers. Thanks to us, the world has known years of fragile peace. People can breathe easy, even at night. We don’t fight because we are strong. We fight because we must. Even when we’re afraid. Even when it hurts. Even when no one else is left. That is what makes us hunters.”
He paused, as if recalling what else he wanted to say.
“We use swords forged from a special alloy. They are made from metal harmful to demons. Some use other means — spells, charms, special magic, or different weapons. But the sword remains universal. Weak demons cannot heal their wounds and die. With the strong ones it’s more complicated. We fight them — the Hashira — and you, those gifted with special magic.”
He smiled faintly.
“Among us are not only swordsmen. Summoners, assistants, scouts, specialists in cleansing and barriers — all are important. But those who fight demons directly follow a special path. Not everyone can see magic. But that doesn’t make them weak. Without the regular hunters, our work would be impossible. Just as without the kakushi who help us with routine, logistics, and all sorts of red tape. So train hard, everyone, and become stronger! Any questions?” Kyojuro asked with a smile.
Silence answered him.
“Good. That means you understand.”
For some time, he spoke about the nature of magic and how it arises. He used his own clan as an example — the Flame clan, possessing the power of flame magic.
Toki listened. She realized how fragile the world was and how it was protected — at the cost of lives. She felt sad. She remembered that demon… and Muichiro’s cold composure. Gradually, she began to understand him. To feel for him. Because this work really mattered more than many things in this world.
That’s all for today!” Kyojuro declared, his smile bright as fire.
Everyone began leaving, and he noticed Toki looked upset.
The Flame Hashira approached her.
“How are you, Toki-chan?” Kyojuro’s voice was soft, lacking its usual fire.
“I…” she lowered her head. “It’s all… complicated.”
He asked her.
“Would you like some tea? My brother made mochi with adzuki. Food always tastes better in company, don’t you think?”
Toki smiled and nodded.
They walked to the lounge, Kyojuro poured them tea and laid out the treats. Toki wished him a good appetite and began eating.
“It’s delicious.”
“My brother is a culinary genius.”
He noticed she seemed troubled.
“Tell me, Toki-chan.”
They sat in silence for a few seconds, until the ripple in her gaze turned into restrained words.
“On our mission with Muichiro… I couldn’t even touch the demon with my sword,” her voice came out almost a whisper. “He wanted me to kill him. But it was… it wasn’t a creature. It was a remnant of a person. I… I can’t be like you hunters. This world isn’t mine… I’m not a killer, even if there’s a demon in front of me…”
Kyojuro lowered his eyes, lifting the cup to his lips but didn’t drink. Warm steam rose, dissolving into the cool air.
“Muichiro,” she continued. “He was… merciless. Calm, as if he felt nothing. For him, it was just… work. For me — shock. Fear. Disgust. This isn’t my world.”
She closed her eyes as if in pain.
Kyojuro didn’t answer immediately. He only looked ahead, where evening shadows began gathering behind the trees.
“Toki-chan,” he finally said. “I’ve known him for many years. Muichiro Tokito… he’s like a younger brother to me. He was always cold as if his heart had frozen.”
Kyojuro took a sip of tea, but there was no bitterness in his voice — only warm sadness.
“I met him when he was only thirteen. A scorching summer. The headquarters was in panic: a demon attack on a regular family. Everyone died — mother, father, brother. Only Muichiro survived. They said he killed the demon with his bare hands. A boy covered in blood and terrible wounds with empty eyes.”
Toki was silent, as if holding her breath.
“At that time, Kanae — the elder Kocho — was still alive,” he continued softly. “She diagnosed him with amnesia. Complete. No memories of the past. No words, no faces. Only coldness, fear, and absolute emptiness inside. I decided to take him under my wing and did just that.”
Kyojuro looked at Toki, his voice lowering. He fell silent again. Somewhere in the garden, an old bamboo lattice creaked.
“Tokito turned out to be a genius. He quickly surpassed everyone. In his very first sparring he knocked the sword out of my hands. He barely needed training — knowledge seemed to live inside him already. But at the same time — not a single sign of emotion. I spent a lot of time with him, sometimes taking him out of class dragging him around cafes and parks during free moments. But he remained himself — cold as a wall. Over time, I noticed Muichiro was good at drawing. So I started giving him little things, trying my best to support his hobby. I have a younger brother myself, and it hurt to see a kid whose only skill was holding a sword and training nonstop. I think it surprised him a lot back then, and he continued drawing, sometimes even sharing the results with me. Damn, he was really good! Only then did something appear in his eyes… something besides fog.”
Kyojuro looked down at his tea. His palms were calm but clenched.
“At fifteen he became a Hashira. The youngest. A demon slayer without hesitation. Without mercy. Even if they begged for their lives. Especially then: during a joint mission, one demon — he cried saying he remembered being human… Muichiro just slit his throat. Didn’t even blink. Said hesitation was weakness.”
Toki looked at him with pain in her eyes.
“That’s very sad…”
“Yes,” Kyojuro confirmed with a faint, sorrowful smile. “But maybe, deep inside… he’s different. Even if he doesn’t admit it. So, Toki-chan, don’t blame him for his behavior or words — that’s just who he is. He doesn’t know any other life. It’s not his fault.”
Kyojuro smiled.
Toki nodded, and they continued drinking tea.
On her way home, she noticed a familiar silhouette against the fading sky. Tall, in a black uniform, with long hair.
“Muichiro…”
Her heart clenched. He walked slowly as usual — as if he didn’t feel the weight of time.
Thoughts of Kyojuro’s story, his voice full of quiet pain, gave her some confidence.
“He can’t be any other way.”
She gathered her courage and approached.
“Hi…” Toki stopped a few steps away and looked up at him.
Muichiro turned around. For a few seconds, he looked at her silently, as if trying to remember.
“She… was crying then. Because of me.”
“Hi,” he answered softly, almost uncertainly. For the first time, there was no coldness in his voice.
She took a step closer.
“How’s your shoulder?”
He lowered his gaze, as if about to say something important but just shrugged.
“Fine now.”
Suddenly she realized how tight her throat felt from the tension she hadn’t noticed before.
“I learned a lot today… about hunters,” she said, swallowing hard. “And also, I wanted to ask… can I go out without permission? To the store, for example? I thought I had to ask all this time.”
He raised an eyebrow slightly.
“You have the bracelet. You can go out whenever you want.”
“Right…” She shivered.
“So I was just sitting here like a fool, afraid to leave…”
Muichiro looked at her silently. Then suddenly said,
“I want to buy something at the café nearby.”
Toki blinked.
“What?”
“Let’s go,” he put his hands in his pockets and started walking forward.
“Y-yeah,” she hurried after him still hardly believing this was really happening.
When they found themselves in the shade of trees under the warm glow of street lamps, Toki spoke to him again.
“So… Am I really your tsuguko?”
He walked a little ahead then turned his head over his shoulder.
“Yeah, something like that.”
Toki paused for a second.
“Damn… it’s true.”
She didn’t want to be anyone’s possession, part of a system that breaks people into roles. But his voice wasn’t commanding. Not someone stamping a label. Just stating a fact. Muichiro turned around.
“I wouldn’t train you if it wasn’t an order. You’re weak.”
“Eh?” She froze as if struck by electricity.
He shrugged without taking his eyes off her.
“I never take apprentices. But since it turned out this way…”
“How should I address you then? Formal? Like with the others?”
She recalled the respectful form used with Hashira and students.
He stopped and looked toward the café windows.
“Whatever you want.” He noticed the confusion on her face and added: “I don’t like formalities. You can call me by my name.”
“Alright,” she replied quietly.
They went inside. Without hesitation, Muichiro went to the counter.
“Honey latte.”
He turned to her — she was a little surprised by his sweet choice.
“Will you have anything?”
“I… black coffee, please.”
He nodded, paid, and pointed to a table by the window.
“Sit.”
Toki settled at the edge of the couch and at that moment realized — she’d forgotten her money.
“How embarrassing.”
While she was nervously sorting through her thoughts, he was already back with the tray.
“I’ll pay you back at the headquarters. Definitely.”
He placed the cup in front of her and sat opposite.
“No need.”
“But…”
“You’re my tsuguko,” he raised his gaze. There was no irony or harshness in his eyes. Just a fact.
Toki lowered her head.
“Why do his words sometimes make it even harder to breathe?”
They drank in silence. Muichiro occasionally glanced at her. For the first time, he noticed how uniquely beautiful the mole under her cheekbone was. Or how her pupils softly blended with the greenery pattern in her iris.
“That’s all,” he said, standing up. “I need to get back to headquarters. Let’s go.”
They left together. Muichiro didn’t look back, but today he walked slowly so she could keep pace.
She didn’t know how to end this evening but didn’t want him to leave silently.
“Th-thanks for the coffee… Muichiro.”
He looked at her — briefly, without a smile. But his gaze lingered on her face a little longer than necessary.
“See you, Toki.”
He walked ahead dissolving into the twilight. She stayed standing, feeling a little lighter inside.
Notes:
I kinda mixed a little Kimetsu lore with Jujutsu-style magic, sooo it turned into this funny blend lol. This chapter feels soft and a bit sad at the same time, but it was really comforting to write.
The next one will be very warm and gentle 🤍
Chapter 9: Tangerine lemonade
Summary:
A gentle chapter filled with warmth and a touch of romance — quiet moments, new encounters, and just a hint of mystery. 🌸
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Today Toki was supposed to meet her new physical training instructor.
“I think he mentioned something about Mitsuri Kanroji back then. From what I gathered from the other students’ conversations, this girl is also a Hashira. At the trial there were only two women. The one who took my blood, and another — with bright pink hair and green tips. Could it really be her?”
Toki got up from her bed and decided to put on her training outfit right away. She wore dark leggings with shorts over them, a slightly cropped loose white T-shirt, and tied her long hair up in a messy bun so it wouldn’t get in the way. On her feet, she slipped on sneakers. As she dressed Toki caught sight of a faint silhouette on her shoulder — the shape of a lily.
“That flower again… it’s appeared on my shoulder. I should ask about it…”
The girl stepped out of her room and headed toward the training grounds. From what she understood, Mitsuri was supposed to have an individual session with her—for now she was nowhere near the level of the other trainees.
On her way, she passed the dojo where swordsmanship classes were held, the same place where Muichiro had tested her abilities. Toki caught sight of the disheveled-haired swordsman who during her trial had demanded her execution. He swung his blade sharply, striking a blond-haired student—Zenitsu—with a painful blow.
“That’s horrible. Are my sword lessons going to be that brutal too?” she thought, her eyes stinging with tears.
Toki hurried along making her way down to the circular track field in the hollow of the headquarters. A girl was already waiting for her there.
Mitsuri was tall and noticeably curvy with soft lines and an impressive breast that was impossible not to notice—especially in her tight pink sports top with a deep neckline. Her matcha-green biker shorts hugged her thighs snugly highlighting her figure, while pink sneakers added a sense of girlish charm and energy. Her long hair was braided into two thick plaits fading from strawberry pink into mint green—like a scoop of strawberry and pistachio ice cream.
“She looks… so bright...”
Toki thought as she approached the girl who was in the middle of stretching.
She bowed politely.
“Hello. You must be Mitsuri Kanroji?”
“Oh!” Mitsuri gasped cheerfully, pressing her palms to her cheeks. “You’re adorable! Back then, it was too dark, I couldn’t see you properly! I’m so happy we have a new trainee! I can’t believe it—aww!” She trembled with excitement. “Let’s go to a café together sometime and have some cake! Promise me, okay? I love sweets! And I already love you!”
Toki stood frozen like a post unsure how to react.
“O-okay…”
Mitsuri suddenly remembered that Toki had greeted her.
“Oh, sorry! I’m Mitsuri Kanroji, the Love Hashira! Muichiro-kun told me you need lots of training to become stronger so I’ll be the one to take care of you!” She pressed her fingertip against her lips, tilting her head. “By the way… if I think about it, Muichiro-kun has never taken on a student before. Could it be…?”
Her cheeks flushed red and she grabbed her face with both hands shaking her head quickly.
“Oh my gosh, that’s just so cute! Muichiro-kun is amazing!”
Toki stood there utterly bewildered not knowing how to respond to such an outburst.
“Excuse me… What are we going to do today?”
The pink hair girl snapped out of it, still blushing, and announced the plan.
“Today we’ll start with a light warm-up so I can see what your body is capable of. Basically,” she stood straight across from Toki, “just follow me.”
Toki straightened up, and Mitsuri began the stretches.
“Doesn’t seem too hard,” Toki thought, smiling faintly to herself.
“Okay, now that we’ve warmed up a little, it’s time for some real exercise!” Mitsuri said cheerfully, eyes closed as if it was nothing.
“You’ll need to run ten laps around the track. Just a little. Then, about fifty push-ups and pull-ups should be fine.”
Toki’s jaw nearly dropped—that was insane.
“Fifty push-ups and ten laps?!”
"Yep! That’s not too much. You can do it!” Mitsuri gave her a thumbs up and winked.
Amida sighed heavily but didn’t argue. She looked at the field and realized ten laps meant more than ten kilometers. Just the thought of it nearly made her cry but she steeled her resolve and took her place at the starting line.
Mitsuri whistled and Toki began to run.
The first lap went by relatively easily. By the second, her legs started to cramp. On the third, real problems began—her breathing grew ragged, her legs felt like lead, and her head throbbed. Toki had never done sports in her life. For her, this was almost impossible.
By the fifth lap, she stopped—barely able to breathe.
“Tired already? You’ve never done sports before, have you?”
“Never…” she gasped out.
“Ah, you should’ve told me from the start.”
“So he didn’t explain anything to her…” Toki thought, remembering Muichiro, shaking her head faintly.
“Well then, let’s take a break. Afterward, I’ll show you a few basic exercises. They’ll be the foundation for your training.”
Toki nodded, dreading what else might be waiting for her.
But in the end, Mitsuri really did turn out to be a caring instructor. She showed her a set of exercises meant to build muscle strength.
“You’re so cute, just like a spring flower,” Mitsuri said with a smile. “It looks like the wind could blow you away at any moment. Such a cutie.”
“The wind could blow me away…” Toki repeated softly a little sadly.
“Don’t worry. You’ll get used to it over time—it’ll get easier. I think that’s enough for today. Go rest.”
Mitsuri waved and jogged off toward the students coming back from sword training—all of them covered in bruises.
“Guys! I’m coming!”
“God, I’m going to die here,” Toki thought. “I just love history and science… not this. Ugh… but I don’t really have a choice.”
She stood up and immediately felt a sharp ache all over her body from the strain.
“I need to make it to that bench. Let’s go.”
Muichiro arrived at headquarters. He wanted to check on his tsuguku’s training so he immediately headed toward the practice field.
From a distance, he noticed Toki sitting on a bench, clearly exhausted. Her face looked worn-out, her posture awkward, as if every muscle in her body ached. She had her eyes closed and her hands resting limply at her sides.
Nearby, Muichiro spotted a vending machine.
"She won’t mind, will she?"
He chose a drink that caught his attention: a tangerine-flavored lemonade. The bright orange bottle seemed cheerful enough to lift her spirits.
Toki was so tired that she didn’t even notice him approach.
“Here.” He pressed the cold bottle lightly against her forehead.
She looked up meeting his turquoise eyes, then realized he’d bought her a drink — probably because he’d noticed her exhaustion.
“Th-thank you,” she said, taking the bottle. A moment later, she jerked her head in surprise. “Ah! I forgot to say — hello!”
“Hello,” Muichiro replied calmly.
He sat down beside her watching as she eagerly drank.
“This is so good! I’ve never had tangerine lemonade before. Is it new?” She examined the bottle then turned back to him with a soft smile. “Thank you, really… I feel so much better. So refreshing!”
He kept his eyes on her. On that gentle smile. Something inside him stirred — unusual, almost tender. Someone was thanking him simply for a small act of care. It felt… strange.
Toki stood, stretching lightly under his gaze.
“I feel much better now,” she said.
He watched her closely — her bare neck, her collarbones, the way her shirt lifted slightly to reveal her ribs and slender waist.
"She’s so delicate… like marble."
Her gaze shifted aside, and the sleeve of her shirt slipped off her shoulder, exposing the scar.
“Can I ask you something?” she said.
He blinked out of his thoughts. She sat back down and tugged the fabric up, showing the mark.
“This morning… I saw something. For a moment, it looked like the outline of a lily on the scar. Today it’s fading, but… is it connected to a demon somehow?”
Her voice trembled.
Muichiro lowered his eyes to his hands, fingers intertwined.
“I didn’t tell you back then…” She stared at him in confusion. “That night, near the temple,” he recalled the mission, the memory unpleasant, “you manifested your ability for the first time. You… helped me.”
“What? How did I help you?”
“You healed me. That cut closed in seconds — it left no scar. I think you have the power to heal wounds. And that lily… it must appear when your ability is released. Why it takes that form I don’t know yet.”
Toki fell silent, frowning.
"Why didn’t you tell me?..”
“I don’t know.”
The words hung between them, heavy. He felt strangely uneasy.
She sighed, giving a faint, bittersweet smile.
“At least… I can heal people. That’s not so bad.”
Muichiro exhaled and then noticed someone with flame hair approaching.
“Hey there! Toki-chan, how are you?”
“Hello, Rengoku-san. I’m fine, thank you,” she answered with a smile.
Muichiro glanced at her again.
“Muichiro,” Kyojuro said firmly. “Come with me. We need to talk.”
He stood.
“See you,” he told Toki.
“See you.”
Following Kyojuro, they moved far enough away to be unheard. Then Rengoku asked in a serious tone:
“So… you’ve seen her powers?”
“Yes,” Muichiro replied calmly. “I reported it to Oyakata-sama right after that mission.”
“Strange. Nothing’s been passed to me,” the Flame Hashira frowned. “And I’m the one in charge of Toki-chan’s case.”
He fell into thought, his brows furrowing.
“Rengoku-san? Is something wrong?” Tokito asked.
“I’m not sure… but I have a bad feeling. Always stay on guard, understood?”
Muichiro blinked a bit unsettled.
“…Alright.”
Kyojuro let out a breath, then smiled.
“Help me with something? It’s been a while since we worked together. I need to sketch a portrait of a potential enemy.”
Muichiro agreed, and the two of them spent the rest of the evening working side by side in Kyojuro’s office.
“I’ll head out,” the young man said, handing over the drawing.
“Yes! Thank you! Oh, by the way—could you give these mochi to Toki-chan? I think she really liked them.”
Muichiro glanced at the table where a box of sweets stood.
“You bought them for her?” he asked, his tone a little unusual even for himself.
“No. Yesterday, after my training, we had tea together. Toki-chan seemed very down. Senjuro had made these for me but I’d like her to have them instead. She’s really going through a lot...” Rengoku explained. “So? Will you take them to her?”
Muichiro nodded and walked up to the table.
“Alright.”
Rengoku smiled and pushed the box closer.
“She’s probably resting in her room.”
Tokito nodded again, picked up the box and left the office. It was already late—the night sky was covered in stars. He always loved looking at the sky.
When he reached the women’s quarters, he found Toki’s room. Luckily, no one crossed his path in the corridor.
She opened the door and blinked in surprise.
“Muichiro? Did something happen?”
He shook his head.
“No,” he said, holding out the box. “Rengoku-san asked me to bring this to you.”
Toki accepted the box from his hands and quickly realized what it was—the same sweets. She smiled softly; the gesture from Kyojuro felt truly comforting.
Then she looked at Muichiro who was quietly watching her.
“Do you want to keep me company? I doubt I can finish them all by myself.”
He agreed. Quickly. Almost too quickly even for him.
“Come in then. I’ll make us some tea. Wait just a little, okay? I need to grab something from the hall.”
He nodded and sat down on her bed. It feels peaceful here, he thought, letting his gaze wander across the room.
Though Toki hadn’t lived here long, she had already filled the simple space with warmth and comfort. Books were everywhere—so many books. On the desk sat a computer, clearly used for her studies. Muichiro noticed an open book lying on the bed.
The Epic of Gilgamesh.
"She studies history… maybe she’s reading it for university."
His eyes landed on the small lamp glowing on her desk.
Toki returned and caught his gaze.
“Since that night… when the demon dragged me into the darkness, I think I’ve been afraid of it. That’s why I don’t turn the light off,” she explained, handing him a cup of tea.
She then opened the box of mochi—two pieces inside. It was almost as if Rengoku had guessed she’d invite Muichiro to share them.
Placing the box between them she picked up one.
“They really are the tastiest,” she said.
He nodded then asked quietly.
“Why do you like history? Personally, I think it’s pretty boring.”
Toki laughed.
“I noticed at the lecture you were drawing in your notebook instead of taking notes,” she teased. “I’ve loved history since childhood—probably inherited that love from my grandfather who raised me. History draws me in with its mysteries; there’s still so much humanity has yet to uncover. That’s fascinating. Oh, by the way, you’ve been drawing since forever, right? Rengoku-san told me you’ve loved it since you were a child.”
Muichiro guessed that Kyojuro must have mentioned a few things about him, but he didn’t mind.
“Yes, I’ve been drawing since I was little. It calms me.”
“That’s so interesting,” she said, resting her cheek against her hand. “You must draw a lot, then?”
“Yes. I have plenty of sketches at home,” he replied, glancing at the book on her bed. “What book is that?”
Toki blinked, then smiled.
“One of the earliest books in human history—the Epic of Gilgamesh. About a hero, a demigod king, who gained wisdom through a difficult journey.”
Muichiro looked at the book once more.
“I’m writing research paper on ancient literature. My field is centered around the history of ancient civilizations.”
“I see…”
He watched her as she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. He realized he liked looking at her—though he didn’t know why.
A faint discomfort stirred inside him. Finishing his tea, he stood up.
“It’s late already. I should go.”
“Thank you for bringing me the mochi. Good night, Muichiro.”
He said his goodbye and asked a kakushi to escort him home.
After a shower, he sat at his desk, which was cluttered with papers. Taking a pencil in hand, he absentmindedly began to sketch. When he finally looked down, he realized—it was her. His hand had drawn her wrapped in lilies and stories. He stared at the picture for a while, then sighed.
This night Toki had already fallen asleep. This time no nightmares came to her—only a dream of a field, covered in blue spider lilies.
Meanwhile in the park near the university something strange and dangerous had taken root. It lingered in the shadows, biding its time.
“My master’s blood makes me stronger with each passing day… which means the true hunt will soon begin.”
Notes:
Chapters like this feel like a little island of peace for me, a moment of rest before something more intense. 🌙
Chapter 10: Shadows of Ueno. Part I
Summary:
Hey guys! The new chapter is here 🫶
Muichiro and Toki set out on a mission where people have been mysteriously disappearing. Will everything go well? And who is watching them from the shadows?
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Time went on. April ended, along with the season of blossoming fruit trees.
The wisteria had now taken over, coloring everything in soft, mysterious shades of violet. IIt grew in abundance around the headquarters. According to ancient tradition, the plant was said to protect humans from demons. That was why it had been planted there so carefully, in such numbers.
Muichiro sometimes trained Toki. Over the course of a month, her physical abilities improved slightly—at the very least, she could now run three kilometers without collapsing. Mitsuri often praised her and shared sweets with her after training.
“By the way, Toki-chan, I heard that Rengoku-san helps you out a lot and always cheers you on. Isn’t he amazing? I’m so happy I was his tsuguko!” Mitsuri once confessed while sitting on a bench after practice.
“You were his tsuguko?” Toki asked, surprised.
“Uh-huh! Not for long, though. We share the same type of magic—flame! Though mine is different, of course. I’m not a descendant of the Rengoku clan. Back then, Muichiro-kun was also living at their estate and even went on missions with us. A few times—together with me. It was so much fun! I wish I could go back to those days and enjoy tea at Rengoku-san’s home again…” Mitsuri’s eyes sparkled with dreamy nostalgia, until her cheeks suddenly flushed bright red. “Wait—you’re Muichiro-kun’s tsuguko, right? You know, he’s so cool! Handsome, and also a genius. He was always popular with girls, but never let anyone get close. But, Toki-chan, I feel like he treats you differently…” Her whole face turned red as she pressed her palms against her cheeks. “Could it be that he…?”
She shook her head furiously.
Toki blinked in confusion and asked:
“Kanroji-san, are you feeling alright?”
“Y-yeah… sorry, I just imagined something…”
“Something?” Toki tilted her head.
“Yes! He’s so cold and strong, and she’s so gentle and fragile! Oh my gosh! I can’t—!” Mitsuri shut her eyes tightly with a blissful smile.
Toki tilted her head a little further and silently waited until the Love Hashira calmed down.
“Alrighty! Toki-chan, it’s time—you’ve got sword training with Muichiro-kun. I’m sure he’s waiting! Off you go!”
“R-right…” Toki felt Mitsuri pushing her toward the fencing hall, clearly excited about something.
"She’s so strange," Toki thought as she went to find Muichiro.
When it came to swordsmanship, though, things were different. Muichiro still held himself back, knowing she wasn’t cut out for it.. The problem wasn’t really Toki. The real reason he never took disciples… was himself. Muichiro was a genius, and his overwhelming level discouraged students. They always ended up feeling worthless in comparison. That was why he had never taught anyone—and as a result, he had no idea how to teach. His abilities seemed to have been born with him, as if the god of war himself had placed that power in his hands.
Toki didn’t mind. She never aimed to be anyone special in the Corps anyway. On missions, she carefully observed and sometimes even helped—like distracting an enemy. Though Muichiro never really needed her help. Still, duty was duty.
One thing never changed: her power hadn’t manifested again.
One day, Kyojuro asked Muichiro to come to headquarters—he wanted to discuss an upcoming mission.
“Hello there!” Rengoku greeted him cheerfully at the entrance. He was dressed in a classic suit and white shirt. “How are you? You seem happier these days, Muichiro.”
Muichiro gave him a questioning look and shrugged.
“Hello. I haven’t really thought about it.”
Kyojuro smiled.
“Well then, let’s go. We need to talk.”
They entered his office. Kyojuro sat down at his desk and gestured for Muichiro to sit on the sofa opposite.
“Lately, troubling reports have been piling up. The number of victims is rising, demon activity is increasing. But most importantly, we’re seeing more demons with unique abilities. In some cases, there are suspicions of Lower Moons among them. We’ll be going on a mission connected to one of these cases.”
“And what’s unusual about that?” Muichiro asked calmly. “It seems like this has happened before.”
The Flame Hashira let out a breath and smiled faintly.
“I hope you’re right. But still, we should treat these missions with greater caution. And by the way, Toki-chan will be joining us—it’s an order from above.”
Muichiro felt uncomfortable. He didn’t want her to be involved in a mission where a Lower Moon might be present. But an order was an order. Even as a Hashira, he couldn’t change everything.
Kyojuro noticed the shadow on his face.
“Anyway, today we need to head to a certain place. Near Ueno Park, people have been disappearing mysteriously over the past week. And the hunters sent to investigate haven’t returned. We need to find out the source of the attacks and try to save anyone we can. The demon is to be eliminated on site. Please go fetch Toki-chan. She should already know she’s assigned to this mission, but just in case, I’d like you to go to her yourself.”
Muichiro stood and made his way toward the women’s quarters.
Toki was already ready, as if expecting this. She understood she’d be going on a mission today—though what kind, she couldn’t imagine. Since becoming tsuguko, she had been obliged to accompany Muichiro even on the most dangerous missions. It was mostly symbolic, but the Corps wasn’t quick to break its traditions.
He knocked. She opened the door almost instantly, as if she already knew who it was, and gave him a gentle smile.
“Good morning, Muichiro.”
“Morning. Let’s go—Rengoku-san is waiting.”
They walked in silence. Muichiro didn’t bother to explain the details of the mission. But Kyojuro understood, so when Toki arrived in his office, he briefly explained what lay ahead.
“I’d like you to record witness testimonies,” Kyojuro said.
Toki nodded. She was nervous—encountering a Lower Moon could mean anything.
Catching the unease in her eyes, Rengoku reassured her warmly:
“Toki-chan, you don’t need to worry. Muichiro and I won’t let anything happen to you, I promise.” He glanced at the Mist Hashira. “Right?”
“Yeah,” Muichiro answered curtly, looking into her eyes.
His gaze told her there was nothing to fear… but not to let her guard down either.
They arrived at the park around noon.
It had been closed off; the Corps hunters told civilians that a lion had escaped from the zoo nearby. Everything was well organized—there was no panic. People strolled past, oblivious to the real danger. Nothing supernatural was suspected. The secrecy was perfect, as it should be.
Toki held a tablet with maps and forms. Muichiro walked beside her—silent, detached. He didn’t like such assignments, never good at dealing with people. But Toki handled it well.
“Excuse me,” she approached a middle-aged woman holding a poodle. She clearly lived nearby. “Do you often walk here? Have you noticed anything unusual over the past week?”
The woman raised her brows.
“Well… no, not really… though… there was that girl. A student, I think. Purple hair. She always jogged here in the mornings. And then she just disappeared. About a week ago, I suppose. I thought she simply went away.”
“Where did you last see her?”
“By the old pavilion near the pond. She often stretched there, blasting music in her headphones—you could hear it across half the park.”
Toki jotted it down.
The next was a man in his forties with a camera—a hobbyist photographer. He looked uneasy, as if waiting to see how this all would end, whether the ‘lion’ would be caught.
“I was taking pictures of the wisteria by the water that day. Wanted to catch the reflection… And then—I saw a figure. I thought it was an animal. I even took a shot, I think…”
He nervously flipped through his photos. But the one he remembered wasn’t there.
“That’s impossible,” he muttered. “I know I pressed the button…”
Muichiro listened quietly, then cut him off in his usual cold tone.
“This conversation is over. You may leave.”
“But—”
The Mist Hashira’s icy gaze froze the words in his throat. He quickly decided not to argue.
Toki looked at him questioningly.
“It happens,” Muichiro said softly. “Some demons distort technology. Cameras can’t always capture them.”
They then spoke to one of the hunters who had been sent out earlier. A thin young man with a bandaged arm began to recount his story.
“We went scouting three days ago,” he said, staring at the ground. “Everything was quiet… until my partner approached one of the burrows. He just… vanished. No sound. I didn’t even have time to draw my sword. I ran.”
He looked at the Mist Hashira with shame and fear of judgment. But Muichiro said nothing.
“Did you hear a voice? Sense anything?” Toki asked gently.
“No… just like… someone else’s breathing. Cold. And silence.”
Muichiro, standing a bit aside, was listening carefully.
“No blood?” he asked.
“Not a drop.”
“I see.”
Just then Kyojuro joined them, thinking aloud:
“This could be a Void-Space technique, demon domain” he said. “Only Moons can sustain it consistently. Especially if they’re in contact with the ground. What do you think, Muichiro?”
He nodded.
“The demon hides them in its own dimension. Otherwise, the bodies—or at least parts of them—would have surfaced by now.”
A chill went down Toki’s spine.
Nearby, a specialist in seals approached and bowed slightly.
“Tokito-dono, Rengoku-dono, the sealing array is almost complete. Only a few points remain on the eastern side. Would you like to inspect them?”
“Of course.” Kyojuro smiled. “We’ll be right there.”
Toki glanced at the map, biting her lip.
The day was leaning toward dusk. The hunters were doing their work. Headquarters had assigned several spellcasters who were now placing seals—fixing them to trees, lampposts, even beneath benches.
Muichiro walked silently ahead, while Toki followed close behind, glancing around. Despite the ordinary park — thickets, a pond, worn paths — everything felt… wrong. As if someone were watching them.
“Tokito-dono, the seals have been placed,” one of the spellcasters reported quietly, bowing slightly as he approached.
Muichiro gave a short nod.
“Good.”
Toki hugged the tablet with the map of placements to her chest and turned toward Rengoku, who was in the middle of discussing barrier arrangements with another hunter.
“Excuse me, Rengoku-san… What about the barrier? Aren’t we going to use it?”
The Flame Hashira turned to her, his warm smile making it seem as though the question hadn’t surprised him, but pleased him.
“A good question, Toki-chan. The barrier isn’t always effective against powerful demons. They…” He paused briefly, searching for the right words. “They can sense the difference between an artificial night and a true one. Some even manage to find a gap, slip outside the barrier, or avoid being caught at all. We can’t risk that. So tonight—we work under natural conditions. We’ll wait for the real night to fall.”
“I see…” Toki whispered, clutching her sleeve between her fingers.
Muichiro said nothing. But sensing her unease, he stepped closer so she wouldn’t feel alone. She noticed, felt his elbow brush lightly against her arm. Strangely, it calmed her.
By evening, the clouds had thickened. The sky sagged heavy and gray, as if burdened by what was coming. The park sank into a deep, viscous silence. Only the branches of wisteria stirred, as though shivering.
“Rengoku-san,” Muichiro suddenly said, pointing to the ground beneath one of the trees.
Toki bent down. A small, almost unnoticeable hollow. Nearby—another. And another. They stretched deeper into the park.
“These look like… mole burrows?” she whispered.
“Yes,” Rengoku replied, crouching beside her. He ran his fingers over the soil. “But no animal made these.”
He grew pensive, staring into the distance where the chain of burrows disappeared.
"Could it really be that this demon has its own dimension? Like a Moon…" The thought flickered with unease.
“It’s time,” Kyojuro commanded.
The three of them moved on. The seals had begun to shimmer with a faint glow—like fireflies marking the border between worlds.
Muichiro walked without a word, his gaze sharp and focused. He could feel the air itself tense. The sensation of being watched would not leave him.
“Mist Hashira,” Kyojuro turned to the young man, his tone half-serious, half-encouraging, “I believe you’ve already guessed that your concealment in the mist will be crucial for this mission. The demon must not realize it’s being watched. If it does… we risk losing it.”
“Yeah. Got it.” Muichiro calmly drew his snow-white blade from its sheath.
They reached the location mentioned in the reports — the very place where people had gone missing.
“They’ve done a fine job! No unnecessary traces, everything prepared for the investigation. We must give Iguro’s men their due — they’ve handled their part excellently!” Praising the team aloud, Rengoku then turned to Muichiro. “Well then, are you ready?”
“Yes,” the boy replied simply.
Suddenly, the space around them was swallowed by a thick mist. Toki’s eyes widened in surprise. She had accompanied him on missions before, yet never once had he revealed this technique.
Muichiro walked ahead, his movements steady, while Rengoku, smiling, gestured for Toki to follow. Inside the mist, everything was silent — soundless, weightless, as if they had stepped into another dimension. The whiteness seemed natural, like a true phenomenon of nature.
They moved in silence, scanning their surroundings with sharpened senses.
Muichiro stopped first.
“There’s something strange here. I’ll check.”
“Wait! You feel it too — that’s a demon’s dimension. Don’t tell me you plan to jump right in?”
Muichiro didn’t answer.
“Muichiro! The first thing they teach every hunter — never step into a demon’s domain! You don’t know its power. Getting out may be far harder than entering. I shouldn’t need to explain something so basic to a Hashira!”
“I know,” he said flatly, continuing deeper into the mist without hesitation. “I didn’t become a Hashira by cowering. I have my own way of destroying demons, Rengoku-san. I dislike wasting time.”
“Ahh… what am I to do with you,” Kyojuro sighed, then relented. “Fine. Do as you will — but be careful.”
“Should I… go with him?” Toki asked softly.
Muichiro shook his head and vanished into the haze.
Rengoku looked down at the girl.
“Toki-chan, stay close to me. It’s growing dangerous here — you can feel it too, can’t you?”
She nodded. The air was heavier now, charged with menace.
“Good.” Kyojuro’s tone softened. “It’s no easy trial, being his tsuguko. But even so, he would never take you into a place like that. It’s too perilous. He has his own ways… and he’s strong. Do not worry for him.”
“…Alright,” she whispered.
“He still charges ahead, never thinking of his own life. And yet… I still believe. Someday he’ll change. Someday he’ll learn to care about himself.”
Kyojuro watched the place where Muichiro had disappeared, then turned away, scanning the area.
Fifteen minutes later, he and Toki found something unsettling at the park’s center: a hole in the ground.
“So. Exactly what I was searching for… Toki-chan, step back.”
At the same time, high upon a nearby building, someone was standing — human or not entirely human. But one thing was certain: there was no hiding from their gaze.
“Well, well! Two Hashira at once!” the watcher exclaimed with childlike delight. “And they look genuinely frightened. They must suspect something.” A bright, ringing voice carried into the air, though no one below could hear it. “How sweet, almost touching… So serious, so eager to protect the innocent. Ah! I do love watching hunters perform their noble duty. What could be more delightful than watching professionals at work? So then—what will you do? No, no, no, that’s not what matters. What are you hiding yourselves?”
The iris of their eye gleamed in the night, and a kaleidoscope of vivid colors cast a predatory gaze toward Ueno Park.
Show me everything and do not disappoint me—I’m ever so sensitive…”
Notes:
Finally reached this point and introduced a new character — he’s pure charisma and definitely plotting something very intriguing.
Chapter 11: Shadows of Ueno. Part II
Summary:
The battle in Ueno Park rages on, with demons and hunters clashing in a deadly struggle. All the while, a mysterious figure watches from the shadows… What will be the outcome of this encounter?
Notes:
Hi everyone! I post the new chapter later today — it’s been a busy day. The chapter came out long, but I got so carried away while writing it. Although writing battle descriptions is still a bit challenging for me 😅 hope you enjoy it!
Chapter Text
Kyojuro watched the place where Muichiro had disappeared, then turned away scanning the area.
Fifteen minutes later, he and Toki found something unsettling at the park’s center: a hole in the ground.
“So. Exactly what I was searching for… Toki-chan, step back.”
Toki obeyed. Kyojuro unsheathed his sword. The blade flared in his hands, glowing like molten steel. Driving it into the earth, he forced the hole to widen, spreading like a wound in the ground. With swift reflexes, he scooped Toki into his arms and leapt aside.
“That was close. Are you hurt, Toki-chan?”
“No…” she shook her head, wide-eyed. “Rengoku-san, what is that… enormous hole?”
“As Muichiro said, the demon truly is there he went. And this…” He pointed at the expanding pit. “This is its lair. Where it hides its victims. Without doubt — the work of a Lower Moon.”
“Lower Moon…?” Toki repeated, not fully grasping the term.
“Ah, right. I didn’t explain before. We Hashira hunt demons of greater strength — those born strong or those who have refined their monstrous power. Among them the most dangerous are the Moons. We don’t know exactly how many exist but their numbers grow. There are Lower Moons — newer demons gifted with overwhelming power — and Upper Moons, ancient ones, centuries old. Few but each one… is terrifying beyond words. In decades past, none of them have ever been slain… though they rarely appear themselves.”
“I see… And, Rengoku-san, what makes a Hashira different from the others? Is it just strength? Talent? Or is there… something more?”
Kyojuro smiled faintly.
“Hm. Often, yes, it’s talent — people like Muichiro become Hashira. But in truth: every hunter has a limit. We must train endlessly to awaken our abilities. It’s usually clear who has the potential — such hunters are often taken as tsuguko. But strength alone is not enough. When we cross the line… there is always a price. The peak of our strength can cost us dearly.” He paused, something shadowed flickering in his bright eyes. “…Though, there are exceptions.”
Toki lowered her gaze, lips pressing together, but she dared ask one more question.
“Rengoku-san, what do you mean by ‘cross the line’ and—”
She never finished. From the hole, twisted shapes began to crawl, grotesque things that were once human.
“Toki-chan! Stay by my side!”
Rengoku’s sword flared like fire as he took his stance.
Meanwhile, Muichiro advanced through the mist, attuned to every shift around him. This demon’s dimension was different — nearly identical to the real world. The only difference: the ground was littered with stones, jagged and countless, as if he stood on a mountainside.
The true danger of higher demons lay in this ability — reshaping reality into their own battlefield. Their domains always favored them, and the destruction left behind inevitably bled into the human world.
“There’s no point hiding. I know where you are.” Muichiro raised his gaze to the treetops.
“…Impressive, Hashira. Then there’s no need for me to conceal myself.”
A hulking figure emerged before him, a massive demon whose shadow seemed to crush the space around them. Muichiro took a step back, katana steady in his hands.
“You realize you are inside my domain?”
“Of course. I came here myself.”
“So young… and so fearless. Admirable. I am newly named a Lower Moon. Already, I’ve killed countless hunters. But you—” the demon’s eyes gleamed, “—you are the first Hashira I’ve faced.”
“How tedious.” Muichiro’s voice was cold. “Your chatter is dull.”
In an instant, he lunged, blade flashing. The demon dodged, laughing.
“Impatient little one. Very well — I won’t hold back!”
The beast’s attacks rained like lightning, his massive arms striking with terrifying speed.
“Fast. Strong. But with such a body, there’s no way he can escape me,” Muichiro calculated swiftly.
“Sea of Clouds and Haze,” he intoned.
The fog thickened, swallowing the demon’s sight. Muichiro vanished from view.
“Hide-and-seek?” the demon sneered.
“No.”
The boy appeared from the void of whiteness, blade slicing across the demon’s left shoulder.
“Missed… The next strike will be the last.”
Howling, the demon staggered back.
“Pathetic human! You’ll regret that!”
He slammed his fist into the ground. The earth crumbled beneath Muichiro’s feet, forcing him to leap upward onto a branch. Without pause, a massive stone hurtled at him. He twisted away, only for more boulders to follow, one after another, crashing through the mist.
“Little pest! I’ll tear away your footing!”
Slamming both fists down, the demon shattered the ground. Trees toppled like brittle sticks. Muichiro landed lightly on the bare earth, blade gleaming in his hands.
Dozens of demons lunged at Kyojuro, knocking the swordsman off his feet. One of them, taking advantage of the chaos, slipped through and grabbed Toki.
"Aaah!” the girl screamed — but she managed to dodge the strike. Her training had not been in vain.
“Toki-chan, run!” — Kyojuro shouted, beheading the demon. — “I’ll hold them off!”
Toki got to her feet and quickly ran into the thick mist.
Rengoku slashed his palm with the blade, letting the scent of blood distract the horde and give the girl a chance to escape. The demons immediately turned to him, their hungry eyes fixed on the blood dripping from his hand.
“Perfect! Over here, all of you! I’m all yours!” — Rengoku yelled, eyes blazing with fervor as he gripped his katana tightly.
But when he prepared to unleash his fire — his clan’s secret ability — he noticed that many demons were sniffing the air turning toward the mist where the girl had vanished. As if obeying some command, they surged in that direction.
“What the hell…?”
The swordsman wasted no time and rushed after Toki.
Toki was running with all her strength. When she finally stopped, she checked that no one was chasing her and caught her breath.
“Thank goodness, they’ve fallen behind. I hope Rengoku-san is safe…”
Thinking the danger had passed, Toki lowered her guard. A demon leapt at her, knocking her to the ground.
Muichiro hadn’t remained down for long. He moved instantly, springing from collapsing pits underfoot. His movements seemed chaotic, yet Tokito had chosen his path with precision — swiftly closing the distance to the demon. Once close, he struck the Lower Moon with relentless attacks.
The demon grinned, animalistic and cruel.
“There were three of you. The red-haired one is fighting my puppet army — he’s a Hashira, strong enough. The girl is weak and waiting for her fate,” — he said, licking his lips with delight.
Muichiro’s eyes widened. Toki was in danger.
In the next instant, he vanished into the mist, becoming completely invisible.
“Where do you think you’re going?!”
A powerful blow crashed into him, sending him flying and smashing him into a fallen tree. Opening his eyes, he saw a barrage of boulders hurtling toward him.
Without hesitation, the hunter rose and dodged the rockfall — but it was impossible to avoid them all.
Dust mingled with mist. A sharp pain pierced his side.
“A rib… broken. I need to finish him quickly. He won’t let me leave his dimension. Rengoku-san was right — this place is dangerous.”
The boy got up, eyes fixed on his opponent. Gathering all his strength into the blade, he spread the mist over his sword, rendering it invisible.
He pointed the katana at the demon. His hand trembled from pain and bruises, but he was no novice. With a deep breath, he whispered.
“Shifting Flow Slash.”
He vanished — as if he had become mist itself.
The demon tensed, readying another rockfall, but failed to notice when the hunter appeared at his side.
The Mist Hashira was visible — the sword was not.
The demon dodged, but the blade’s arc was wider. Pain tore through his chest — the sword pierced his heart.
“You won’t be showing off anymore,” Muichiro murmured.
The demon tried to speak, but his words were cut short as the blade sliced through his neck.
Muichiro fell to his knees, gasping, clutching his side.
“Tch…”
The demon's dimension shattered. No more stones or monoliths — only the battlefield littered with uprooted trees.
“I need to hurry. I’ve already wasted too much time.”
Toki stumbled — a monster loomed before her, approaching slowly.
“Am I really going to die like this?..” she thought, retreating.
She covered her face with her hands and didn’t notice a lily bloom across her shoulder. The demon froze.
“Toki-chan, move aside!”
She opened her eyes and saw a horde of demons. Twenty, maybe thirty — she couldn’t count. Kyojuro’s voice filled her with strength. She leapt away.
“Blazing Universe!”
His blade erupted in fire, so bright it was blinding.
Toki ran behind a tree for cover.
The noise ended quickly.
When she emerged, all the demons were beheaded, their bodies consumed by fire.
“Unbelievable…” The crimson flames danced in her emerald eyes.
“Toki-chan, are you hurt?”
She looked at the hunter. His face was marked with fiery tattoos, which faded almost instantly.
Kyojuro understood her unspoken question and replied.
“You asked about 'crossing the line'. Thev ‘mark’? Once a hunter manifests it…” — he pointed to the last glowing ember on his skin, — “their strength multiplies. We become similar to demons. But a human body cannot endure such strain — our lives are shortened. Worse still, if we lose control of the mark, we fight like rabid dogs… until death.”
Rengoku’s tone was grave. His smile had vanished. His words carried the weight of fate — tragic, inevitable.
Toki understood the peril of these marks. Guilt twisted inside her — he had used such power for her sake.
“Rengoku-san… isn’t there anything you can do?”
“No. But Toki-chan”—he smiled—“don’t worry. We only call on this strength as a last resort.”
He ruffled her hair gently.
“Everything will be fine! Some hunters never awaken a mark, even as Hashira. Muichiro, for instance, is incredibly strong without it.” He glanced around. — “Speaking of which, where is he? He killed the demon, but hasn’t returned yet.”
As if on cue, Muichiro emerged from the mist, holding his ribs.
“There he is!” Rengoku went to him. — “Didn’t I tell you not to go alone? Now we’ll have to treat that rib.”
Toki saw his condition. Exhausted. Injured. In pain.
She reached toward him, silently begging the pain to ease, even for a moment. A faint warmth flared inside her chest — but vanished instantly, as if frightened.
“Muichiro, are you alright?” she asked worriedly, noticing his bruises and unsteady steps.
“Y-yeah,” he answered, catching her concern.
He could feel the power inside her pressing to break free — the same power that had saved him before. He wasn’t afraid of it, but he knew: if anyone else sensed it, Toki would become prey.
“Are you okay?” he asked softly.
She nodded, then turned to Kyojuro.
“Rengoku-san, thank you so much!” she bowed, hiding her face.
“Don’t dwell on it, Toki-chan.”
“Let’s go,” Muichiro said, wanting them taken back to headquarters quickly.
Toki glanced once more at Kyojuro and followed.
The Flame Hashira didn’t leave yet. He turned toward the battlefield and approached the massive hole.
A kakushi squad was pulling survivors out of the demon’s lair, giving them first aid.
Rengoku frowned.
“Muichiro killed a Moon… yet the demons still chased after her, even after his mist vanished. And why Toki-chan? I deliberately left my wound to distract them with blood, but they ignored it… This is strange. Too strange. I need answers. I have a bad feeling about this.”
“Rengoku-dono! We rescued the last victim and administered treatment. We’ve also been informed that Tokito-dono’s injuries aren’t serious: bruises, abrasions, and a cracked rib. Nothing life-threatening!”
“Good job. Move quickly. Kocho should already be preparing everything for restoring the unturned.”
“Yes, sir!”
Rengoku lingered a moment longer by the black, night-like burrow, then finally turned back toward the car. Muichiro and Toki were waiting inside with the kakushi unit.
They had been watched all along.
He sat cross-legged, like a child on a carpet, running a finger along the rim of a porcelain cup. A smile played on his lips, but his eyes remained narrowed, attentive—like a cat before a leap.
A small circle of paper covered with red sigils trembled on the surface of the water inside the cup. A faint pulse flickered, fragile as a moth’s breath, then vanished. A trace of power. Subtle, elusive, yet not false. Alive.
“Ah, there it is,” he whispered with a smile, never lifting his eyes.
He rose and walked unhurriedly to the window. Night had spilled over the city, Tokyo drowned in lights, but he was interested only in one glow—the fleeting spark that had flared and gone out in the heart of Ueno Park.
“So the hunters really are hiding something…” His fingers brushed the glass. “But no secret can stay hidden from me forever. Soon… we’ll finally meet.”
The white walls of the infirmary smelled sharp and clean—antiseptic and cloth. Toki sat on the floor with her knees drawn to her chest. The trembling in her body had not yet left, as though remnants of that foreign magic still clung to her skin.
The door clicked. She lifted her head.
Muichiro stepped out from the treatment room—shirt and jacket loosely draped over his shoulders, chest and stomach wrapped in fresh bandages. Toki’s gaze dropped instantly. It hurt to see him like this.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he said suddenly. “It’s nothing. Just bandages.”
“I… I wasn’t—” she pressed herself tighter against the floor.
He lowered himself beside her, resting his head against the wall. For a few seconds, silence. Then:
“I felt your power.”
Toki’s eyes widened. He was staring straight ahead, voice calm, but tense.
“It was there,” he continued, “weak, but alive. At first I thought it was a trace of something foreign. But it was you.”
She nodded.
“Yes. But it fades quickly. I can’t hold it. It… comes on its own.”
Muichiro fell silent, fingers curling slowly against his knees.
“I fear someone may have noticed,” he said quietly. “Someone who mustn’t.”
Kyojuro’s warning echoed in his mind—that Toki must be protected, kept safe.
“You need to learn to control it,” he said at last, still not looking at her. “Otherwise they will find you.”
Toki listened in silence, eyes fixed on the floor. In the corner of her eye, something gleamed—not a tear, just a glint of light. She remembered Kyojuro’s words again. The Marks. Power. The cost.
“Muichiro…” her voice was fragile. “Do you know what Marks are?”
He nodded.
“Everyone seeks to awaken them,” he said, “Everyone who wants to grow stronger.”
“And what about you?”
He didn’t hesitate. He only nodded.
She hesitated, then whispered:
“But then… your life is in danger. The Marks shorten it.”
He met her gaze. Direct, without pity.
“Everything has a price.”
He said it so simply, so calmly. But Toki felt a sudden cold settle in her chest. The words spread through her like ripples beneath her skin. “Everything has a price.” He lived so close to that truth it was frightening.
She hugged her knees tighter. Cold… or maybe it only seemed that way.
Without a word, Muichiro slipped off his blazer and gently draped it over her shoulders. It was warm, carrying his scent—rain, something evergreen. He didn’t touch her, didn’t add another word. He just stayed beside her.
“Thank you, Muichiro… I will become stronger. I don’t want anyone to sacrifice themselves—their life, their time—for me. I promise…”
He said nothing, and in that silence, Toki heard his quiet support.
That night, Toki could hardly sleep. She pressed her face into the pillow, clutching Muichiro’s blazer close, her fingers gripping the fabric as if it were the only shield against the dark.
In her dream, she stood among spider lilies. An endless field—blue, mist-shrouded, barely visible. Petals quivered in a windless air, heavy and still. The lilies stretched to the horizon, and far away—almost at the edge of the world—stood a lone figure.
She walked toward it. Through tall grass, through flowers that felt alive. They opened and turned toward her, as if following her steps.
A chime rang through the sky—like a thousand tiny bells. The lilies swayed as if in farewell. From the mist, from a fracture between worlds, a dark silhouette tore free.
Toki woke, gasping for breath. The room was dark, a thin line of light seeping through the doorframe.
She wiped her face, feeling cold cling to her skin. Muichiro’s blazer lay beside her. Her fingers trembled, but she clutched the fabric tighter. In her head, the words echoed:
“Everything has a price...”
Chapter 12: Suspection
Summary:
After the heavy mission in Ueno everyone needs rest. But Kyojuro thinks otherwise—and it seems he has begun to suspect something.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
It had been only a short while since the battle in Ueno.
After everything that happened it felt as though Toki had exhaled—only to gasp again right after. The fear remained inside her, but along with it, something else had awakened: determination. From that day on, she trained desperately, refusing to be a burden.
The truth about the hunters’ Marks had opened her eyes: the world was far more complex and merciless than ordinary people could ever imagine. A fragile balance was held together by those willing to pay for it with their very lives. And now she understood—there was no turning back. She no longer belonged to that naïve world.
Something was growing within her. Power. Unfamiliar, yet inevitable.
She was running, lost in these thoughts, so absorbed that she almost missed Mitsuri’s whistle.
“Toki-chan! That’s enough for today!”
Toki stopped, leaning on her knees, breath heavy.
“It’s all so complicated…” flashed through her mind.
“Are you alright?” Mitsuri came closer.
“Yes, I’m fine. I was just… thinking,” Toki answered softly, straightening her shoulders.
“Mmm.” Mitsuri hummed thoughtfully, then turned at the sound of voices. “Looks like someone’s coming our way.”
Indeed, students of the Corps were approaching. Toki let out a short breath, straightened, and greeted them.
“Hello, everyone.”
Some walked past without a word, others gave her a nod in return. She sat down to rest, quietly watching them. Someone settled beside her on the bench—a young man with bright yellow hair.
“Agatsuma Zenitsu? I think that was his name…”
He looked a little nervous, but still managed to speak.
“I h-heard you were on that mission. Was it… scary?”
“Yes… it really was,” Toki admitted honestly.
He fell silent. His body seemed to relax slightly, tension fading. He sat more comfortably, then suddenly asked.
“You… also study at Tokyo University, right?”
Toki blinked in surprise. She had never seen him on campus.
“Yes, that’s right. I study the history of ancient civilizations. Why?”
“I go there too,” he nodded. “Same faculty as Tokito-dono. Though in different departments—he’s in fine arts, I’m in sculpture.”
Now she was even more surprised.
“Really? I’ve never seen you… And Muichiro never mentioned you.”
“Not surprising. I rarely show up there. After the last mission, I spent a long time recovering,” he sighed with quiet gloom.
“Well then, maybe we’ll meet there sometime,” Toki said with a polite smile.
The boy froze. His face suddenly lit up with pure joy. His eyes shut tight from excitement, and above his head—small sparks of lightning burst out.
“You… you actually want to see me more often?!”
“W-what?” Toki blinked, staring at the crackling air above him.
“A beautiful girl tells me she wants to see me more often!” His grin widened ridiculously. “Maybe we should start dating?!”
Toki barely heard his nonsense—something else caught her attention.
“You… you have lightning above your head,” she said, astonished at the sparks.
He flinched.
“What?! Again with the lightning?! I hate it so much! All I want is a quiet, peaceful life… a girlfriend! Love! But instead—demons, training, pain! It’s just a nightmare! Toki-san, you understand me, right?!”
Toki just blinked at him. He was very strange. Then again… almost everyone in the Corps was strange.
Suddenly, her phone vibrated. Ignoring Zenitsu’s wailing, she checked the message. It was from Muichiro.
We’ve been assigned a new mission. Come to my place after training. Here’s the address…
A faint unease stirred in her at his words, but she didn’t hesitate. She quickly showered, got ready, and set off toward the Mist Hashira’s residence. On the way, she stopped by a shop and bought rice balls for tea.
“Just in case—he might not have anything at home,” she thought.
Muichiro lived not far from Nakano Station, in a quiet residential area surrounded by a small park.
"What a charming place," Toki thought, hardly noticing how quickly she had arrived at the right house.
She stopped at the door, hesitating before reaching for the bell. For a moment she lingered, uncertain, then finally pressed it.
The door opened a little. Muichiro, sleepy and disheveled, yawned as he covered his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Hey,” he murmured. “Come in.”
He stepped further inside, leaving her at the entrance.
Toki entered cautiously.
The young man’s home was bright and comfortable, yet it held something she hadn’t expected. The living room table was covered in sketches. Some drawings were crumpled and tossed aside; pencils and erasers lay scattered everywhere. On the table sat an empty cup-noodle container. Another one rested on the floor.
“So this is what creative mess looks like?” Toki asked, surprised.
“I think better this way,” he muttered, already sinking down onto the couch. His hair was tousled from sleep, his T-shirt slightly wrinkled.
Toki walked around the room, noticing one particular sheet. A silhouette—elegant, almost ghostlike, with long hair—surrounded by lilies and figures from old legends.
“It’s beautiful,” she whispered.
Muichiro cracked one eye open but said nothing. He had drawn it that evening, but he offered no explanation.
She sat on the edge of an armchair. In that odd, careless silence, she suddenly felt at peace.
“How are you feeling? How’s your rib?” she asked, breaking the quiet.
“Fine. I feel better.”
Muichiro was never one for words—just as always.
“So… what’s waiting for us on the mission?” she asked again, her gaze flicking back to the sketch.
He leaned deeper into the sofa, closed his eyes, and replied:
“I haven’t eaten. I don’t want to talk about work.”
His gaze shifted to her, quietly studying. Toki’s hair was loose, catching the warm sunlight, carrying with it a faint, almost imperceptible scent—citrus and delicate flowers.
“O-oh… alright,” she said hesitantly, then added, “By the way, I bought rice balls for tea. If you’d like, we could have them?”
He lingered on her eyes before nodding.
She moved to the white kitchen counter and set the kettle on. By the window stood an easel: an unfinished nightscape, the thin curve of the moon painted against a brooding sky. Beautiful—and quietly unsettling.
Muichiro came closer.
“Can you grab the cups?” she asked.
He complied. Tea was brewed, rice balls were set out, and soon they sat across from one another, sharing a simple yet comforting breakfast.
When Muichiro went to get ready, Toki was left alone for a moment. He tied his hair into a low knot—the loose strands at his nape shimmered with turquoise, drawing the eye to his gaze of the same shade. His outfit was plain yet striking: a loose black T-shirt, a soft cardigan with turquoise patterns reminiscent of mist, black trousers that emphasized his tall frame and effortless movements, and understated boots completing the look—subtle, yet magnetic. Toki’s eyes lingered without her realizing. With his hair tied back, Muichiro looked almost unfamiliar. The turquoise strands near his neck deepened the color of his eyes, making them colder, sharper. Something in her chest tightened.
Soon after, a car pulled up outside. The kakushi rang the doorbell to let them know they were ready to drive Muichiro to his mission.
“So… what’s waiting for us?” Toki asked once more.
He met her eyes and gave a short reply:
“Nothing difficult. Just another assignment. There’s nothing for you to worry about.”
“I see… I understand.”
The car carried them swiftly to the assigned area. Today’s mission was to eliminate a demon on school grounds. Since children were involved, a Hashira was usually dispatched, though the demon turned out to be harmless—it hadn’t even injured anyone. Muichiro dealt with it quickly, entirely on his own. He never once suggested that Toki interfere. That, too, was a deliberate choice.
The mission was complete, the veil dispelled. They were finally free—free enough to allow themselves a whole day of rest.
A sudden ring broke the silence. Muichiro pulled his phone from his pocket and answered.
“Muichiro, I hope I’m not interrupting?” a cheerful voice came through. “Listen, I’d like to invite you over for dinner tonight. Senjuro’s cooking something special, and he really wanted you to join us.”
“I don’t mind, Rengoku-san,” Muichiro replied.
Kyojuro added warmly,
“By the way, I heard you were paired with Toki-chan on today’s mission. Come together. Things haven’t been easy for her lately—I’d like her to relax a little.”
Muichiro ended the call and glanced at the girl.
“Rengoku-san invited us for dinner. Will you come with me?”
“Y-yes,” she answered softly, a little flustered.
They soon arrived at Kyojuro’s home. Towering before them was a vast estate in the classical Japanese style: heavy beams, dark wood, finely carved walls, a garden with a fountain and a small pond where the trembling moon shimmered in reflection. At the heart of the courtyard burned a flame that the servants had tended for over a century—symbol of their clan’s magic, the heart of the Rengoku bloodline, a fire that had never been extinguished, even against the storms of time.
Toki caught her breath.
“It’s beautiful…” she whispered.
Muichiro only nodded.
“You made it quickly!” A bright, sunlit voice cut through the stillness. From the house emerged Kyojuro, radiating his usual cheer.
He himself had arrived not long ago, straight from his apartment where he preferred to work.
“Good evening, Rengoku-san,” the two of them greeted almost in unison.
Their synchronicity amused him—the corners of his mouth tugged into a good-natured smile. Tonight, Kyojuro looked different: instead of his uniform, he wore a simple black T-shirt and jeans that emphasized the strength of his shoulders, his fiery hair tied into a high knot with strands falling freely across his brow.
“Come, Senjuro has already finished cooking,” he said with a grin. “By the way, Muichiro, he remembers how much you like furofuki daikon. He made it especially for you.”
“Thank you,” Muichiro nodded curtly.
Inside, the house proved no less impressive. Everything breathed warmth: the soft glow of lanterns, the scent of wood, and the gentle aroma of soy sauce and ginger wafting from the kitchen.
At the entrance, they were met by the head of the household—Rengoku Shinjuro. His figure radiated strength, yet his shoulders carried the weight of years, bowed under an invisible burden. His gaze was piercing, stern.
“Good evening,” he said in a low voice, eyes lingering on Toki. “Muichiro, I heard you slew a Lower Moon. Congratulations.”
“Good evening,” Muichiro ignored the praise, responding with a dry nod.
“And you must be Amida Toki,” His voice was strict, almost uncomfortably attentive.
The girl hesitated, but answered nonetheless:
“Yes, that’s right. Good evening.”
An awkward pause lingered, until Kyojuro quickly broke it apart.
“Father, who welcomes guests with questions right at the door? Let’s go to the hall instead.”
Shinjuro gave a short nod, and the tension eased.
In the hall, they were greeted by Senjuro, his face lighting up with genuine joy.
“Muichiro! And… Amida-san?”
“Just Toki,” she smiled gently.
“Then, good evening, Toki-san!”
Dinner was already waiting on the table: fragrant rice, miso soup, grilled fish, pickled vegetables. A place of honor was given to the furofuki daikon, carefully served apart.
"He really is almost like part of their family," Toki thought warmly as her gaze shifted to Muichiro.
The dinner turned out exquisite. Senjuro had cooked everything himself, and each dish carried more than skill—it radiated kindness, the warmth of a home.
“Senjuro-kun, this is incredible!” Toki exclaimed, her eyes sparkling. “I could eat this every day!”
“Thank you, Toki-san,” the boy blushed, but his smile was bright with happiness.
Muichiro ate in silence. The taste of pickled radish stirred echoes of childhood within him, but, as always, the memory broke off midway. His gaze slid toward Toki. He caught every little movement: the way she laughed, the way she raised her chopsticks to her lips, the way her head tilted slightly when she listened. His eyes lingered on her, and in his heart, calmness slowly but inevitably began to bloom.
“Senjuro, did you know? Muichiro has entered university,” Kyojuro said, visibly excited. “And Toki-chan studies there too!”
“Really?” Senjuro’s eyes went wide. “Toki-san, what’s your major?”
“History. I study ancient civilizations.”
“Wow! I love reading about pyramids!”
“Seriously?” Toki laughed. “That’s my favorite topic too.”
“I want to go to university as well…” Senjuro breathed dreamily.
“Senjuro, you’d better learn to hold a sword,” Shinjurou muttered.
“Father…” Kyojuro sighed heavily. “Let him live as he wishes. Besides, he’s such a clever boy!”
Toki lowered her gaze. That fate—to be born into a family of slayers with no right to choose—felt painfully close to her own.
To break the silence, Kyojuro said brightly:
“Senjuro, did you know Muichiro plays shogi brilliantly?”
“Really, Tokito-san? I barely understand the rules.”
“Just move the pieces across the board,” Muichiro replied flatly.
Toki smiled inwardly.
"Yes, just like that… A game for true strategists. He really is a genius."
“Tokito-san, will you play with me sometime?” Senjuro asked hopefully.
Muichiro gave a simple nod.
Outside, darkness had already settled; the pines in the garden swayed in the wind. After dinner, tea was served with red bean paste mochi.
Later, when everyone had dispersed, Toki found herself next to Shinjuro. He was drinking tea, staring into the garden.
“You have a beautiful home,” she said.
“Thank you. My wife loved it… We only try to preserve it,” he replied with a hint of sorrow.
“I see…”
“Amida-san,” his gaze turned serious. “What is it like—to live under the constant control of the Hashira? I know you did not choose to become a tsuguko yourself. But even if you are cursed… I do not see danger in you. The organization, however, may think otherwise.”
“At first it was difficult,” she admitted. “But I’ve grown used to it. Muichiro… he is a good person, despite his strangeness.”
“He lived with us for a long time. My son became his mentor and tried to break through the chains of apathy and past pain. Until he came of age, Muichiro was almost part of our family,” Shinjuro said. “But children should not have to endure such cruelty from such an early age.”
“Would you want Senjuro-kun to become demon slayer too?” Toki asked softly.
“He’s no swordsman, but he is a Rengoku. One cannot escape duty. We do not choose our fate.” He stood and bowed. “Thank you for the conversation.”
On the veranda, Muichiro lay gazing up at the sky. The moonlight reflected in his eyes.
Toki approached and leaned slightly over him.
“May I sit with you?”
He looked at her.
“Do as you like… I don’t mind.”
She settled down beside him, and in the silence they shared the same sky. Muichiro kept lying down, but the stars now held less of his interest. He turned his gaze toward Toki—and noticed that she, too, loved that same sky. In that silence lay everything: closeness, acceptance, peace.
Soon after, Kyojuro stepped out.
“It’s already nine. I’m heading back—shall I give you a ride home? It’s on my way.”
After Kyojuro had driven Muichiro and Toki home, he returned to his own appartement. The door closed behind him with a quiet click, and the night seemed to fold shut, pressing him inward—into a silence that offered no relief.
He walked into his study. The lamp flickered with a wavering flame, painting unsteady shadows on the walls, like traces of someone else’s breath. Everything remained in its place: books, archives, neatly arranged folders. Only the air had changed—watchful, hollow, as if the house itself sensed it was time to lift the veil.
Kyojuro sat down at the desk, ran his palm across the cold surface, and pulled open the lower drawer. The creak of metal sounded almost like a warning. On the very top lay a folder with a gray cover, marked with a code.
The report on Toki’s first appearance.
He opened it. The first pages were dry phrases, standard formulations. Yet among them lay a sketch. Rough lines, as though the artist had not tried to capture appearance, but the feeling itself. A woman’s silhouette, surrounded by light.
Kyojuro leaned closer. In the margins, a note:
On the left shoulder—a glowing mark. Resembles a lily.
His heart gave a sudden jolt.
"Muichiro had spoken of her ability to heal… but it was not the healing of a doctor. It was something else—something inexplicable. A flower. A symbol. A power."
He turned the pages.
Not a single word about her gift. Not a single remark on what happened after the mission. Yet Muichiro insisted he had reported everything to the leader of the Demon Slayer Corps. Then why had nothing reached him, Kyojuro—the one leading the investigation? Why was he kept in the dark? He leaned back in his chair. The lamp’s cold gleam reflected in his eyes.
"Oyakata-sama… is hiding something."
Kyojuro rose, clutching the folder, and left the room. The house sank into a hollow silence, like a locked chamber.
“I need the archives,” he whispered.
The heavy door yielded with a long creak. The scent of dust and dried herbs met him, like the breath of memory itself. The archive—a place where the past did not die, but whispered in the half-light.
He walked between the shelves with steady steps, though inside him a troubled echo grew louder. Words circled in his mind: flower… power… the demons sought her…
At the shelf of ancient chronicles, his hand froze. Among the brittle scrolls, one stood out, fragile to the point of crumbling in his fingers.
On the parchment it read:
…Descendants of the Binding World. Those who tread between life and death. Their bodies are marked with symbols. Their blood heals. Their flower—the lily. Only they can reach what is called the Panacea—a substance that cures any curse, even nonexistence itself. But for this, the eternal price must be paid.
The page trembled in his hands.
A lily. A symbol. The spirit world. The Panacea…
Too much aligned. But why the silence? Why had no word of this ever been spoken at their gatherings? This was not secrecy for the sake of protection. It felt like a carefully hidden game.
Kyojuro clenched his fists.
"If she truly is the key… then to which door?"
At that time, in the HQ.
The laboratory drowned in silence, as if inside a crystal well. Only the flutter of a butterfly’s wing broke the stillness.
Shinobu leaned over the table. Her face had lost its color. Repeated tests left no doubt. She set the sheet aside and rose—her movements slow, almost viscous.
Some time later, she stood before Kagaya. He sat by the window, unmoving, as though carved from stone. The moonlight turned him into a phantom, a figure outside of time.
“It’s her...” Shinobu said, her voice was quieter than a rustle, “her blood… matches all the data. She belongs to that clan. There is no mistake.”
Kagaya did not stir. He only inclined his head slightly.
“I see. Interesting.”
His gaze shifted to her. His eyes were calm—too calm—like the surface of water, beneath which something always lurks.
“No one must know.”
Shinobu nodded silently.
Kagaya turned back to the window. The branches of wisteria stirred in the wind, and the curtain swayed open and still again, as if the world itself hesitated—whether to breathe in, or to hold its breath.
“So, I was right. She is the key,” he said quietly. “But even a key cannot be set into a lock, if the door is not yet ready to open.”
Notes:
Thank you for reading my fic! In the next chapter I’m finally planning to introduce our beloved Upper Moons 🌒 I hope everything goes as planned 🤞
Chapter 13: Night of the Moons
Summary:
The demons gather in Douma’s luxurious apartment to discuss their plans, while Muichiro learns that the students’ exams are drawing near. Soon, they will be forced to take on missions alone. A heavy unease settles in his chest. Toki was nowhere near ready for this. And beyond that… was such a trial even necessary?
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Night wrapped Tokyo but its darkness was not merely the absence of light—it was like a beast lying in wait. The city drowned in shadows, while neon lights scattered across glass facades, multiplying into a thousand colored reflections.
At the heart of Ginza among lavish restaurants and glittering boutiques, inside one of the district’s most expensive buildings, a spacious apartment became the meeting ground. Tonight those who shaped the world from the shadows had gathered there.
The Upper Moons—brothers by blood, the strongest of all demons.
At first silence ruled the room. Narrow windows stretched nearly to the floor, revealing the restless glow of the city outside. By the wall stood a short youth with pink hair, staring indifferently into the neon haze. Akaza. His cold gaze swept over the others.
“Only two missing,” he thought.
"And where are they? I’m sick of waiting!" snapped a beautiful girl with snow-white hair. She seemed like a goddess but her impatience flared brightly. "Brother! Why aren’t they here? We have things to do too!"
"Daki, calm down," her brother Gyutaro said.
A demon of peculiar shape—a pale, human-like figure crawling from a pot—joined in:
"Kokushibo always arrives when he pleases. But Douma… to invite us all here and then be late? That’s highly disrespectful."
"I will wait as long as it takes. Everything—for the Lord’s return," muttered a trembling voice. It was Hantengu, shaking in fear.
Only one stayed silent: Nakime. Sitting in the corner, she waited quietly for the owner of the apartment—and the one stronger than them all—to appear.
Suddenly the door burst open.
A demon in a golden suit entered, smiling as brightly as ever. His kaleidoscope eyes shimmered with a thousand colors. Carefree, he closed them like a cat full after a feast.
"Oh, forgive me, forgive me! I got a little distracted," he sang cheerfully, glancing around. "Business is such hard work… not that any of you would understand, of course… Well, except maybe Gyokko. You still selling junk? I hear no one wants your antique pots in a modern city."
"You’re insufferable, Douma!" Daki snapped. "You drive me insane!"
"Ah, Daki, still as beautiful… and still as foolish. Always consistent—that’s almost admirable!"
"What?! How dare you insult me! Brother! Gyutaro! Do something!"
Douma lifted his hands innocently, smiling sweetly.
"Gyutaro! He hurt your sister! Defend me!" Daki whined, clinging to her brother.
"Enough, Daki! That’s not why we’re here."
The air grew heavy.
At last the final presence entered. Kokushibo. Silent, towering, a statue of cold power. Six eyes, staring through time itself. Long black cloak, hands always gloved in leather, hair pulled into a strict tail. He greeted no one—just stood by the wall, arms crossed, his aura suffocating.
Now they were all gathered.
"At last! Everyone’s here!" Douma sprawled lazily on the luxurious sofa in the center. "So, how are you all? Anything new?"
Akaza’s voice cut through. His eyes locked onto him.
"We’re not here for your games, Douma."
"Oh, little Akaza! So impatient. I’m at my own home—I have every right to ask my dear siblings how their immortal lives are going," Douma replied slyly.
"You haven’t been killed in far too long," Akaza muttered.
"Ah, how rude!" Douma clapped his hands in mock offense. "And I was so happy to see everyone…"
Rolling his eyes, Akaza pressed on.
"He’s gone," he said, folding his arms. "Our scout, the only one attuned enough to sense what even we cannot… vanished. As if he fell off the earth. Time is slipping away. The Lord must awaken, and to do that—we need the key. We can’t afford delays."
"I wouldn’t say he vanished," Douma said idly. "He was… removed. Perhaps he met someone special. Talented. Maybe another Hashira with uncanny intuition. What do you think, friends?"
He lingered on the word friends, hiding a smirk.
"Someone who could see her," whispered Hantengu, eyes to the floor. "Someone who…"
Kokushibo’s six eyes turned toward Douma. Akaza stiffened—sensing Douma was holding something back.
"Douma," Akaza growled, "you know more than you’re saying. Don’t you? We know each other too well. You, the informant, the one who always knows everything. You’re aware of what happened, aren’t you?"
"Oh, stop it. I was just speculating. Sharp intuition—that’s all. I enjoy watching people. It’s fascinating."
"Enough! Stop talking in circles!" Akaza’s temper flared. Hatred for Douma burned in him, threatening to break loose. "Speak plainly!"
Douma spread his arms.
"I didn’t see anything. But I heard whispers. Our “unique” scout was killed during a simple patrol. By hunters. Such pitiful losses."
"Hunters, then… I see," Akaza muttered.
"But have you considered," Douma continued smoothly, inspecting his claws, "that he may have found what we’re looking for? Perhaps the very person with the power to awaken our Lord. Maybe on patrol. Maybe just some random passerby. Either way, I’m certain that person is in the Corps headquarters now. And of course they’ll hide them from us at any cost. They’re not fools."
"At headquarters?! You know who it is?!" Akaza slammed his fist against the wall.
The others remained silent, listening.
"Nope," Douma said lazily. "Reports like that don’t just leak. If I knew, I’d have acted already. Unlike you lot, stuck with your outdated methods. Honestly, you’re so old-fashioned and useless."
He smiled sweetly.
"Bastard!" Daki screamed, held back by her brother. "Tell us what you know!"
Douma sighed.
"Come now, think for yourselves. A gift like that could only belong to someone… exceptional. And how many of those do they have, hm? A handful at best. Hashira? No, too obvious. Kakushi, ordinary hunters? Useless. That leaves seal masters, barrier keepers… and students. Still a broad pool, but workable. You never use your brains. Or maybe with age you’ve lost them entirely? Kokushibo, back me up. You understand, don’t you?” He smirked at the six-eyed demon, then at Akaza. — “Draw your own conclusions, little Akaza.”
The nickname made Akaza’s blood boil. He nearly struck, but then felt the atmosphere shift.
Kokushibo rose, and without a word, left the hall. The others exchanged glances.
"Boring, and always keeping to himself," Douma chuckled. "He doesn’t like games. But me—I adore them."
"Enough!" Akaza burst out. " We will act. Rui will monitor headquarters. His spiders are nearly invisible. We’ll soon know the truth."
"If someone holds the power to awaken the Lord… we will find them," whispered Hantengu.
The space trembled. One by one, the demons vanished.
When the last of them was gone, the apartment lay silent. Only its master remained. Neon lights shimmered across his pale golden hair, reflected in the wide glass panes, scattering across the walls. Douma walked slowly to a massive mirror, where the city’s glow pulsed like a restless lake.
"How fascinating…" he murmured with a sly smile. "Everything is fascinating. Who will you be, little spark? Though I already have my guess… telling them all would be boring. Let them play a while. Chaos is such a delightful game. And until then… I’ll rest."
Toki sat in the training hall beside Muichiro. He tried to teach her, but soon realized it was hopeless.
“Damn it…” she muttered, sinking to her knees and leaning back against the wall. “This is hopeless…”
Muichiro nodded silently.
“You don’t have the strength for that...” he confirmed in a flat tone.
Toki looked at him, her eyes shimmering with the threat of tears, and exhaled heavily.
“So… what are we supposed to do now?”
He tilted his head slightly, thoughtful, then stood and said simply:
“Come.”
She gave him a puzzled look but knowing him, didn’t ask questions and followed in silence.
They walked toward one of the most secluded corners of the headquarters — a distant shrine where almost no one ever went. Toki unconsciously slowed her steps. The air here was truly still, peaceful. The silence didn’t suffocate but wrapped around her, like a veil. And then — cats.
There were many of them. They wandered along the steps, perched on ledges, watching the two visitors.
“And what is this place?” she asked suspiciously.
“Himejima Gyomei often spends time here. The Stone Hashira,” Muichiro replied, as if that explained everything.
“Uh-huh…” she murmured. “And?..”
“You have magical energy, but channeling it into a blade is nearly impossible. And even if you succeed… you still won’t be able to cut off a demon’s head. You’re physically too weak.”
She sighed. It was hard not to agree with that.
“And Himejima-san could help me?”
“I don’t know,” Muichiro admitted, which made her glance at him in surprise. “He trains those who use seals and barriers. I thought… maybe that would suit you.”
“You don’t know how to?”
“I do. But I rarely use them, and I doubt I could explain it to you.”
“As always,” Toki thought with wry fondness, and couldn’t help but smile.
When they stepped inside, the silence embraced her at once. The atmosphere felt almost sacred. Cats padded soundlessly across the hall.
“How strange…” she thought. “And yet… how endearing. He keeps cats…”
“Good afternoon, Tokito-san. Amida-san,” greeted a man of towering height, his voice deep yet astonishingly gentle.
“Hello, Himejima-san,” Muichiro answered, without even looking at Toki.
The girl hastily bowed — and then noticed. He was blind. Completely. The realization struck her.
Gyomei stepped closer.
“Tokito-san, why did you bring your tsuguko?”
“I thought you could explain to her how to use seals,” Muichiro said calmly.
Gyomei gave a short nod and turned toward Toki. He looked at her with such piercing attention it felt as though his gaze went straight into her soul. Uneasy, she gripped the hem of her skirt.
“Amida-san. Judging by the flow of energy within you, you truly are capable of channeling it into seals. I will show you how.”
He guided her to sit on the tatami. The room was quiet, broken only by the cats’ purring and the soft rustle of fabric with each movement.
“Amida-san,” he began, gentle but unwavering. “You fear the dark. But within you is light. The magic you hold is not for destruction, but for protection. Seals are an ancient form of control. They bind, they lock, they purify. They shield. At times, they can strike back — but rarely against powerful demons.”
Toki listened, not fully understanding.
“Look,” he set a paper slip inscribed with signs before her. “You’re not a swordswoman. But you can immobilize a demon until your partner severs its head. You can close a passage, prevent escape. Or create a barrier to protect the wounded.”
She nodded. Her heart beat dully, as though answering something vital. He picked up an old scroll and unrolled it. Symbols rippled across it, like water rings.
“Try. Place your palms here. Breathe evenly. Don’t think. Just feel.”
Toki placed her hands on the scroll. Inside her, everything wavered — fear that she would fail gnawed at her. But then — a quiet pulse.
It was as if her own energy stirred and touched the paper. One of the circles glowed, as though alive with light. Yet the sensation was different from the healing magic she knew.
“What is that?..” she whispered.
“That is your power,” Gyomei answered gently.
She inhaled, focused. Her fingers trembled. Another circle lit up, the pattern began to shift. The seal awakened. She felt it — her power could truly take form.
Muichiro watched intently. He, too, sensed the difference in her energy, and felt a muted relief that Toki had managed to channel her magic into a seal.
Gyomei smiled and pressed his hands together in prayer.
“Seals fall into three types,” he said, his voice low, almost like a chant. “First, the protective. Against demons, they are like dawn — slow, inevitable. Being near them is painful. They cannot easily break through.”
He touched the floor beside the symbol.
“The second type — binding. They are a trap. In battle, they buy time.”
He drew his hand, and another symbol glowed on the stone — intricate, full of crossings.
“And the last — offensive. They are will, forged into a mark.”
A little apart, leaning against the wall, Muichiro stood in silence. His gaze — detached, almost absent — followed her every move. Gyomei’s words echoed like fragments of an ancient ritual.
Muichiro remembered his own first lesson with seals. He had felt nothing then, had destroyed them with his energy, which had only drawn a kind smile from the Stone Hashira. He had never believed his strength lay in symbols. His only faith was in the sword. But she listened as if hearing music.
As if the seals were already within her. As though some part of her had always known them, long before her hands learned the patterns. He tilted his head, eyes falling on her hands — thin fingers trembling with emotion. Not from fear — but from the weight of meaning.
“If she learns to use them, she can protect herself.”
The thought should have comforted him. Yet by some strange logic of the heart, it only deepened his unease.
Toki succeeded in channeling energy into all three seals. It was a small victory — but her own.
“I think I did it,” she said with a bright smile. Gyomei nodded and raised his hand in prayer before his face.
Then he turned quietly to Muichiro.
“Tokito-san, are you aware that the students’ exam is soon? They will be sent on a mission alone.”
Muichiro tensed. He hadn’t known. Or rather, he had half-listened when Iguro mentioned it — Iguro had always seemed too much of a bore to him.
Toki glanced between them, startled. Muichiro looked grim. He, too, was troubled.
Some time had passed.
Nighttime Tokyo. Somewhere in the heart of the city stood a club where everything and everyone seemed to blur together. Thunderous music, blinding flashes of light, shadows and restless bodies—a Babylon, a modern Babylon. The very center of 21st-century sin. People vanished here, forgotten by the world, as if erased from existence.
Through the main entrance walked its master. Douma. Primordial Demon. Upper Moon.
As dazzling as ever—designer suit, a smile painted on his lips, the trail of expensive cologne. A light hum under his breath.
A call rang.
“Oh, little Akaza! It’s been so long since you last called. Missed me? What’s that? More marechi blood, to keep our Lord’s body from falling apart? Got it, got it. But why so gloomy, hmm? Find yourself a woman, have some fun! How many times must I tell you—you’re only weak when you… Hm. Hung up. Well, never mind!”
He strolled easily through the club, exchanging greetings, drawing both admiration and fear with every glance.
Until suddenly—his gaze caught. A young girl, sitting alone at the bar.
He approached.
“I don’t like seeing beautiful girls so sad in my club. It’s like a knife to the heart.”
“Oh, sorry… I was just bored. Came here to dance, that’s all. Are you the owner?”
“Yes. And if you came to dance…” He extended a hand with a dazzling smile. “Would you join me?”
She was enchanted. He seemed perfect—handsome, wealthy, confident. And those eyes… a kaleidoscope in which reason drowned. He already knew everything about her. Leaning closer, skin against skin, he whispered at her ear:
“It’s far too loud here. Why don’t we slip away… somewhere quieter, just the two of us?”
“Yes…”
Of course she couldn’t refuse. He led her by the hand, gentle yet firm. His lips curved into a predatory smile.
Once in the room, he was upon her—kisses, caresses, pulling away her clothes. She was on the edge—she wanted him. And he wanted her, but in his own way. His hand closed around her throat. Her body went limp.
“I like you better this way,” he said sweetly, sinking his fangs into her neck.
Her blood was hot.
Then—a call.
“Ah… Sorry, darling. I need to step away for a minute. I’ll be right back.”
He wiped his lips, waved a hand, and vanished into the next room—a spacious, shadow-filled hall.
Someone was already waiting.
Rui. A small demon, face of a child, but eyes older than a century. He had gone personally to each of the Upper Moons.
“I learned something,” Rui whispered, voice barely more than breath. “The students’ exam. They’ll be sent out alone. Real missions.”
Douma’s smile widened.
“How… delightful.”
“This is our chance,” Rui added.
“Then we won’t waste it, will we? …Exams, you say? How delightful. What a perfectly convenient little day for a party.”
Notes:
Douma, Douma… I’ve realized I really enjoy writing him. His dialogues, his sarcasm...he’s pure charisma 😈
In the next chapter comes the exam. The organization seems to have everything under control. But… will everything truly be all right?
Chapter 14: The Exam
Summary:
The day of the exam has come—and with it, something the Demon Slayers never expected.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The day of the exam had come.
The hunters gathered all the students at the headquarters’ main building. All the Hashira were present. Muichiro stood off to the side, leaning against the wall, his eyes fixed on Toki. The girl was nervous. For the past two weeks she had been training, learning to use magic seals. And truth be told, she was doing well. Himejima often praised her, telling her she had a natural talent for that kind of mystical energy.
But Muichiro was not reassured. He didn’t put much faith in seals. He knew they could protect her from weaker demons, but someone far stronger was hunting her — and that thought gnawed at him. Even more troubling was the fact that she would have to remain alone for a long while — without him.
Kyojuro, too, was lost in thought.
“I understand the exam is a necessary step on the path of a hunter. But as far as I know, Toki-chan only joined headquarters so she could be kept under supervision and control. Why is she participating in this? Did the organization see some use for her? Do they want to exploit her powers?.. Oyakata-sama must have read about her abilities in Muichiro’s report. Even so — it feels strange.”
Iguro Obanai spoke first.
“Today you will receive your first assignment without our supervision. You’ll divide into groups and head into different parts of the city, where surges of demonic energy were reported. The demons should not be strong, so your abilities ought to be sufficient to banish them. You may use whatever you wish — magic, seals, spells, swords — the choice is yours.”
He went on to explain the details of the mission. Then the students began to split into groups.
Aoi cast Toki a displeased look.
“What is she even doing here? Stupid cursed girl…”
Suddenly, Inosuke shouted.
“I’ll go alone! I don’t need help — I can handle it myself!”
Tengen strode up and smacked him on the head.
“Inosuke! Stop showing off… Although—” He glanced over the groups and noticed there were more students than pairs. “Fine, go alone. I don’t mind. Better than sending the girls by themselves, right?” He raised a finger and flashed a dazzling smile.
“Toki-san, let’s go together,” Tanjiro asked the girl.
He knew she relied on seals, and decided to accompany her, since it would be difficult for her to face demons on her own. The others’ attitude toward her was still far from welcoming.
“Ah, yes… Let’s. Thank you so much, Tanjiro-kun,” she replied softly. His kindness moved her.
From the sidelines, Muichiro watched. Something about the situation unsettled him.
The groups finally formed: Tanjiro with Toki, Inosuke on his own as he wished, Zenitsu with Genya, and Aoi with Kanao.
Everyone was ready. Iguro gave the command.
“Begin.”
The students filed into cars that would take them to different districts of the city.
Muichiro walked up to the car Toki was entering. She looked uneasy, clutching her seals tightly. His turquoise eyes met hers.
“Toki, be careful.”
She lifted her gaze — and in that fleeting moment, she caught something unusual. As though a crack had appeared in the ice of his expression.
“…Alright.”
Tanjiro bowed respectfully to Muichiro.
“I’ll stay close to Toki-san. I’ll make sure to help her.”
Muichiro only gave him a cold glance, saying nothing. The car sped away with her inside.
He remained behind, as the Hashira were instructed to. Their duty was to wait until the cars delivered the students to their hunting grounds, then observe from afar. The rule was meant to ensure the students did not rely on them — yet still remained under their protection. It was the first time such a method was used.
Kyojuro approached him.
“Let’s take a walk in the garden. There’s something we should talk about.”
Muichiro nodded. One last time, he cast his eyes toward the departing car — and then followed.
“Muichiro,” Kyojuro began once they were alone among the trees. “Lately, I’ve felt… something heavy in my heart. A kind of unease. Perhaps it’s just age speaking — I’m not certain. But it feels as though something dreadful is happening. Something we don’t even realize we’re already caught in.”
Muichiro looked at his former mentor.
“What do you mean, Rengoku-san?”
“I don’t know yet. But when I do — I’ll tell you. For now… Protect Toki-chan. Even if it means protecting her from ourselves.”
He left with those words, a trail of unease and mystery hanging in the garden air.
The vaulted ceilings of the underground hall were draped in black velvet. The air smelled of iron and incense.
They had gathered there: the Upper Moons.
Rui knelt in a circle of light cast by an antique lamp. His voice was calm, yet tinged with unease.
“Among the students, there is someone they are protecting. Through my spiders I sensed far too much security. Barriers have been placed not only around headquarters, but also over the examination grounds. Even the Hashira are watching closely, as if they fear they cannot handle it.”
From the shadows, Akaza emerged, his eyes burning like twin embers.
“Enough of watching. Enough of guessing. We will draw their attention away. I will strike near the headquarters. You will observe closely. Remember, our goal is not to slaughter them — not yet. Our goal is to discover who they are hiding. And if we do move… we must capture her or him. Let them believe the target is their precious Demon Slayer Corps headquarters. Meanwhile, the students will be left unguarded.”
“In chaos, everything becomes clear,” sang Douma as he appeared beside them. “True nature reveals itself when order collapses. We shall see who she is. Or what she is.”
Somewhere deep within the hall, behind the pillars, Kokushibo stood. He seemed to melt into the darkness itself — black cloak, black hair, black suit. He said nothing. But his gaze was intent, unwavering.
It was close to midnight. To better test the students’ abilities, headquarters had decided their assignments would take place at night — when demons were most active.
The car carrying Toki and Tanjiro stopped in the eastern district of Tokyo, near Asakusa Station.
Asakusa was a crossroad of past and present. Beneath its ancient arches ran not just the trains, but the very breath of history itself. By day, crowds of tourists and passersby filled the streets; but at night, the bustle shifted into something uneasy. Shadows stretched longer, and the city’s rhythm faltered into a hushed, foreboding beat.
That night, the historic district was sealed off by the Corps. To the public, it was explained away as an “unexpected accident” — urgent pipeline repairs. But Toki knew the truth. Evil itself lingered here.
“Something doesn’t feel right…” she thought, clenching her fists.
Tanjiro noticed and spoke gently.
“It’ll be alright.”
The Corps’ car — sleek, black, its windows tinted — glided to a halt at the station entrance. The door opened softly. Toki stepped out first, clad in the dark, severe uniform of a hunter. Tanjiro followed, his own attire just as black.
“Good luck,” the driver said before speeding away.
“It feels like everything’s holding its breath here…” murmured Tanjiro.
Toki listened. Indeed—the silence was too thick, almost suffocating. The air itself carried a faint metallic tang.
“Something’s not right,” she whispered.
Before them spread Asakusa Station: the old temple, the crimson torii gates. Between them shimmered an unseen tension. The hunters’ barriers pulsed faintly within the fabric of space, sealing the district, trapping demons inside.
Tanjiro drew his sword, his voice steady but gentle.
“We’ll be fine. Let’s start searching.”
Toki nodded.
The streets greeted them with an unsettling emptiness.
They wandered for a long time through narrow alleys lit by neon, through ancient temples where the wind whispered forgotten prayers across empty corridors. They swept their flashlights across carved wooden beams, then stepped out again into abandoned souvenir stalls and wide stone squares where tourists once gathered.
Now, the streets were empty. The public had been evacuated under the excuse of a gas leak. Deep below, the subway hummed like an underground heart—yet no trains arrived. The stillness was too heavy, too oppressive.
“Strange,” Toki muttered. “Hours already, and not even a weak demon.”
“They can feel us. They’re just not showing themselves,” Tanjiro frowned, tightening his grip on the blade. “And yet… someone is watching.”
Time stretched, slow and viscous. At exactly two o’clock, something shifted.
The air rippled—like water when a stone is cast into it.
“What is that?” Tanjiro raised his head.
From the alley ahead, a figure slid out—woven from the night itself. A demon. Gaunt as a dried husk, skin ashen, eyes sharp as a bat’s.
“So, here you are,” it hissed, stretching its neck unnaturally long. Its voice grated like rusted iron. “Sending children to do your work? A delightful supper awaits me.”
It laughed—and from its mouth poured a cloud of thick black smoke, as if ink had spilled across the air. The haze devoured the street, choking the lamplight.
“Blindness sorcery!” Tanjiro shouted. “Stay alert!”
But it was already too late. The world vanished into viscous fog. Sound dulled, muffled, as though they stood underwater.
Tanjiro lunged blindly, tracing movement by faint echoes—but the demon’s claws struck first. A cry, blood, a fall.
Toki was alone.
Through the dark she caught fragments—the clang of steel, Tanjiro’s ragged groan. Gritting her teeth, she stumbled toward the noise, fumbling for her seals, forcing panic aside.
She dropped to her knees. Her fingers trembled like compass needles in a storm. She pressed energy into one seal—the last she had trained with. An offensive one.
A flash burst forth, searing through the haze. Light ripped the night apart, exposing the demon’s silhouette. It shrieked, recoiling, clawing at its face.
“Now!” Toki shouted.
Barely standing, Tanjiro surged forward. His sword gleamed in the radiance of her spell—and in one clean stroke, severed the demon’s head.
Silence fell. The head rolled across the cobblestones, disintegrating into black dust. The body crumbled soon after, leaving only the faint scent of ash.
“We did it,” the young man said, raising his hand with a weary smile. “Thank you, Toki-san.”
“Think nothing of it, partner.” She nodded and returned his high-five.
But then Tanjiro glanced around, unease flickering across his face.
“What is it?” Toki asked softly.
“The barrier hasn’t faded,” he replied. “Normally, it lifts the moment a demon is destroyed.”
“Then that means…” Toki’s voice tightened.
“There’s someone else.”
The darkness lingered over the street—thick, listening, almost sentient.
Toki rose slowly, clutching her seal.
Blood slid down Tanjiro’s arm as he strained to peer deeper into the night.
“Stay sharp, Toki-san,” he rasped.
He never finished the thought.
Somewhere beyond the buildings, a door creaked—or something like it. A low hum rippled through the air, like the breath of something vast.
Toki stepped closer to him.
“This feeling… it’s worse than before,” she whispered. “Like we’re being watched. By someone… different.”
“I feel it too,” Tanjiro said quietly.
Their breaths mingled with the dark. Then—footsteps. Quick. Certain.
From the empty alley to their left, a figure emerged. Slender, straight, as though carved from the mist.
“…Muichiro?” she gasped, recognizing him.
He approached silently, scanning the shadows with cold precision.
“Don’t leave my side,” he said at last, voice low, firm. “We’re not alone here.”
Everything was unfolding according to plan.
The demons scattered, each chasing its prey in five directions. Only one of them set course for the headquarters.
“It’s been a long time since I’ve had a proper fight,” Akaza said with a faint smile. “I suppose it’s time I pay the hunters a visit. Wouldn’t do to be late.”
01:00 A.M.
The moment the vehicles carrying the students crossed the barriers and the wards began their work, the headquarters shook with a hollow roar. The guardian seals shuddered—then snapped, one after another, like breaking strings.
“Attack!” someone shouted.
From the sky, demons descended. More than a hundred—of every rank and level. One burst straight into the main hall. Several hunters fell at once, the rest fighting tooth and nail.
“How dull,” Akaza murmured, glancing around. “Is there truly no worthy opponent here?”
Only three remained at their posts.
On the northern side stood Iguro. He had been observing the students’ progress from afar, reading the reports transmitted through a special device the kakushi used. Then—suddenly—an oppressive surge of demonic energy spilled down the staircase. He drew his blade. The small white serpent at his neck pressed tightly against his skin.
“It’s alright, Kaburamaru. Don’t be afraid. I won’t need you for this.”
Hundreds of demons surged toward him, and Iguro leapt to meet them.
At the southern edge remained Mitsuri Kanroji.
Like her late mentor, Rengoku Kyojuro, she carried a special flame-like energy in her blood. That was why she had stayed in the headquarters: her strength could be unleashed at range, guarding the perimeter in case of an assault.
She sat on a bench, idly swinging her legs.
“I wonder how the others are doing? I hope they’re safe… though, they’re such good kids,” she murmured with a smile.
Suddenly, the ground vibrated with a crushing aura. Mitsuri froze. Her eyes widened; a spark of fear flickered in her pupils.
“Why are they attacking…?” she whispered, drawing her whip-like blade.
The instant she saw the horde swarming toward the compound, she shifted into battle stance.
“Well then, I won’t let you through! You won’t ruin our exam! The flames of love will burn you all away!”
She hurled herself into the mob. Her blade cracked and lashed, and demon heads vanished in bursts of searing pink fire.
03:00 A.M.
At the heart of the headquarters, only the wind remained—until footsteps echoed from the dark.
Akaza emerged.
Rengoku Kyojuro stood at the stairway, shoulders taut, hand gripping the hilt of his sword. He had just cut down another demon, and now his eyes fixed on the true enemy.
“A rotten system,” Akaza said coldly. “A degenerate tradition. You train children to die for a fabricated duty. For centuries you’ve repeated this cycle. And you dare to call us evil?”
“I think about it myself, often,” Kyojuro answered, steady and calm. “Time spares no one. But as long as you exist, the sacrifices will never lessen. Now tell me—why are you here?”
The fire in his gaze sharpened.
“Rengoku Kyojuro, Flame Hashira. Your family has carried this name for what—over a hundred, perhaps two hundred years? How many of your clan have we slain?”
“That means nothing. Each one fell protecting life, however fragile.” His voice rang with steel. “Answer me, Akaza!”
A predator’s smile cut across the demon’s face.
“So, you do know me.” His pupils thinned. “And the one you protect… they’re not just another student, are they?”
Kyojuro said nothing. Only the blaze in his eyes flared brighter.
“No need to answer. Your silence is enough.”
Kyojuro stepped forward.
“I will not let you leave alive, Upper Moon—Akaza!”
His skin lit with marks, fire surged through his veins. His blade ignited like a miniature sun, pouring light across the ruins. He vanished from sight—reappeared an instant later, already at Akaza’s side.
“You are serious,” the demon remarked, raising his fists.
“Rising Scorching Sun!”
The blade arced upward, trailing a blazing circle. Fire engulfed the demon, burning deep into his flesh.
"This flame… it’s like the sun itself. Dangerous. Too dangerous. My regeneration… it’s slowing," Akaza thought, leaping back.
But Kyojuro pressed forward.
“Flame Tiger!”
He slipped into the demon’s blind spot, slashing horizontally, nearly cleaving Akaza’s torso in two. But the demon caught the blade in his hand, losing several fingers in the process.
"I have to kill him. Even if it costs me my life. They came for her… they’ll soon realize the truth!" Kyojuro thought, forcing the marks deeper into his flesh. His speed multiplied again.
Akaza’s playful stance broke. He sprang into the air.
“Disorder!”
Blows rained down, shattering stone, opening a crater beneath them. Kyojuro barely rolled aside—then lunged once more, his strikes relentless.
Flames clung to Akaza’s body, slowing his regeneration, forcing him to struggle for each limb.
“Sooner or later, your body will fail! I’ll burn you down with the flames of my soul! Blazing Universe!”
His sword tore upward from ribs to throat, severing an arm and nearly cleaving Akaza’s neck.
"One more strike—!"
“Blazing Universe!”
Kyojuro raised his blade for the final blow—
"Leave, Akaza. Dawn is near. We will find the target another night," a woman’s voice whispered inside the demon’s mind.
In the blink of an eye, Akaza vanished.
“Where are you going?!” Kyojuro roared, unleashing his blade. “Blazing Universe!”
But the demon had already turned his escape into an opening. His fist slammed into Kyojuro, who twisted just enough to avoid death—yet blood burst into his eye.
“A fine duel… but my time is up. Farewell, Rengoku Kyojuro.”
“Stop!”
Too late. The demon melted into shadow and was gone.
Kyojuro pressed a hand to his face. Blood trickled down his cheek.
Could it be… they’ve discovered something? Toki… are you safe?
Elsewhere, atop the roofs of the sleeping city, Douma laughed—like a child seeing something amusing for the first time.
“What a day! What a spectacle!” he squealed. “At last—entertainment! The world without Muzan was so dull, but now—intrigue, fear, hidden potential…”
He calmed, slightly, only to whisper again.
“How long before these fools put the pieces together? And how long before she reveals herself? Will she collapse in hopeless tears? Or ignite in furious rage? Either outcome suits me perfectly.”
And then the barriers dissolved. The seals shattered. The screams quieted. The demons withdrew. Suddenly. Abruptly. As though distracted—or as though they understood their true target was not here. They left behind only silence. Ash. Blood. Shattered blades.
The hunters stood in the wreckage of their own stronghold—some clutching wounds, some desperately pressing on fallen comrades. Several bodies lay still, beyond saving.
In the dust-filled hush, someone whispered.
“They… were looking for someone. But they didn’t find them.”
And that truth was worse than victory. Worse than defeat. It was the herald of something far more terrifying.
Watching from afar, Kokushibo remained still. His eyes saw everything. He lifted his gaze toward the sky, wordless, as darkness thickened around him.
Toki was watching Muichiro.
“Muichiro? Did something happen?”
He silently approached them, scanning the space around.
“Don’t move a step away from me. We’re not alone here.”
“Tokito-dono, is someone watching us?”
Muichiro nodded. It was around three in the morning. They were heading toward the edge of the barrier—when suddenly, it vanished.
“How strange,” Tanjiro muttered. “It’s gone…”
Every nerve in Muichiro’s body screamed: something terrible had just happened. He waited until Tanjiro walked a bit ahead and then quietly asked Toki.
“Your power… it hasn’t surfaced, has it?”
She looked at him.
“It tried to. But I stopped it. Thanks to the seals I’ve learned to control.”
The young man exhaled in relief—then felt his pocket vibrate.
“The exam is over. Muichiro, return to headquarters,” said Kyojuro before hanging up.
When they returned, Toki’s steps slowed. The car stopped right at the entrance to the headquarters, and she stepped out into a near-silent stillness. The scent of burning stung her nose. Dust hung in the air like smoke after fireworks. Only this wasn’t a festival. It was more like a funeral.
She saw the remains of broken buildings. Slayers with bandaged shoulders. Shattered seals. Her heart clenched.
“What happened here?” she asked.
“Tokito-dono!”—a huntress rushed over. “Are you all right?” Seeing his nod, she sighed in relief. “Thank God, the other students are safe as well. It seems the demons who broke in were searching for something—or someone. They left as soon as the first rays of sunlight appeared.”
Kyojuro approached them. One of his eyes was covered in bandages soaked through with blood.
Toki realized he had fought someone dangerous. She realized he had used the Mark again. His face was deeply exhausted, his hands trembling. She had never seen him so weak.
He looked at the Mist Hashira and asked.
“Is everything… all right?”
The young man understood immediately what his former mentor meant. He was asking about Toki’s power. Muichiro gave a slight nod, assuring him that she had held it back—that the demons hadn’t sensed her.
"This was because of me," Toki realized with a sudden chill.
The demons could have been searching only for her. After all, it had already happened once before. Her eyes grew hollow. Her hands trembled. Her knees gave way. For a moment—she was once again a child, afraid of the dark, hearing the breath of horror itself.
“Toki.”
His voice pulled her out of the suffocating haze. Muichiro. He stood close by, not touching, yet creating a space where she could breathe. She lowered her head.
Slayers were bustling all over the grounds. The damage was not catastrophic, but there had still been casualties. Students returned from their assignments—horrified by what they saw.
Toki remained near her mentor. Muichiro stayed beside her.
“Come. You need to rest.”
She agreed—quietly, without unnecessary words. He led her to her room. They were alone. Only the silence rang in their eardrums, like a muffled scream.
“I…” the girl whispered. “If not for me, it would have been different… It’s all my fault…”
Muichiro’s eyes widened. Something stirred in his chest.
He didn’t hug her. He wanted to—but didn’t allow himself. Some last fear, some forbidden line still held him back. But he stood with her. His voice steady, restrained as always.
“It’s not your fault.”
She didn’t answer. Only gripped the fold of her uniform sleeve tighter.
“But if it weren’t for me… They wouldn’t have come… They’re after me… They destroy because of me… They take lives…”
Tears streamed down her cheeks, her teeth clenched.
“Even if they’re after you…” Muichiro’s gaze didn’t waver. “It’s not your fault. You are you, Toki. In what’s happening, there is no blame on you. Don’t carry the entire weight of this world alone.”
“If I didn’t exist… If I just disappeared…”
Something inside Muichiro stirred again. He guessed what she meant.
“Then I wouldn’t be able to bear it.”
He didn’t often speak this way. Not restrained. Not cold. Not detached. Toki lifted her tear-stained emerald eyes to him—and wept even harder, hearing those words.
And it warmed her more than any touch ever could.
Muichiro sat with her until she fell asleep. He left the night lamp on and went to the men’s quarters.
Tonight, he remained at headquarters. He couldn’t sleep for a long time. But eventually—he did. And found himself in a yellow forest.
The ginkgo branches swayed overhead, leaves swirling in a golden dance. It was quiet. And strangely warm. Muichiro walked, feeling the spring of the ground beneath his feet. He walked—until suddenly, he stopped. He was standing before himself. Only… not quite himself.
“You’re still the same fool, Muichiro,” said the reflection with a faint smirk. “But you know what… I take back what I once said. ‘Mu’ doesn’t mean ‘useless.’ It means ‘infinity.’”
The reflection caught a golden leaf in its palm.
“Muichiro… don’t you dare die. Live for both of us.”
Muichiro’s eyes widened. He realized it wasn’t just a reflection.
“Wait… who are you?”
“You really are an idiot. I’m Yuichiro. We’re twins.” He raised a brow, teasingly. “Guess I made my judgment too early.”
He turned around. Leaves swirled around him, carrying him away.
“Well then. I’ve got to go. Until next time.”
“Wait!”
But everything vanished. A bright flash of light—then Muichiro jolted awake, sitting up straight in bed. His heart was racing. Sunlight poured into the room.
The clock showed: 12:13 PM.
He rubbed his face with his hand. Then exhaled.
“That was… my brother. I really did have a brother… Yuichiro.”
He went silent, staring at the ceiling.
"I need to ask Rengoku-san."
Notes:
Phew, this chapter turned out really tense. I can’t wait for the next one… let the investigation begin.
Chapter 15: The Hidden Truth
Summary:
Kyojuro sets out on his quiet investigation, threads of suspicion slowly weaving together in his mind. He senses that something is concealed, yet overlooks the most crucial truth of all—he himself has already stepped into the circle of suspicion.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
A week had passed since the exam ended.
Kagaya gathered the Hashira. His voice was calm as always as he spoke: most likely, the demons had been searching for someone—perhaps Toki. Yet they failed to reach their goal.
Kyojuro remained silent, watching him. He asked no questions aloud, but one thought refused to leave his mind:
“Why did Oyakata-sama send her on that mission?”
Meanwhile, life within the Corps was slowly returning to its usual rhythm. The students had been officially acknowledged as ready for independent missions.
Toki’s relationship with her peers had shifted slightly. Shared danger brings people closer. Tanjiro continued to support her. Inosuke teased her from time to time, Zenitsu seemed to grow fond of her as well. The rest were still cautious, but at least no longer distant.
A few more days passed before Muichiro and Toki finally returned to their classes in university.
Morning sunlight, the crowd of students in the hallway, the weight of books in her bag—it all felt oddly unreal.
“Muichiro, I think we have a lecture together,” Toki said as she caught up with him at the entrance.
“Perhaps,” he replied with the faintest nod.
She smiled, walking alongside him.
“You know, I actually missed classes. Though I’ll need to…”
She kept talking, her voice light, while Muichiro simply walked beside her, listening. He didn’t interrupt. It felt strangely comforting to just hear her voice, to see her smile, to breathe in the proof that she was alive and well again. And yet, he couldn’t erase the memory of her tears, the heavy, sharp words that once slipped past her lips. She had wanted to disappear. She carried too much on her shoulders.
He stopped.
“Toki.”
She turned to him.
“What is it?”
“Nothing. I just…” His eyes lingered on hers. “I just wanted to say your name.”
Her gaze dropped, her cheeks flushed.
“I—I see… We should hurry, or we’ll definitely be late…”
She walked ahead. Muichiro followed. There was something light in her step. Vulnerable.
As they approached the classroom, someone called out from behind.
“Tokito-donooo!”
Muichiro spun around. At the doorway stood Zenitsu—disheveled, flustered, as usual.
“Zenitsu-kun, so we finally meet at the university,” the girl said with a smile.
He practically blushed.
“T-Toki-san! Are you… asking me out?”
“W-what?” she raised her brows, surprised.
Muichiro shot the boy a glance. Cold, almost indifferent—but somehow it made the air around them freeze.
“Calm down,” he said quietly.
Fortunately, the lecture began.
After class, they lingered in the classroom.
“Shall we go grab breakfast?” Muichiro asked Toki, leaning his elbows on the desk.
“I’d love to.”
“Then let’s go together!” Zenitsu jumped up. “They have buns! They sell out fast! If we don’t get there—”
“You’re staying here,” Muichiro cut him off.
“W-what?! That’s not fair! Toki-san, say something!”
Toki hesitated.
“Well… maybe he can come with us this time?”
Muichiro looked at her. Then back at Zenitsu.
“As long as he behaves quietly.”
“I promise! Not a word!”
Zenitsu pressed his fingers to his lips, sealing them in a “lock.”
They left, and Toki chuckled softly.
“Let’s hurry, before your buns are all gone.”
After class, they decided to walk through the city. Summer was almost there—the air warm, the evening calm.
“Summer’s coming…” Toki tilted her head to the sky.
A phone rang. Muichiro answered briefly.
“Yes… We’re done… Alright.”
He slipped the phone away and kept walking.
“Who was it?” Toki asked, quickening her pace to catch up.
Muichiro realized he hadn’t told her about Kyojuro’s invitation.
“Rengoku-san. He asked us to join him for dinner. Do you mind?”
She smiled softly.
“Of course not.”
The setting sun bathed her face in gold. Her emerald eyes gleamed warmly, her smile brighter than any treasure.
“Muichiro, is there something on my face?” she asked, touching her cheek in confusion.
“No. I just… like looking at you.”
He turned away, walking on as if nothing had happened—while Toki’s cheeks burned crimson.
“What?" Toki, get a grip. "He didn’t mean anything by it! He’s an artist—he probably just studies faces, that’s all…”
Trying to convince herself, she hurried after him.
The ride to Shinjuku passed in silence. She stared at his profile, trying not to think about what he had just said. Such a simple sentence, yet her heart still trembled.
At the entrance of the ramen shop, Kyojuro was already waiting.
“Oh! I’m so glad to see you both!”
“Good evening, Rengoku-san,” Toki greeted politely with a bow.
Muichiro only nodded, which made Kyojuro laugh.
“Come on inside! I’m starving!”
They sat down at a free table.
“Toki-chan! This place has the best ramen in all of Japan!”
“Really? Now I can’t wait to try it!”
After they ordered, the atmosphere grew warmer, lighter.
“How have you both been?” Kyojuro asked.
“Too much noise,” Muichiro replied plainly.
“Hah, I know the feeling. We could all use a vacation. Speaking of which, Toki-chan, where would you want to go?”
“Maybe Okinawa… or Kyoto. It’s beautiful there. Or… Egypt. I want to see the temples and pyramids. What about you, Rengoku-san?”
“I’d choose Italy. Food, food, and more food!” He laughed heartily and turned to Muichiro. “And you?”
Muichiro paused for a moment.
“Romania.”
“Romania?”
“Hmm. In a book I read, the vampire was from there. I just got curious.”
“Hahaha! Muichiro, you’re such an amusing one!” Kyojuro burst out laughing.
Toki glanced at Muichiro. For just a moment, his eyes met hers before he turned away. She lowered her head, heart unsettled.
Kyojuro watched them both. It only took a few gestures for him to see the truth.
“You’ve changed, haven’t you? Treasure what you’ve found, Muichiro. She’ll save you from the emptiness.”
At that very moment, Muichiro’s gaze lingered on Toki, who dared not look up. Kyojuro’s heart warmed.
“The food is here! Finally! Dig in!” Kyojuro exclaimed happily, diving into his bowl.
The evening was warm and gentle. Exactly the kind of night Toki had missed during the past few weeks.
“Rengoku-san, I wanted to ask you something,” Muichiro said suddenly.
“Of course! What is it?”
A pause. Then—
“I had a twin brother, didn’t I?”
Toki turned to him in surprise. Kyojuro’s expression grew serious.
“What makes you think you had a brother, let alone a twin? Did you… remember something?”
“No. I just had a dream. There was a forest of ginkgo trees, and my brother—Yuichiro. I thought… since I don’t remember anything, maybe you knew?”
“A dream, huh…” Kyojuro fell silent.
Toki listened quietly. The question was strange, but she had learned not to be surprised anymore.
“Muichiro, you dreamed of your brother? Yuichiro?” she asked softly. He nodded.
“Yes. It was on the day the exam ended.”
Kyojuro’s eyes widened slightly.
“And? Do you remember anything else from that dream?”
“Nothing important. He just appeared… and vanished.”
Kyojuro hesitated. Until now, he had avoided the subject of Muichiro’s past, afraid to reopen old wounds.
“In the reports… it was written that a family had died. Father, mother, and… a child. Yes, Muichiro—you did have a brother. You were twins. His name was Yuichirou.”
Silence followed. Muichiro sank into thought. Kyojuro studied him carefully.
“Be careful, alright?”
They never returned to the topic that night. The evening ended quietly, but thoughts had already begun to stir.
Driving them home, Kyojuro reflected on what Muichiro had said.
“Things are getting stranger… Could his memories be resurfacing? With the exams and all the chaos, I haven’t had the chance to dig deeper. Tomorrow, I’ll go to the Corps and ask for a few days off. I need to get to the bottom of this. I can’t delay any longer.”
In the morning, just as the Flame Hashira had planned, he went straight to headquarters. His first destination was the archives. To avoid attracting too much attention and unnecessary questions, Kyojuro brought along several documents from his office — the student records of those who had passed the exam.
“Good morning! I’d like to review the student files and add a few documents to them.”
“Good morning, Rengoku-dono! Of course, allow me to accompany you,” replied the kakushi at the entrance.
“No need, I can manage on my own. But thank you for the offer. Please, continue your duties,” the Hashira answered sincerely.
"Alright, two things to check: I need to find information on that clan… and take Muichiro’s file. Perhaps it’s not too late to learn something new. Hah, Kyojuro, you’re getting old—hoping to uncover some truth by relying on the dreams of a boy who always drifts among the clouds." Rengoku smiled faintly at the thought and let out a breath.
His first stop was the student records section.
“Agatsuma… Zenitsu, quite the unusual one. Hashibira, seems he’s Tengen’s tsuguko? Never thought Uzui would take a student, let alone by choice. Age changes people, I suppose.”
After updating the files with his own notes, Kyojuro moved on to the real reason he had come.
"Tokito Muichiro. I’ll take his file with me. There’s something else I need to look into… and time isn’t on my side."
The Flame Hashira climbed to the second floor, where reports on demon cases were kept.
"If I recall correctly, it should be here."
Just as he reached the section he needed, he froze. He wasn’t alone.
“Rengoku-san, good day! I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“Himejima! It’s good to see you. You’re worried about the recent attack as well?” Rengoku had already prepared an excuse in case of an encounter.
“Yes. Most likely, they were after Amida-san. Fortunately, nothing terrible happened. Otherwise, things might have turned out far darker. I was just leaving—we’ve submitted the necessary data into a new case file. If you’re interested, it’s right here.” He pointed to a folder.
“Thank you, Himejima! That’s exactly what I came for. Fortunate timing to meet you.”
“Goodbye then, Rengoku-san.”
“Yes, take care!”
Rengoku sat down and began to study the folder Gyomei had indicated.
"You’re a terrible liar, Rengoku-san. I may be blind, but I see all… Still, I feel only good intentions from you. I pray you don’t run into misfortune."
Calmly fingering his prayer beads, Gyomei recited a mantra as he walked toward the exit.
"He definitely saw through me. But it’s my luck that I met Himejima—he won’t stand in my way."
Turning back toward the shelves, Kyojuro delved into the archives.
"Not much here. Just summaries and dry reports… Which means only one thing: I’ll need to go to Kyoto. The oldest records are kept there. That was the first headquarters, after all—and that’s where the information on them should be."
Taking a copy of Muichiro’s file, he carefully returned the original to its place.
"That’s the right way."
He stepped out and headed toward Iguro Obanai.
“Iguro! Hello!” Kyojuro waved as he entered Obanai’s office.
“Kyojuro! What a bright surprise!”
“Oh, Tengen! Indeed, a bright surprise. Rarely see you here.”
“This bore asked me to come sign some documents. Like—why I let my student go alone back then. He managed just fine! Sitting here doing this boring task is so dull…” Tengen glanced at Obanai, who rolled his eyes.
“Uzui, unlike you, Rengoku has trained many talented people. Two of them even became Hashira. I pity that boy—he got such a hopeless teacher. All you do is shout and show off.”
“Shut up! I have my own teaching method! Bright and incomparable!”
Kyojuro listened to their bickering and laughed.
“Tengen, I’m sure you’ll manage just fine. Iguro, I’d like to take a few days off. The wound on my eye is healing, but I feel some rest won’t hurt.”
“You came here for that? You could’ve sent a kakushi—they’d give me all the info,” Obanai said, surprised.
“The whole headquarters has been busy since the exam, so I thought I’d come myself.”
“Ha! Kyojuro, I can recommend an amazing spot in Okinawa! The sashimi there is so fresh, it’ll blow your mind!”
“That’s long gone from your mind, Tengen, and sashimi has nothing to do with it,” Obanai shot back.
“Snake! But I have three wonderful wives, and you can’t even take Kanroji on a date! How dull!”
“What?! You—”
“Anyway, I’ve left my request on your desk, Iguro. See you!” the Flame Hashira called out.
With that, Kyojuro Rengoku swept out of the office—where a storm of arguments was just beginning to gather—and made his way toward his father’s house.
"I’ll spend the night at home. Tomorrow morning, I’ll leave for Kyoto," the swordsman thought.
“Brother! Why didn’t you say you were coming? I would have made sukiyaki with beef!”
“Senjurou, don’t worry! I won’t be staying long. Tomorrow I’m leaving for Kyoto. Oh, and I didn’t come empty-handed—here, your favorite sweets.”
“Thank you! I’ll put the kettle on and warm something up for you. You must be hungry!”
“Of course!” Rengoku watched him with a smile. At that moment, his father appeared.
“Kyojuro… What’s troubling you? You’ve been deep in thought lately.”
“Ah—yes, too many thoughts. Everything’s been going awry lately.”
“True. Things have become far more complicated than before,” Shinjurou replied, then added, “Kyojuro, I don’t know what you’re planning, but be careful.”
“Father! Brother! Dinner’s ready! Hurry before it gets cold!”
“Coming! …Thank you, Father. I’ll be careful. Let’s go—Senjuro’s waiting.”
After dinner, Kyojuro retreated to his room and unfolded Muichiro’s copied file.
“Well then, Muichiro. I’ve gone over your records countless times. Why do I think I’ll find something new now?” He exhaled and opened the folder. “Still… if my heart tells me to, I’ll return to it once more.”
The information was brief: his mother, a housewife; his father, an architect; twin sons, both 13, attending the same school. The family lived in Hakone, in a separate home. All but Muichiro were killed by a demon in their backyard. One child was found dead beneath a ginkgo tree; the other, unconscious, still clutching his brother’s hand.
“Hakone… I’ve been there many times, during and after the investigation, but found nothing unusual. Wait—Muichiro once said he saw a ginkgo tree in a dream. And here, the report also states it was a ginkgo. Coincidence? Or maybe the image surfaced in his mind because of trauma… It could’ve been a memory.”
Rengoku pondered for a long while before setting the file aside.
"We should visit Hakone together. Maybe we’ll uncover something new. But first, I need to sort out another matter."
That night he slept lightly, and in the morning, after breakfast with his family, he boarded a Shinkansen bound for Kyoto.
Sitting by the window, his thoughts wandered.
"Kyoto… It’s been a while. Last time must’ve been four years ago. Back when Muichiro had just become a Hashira, and we went after a Lower Moon that looked like a giant beetle. Hah, time really does fly…"
"Kyoto Station,” the announcement chimed, pulling him from his reverie.
Once off the train, Kyojuro headed straight to the headquarters library, where old records no longer in use were stored.
“Good day!” His booming voice startled the local kakushi.
“Rengoku-dono! We’re honored. It’s been a while since your last visit. What will you be searching for today?”
“To be honest, I’ve taken a short leave, so I came on personal business. Lately I’ve grown interested in history—I’d like to review some of the older archives.”
“Of course, of course! Please show your pass. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask.”
But one thought refused to leave him:
"Why would he risk her, if his intention is to hide her from demons…?"
Ever since reading that book in Tokyo about the ancient clan, Rengoku had been building theories.
"Back in Ueno, the demons didn’t chase Toki-chan without reason. Someone told them to. Of that, I’m certain."
He decided to begin with the basics: information on Muzan and the Moons.
Kibutsuji Muzan—the strongest primordial demon. Surrounded himself with six powerful followers. They brought chaos and destruction upon the land. Mass transformations into demons began in that era. Years later, a great battle drove them into hiding, surfacing only rarely. Tsugikuni Yoriichi defeated Muzan and became a legend. After his death, the Ubuyashiki clan rose to lead the organization of swordsmen gifted with unique abilities—later called the Hashira. And so the battle continues to this day…
“Yes, I read all this as a child… and later told the same stories to my students.” Resting his hand against his forehead, he sighed.
But then, a thought struck him. He pulled another file.
“This can’t be…”
He reread it from the beginning, and chills ran down his spine.
“No… no, impossible. That battle… the clan… the lilies… all connected? And the ritual too…? Don’t tell me—she’s needed for that? If so, then this place must be filled with them… I have to confirm it!”
Grabbing his things, Rengoku ran from the library and hailed a taxi.
“Wait here for me. I’ll be back soon.”
“Hey! That’ll cost you a fortune, and—”
“I’ll pay ten times the fare if you do as I ask.”
“…Yes, sir.”
The driver, delighted by such generosity, parked by the roadside to wait.
Kyojuro walked the rest of the way until he reached a vast field. He stopped, whispering:
“So that’s what this means…”
Before him stretched an endless sea of spider lilies,their color like fresh blood. And just ahead, old torii gates stood solemnly, as if marking the boundary between two worlds.
“So it’s true… And this is why they’re after you, Toki-chan. This is why he risks everything…” Kyojuro’s voice was low, grave. “It’s far worse than I imagined. If they succeed… the world will be in great danger. I must hurry back!”
But as he left the library earlier, he hadn’t noticed—someone had been watching him closely all along.
“Kyojuro Rengoku… Nothing escapes your keen mind. No wonder you became head of the Investigations Division. But alas… this time, you’ve gone too far.”
Take me to Kyoto Station,” Kyojuro ordered as soon as he got into the car.
“Yes, sir, but you know, the way back might—”
“Drive!” Kyojuro’s gaze remained fixed on the moon, his thoughts scattered everywhere.
“Just one last thing to do. It’s necessary, after what I’ve just learned. Vigilance never hurts. He must know everything.”
When they reached the station, Kyojuro handed the driver a generous fare, which left the man delighted. The Flame Hashira hurried toward the ticket counter.
“The earliest ticket to Tokyo.”
“The next shinkansen leaves at 19:30. Will that suit you, sir?”
“There’s nothing earlier?”
“Unfortunately, that’s the only option.”
“Fine, I’ll take it. And one more thing—does this station have a post office?”
The woman behind the glass pointed to the right as she handed him the ticket.
“Safe travels, sir.”
There was still an hour and a half until departure. Time had never dragged so slowly for Kyojuro. First, he did what had to be done. He found the postbox and dropped in a thick envelope.
"It will wait for you. Just in case…"
Then Kyojuro returned to the waiting area, counting every minute until the last shinkansen. His eyes stayed on his wristwatch, measuring the distance of time, while his thoughts churned wildly, refusing to let him rest. At last he stood up and decided to walk—anything to calm his nerves. It had been so long since he’d felt emotions this raw. The emotion called fear. A part of him still clung to the hope that his suspicions would remain no more than suspicions, but deep down he had already resigned himself to the possibility of truth. He wandered to a café on the station grounds and ordered coffee, desperate for some small distraction from his restless thoughts. The first sip of hot bitterness helped him breathe again. His nerves eased, and time began to move faster.
"Everything is so tightly woven… Toki-chan, I’m so sorry…"
At last, the hunter boarded the train. Hours later, he stepped into the heart of Tokyo.
The rain had just passed, leaving the streets washed and nearly deserted. Kyojuro hailed the nearest taxi and gave the driver his address.
As the car pulled up to his home, the nerves surged back, harsher than ever. The truth he carried inside—known only to him—spread like a poison through his body, clawing at every nerve with painful insistence. He couldn’t tell anyone. Not yet. Not until he was absolutely sure.
Kyojuro, calm yourself! He clenched his fist as the taxi slowed to a stop.
“He’s here—and I think he’s already figured it out. Better not waste time, who knows what this Rengoku Kyojuro might do…” A voice, speaking into a phone on the other side of the rain, faded into the night.
Notes:
This chapter felt heavy with tension as I wrote it. Kyojuro remains the most earnest soul, driven only by his desire to help and to bring the hidden truth into the light 🔥 I only hope I managed to capture his sincerity and weight of resolve. The next chapter will demand even more of me—it promises to be deeply emotional, and I’m bracing myself for it.
Chapter 16: The Flame We Lost
Summary:
When truth finally breaks through the veil of silence, it leaves scars behind.
And yet, those very scars become the force that drives us forward — to open our eyes,
and to face the world no longer blind.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
That same day, while Rengoku Kyojuro was searching for the truth in a Kyoto library, Muichiro and Toki set out on a mission.
“Tokito-dono, it seems they were last seen here.”
“Let’s go,” Muichiro said quietly to the girl sitting beside him in the backseat. She nodded.
That morning, reports had arrived of strange traces and an unnatural number of spiders in the Akihabara district.
Toki, as a tsuguko, was assigned to accompany him.
“I’ll help you, Muichiro.”
“How, exactly?”
His tone betrayed skepticism—he couldn’t imagine how she would be useful. After what had happened before, he wasn’t eager to bring her along at all. But he had no choice.
“If needed, I’ll use the seals. They seem to work well,” Toki replied, watching the boy’s slight frown.
Muichiro leaned back on his elbows, staring at the ceiling of her room—he had come personally to tell her about the joint mission. At last, he looked at her.
“I don’t need help,” he answered flatly.
“My god, you’re so stubborn!” Toki stood in front of him, arms crossed. Looking straight at his startled expression, she went on: “Sure, I’m weak. But I still want to help! People are dying because of demons…”
Her face darkened with the memory of the exam—blood and sacrifice.
Muichiro cut her off.
“I don’t want you to be in danger,” he said calmly.
Her voice softened.
“I won’t take risks. I’ll just be beside you.”
She held his gaze. He looked away and stood up from her bed. Toki raised a brow.
“Fine. But stay close.”
An hour later, a car arrived to take them to the site.
Muichiro walked ahead, his hand resting on the hilt of his blade. Toki followed close by, her eyes darting around, seals already prepared.
The Most Hashira stopped and glanced upward.
“We’re being watched. Place protective seals around yourself and stay here,” he commanded, before veiling the area in mist.
Toki silently obeyed, then lifted her gaze toward him. Muichiro leapt upward to investigate, but found nothing.
“I can feel them here…” he thought.
Far away, on the roof...
“Mist Hashira, Muichiro Tokito. With him, his tsuguko. Suspicious. Why is she always at his side?” a disembodied voice murmured. “Check her—and leave. We have no business fighting a Hashira.”
“As you wish, Rui-sama.”
“My spiders will find her, even in this fog.”
Muichiro landed on the rooftop and listened. Nothing. Yet his instincts screamed he was being observed.
Toki stood alone, wrapped in mist, shielded by her seals.
“This feels… wrong.”
She remained still for a long time, barely breathing. And then—suddenly, a knife cut through the fog toward her. Muichiro dropped from above, intercepting the attack before it struck. Toki didn’t even have time to register what had happened—let alone use her power.
“Huh? Muichiro—?”
His hands closed over her shoulders, firm, urgent.
“You’re not hurt?”
She blinked, startled.
“Me? No… I was just standing here, like you told me. But—where did it come from? The knife… and those spiders…”
She noticed the ground littered with the burnt husks of insects—the seals had scorched them. A shiver ran down her spine.
Muichiro bent to retrieve the knife, raising it closer to inspect.
“Oh no… a spider’s crawling across the blade—Muichiro, please, take it away from me! I hate insects!”
He examined it calmly, noting the creature.
“A demon’s spider,” he murmured. “Traces of its energy…” His gaze swept the rooftops once more, searching for hidden presences.
“Muichiro!” Toki recoiled, glaring at the knife he nearly held to her face.
He shifted his eyes to her.
“I see. You’re afraid of spiders.”
Toki pressed herself against the wall, wishing she could vanish into it rather than see those creatures.
Muichiro finally set the weapon aside.
“There’s nothing more to do here. Let’s get back to the car.”
Toki gladly followed, almost running to keep close.
He handed the dagger to a kakushi and asked him to buy peach lemonade. The man obeyed and stepped away. Leaning against the car, Muichiro turned toward Toki.
“Toki. You were their target.” His eyes narrowed on her.
“What…?”
“No matter what happens, never reveal your power. Hold it back—and leave everything else to me.”
“Yes, but… the problem is, I don’t even know when it shows itself. Much less how to control it…” she sighed.
Just then, the kakushi returned, clearly unsettled.
“Tokito-dono!”
“Hm?”
“They didn’t have your lemonade… I’m terribly sorry!” He bowed, guilt written on his face. “I can search another store, but it will take—”
“Forget it. Toki, get in,” Muichiro said, opening the car door for her. “Just drive us back to HQ.”
“Yes, sir!”
Muichiro headed straight for headquarters, deciding to deliver his report personally to Iguro—and, at the same time, escort Toki back to her room.
But deep down, the truth was simpler: he just wanted to remain with her a little longer. That was the real reason for his sudden insistence.
Toki waited for him outside the Serpent Hashira’s office, then Muichiro offered to walk her back. It was already late—around eleven at night.
“I’m tired…” she muttered.
“From the spider?” Muichiro asked, his voice calm with the faintest edge of irony.
Toki gave him a blank look. He stepped closer.
“Seems there’s one on your head right now…”
“What?! Get it off! Muichiro, please!”
His hand brushed lightly through her hair.
“…Just my imagination,” he whispered, almost as though trying to steady her nerves.
“Not funny,” she grumbled, still trembling from the scare.
Suddenly, a window in her room slammed shut with a violent gust, as if a cold draft had forced its way inside. Toki flinched, her body curling in on itself, fear flickering in her emerald eyes.
Even Muichiro hadn’t expected that—the atmosphere shifted, taut with tension, as though an unseen shadow had seeped into the room.
“Are you alright?” he asked softly, his tone unusually cautious.
She nodded, though unease had already rooted deep inside her, sending chills across her skin.
Then, from his pocket, Muichiro’s phone rang.
“Yes,” he answered, even as the air seemed to change again around him.
“Tokito-dono! Rengoku-dono, he—”
The line dissolved into chaos, then cut to anxious beeps. And in that moment, every fiber in Muichiro’s being tightened with dread—an overwhelming fear of the unknown, fear of the abyss itself.
Rengoku Kyojuro opened the door to his house and, without even removing his shoes, hurried upstairs. He entered his study. Inside, it was dark and quiet—too quiet. The house felt swallowed whole by darkness, a darkness that devoured even the faintest sounds.
Kyojuro sensed another presence.
"I’m not alone here… Someone followed me? Impossible. I never let my guard down, not for a second…"
He walked down the shadowed corridor toward the staircase. His hand brushed lightly over the hilt of his sword. When he reached the stairs, he began descending in silence. The darkness was so heavy that his eyes were nearly useless. From every corner, it felt as though something watched him. His own home no longer felt like a sanctuary.
"If you stare long enough into the abyss, the abyss stares back at you. Wasn’t that how it went?" Kyojuro recalled as he stepped further into the dark.
Then he caught a glimpse of a silhouette—only for it to vanish, sliding down the faintly lit wall.
Closing his eyes, he sharpened his senses. He felt it—something behind him. He spun, blade raised, and cried out:
“Flame—!”
His sword ignited crimson, casting light over a figure.
The Rengoku estate.
“Rengoku-dono—the flame! It’s gone out, all at once!”
Shinjuro stood before the eternal fire of their family—one that had burned without fail for centuries. Fear crept into the father’s heart, unwelcome and heavy.
“Kyojuro…”
What Rengoku Kyojuro saw before him froze him in place.
Silence. Only the rain drummed against the windows, while crows cried out as if to summon him beyond.
All he could taste was metal on his tongue. His hands fell slack, his sword slipping from his grasp. His heartbeat slowed with each strike, his breath weakening. His eyelids grew heavy. The vast strength of the Flame Hashira was leaving him. He lowered his gaze. His chest had been pierced through—his ever-blazing heart brought to a halt.
The fire within Kyojuro faded. He understood—he was dying. Time itself seemed to stop. Memories of his life flashed before him, and regret pierced him deeper than any blade: regret that he hadn’t realized the truth sooner.
“So that’s how it is…” His voice faltered as he stared at the figure before him.
Then his eyes closed, forever.
Muichiro’s phone rang in his pocket.
“Yes?”
The voice on the other end struck him like plunging into ice water.
Toki looked at him, alarmed.
“What happened?”
He met her gaze.
“We’re going to Rengoku-san. Now.”
Without waiting for the kakushi, Muichiro hailed a taxi—it would be faster.
“Here’s the address. Hurry.”
“Muichiro, what about Rengoku-san?” Toki asked. She had never seen him this shaken.
“I don’t know…” His fists tightened as his eyes dropped to the floor.
She understood then—something terrible had happened.
When they arrived at the Rengoku household, the scene was chaos. Emergency vehicles crowded the street. Sirens screamed into the night, their flashing lights painting everything in frantic red and blue. A firetruck blasted water onto the second floor, where flames roared from the windows.
Muichiro rushed toward the house of his mentor, ignoring the crowd’s chatter. Toki followed close, struggling to keep up. He pushed through the throng of onlookers until—suddenly—a hand stopped him.
It was Tomioka. He had arrived first.
Giyu looked at Muichiro, then shook his head. His eyes flicked to Toki, then closed in silence. That reaction alone said it all:
Rengoku Kyojuro is dead.
Muichiro’s gaze fell to the ground—someone lay there. His arms dropped, useless.
“R-Rengoku-san…”
He stepped closer, each movement heavy, until he saw the truth.
Life had left Kyojuro.
Muichiro’s mind refused to accept it. Only days ago, he had sat with them in a café, Kyojuro smiling with the brightest, most genuine smile in the world. And now—he lay motionless. His wound no longer bled. That smile was gone forever.
Toki stood behind Muichiro, a hand pressed to her mouth. Tears streamed down her face.
“Rengoku-san… no…”
Muichiro stood frozen, his eyes wide. He had forgotten how to breathe. He understood, with a crushing certainty, that he would never again speak with his mentor. No—he would never again speak with his friend.
And then, as if in mourning, rain began to fall from the sky. The heavens wept for the death of a great man.
Headquarters. Around two in the morning.
Muichiro stayed with Toki. Sleep had left them both. They sat in silence, as if still unable to believe what had happened.
The girl sat down on the bed and stared into nothing.
Suddenly, as though reality struck her all at once, she broke into tears.
Muichiro wrapped his arms around her tightly, resting her head against his chest.
“Toki…” His voice was low, steadier than she expected. “I swore to him I’d keep you safe. That hasn’t changed. But if you break now…” His hand lingered on her back, gentle, insistent. “—then I’ll lose you too.”
His calm voice pulled her back into reality. Toki had been on the verge of unleashing her power again, but Muichiro sensed the shift in the air and stopped her just in time.
She looked up at him. His eyes were clear, yet behind them — pain. She hugged him back tightly.
They simply sat there, holding each other.
It hurt. He had lost the one who had always been there for him. The one who was his warmth, his guide toward the light.
Muichiro closed his eyes, and the first tear slid down his lashes. He held Toki even closer — he felt her trembling, felt her tears soaking into his shirt. He stroked her gently. He didn’t want to let go. Not anymore. Never again.
“Rengoku-san…” Toki’s voice broke with sobs. “He…”
Muichiro remained silent, but his silence spoke louder than words.
She whimpered, and he felt her body shivering in his embrace. At that moment, something inside him shifted — the fear of losing her would never chain him again.
"Rengoku-san always said life was the most precious thing we have, that I am more than just a weapon in the hands of the Corps. He was right," Muichiro thought. "Now I’ll keep her close. Cherish her life and mine — every single moment."
He gently stroked her hair, pouring all his care into the gesture without a word. Slowly, Toki’s tears subsided, drinking in his warmth and comfort.
And so they remained until morning. Muichiro noticed when Toki drifted into sleep. His own eyelids grew heavy, but his mind stayed clear. He gazed up at the sky through the clouds, feeling that with this dawn something new was beginning.
In the morning, Toki awoke to the warmth of Muichiro’s embrace. She remembered the night and closed her eyes again.
Muichiro stirred at her faint movements and loosened his arms slightly.
“How do you feel?” he asked.
“Like I’m still dreaming…” she whispered without lifting her head, pressed against his chest.
They lay in silence for a while. Muichiro’s hand moved gently through her hair and down her back, until a phone rang. He released her, stood, and picked it up from the table.
“Yes…”
After finishing the call, he turned to Toki, who was already sitting on the edge of the bed.
“Toki, today will be the funeral… You don’t have to—”
“I’ll go with you.”
Muichiro sat down beside her. He noticed tears running silently down her face, though her expression was blank.
“The car will be here in about an hour,” he said softly, wiping the tears from her cheek with his hand.
“…Mm.”
Once they were ready, they sat quietly on the bed, waiting. Toki leaned her head against Muichiro’s shoulder. He wanted to wrap her in his arms again, but then saw the car pulling up outside — the one that would take them to the place where many ended their journey and began another, though not in this world.
There stood his father and brother, side by side, sending Kyojuro on his final path. Everyone gathered, watching as the fire claimed his body. Rengoku Kyojuro, the Flame Hashira — fire had been his eternal companion.
They were all there: comrades, kakushi, Hashira. Toki recognized many. And among them — Ubuyashiki Kagaya with his family. She quickly looked away.
By her side stood Muichiro, simply staring into the flames — they flickered in his turquoise eyes.
Toki watched as the tongues of fire consumed everything, until nothing remained. It felt like an ancient Viking ritual — a warrior being sent into eternal life. She thought about how fire was always near death. Some lit candles, others burned bodies. Fire was always present. Even on the Day of Obon, people lit lanterns so souls could find their way home. Fire was close to death. Close to eternity. And his flame would never be extinguished. The fire of Rengoku Kyojuro’s heart would shine even after death.
She noticed Muichiro’s fists clench. She gently touched his hand. She could feel his pain, and she wanted to share it.
Later, they all gathered at the Rengoku family crypt. The gray stones bore the names of those gone — and now would bear his.
At first, there were many. Then fewer. In the end, only thirteen remained: eight Hashira, two from the Ubuyashiki clan, his father, his brother, and Toki.
Gyomei stood praying, his spirit heavy with grief. Uzui Tengen was like a ghost — Kyojuro had been his best friend, the one who always understood him. Mitsuri Kanroji wept bitterly, sincerely. She, like Muichiro, had lost both mentor and friend in a single day.
Toki stood a little apart, watching Senjuro. The boy, once so cheerful, now seemed like a shell — an enormous void carved inside him. He could not even cry; he simply could not believe his brother was gone.
Tears kept falling from Toki’s emerald eyes.
Time passed, and the crowd thinned.
Muichiro was the last to approach the Rengoku family. He seemed to remain silent. He didn’t know what to say — and words, in truth, were unnecessary.
They walked together along the rain-slicked alley.
“...You know, Rengoku-san…” Muichiro lifted his gaze to the sky. “He was the one who suggested I study art,” he admitted.
“Hey, Muichiro! You know, you’ve got talent. I’ve never met anyone who draws like you do. You can even turn an ordinary page of my notebook into a masterpiece!”
Kyojuro’s voice had been cheerful. “Oh! I’ve got it. Why don’t you apply to study art? The university is right next to your house.”
“What? Why…? That would take too much time, and—”
“Don’t be so stubborn. Just try. If you don’t like it, you can always quit. So? What do you say?”
“…Fine.”
Muichiro remembered that conversation vividly. They had been sitting in the park after a mission, eating yet another round of “the most delicious sweets.” It felt like it belonged to another life entirely.
He paused for a moment before speaking again.
“Toki, I swear I’ll find the one who did this and make them regret it.” His eyes locked on hers with quiet determination. “Will you help me?”
She saw the unwavering resolve in his gaze and nodded.
“Yes. I’ll do everything I can.”
The next day, Muichiro and Toki decided to visit Kyojuro’s home and see his family.
“Oh, Tokito, Amida, please come in.” His father seemed aged, worn, as if he hadn’t slept at all. “Senjuro hardly leaves his room anymore. Maybe your visit will lift his spirits a little.”
Muichiro nodded.
“I’ll go to him.”
“All right…” Shinjuro watched him walk away, then added, “Thank you for coming. I’ve made my decision. I told them— we have nothing more to do with the organization. Senjuro will not become a slayer. Kyojuro was right.”
Toki realized that Shinjuro wasn’t truly speaking to her. He was speaking to a ghost lingering at his side.
“Please, come in…”
She sat with Shinjuro for a while and noticed a photograph of Kyojuro beside the portrait of a woman. Her eyes drifted toward the room Muichiro had entered, and she decided to follow.
Peeking through a narrow gap, she saw him playing shogi with Senjuro. The sight brought back memories of a happier evening. Tears welled in her eyes again at the scene. Quietly, she stepped back and chose instead to sit alone in the garden. Toki sat in silence, staring at the sky. Clouds drifted above, shaping themselves into fleeting forms. Tears slid slowly down her cheeks.
“You played well, but you still lost,” Muichiro said, making the decisive move.
“I’ve still got a long way to go before I can match you, Tokito-san…” Senjuro lowered his head, smiling faintly.
Muichiro tilted his head and gently ruffled the boy’s bright hair.
“I’ll come visit you again, and we’ll play another match. By then, you’ll have studied the rules properly.”
Senjuro lifted his head and nodded.
“I’d like that very much, Tokito-san.”
The young slayer looked at him one last time, then rose to his feet.
“I have to go.”
Leaving the room, he headed toward the garden and noticed the girl sitting there. Tears still glistened on her cheeks. He looked up at the sky and sighed.
“Toki… shall we go back?”
“Yes…” she wiped her tears away.
They walked toward the car, where two members of the ancient clan of flame swordsmen were waiting.
“Thank you for coming. I’ll be waiting for you,” Senjuro said, standing beside his father.
“Keep training,” Muichiro replied, meeting the boy’s eyes.
“Yes, Tokito-san.”
They were nearly at the car when Shinjuro called after them.
“Tokito. I’ll be waiting for you too. Come… when the time is right.”
Muichiro met the man’s gaze and gave a silent nod.
“…Let’s go, Toki.”
Notes:
This chapter was written a long time ago, and for me, it marks the end of the first part of the story.
I cried while writing it. I’m truly sorry for Kyojuro. I tried to show him as the warm, sincere person he was, and I wanted his flame to become the spark that changes the future.
For me, this chapter feels like the most touching one so far. It becomes a turning point that pushes Muichiro, Toki, and the others to move forward, to cherish themselves and their feelings. Kyojuro lived for others, he sought the truth — and he found it. Yet, in crossing the line, he was punished.While writing, I listened to David Bowie’s “Heroes” (the haunting version from Stranger Things, cover by Peter Gabriel) and the track “Fire Fire,” by Flyleaf, which somehow reminded me of Kyojuro — maybe because of the fire, maybe because of the vibe.
From here, the story will grow deeper: new characters, new mysteries, new revelations. Thank you so much for reading — your feedback always means the world to me.
Chapter 17: Candidate
Chapter Text
Toki was dreaming — strange, mysterious.
She stood in a field, surrounded by blue flowers.
"These are spider lilies… But why are they blue?"
The girl walked forward. The sense of déjà vu wouldn’t leave her — the place felt painfully familiar. The field of blue spider lilies swayed gently under the touch of the wind.
"I think… there was a river there… Wait. How do I know that?"
As if guided by an invisible force, Toki soon found herself by the river. She froze, overwhelmed by its beauty. The water mirrored the sky — azure, deepened with shades of coal, studded with millions of stars.
And suddenly — a boat. In it sat a man with flaming red hair. Fireflies danced all around.
"Rengoku-san… But you’re…"
Toki raised her eyes — a huge sun disk hung in the sky.
She woke up abruptly.
Sunlight pierced through the curtains, playing across her face.
"What a strange dream… Déjà vu?.. But that place… it wasn’t from our world. Night belongs to the moon… yet there was the sun. And Rengoku-san… Ugh. Too many misfortunes lately. My mind slips out of control. It feels as though my knowledge of old legends tangled with memories — now haunting me in dreams…"
Toki lay there for a while, staring at the ceiling. Then, with a sigh, she sat up.
“Muichiro asked me to come… Strange. The Pillars’ meeting is supposed to be here,” she muttered. “Well… better than just sitting around.”
She dressed quickly. The weather was hot, so she wore a T-shirt and the hunter’s pinafore dress, with white socks and loafers.
It didn’t take her long to reach Muichiro’s house — it was around eleven in the morning.
She knocked on the door — silence.
"Strange…"
Then she heard a sound from behind the house. There was a small annex — probably for training.
In the distance, Toki saw Muichiro. He was training. Dressed in a black kendo outfit, holding a sword that cut the air in precise, structured motions. It was mesmerizing.
Noticing her gaze, he stopped.
“Toki. Hey…” He lowered his sword and walked toward her.
“Muichiro…” she hesitated, then quickly added, “ah, sorry… Hey.”
“Do you want to train?” Muichiro had noticed how entranced she was by his movements.
“What? Ah… no, I was just…”
He saw that she seemed a little absent-minded. Maybe sleep-deprived — her eyes carried a tired expression.
Ever since that happened, she barely left her house. Only sometimes — for classes or missions. She had stopped smiling. Sadness lingered in her eyes.
Muichiro realized he missed her smile.
“There’s a Hashira meeting at 3 PM. We have some time. Want to take a walk with me?”
“Yes… I don’t mind,” she nodded, meeting his eyes.
“Good. Wait inside for me. I’ll be quick.”
They went into the house. After a while, Muichiro came out, ready.
Toki was waiting in the living room.
He froze, admiring her. She had tied her hair in a low ponytail, revealing the delicate line of her neck. She sat by the window, staring outside thoughtfully.
He leaned in close to her ear from behind.
“What do you see?”
Toki spun around — their faces nearly collided. Her eyes widened, her cheeks flushed.
“I-I was just thinking,” she stammered, quickly pulling back. Then mumbled, “You startled me.”
“True. But today you’re lost in the clouds. I wanted to bring you back to reality.”
"It's strange to hear it from him.." thought Toki.
Muichiro leaned on the back of the couch with his elbows, drawing even closer. He could feel her warmth, hear her steady breath, and sense her perfume — herbal, with a faint citrus note. He caught himself wanting to get closer still. Yet something inside stopped him.
Toki blushed harder and abruptly stood up.
“Muichiro, I think… we should go. I don’t want to be late for the meeting,” she said, slipping on her shoes.
“Don’t worry. That’s my problem,” he answered calmly, opening the door.
They stepped outside. The streets were drenched in sunlight, greenery gleaming all around.
Muichiro glanced at her now and then — she stayed silent, clearly lost in thought.
He decided to break the silence.
“Toki, have you had breakfast yet?”
“No… And you?”
“No, I was waiting for you,” his answer made her uneasy.
“Sorry…”
“I thought we could have breakfast together somewhere downtown. Then maybe walk in the park. Nothing to apologize for.”
She looked at him. His gaze had shifted — open, clear.
“All right. Then… shall we eat something nice first?” she smiled faintly.
Muichiro’s eyes softened with sincerity.
“Toki… I missed your smile. So much.”
“Ah… I… I still don’t quite understand what’s happening. Since that day… it’s like something inside flipped over. I keep dreaming strange things. My thoughts always circle back to that moment…” her eyes dropped to the ground.
Muichiro stepped closer.
“I understand. I just want to be by your side.”
She looked up at him and smiled — truly smiled.
“Thank you. I’ll stay by your side too, Muichiro.”
“Shall we go?”
They headed to the station and rode to Shinjuku.
“What would you like to eat?”
“Not sure. You?”
“I’d… probably a sandwich and coffee.”
At a nearby café, they had breakfast. Muichiro pulled out a sketchbook and began drawing.
“What are you sketching?” Toki asked.
He handed it to her. It was filled with sketches of objects. The latest one — an unfinished coffee cup.
“I forgot to turn in the drafts again…”
Toki laughed. His absent-mindedness always amused her.
“Why are you laughing?”
“It’s just… in those moments, you look very cute,” she admitted, handing back the sketchbook.
Muichiro looked away, slightly flustered, and kept drawing. A few minutes later, he passed her a fresh page.
“This is… me? How beautiful. I didn’t recognize myself right away. Do you need to draw people?”
“No. I just want to draw you,” he said, looking at her.
"Why is it so hard to meet his eyes?.." Toki lowered her gaze, her heart pounding, breath unsteady.
“I-I see… Well, I’m glad I can be your model…”
“Come on, we don’t have much time,” said Muichiro, noticing her embarrassment, as he pulled on his black hoodie.
They walked to the park.
Strolling down the path, they watched the clouds.
“You know… lately I like looking at the sky too. It calms me,” Toki confessed.
Muichiro stepped closer, almost brushing her shoulder.
“That one — it looks like a ship,” he pointed at a cloud.
“Oh, you’re right! And that one — like a turtle… And over there…”
Toki got carried away. She gazed at the sky, forgetting the world around her.
Muichiro wasn’t looking upward anymore — only at her. His heart beat faster. A new, strange warmth spread through him. He didn’t understand what it was, but he liked it.
“I think it’s time,” Toki checked her watch. “The meeting starts soon.”
“We can take another walk, if you’d like?”
“Yes, of course.”
They reached headquarters right on time.
The subway had been eerily empty, as though the city itself had withdrawn from reality, hushed in anticipation of something ominous. A dense gray shadow hung over the surface, and in that silence their footsteps sounded far too loud.
“Toki, I need to go,” Muichiro stopped by one of the doors. His voice was even, yet there was a faint, almost imperceptible sadness in it. “Wait for me here. This is the waiting room for tsuguko.”
She nodded, a little uncertainly but with a smile.
“All right. Good luck at the meeting. I’ll wait, Muichiro.”
“Thank you.”
He disappeared behind the door without looking back.
Toki lingered on the threshold, inhaled the quiet, stale air, and stepped inside.
The room wasn’t large — a table, a few benches along the walls, soft light fading from the window as evening crept in. There were already people there.
One of them, a broad-shouldered boy with a messy cap of hair, looked up at her.
“Hey! New girl!” he shouted. “Oh, Doki! That’s you!”
“Toki,” she corrected gently, smiling faintly. “Hello, Inosuke-kun.”
He plopped down beside her noisily, unable to hide his restless energy.
“When are they gonna let us out on a mission already? This sucks! Sitting here like caged animals. I wanna fight!”
Toki sat next to him. His energy made her vision ripple.
“How are you?”
“I’m sick of this!” he grumbled, but before he could continue, footsteps and an argument echoed outside.
“Don’t yell at me, Kaigaku! I’m already nervous enough!”
“Zenitsu, you complain about being alive.”
The door opened, letting in two more figures. One — light-haired, nervous, like a taut string. The other — tall, with a cold gaze and neatly tied dark hair.
“Toki-san!” Zenitsu rushed to her immediately, relief washing over his face “It’s so good to see you. Your presence feels like a breath of air…” He turned his head. “Hey, Inosuke.”
“Zemichi!” Inosuke greeted joyfully. “Still alive, huh?”
Toki raised a brow silently.
"Zemichi?"
“Hello, Zenitsu-kun,” she replied calmly, shifting her gaze to his companion — a boy she had never seen before.
The black-haired one looked at her almost with irritation. His eyes were cold, distant, as if he had already passed judgment on her.
“And what are you doing here?” she asked Zenitsu.
“Well, it’s like this…” he lowered his voice.
“I’m not a tsuguko, don’t worry. Grandpa Jigoro asked me to come with Kaigaku. Otherwise I’d never come here…”
“You wouldn’t last a day,” Kaigaku muttered quietly and sat against the far wall.
Zenitsu kept talking — more to himself than anyone else. Inosuke, puffing out his cheeks, looked away.
“Tsuguko… what a bore. Thought I’d be crushing demons every day, but instead it’s all training. Rocks, breathing, magic, meditation… I’m sick of it. I came here for real fights, not to sit around like in embroidery class!”
He suddenly swung his glare at Zenitsu.
“And you? What are you doing here?! Wanna be a tsuguko too?”
“I already told you, no!”
The conversation died on its own, leaving a heavy tension in the air.
Muichiro entered the council hall quietly, unnoticed. His hood hid his face, hands tucked in his pockets. He took a seat at the far end, apart from the others. Within seconds he saw Tomioka in the corner. Muichiro gave the faintest nod. No reply came — but none was needed. Silence was their language.
“Then I threw the rock at him—bam! Out cold! What a sight that was!” someone said loudly.
“Tengen…” Obanai’s voice carried heavy irritation. “Are you telling that story again?”
“Oh, look at this — the quiet ones gathered,” Tengen smirked, entering with a companion. “Hey, Tokito!”
Muichiro turned slightly but didn’t respond.
“You’re especially quiet today. Mind if I sit?”
“…Do what you want.”
Tengen sat down beside him, Obanai a little farther away.
“Hey, Tomioka, you here? Didn’t even notice you at first. What a stealth technique you’ve got.”
“Good afternoon,” Giyu replied calmly.
At that moment, Kocho Shinobu entered.
“How nice to see everyone gathered,” she said with a light smile. “Tomioka-kun, is this seat free?”
Giyu lifted his eyes slowly. Her smile was polite, but tension hid beneath it.
“Of course,” he answered almost in a whisper.
“I take it you’re an introvert. You like watching from afar? That’s… rather charming.”
Giyu remained silent.
“Tokito-kun,” she turned to Muichiro, “good to see you. How are you?”
He raised his head slightly, looking at her from under his bangs.
“I’m fine,” he said softly.
“All right. If you feel otherwise, please come to me.”
Her voice was gentle, not pressing. But both she and Muichiro knew it wasn’t just courtesy — it was concern. She feared the recent loss might worsen his memory.
Gradually, the others entered.
Himejima bowed almost imperceptibly and, as always, took a place in the shadows, fingers gliding along his prayer beads. His lips moved soundlessly — already deep in prayer. Sanemi strode past, scowling, his irritation plain: another meeting interrupting his work felt like a waste of time. Kanroji came in last. She barely smiled today, as if holding back pain. The loss of Kyojurou had struck her deeply. He had been her mentor, her friend, the one who once made her believe in herself. She greeted the room with a restrained nod and sat near Obanai. He cast her a brief glance — troubled, almost frightened — but said nothing. He simply edged a little closer.
The hall fell into silence, as if everyone was waiting for something no one wished to say aloud.
Soon, the door opened, and the head entered — Kagaya Ubuyashiki.
“Thank you for coming,” his voice was soft, but carried a strange weight.
He glanced around the hall, his eyes lingering on one empty seat. The place where Kyojurou always sat.
“It has been over three weeks since Rengoku-san’s death,” he said, lowering his gaze.
He pressed his palms together, and the others followed almost in unison.
“We all grieve this loss. But the time has come to act.”
Kagaya lifted his head.
“In recent days, we completed an internal investigation. Traces of demonic energy found in Rengoku’s home point to the involvement of the Upper Moons. During the exam, he encountered a demon named Akaza. There is no doubt — it was murder, planned in advance. I believe the old forces are gathering again. Rengoku’s death was the first strike against us. We cannot allow it to pass unanswered.”
The hall stayed silent. None of the Pillars interrupted.
“But first… we must resolve another matter. The seat of a Hashira must not remain vacant. We must consider a new candidate.”
“Oyakata-sama, but who?” Obanai broke the silence first, his voice dry.
“None of the current tsuguko are ready yet,” Kagaya continued. “However, there is one who trained under the former Thunder Pillar, Kuwajima-dono. His name is Inadama Kaigaku. He has already attained the necessary rank. I would like to hear your thoughts.”
“To my knowledge,” Gyomei began carefully, never pausing his prayer beads, “Inadama-kun lacks the inner maturity to bear that title. At least, that was what the latest reports stated.”
“That is why I ask Tokito-kun to conduct the evaluation,” Kagaya said, turning to Muichiro. “You knew Rengoku closer than anyone here. I trust you will see in this man what others do not.”
“As you command, Oyakata-sama,” Muichiro nodded briefly.
“You will both travel to the Thunder Estate on Okinawa. We’ve received word of a demon presence — presumably a Lower Moon. This will be part of the trial. The outcome will decide whether he is worthy of becoming a Hashira.”
Kagaya turned to the others.
“The demon numbers are growing. Our investigation division is weakened. Himejima-san, Kanroji-san, you will take charge of gathering intelligence.”
“Yes, Oyakata-sama,” they answered together.
“Tomioka-kun, how is Kamado progressing?”
Giyu lifted his gaze.
“Komado is doing well. I want to propose him as my tsuguko. His sister is still under Kocho observation.”
“Yes,” Shinobu replied, her voice light, almost lulling. “Nezuko shows no aggression. Her condition resembles infancy — she sleeps much, eats little. We use stored blood to sustain her. For now, she is safe, but the nature of her survival remains unknown. She isn’t the first turned one to restrain herself — there were others before her — but she is among the few to endure for this long. Normally, Muzan’s blood destroys the body of a weaker demon.”
“Continue observing,” Kagaya nodded. “This meeting is adjourned. Thank you.”
Everyone rose and bowed deeply. But Muichiro did not leave right away. He stepped closer to Kagaya and said quietly:
“Oyakata-sama, I have a request.”
“Speak, Tokito-kun.”
Muichiro looked at him almost blankly, but his eyes carried restrained resolve.
“I wish to take Rengoku-san’s sword.”
Kagaya was silent for a while, then answered calmly:
“Shinjurou Rengoku has refused all involvement with the organization. Everything that belonged to his son, aside from the house, is now property of headquarters. But if you wish to keep the sword as remembrance… I will not oppose it.”
Muichiro nodded.
“Go to the lower floor. The sword is there. And… Inadama-kun awaits you. Lead him to the armory. He is to receive a new blade and a set of seals. In two days you will leave Tokyo. He will have time to prepare.”
“Yes, Oyakata-sama.”
Muichiro stepped out, soundless, almost dissolving into the shadow. His exit was so quiet it seemed the hall had already forgotten he had been there. His steps were light, yet resolute, carrying him toward the inner courtyard where he had left Toki. From a distance, he caught fragments of voices, a burst of laughter—unsettling in this place. He quickened his pace.
The moment he turned the corner, he recognized the bright, flamboyant voice.
"So you’re his tsuguko! What a delightful surprise!" boomed Tengen, suddenly appearing in front of Toki and seizing her hand with theatrical flair. "You shine like a diamond!"
Toki barely had time to realize what was happening.
"G-Good evening, Uzui-san," she stammered, lowering her gaze to her hand, tightly enclosed in the Sound Hashira’s grasp.
In the doorway, Muichiro appeared. He stood there, silent, as if he had become part of the still scenery itself. Only his eyes—clear, cold—spoke for him.
"Ha! Tokito!" Tengen arched a brow, striking a pose as though before a camera, though his gaze never left Toki. "I can feel those searing turquoise eyes burning into me. Don’t forget—I’m a shinobi!"
Toki startled, as if waking, and looked toward the entrance—straight into Muichiro’s unblinking, furrowed stare. He said nothing, but his presence pressed down on the air, a quiet, invisible weight.
"Sensei, when are we leaving this dump?" came Inosuke’s impatient cry from somewhere behind.
"Mind your tongue, Inosuke," Tengen called back with a grin. "How could I pass by such a lovely young lady? Naturally, I couldn’t resist. I think I’m in love… for the fourth time."
He shot Muichiro a sly glance before finally releasing Toki’s hand.
"Well then, let’s go, Inosuke. Glorious adventures await! Farewell, Tokito! Farewell, Toki-chan!"
Their boisterous footsteps echoed down the corridor long after they were gone.
Toki remained standing, a little shaken, still trying to grasp what had just happened.
"Come," Muichiro’s quiet voice broke her stillness. "There’s something we need to retrieve."
"Tokito-dono!" Zenitsu’s voice rang out behind them. He hurried over, nearly tripping. "Good evening! I’m so glad to see you! Truly, your presence is a breath of air—"
Muichiro turned, and at once spotted the figure standing beside Zenitsu. Recognition came instantly.
"You’re coming with me," he said curtly, eyes locking on Kaigaku.
"Tokito-dono, an honor to meet you! I’ve heard you’re a true genius! For me—" Kaigaku began, but the words withered on his tongue as he met the absolute indifference in Muichiro’s gaze.
The Mist Hashira was already walking ahead.
Kaigaku hesitated, then forced a bow.
"Hmph… arrogant Hashira."
Zenitsu darted uncertainly between them, trying to speak—only to be cut off by Kaigaku’s sharp voice:
"Zenitsu! Hurry up. Tokito-dono doesn’t have time to waste. We need to collect our gear and leave."
Zenitsu lowered his eyes. Toki, watching Kaigaku with faint bewilderment, thought:
“What an idiot.”
"The only one wasting my time is you," Muichiro’s cold voice cut through the air. "If you aspire to become a Hashira, learn to value every second."
His tone was quiet, but sharp as a blade. Even Toki flinched. She had not heard that edge in his voice for a long time.
"Forgive me, Tokito-dono," Kaigaku muttered, swallowing his humiliation. Inside, rage boiled.
They moved on. Muichiro walked in front, hood shadowing his face, hands in his pockets. Toki walked at his side. Behind them trailed Kaigaku and a subdued Zenitsu.
Passing one of the guarded rooms, Zenitsu froze at the sight through the glass—a girl sitting on the floor.
"N-Nezuko… it’s you, isn’t it?" his voice quivered, not with fear, but something close to awe.
Toki felt the tremor in his words, recalling Tanjiro’s stories of her. But Kaigaku’s voice sliced through:
"So that’s the girl you keep fawning over? Now she’s a demon. She could be killed at any moment—or die on her own. She has no place among humans."
"Kaigaku, shut up…" Zenitsu hissed, his voice carrying ice for the first time.
Kaigaku only laughed, shoving his shoulder.
"Pathetic."
Muichiro halted abruptly. He turned, his eyes darker than ice.
"I told you once," his voice was nearly a whisper, but heavy with threat. "Every minute of my time is worth more than your entire life."
Kaigaku paled. He bowed quickly.
"Arrogant bastard… and younger than me, he seethed inwardly!"
No one spoke after that. The cold emanating from Muichiro bound them all in silence.
At last, they reached the storage hall.
"Tokito-dono, we’ve been expecting you. Please," kakushi presented an object wrapped in crimson velvet.
Muichiro nodded. Without looking at the others, he turned to Kaigaku.
"The day after tomorrow, we depart for the Thunder Estate. Don’t be late."
Kaigaku only nodded, but received no answer—Muichiro was already facing Toki.
"Let’s go."
She nodded quietly and followed. They walked until they reached the women’s quarters. Muichiro stopped at her room.
"May I come in?" he asked.
"Of course," she replied.
Inside, Muichiro knelt by her bed, carefully unwrapping the velvet as though unveiling something sacred. Toki sat beside him, silent.
Before them lay Rengoku Kyojurou’s katana. Its flame no longer burned, yet a lingering glow remained, as if the sun itself had not fully left the blade.
"Oyakata-sama believes Rengoku-san death was part of a larger plan. After the mission, I’ll go to Rengoku-dono’s estate. He… said he would be waiting. I must know the truth."
"Then I’ll go with you. I promised—and I won’t change my mind," Toki said firmly.
Muichiro studied her for a long moment. Then simply nodded. He removed the seal from the sheath, drawing the blade slowly. The light reflected in the steel was warm. Within the sword, memory lived on. Will lived on. And Muichiro knew—he was not alone.
"The day after tomorrow we leave for Okinawa. Be ready," he said, sliding the sword back into its sheath. " And… I’d like you to stay at my place until then. It’ll be easier. We’re leaving early, and it’s closer to the station.'
Toki looked at him, a little flustered, then exhaled softly and nodded.
"Alright."
Chapter 18: Sorry — destiny decided
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Toki woke earlier than usual—just past seven.
The room was quiet: a faint draft stirred the curtain, and the sunlight fell across the floor in thin stripes. She lay there for a long while, staring at the ceiling, before finally rising almost soundlessly and heading for the bathroom. Cold water ran down her neck, sliding along her back, washing away the remnants of sleep. She washed her long hair slowly, as if this ritual of cleansing could gather her back together piece by piece. Then she dried it with the hairdryer, letting her fingers linger a little longer than usual in the strands—before slipping on a sundress over a white T-shirt. The air was heavy with heat, and the fabric embraced her skin pleasantly.
Pausing at the window, she stilled. The sun had already climbed above the rooftops, the air shimmering with heat. A thought rose to the surface:
“Tomorrow we leave for Okinawa…”
She remembered how Muichiro had asked her to stay with him. It had been spoken calmly, almost off-hand.
“It’ll be easier that way. We’re leaving early anyway, and it’s closer to the station.”
But with every one of his suggestions like that, Toki’s heart beat a little louder.
“He wants me to stay… at his place…”
The thought touched something deep inside—something fragile, hiding behind her practiced composure. She shook her head quickly, dispelling the notion with a breath.
“Now I need to go. I can’t be late.”
Toki left the house and made her way to university.
The campus was loud—summer had taken hold, the glass of the buildings reflecting the sky, the air trembling with heat.
Muichiro was already there. He stood in the shade of the trees by the gate, waiting. When he saw her, he stepped forward silently—too silently, too close.
“Toki,” his voice sounded, low, right by her ear.
She startled. His hand brushed against her elbow, so lightly it felt like a phantom caress lingering on her skin. She felt the warmth of his breath graze her neck, and her heart skipped a beat.
“Ah—” she turned abruptly, her eyes darting aside, “g-good morning…”
Her cheeks burned with color. She could barely endure his gaze and quickly lowered her eyes. Muichiro said nothing, but something in his expression softened—as though her fluster warmed him inside. He did not step back.
“M-my classes are about to start,” Toki mumbled. “See you later…”
Without waiting for a reply, she hurried toward the building, trying not to look back.
Muichiro watched her leave, his gaze lingering just a little longer than it should have. Then he made his way to his own class.
Toki had a lecture on ancient rituals—the sun-lit classroom, the scent of old pages, the whisper of notes turning in the silence. She tried to focus, but her thoughts kept slipping away—to the empty hallways, to Muichiro’s voice, to the memory of his breath at her neck.
Meanwhile, he sat before an easel. Today was an oil painting class. The theme—free. Students were allowed to express themselves however they wished, with no restrictions.
And Muichiro painted.
Silently.
With focus.
With nothing but the brush, the canvas, and the rhythm that had been with him since childhood.
He didn’t know what exactly was taking shape under his hand—but each stroke seemed to draw out something long-buried.
A shadow on a face.
The glint of moonlight.
A lone figure on a bridge.
The painting was becoming… too personal.
When the session ended, the professor approached, leaning slightly so as not to disturb the atmosphere.
“Tokito-san, you are, as always, remarkable. Your works are true inspiration,” his voice was soft, yet confident. “However, I must remind you: you will still need to submit a few sketches from life studies. People in motion—even running figures—will be enough.”
Muichiro gave a small nod.
“Thank you.”
He put away his brushes unhurriedly and stepped out, hoping to find a quiet place where no one would disturb him. But he had taken only a few steps when a voice rang out from behind:
“Tokito-donooo!! You can see me, right?!”
He sighed inwardly and tried to keep walking, as if he hadn’t noticed.
“Tokito-dono! Don’t ignore me!”
“Stop shouting,” Muichiro said flatly, turning to glance back.
“And where are you headed? Sketching outdoors? I need to do some, too! Let’s go together?”
“No. You’re too loud. It’s irritating…”
“Well… then I’ll just find Toki-san! She won’t get bored with me around—”
Muichiro shot him a look—short, dark, icy.
“—Or… maybe the three of us together?” Zenitsu grinned, and before waiting for an answer, darted ahead down the hall.
Resigned, Muichiro followed after him.
Outside, the sun blazed down, heat shimmering off the asphalt. Zenitsu’s eyes darted everywhere, and almost immediately he spotted a familiar figure sitting on a bench.
“Toki-saaan! Good morning!”
Toki sat with a paper cup of coffee, gazing at the sky. She smiled when she noticed Zenitsu… and immediately lowered her eyes when she saw Muichiro walking behind him. For a moment, her heart tightened—the memory of how close he had been that morning still lingered.
“Hello, Zenitsu-kun,” she replied, still smiling, though a little flustered.
“We thought—well, I thought! Tokito-dono and I need to do some outdoor sketches. Will you sit with us? You can be our inspiration and moral support!”
Muichiro stepped closer and stopped beside her. Toki felt his gaze fall on her again—direct, attentive, wordless. A pause hung between them.
“How about the stadium?” Zenitsu suddenly suggested. “They’re holding classes there right now! People in motion, perfect for sketching! Genius, right? What do you say, Tokito-dono?”
“If you stop yelling, I’ll go.”
Toki looked at Muichiro in surprise. Normally, he would have refused.
“He must have been planning to go there anyway,” she thought, rising from the bench.
“All right. I’ve got a long break anyway. Let’s go.”
She glanced at Muichiro. He was watching her—silently, deeply. His eyes, the color of a cold sky, seemed closer than anything else.
The stadium was loud. Footsteps, coaches shouting, water bottles clattering, the air buzzing with heat.
They sat on the bleachers. Toki settled next to Zenitsu, sipping the last of her coffee. Muichiro sat a step above, sketchbook resting on his knees.
“Let’s begin!” Zenitsu cheered, pulling out his pencil.
He scribbled quickly, trying to capture the movement of the students on the field—but the difference between his messy lines and Muichiro’s precise strokes was clear.
“Zenitsu-kun…” Toki said softly, “maybe it’s just me, but you seem… different today. Like something’s weighing on you.”
“Huh? Me? How? Why?” he panicked instantly, questions spilling out in a rush.
“Is it because of yesterday? Because of that girl?”
He went quiet. For several seconds he just stared straight ahead.
Muichiro kept sketching. But he heard. Everything.
“Toki-san… you always notice. Nezuko… we’d been friends since childhood. I was with Tanjiro when they first moved to Tokyo. That’s when I realized… I was in love. Guess that’s what they call love at first sight, right?” He smiled bitterly, his voice dropping. “And when I saw her yesterday, so… different. Almost like a stranger. It was unbearable. I would give up everything to save her. Everything.”
“Zenitsu-kun…” Toki touched his shoulder gently. “You’re kind. I’m sure everything will work out.”
He looked at her, and some of the despair in his face softened into hope. Muichiro had been drawing the whole time, but something inside him gave a sharp, uneasy tug.
“How about you, Muichiro?” Toki turned to him. “Did it come out well?”
“Yes. I finished.”
He handed her the sketchbook. Inside were running silhouettes—light, almost made of air and sunlight.
“Wow…” she breathed. “That’s beautiful.”
“Genius!” Zenitsu jumped up. “If only I could do that—bam, and it’s done! Meanwhile I’ve got nothing decent, and we leave tomorrow…”
“Wait—you’re coming with us too?” Toki asked, surprised.
“Of course. They assigned me as Kaigaku’s assistant. Hard to refuse when a powerful demon was spotted near the estate…” Zenitsu sighed. “We both trained under Grandpa Jigoro. But I… I don’t want to go! I don’t want to die! At least Tokito-dono will be there to save me!”
“I have no intention of saving you,” Muichiro said calmly.
“Nooooo! Why?!” Zenitsu wailed.
Toki laughed. Muichiro looked at her—and didn’t look away.
Later, after everyone had gone their separate ways, they met again near the campus gate. Muichiro sat on a bench, waiting calmly. Zenitsu darted around nearby, chasing “new models.” Toki hurried up to them.
“Sorry I’m late. I had to discuss something with a professor,” she said with an apologetic smile.
“It’s fine,” Muichiro answered, standing. Toki fell into step beside him.
“Zenitsu-kun, see you tomorrow!”
“Count on it! I’ll stick with you—like a remora with a shark!”
“Stop shouting. That’s an order. And I’m not a shark,” Muichiro cut him off.
Toki smiled, waving, and together she and Muichiro disappeared around the corner of the campus, at the start of another long, shared path.
Once again, they were alone. The streets were nearly empty, the evening laying its soft haze over the city. They walked in silence, step for step. The quiet between them felt natural, even necessary.
Muichiro walked just ahead, as though carving the way through the dimly lit street. Toki walked beside him, trying not to look too obviously his way. Something about him tonight seemed especially… quiet. Even for him.
“Muichiro…” she spoke hesitantly. “We have to wake up early tomorrow, right?”
He nodded without turning.
“Be at the airport by nine,” his voice was calm, slightly muted.
“Then…” she slowed her step for a moment, “maybe we just eat noodles tonight? I don’t have the energy to cook, and I don’t feel like going anywhere…”
He glanced at her over his shoulder briefly and gave a more certain nod.
“All right.”
Toki smiled faintly, remembering the stacks of instant noodles she had seen in his cupboard last time. It was almost like a collection.
“What are you smiling at?” he asked suddenly, without turning.
“Eh? Nothing…” she quickly looked away, but the corners of her lips betrayed her.
“I see,” he said shortly, then nodded downwards. “Look. A spider.”
“Where?!” she jumped, instantly hiding behind his back, clutching at his sleeve.
“It ran off,” he reported calmly, without even looking.
“Again, you…” she frowned, huffed, and deliberately strode past him, quickening her pace. “That’s not funny.”
Muichiro only shrugged—calmly, as though he hadn’t just provoked her miniature panic.
As they walked, a fly buzzed past, making Toki flinch and swat the air. Muichiro sighed softly.
“Let’s go. It’s late.”
The house was quiet. Toki stepped into the kitchen and turned.
“Shall I boil the water? You do have noodles, right?”
“Up there,” he nodded toward the top cupboard and sat by the window, where the muted glow of streetlamps filtered in.
Opening the cupboard, Toki froze for a moment.
“You’ve got a whole store here. There’s even a section by world regions…”
“Mm.”
“Chicken, beef, tuna, shrimp, kimchi…” she read the labels, amused. “I’m surprised you don’t keep an inventory book.”
He didn’t reply. Just sat there, cheek resting on his palm, eyes tiredly fixed on the glass — where her reflection shimmered faintly.
“Which one do you want?” she asked, still standing by the cupboard.
“Doesn’t matter.”
“Of course,” she sighed, though without annoyance. That was just like him — not to trouble himself with choices, never looking ahead.
When she closed the door, he was suddenly right beside her. Not too close, not intentional — just near enough that they almost bumped. He instantly stepped back, without even looking at her. Toki turned quickly to the table, hiding the sudden flush in her ears.
“All right then. I’ll choose with my eyes closed. Whatever I land on, that’s fate.” With exaggerated seriousness she shuffled the boxes and pointed at one. “Ta-daa! Tonight you’re eating Seoul-style kimchi ramen. Sorry — destiny decided.”
“That’s fine. I don’t mind,” he answered without a trace of irony.
“You know, you should argue once in a while. For variety.”
“That would waste an extra ten seconds,” he said flatly.
Toki exhaled and smiled at him before pouring hot water into the cups. She handed one over.
“Here, your Seoul-style chicken ramen.”
He took it carefully, his fingers brushing hers just for a second. A faint warmth spread through him, like nectar seeping into his veins.
Toki didn’t seem to notice, simply taking her own cup and sitting at the table. Two steaming bowls between them, the rising vapor caught the soft glow of the lamp.
“Enjoy your meal,” she said, pressing her palms together.
“You too,” he answered quietly.
As they ate, she remarked:
“It’s not as spicy as I expected. Kimchi’s supposed to—”
“The name’s misleading,” he cut in. “Barely burns at all. That’s the problem.”
“You know your noodles,” she teased.
He only lowered his gaze to the bowl.
After dinner Toki sank into the couch, stretching out her legs with a sigh of relief.
“Finally… We can rest. I’m exhausted.”
“Want me to put on a film?” he asked, moving to the edge of the couch.
“Mm. Why not.”
“Choose,” he said, handing her the phone.
She scrolled, chewing her lip thoughtfully.
“Something old, Japanese… Oh! Seven Samurai. You don’t mind, do you?”
“I don’t,” he nodded, turning off the light.
The room went dim, lit only by the screen’s glow reflecting in the window. He sat down beside her — not touching, but close enough that she felt him there, steady and silent. She hugged her knees, eyes on the film, though her heart beat a little faster than usual. Muichiro watched in silence, absorbed. Gradually, she calmed as well. Still, her attention kept drifting back to him — to his breathing, his stillness, the faint warmth of his presence. Almost in unison with her own.
By eleven, the screen went dark. Muichiro turned slightly.
“Good scenes. Realistic.”
“Agreed,” she yawned. “Guess it’s time for bed…”
“Shall we?” he asked.
She nodded
“You can use the other room.”
“Thank you…” she whispered, slipping away quickly. “Good night, Muichiro.”
“And you,” he replied, his gaze lingering just a second too long.
Silence settled over the room like a translucent veil. And beneath it, in her chest, something warm and alive kept beating — quiet, unyielding, and refusing to fade.
Morning was fragile, almost delicate.
Light filtered through the curtains, falling in blurred patches on the floor. Dust motes floated in the air — slow, like a living dance. Everything breathed with stillness.
Toki woke to the alarm at half past five. In the next room, she heard soft footsteps. Muichiro was already awake. A rustle of fabric, a muted yawn, the creak of the floorboards. He moved quietly, almost soundless.
Through the narrow gap in the curtains, sunlight slipped into his room. He had just risen — hair tousled, eyes still veiled by sleep. He wore only loose home clothes: light trousers hanging low on his hips. He yawned, heading toward the kitchen, movements unhurried, half-dreaming still.
At that moment the door creaked.
Toki peeked in, hesitant.
“Muichiro…? Good… morning.”
He turned.
“Toki? Morning.”
She froze. Her eyes widened slightly, cheeks flushing pink almost instantly. For a heartbeat she forgot how to breathe. Her gaze flickered over him — hair tied in a messy knot, neck bare, shoulders broad, chest exposed, lean muscles traced faintly by the blanket’s imprint. He looked both fragile and strong at once — like a tempered blade. He was handsome. And magnetic.
Toki quickly averted her gaze, but inside, something warm and strange had already flared up.
“S-sorry… I… didn’t know you were…” she stumbled over the words, forcing herself to look only at his face, “not dressed yet.”
Muichiro blinked.
“What’s wrong with you?” he asked, puzzled, his voice still lazy with sleep. He truly didn’t understand.
Her blush deepened as she backed against the doorway.
“N-nothing! Just… you look…” She clamped her hand over her mouth, silencing herself.
He glanced down at himself and shrugged.
“I’ll get dressed.”
But before he turned away, he paused. His gaze caught hers — and for the first time he noticed something new there. Embarrassment. Desire. Tremor.
And in him, too, something stirred. Not thought, but body. Heat, rising under his ribs, spreading through his chest.
His eyes lingered a moment longer than they should have. Then, calmly, he turned back to his room for a shirt — leaving her in the doorway, cheeks aflame, heart pounding wildly.
Muichiro got ready quickly. His long hair was tied low in a tight knot, the turquoise tips falling loose around his face, highlighting the cold gleam of his eyes. He slipped on his uniform jacket over a black T-shirt, leaving his arms bare.
“Are you ready?” he asked, adjusting the collar of his uniform.
“Y-yes,” she nodded quickly.
Toki stole glances at him, trying to hide her embarrassment. It felt like he was growing more beautiful with each passing day — as if only now she was truly beginning to see him. And the closer he was, the harder it became to look away.
The ride passed in silence. Muichiro watched her — his gaze calm, though something inside him beat faster than usual. The urge to stay close, to feel her hand in his, to hear her breathing… these thoughts came more often now, dangerously pleasant.
When the car slowed, Toki turned to him.
“Looks like we made it in time…”
“Yeah. Shall we?” he nodded, standing up.
They were already being awaited at the station. Zenitsu waved, glowing like a sunbeam.
“Tokito-dono! Toki-san! Good morning!”
Kaigaku stood slightly behind, arms crossed. His gaze slid over Muichiro, then over Toki — and a cold, self-satisfied smirk touched the corners of his lips.
“Good morning, Zenitsu-kun,” Toki replied politely.
“Tokito-dono, good morning. I hope we work well together,” Kaigaku said with deliberate respect, bowing only to Muichiro.
He ignored Toki. She didn’t take offense, but a strange chill curled inside her. Something unpleasant radiated from him. Muichiro answered only with a distant, steady look, then immediately headed toward the train.
Inside the carriage, Toki took the aisle seat, leaving the window for Muichiro. Across from them sat Zenitsu, tense as a drawn string.
“Tokito-dono, brief me on the details,” Kaigaku said, settling in beside them.
Muichiro turned from the window, his gaze slow and lazy.
“There’ve been disappearances in the forest. Presumably a spider demon. We’ll confirm.” He turned back again.
Kaigaku’s eyes slid toward Toki. He knew who she was. Cursed. Under watch. And he didn’t bother to hide his disdain.
“Let’s hope we bring its head to Oyakata-sama. I’ll do everything to ensure that certain people no longer create problems for our organization. That is our main goal, isn’t it?”
His voice was smooth, but laced with venom.
Toki clenched her fists. Cold settled over her, fear rising — but she said nothing.
“Don’t talk to me. You’re disturbing my thoughts,” Muichiro cut in, not turning his head.
He was tired. Of loud words, of empty pride. Truthfully, he only wished to be alone with Toki. Just traveling beside her, feeling her warmth — without words, without anyone else intruding.
The announcement broke the tension:
“Haneda Airport.”
Inside the terminal, Muichiro and Toki passed through the checks and headed toward the waiting area.
“Want something to eat?” Muichiro asked, watching Zenitsu and Kaigaku flounder at security.
“Yes. We didn’t have breakfast after all.”
“Let’s go, then,” he added.
Toki glanced back at Zenitsu — he looked so suspicious it seemed like he had at least a bomb in his backpack… or a kilo of explosives. He was so nervous he could faint any second.
“What about those two? Maybe we should tell them…”
“No. They’ll manage,” Muichiro replied.
“O-okey…”
They walked forward, searching for a place. Their choice fell on a cozy café with an impressive variety of waffles.
The order arrived quickly, and they managed to enjoy a short moment of quiet seclusion. But only a couple of minutes later, the silence was shattered by desperate cries:
“Tokito-dono?! Toki-san?! No! Don’t tell me you boarded another plane! They could’ve gone anywhere! What if they’re already in Cambodia? Or… somewhere in Naples?Could it be Cape Town?! Or worse… Greenland?! How could this happen?! I’ll die without Tokito-dono the very second we enter that cursed forest! I’m too young!”
Muichiro lazily turned his head toward the noise and closed his eyes.
“How irritating. I hate joint missions with hunters. It’s exhausting,” he thought.
Toki glanced at his face, reading complete and unreserved irritation there, and burst into laughter.
The moment Zenitsu spotted them, he squealed and rushed forward:
“Oh, thank goodness you’re here! I nearly died! Just the thought—”
“Be quiet for at least five minutes,” Muichiro cut him off, turning away. His annoyance was obvious — their peaceful corner had just been invaded by noise.
“Zenitsu, you idiot. Can’t you see you’re annoying Tokito-dono?! Someone as weak as you doesn’t even deserve to stand near a Hashira. You’re lucky the old man even took you in as a student,” Kaigaku added venomously.
“You two, go wait for the flight somewhere else. That’s an order,” Muichiro said coldly, looking at them as though he had the right to command the entire departure hall.
The noise grated on his nerves like teeth on glass.
If Zenitsu he could tolerate — his foolishness was at least sincere — then Kaigaku stirred in him nothing but steady disgust with his hypocrisy.
Toki cast Zenitsu a glance filled with pity, and Muichiro, noticing, quietly exhaled.
“You,” he turned to Zenitsu, “can stay here and sort out my documents.” He pulled a chaotic stack of papers from his pocket and shoved them into Zenitsu’s hands. “And you,” his gaze shifted to Kaigaku, “keep track of the time and let me know when boarding begins. I hope I don’t have to repeat myself?”
“Yes, Tokito-dono!” Kaigaku snapped to attention like a soldier.
“That arrogant bastard! He thinks I’m some pathetic Kakushi? I can’t wait to become a Hashira myself… and put him in his place,” Kaigaku fumed inwardly.
Toki struggled to hold back her laughter at Muichiro’s improvisation. He glanced at her briefly, as if to make sure she was really laughing, then returned to his drink.
“Tokito-dono, what exactly am I supposed to do with your documents? I mean, I kind of sorted them…” Zenitsu blinked innocently, not understanding at all.
“Forget it.”
“Zenitsu-kun, we still have some time. You can order something for yourself. They say hot tea is good for the nerves. By the way, you’re not afraid of flying, are you?” Toki asked with a smile.
Muichiro looked at him with lazy interest.
“O-o-of course not! Afraid?… I just lose my mind in the air! What if the pilot passes out? What am I supposed to do then?! That’s certain death!”
“Hahaha!” Toki laughed, wiping away tears. “I somehow knew you’d say that. Don’t worry, Zenitsu-kun, we’ve got Muichiro with us. He’ll figure something out. Right?” She turned to Muichiro.
“I don’t know how to fly a plane. But I could conceal its fall in midair,” he replied calmly.
“And how would that help?”
“It wouldn’t…”
Toki burst into laughter again, while Zenitsu turned pale as though he might die right there at the table.
Just then, Kaigaku returned — boarding had begun.
They boarded the plane and took their seats. As before, Toki chose the aisle, leaving Muichiro the window. The flight was short — the plane touched down within half an hour, and they hardly noticed the time passing.
“Thank God I’m alive!” Zenitsu exhaled with relief, nearly collapsing to his knees.
They were greeted by two kakushi and an elderly man of short stature. Despite his age, he carried himself with the dignity and strength of a warrior.
“Grandpa Jigoro!” Zenitsu cried out with joy, rushing forward. “I missed you so much!”
Notes:
Hey everyone! It was such a pleasure writing this chapter. It turned out light and romantic and Muichiro came across really sweet (sometimes, lol).
Honestly, he’s very interesting to write: he’s cold and restrained on the outside, but inside it’s a completely different story. And with each chapter, it becomes harder for him to keep it all in (especially after what happened with Kyojuro). I’m planning to fully explore him in this part and give him more depth—he’s a genius, but also a person who’s tired of the mask of indifference and the loneliness that comes with it.In the next chapters, the mini Okinawa arc will finally begin—sun, sea, and… Spider Demons! 🕸️
It’s going to be intense! See you soon!
Chapter 19: Okinawa Part I
Summary:
The Okinawa arc begins. Everything would seem fine—if not for the demons who have slipped in here as well, clearly plotting something. Muichiro arrives with the others on Paradise Island to uncover the truth. Will he succeed? We’ll see.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“Grandpa Jigoro!” Zenitsu exclaimed with joy, rushing forward. “I missed you so much!”
“Zenitsu, I’m glad to see you. How was the flight? You’re terrified of planes, aren’t you?” Jigoro asked with a warm smile.
“It was horrible! But I prayed the whole time that we wouldn’t crash!”
“Well done. Perhaps it’s thanks to your prayers that everyone made it safely,” the old man chuckled. “Oh! Kaigaku, I see you’ve grown — a candidate for Hashira already! I’m proud of you.”
Kaigaku didn’t answer, only cast Zenitsu an irritated sideways glance.
“Tokito-dono! It’s an honor to meet such a young Hashira.” He bowed deeply. Muichiro, without a word, returned the gesture.
The elderly man then turned to the girl.
“You must be Amida-san? A pleasure to meet you. I hope you’ll enjoy your stay here in Okinawa.”
“Yes. I’ve always dreamed of visiting Okinawa. Thank you,” Toki replied politely, bowing.
The road to the Thunder Estate was short, but Toki delighted in looking out the car window, catching glimpses of the ocean beyond the glass.
“It’s so beautiful… like a paradise.”
They sat in the back seat. Up front, Zenitsu chattered without pause, sharing every bit of news with his master — life at the university, missions, new acquaintances. Kaigaku spoke occasionally, but for the most part remained silent, as if a tightly wound spring inside him refused to let him relax.
The Thunder Estate stood in a picturesque spot on the seashore.
“Waaah! It’s so beautiful!” Toki exclaimed as soon as she stepped out of the car. “Zenitsu-kun, you’re so lucky to train in a place like this…”
“If not for the training and the demons, I would be perfectly happy. But alas, Toki-san, each day I balance between life and death…” Zenitsu sighed dramatically.
“Amazing you’ve even survived this long,” Kaigaku muttered sharply.
“What an unpleasant type,” Toki thought with a serene face, continuing her conversation with Zenitsu.
“Ah… I’m too old for long welcomes. Tokito-dono, I’d like to discuss business with you, but first — please, come inside and rest a little after your journey,” Jigoro said, gesturing toward the estate.
They walked along a stone-paved path, lined with trees and lush tropical plants. Toki looked around with interest, easily recognizing hibiscus, breadfruit, ficus, and something resembling cistus. She remembered studying botany with her grandfather as a child, and now her eyes naturally caught every familiar shape.
They reached the main building — broad, wooden, with a low roof.
“This is the main house, with dormitories for students on each side. Their training also takes place here. Zenitsu and Kaigaku lived here when they were little. Ah… nostalgia…” Jigoro chuckled. “But let’s not wander off.”
Muichiro silently observed the building. He had heard of the Thunder Estate — one of the largest hunter training centers, founded by Jigoro Kuwajima, the only former Hashira who had devoted himself to training students en masse.
“Here is where swordsmanship is taught,” Jigoro pointed to a hall with an open training ground. “And there — I teach magic and incantations. See? The novices are meditating right now.”
At last, they reached a smaller house.
“This is my home. Please, come in…”
The interior was warm and welcoming, finished in pale wood. Kakushi greeted them with polite bows.
“Let’s go to the sitting room,” Jigoro suggested. “You should take a short rest.”
“Tch. We’re wasting time. Tokito-dono is a Hashira. His time is far too valuable for sipping tea,” Kaigaku muttered, almost challenging.
“I would rest,” Muichiro replied shortly, casting him a cold glance.
“Serious matters don’t tolerate haste, Kaigaku. Be patient.”
“I know what I need,” he snapped back and stormed into the garden, slamming the door behind him.
Toki followed him with her eyes in silence.
“My apologies, Tokito-dono,” Jigoro bowed his head. “He has always been impatient. Always rushing forward, sometimes crossing the line…”
“It doesn’t matter,” Muichiro said curtly, stepping into the room and sitting at the low table. Toki settled beside him.
Jigoro looked at him with faint sorrow.
“I wish to offer my condolences. I heard… about Rengoku-dono. He was more than just your mentor. I’m sorry it ended that way.”
Muichiro gave a barely perceptible nod. For a moment, the room grew especially still. Toki lowered her eyes, feeling once more the pain of that day tighten in her chest.
Kakushi brought tea and light refreshments — crispy rice flakes with honey, fresh biscuits, thin slices of pineapple. The aroma of sea breeze mingled with rice and tea, along with the faint sounds of the garden beyond the window. For a fleeting moment, Toki felt the house breathing with the past — memories, children’s laughter, and shadows.
“Please, help yourselves,” Jigoro said gently, pouring tea for everyone.
The tea was hot, with a subtle herbal note. Toki wrapped her hands around the ceramic cup, feeling warmth seep into her fingers. The garden outside, the shade of a silk tree, the distant voices of students — everything reminded her of a calm before the storm.
She stole a glance at Muichiro. He sat upright, calm as always, as if untouched by anything… yet Toki noticed his gaze drifting toward the forest beyond the window. As if he already knew what awaited them there.
“Please call Kaigaku,” Jigoro told one of the Kakushi.
“Yes, sir.”
A few minutes later, Kaigaku returned, still looking displeased.
“Good. Now that everyone is here, I’ll tell you what has happened,” Jigoro began, his voice lowering. “A few days ago, my students and I were training in the forest not far from here. Tourists often pass through that forest on their way to the beach. We saw three people vanish right before our eyes. Without a trace. Normally we can sense a demon’s presence quickly… But this time, nothing.”
He clenched his fist.
“Later, young hunters began to disappear. My students. I heard about the tragedy at the exam… about the interference of Upper Moons. I am old, Tokito-dono. But my students are all I have left. I couldn’t risk the others. That is why I asked for help.”
He looked at Muichiro.
“I’m grateful to Ubuyashiki-sama for sending you. And for allowing Zenitsu and Kaigaku to accompany you on this mission. I want to show you the place where it all happened.” Jigoro stood. “And… one more thing. The forest is now overrun with spiders.”
Muichiro turned to Toki. She had gone slightly pale.
“Take me there,” he said. And without waiting, rose and headed toward the door. The others followed.
The clock showed about three. The sun was already leaning toward the horizon, hiding its gold in the surface of the sea. Ahead — the forest, the shadows, and the traces of the vanished.
They walked slowly through the forest, toward the place where people had vanished. Toki kept glancing around nervously, as if every rustle might betray something dangerous—spiders, snakes, or some other vile creature. Tension flickered in her eyes, her hands clutching the edges of her sweater over and over. She tried her best not to fall behind Muichiro, keeping as close as possible, almost clinging to him. He didn’t notice, but inside, something faintly warmed—she needed to feel him near, to rely on his strength and protection.
Zenitsu, walking beside them, was gripped by an almost childlike fear—shivering as if a cold wind had seeped straight into his bones.
“A-a-a! A spider!” his voice suddenly shrieked, slicing the silence apart.
“What? Where?” Toki instantly responded, instinctively grabbing onto Muichiro’s sleeve, pressing herself against him so closely she almost merged with his shadow.
“Nothing, it just seemed like it,” Zenitsu exhaled in relief, his shoulders slumping.
In that moment, Toki saw a kindred spirit in him—someone like her, who feared those small, malicious creatures the world had created. She let go of Muichiro, who frowned slightly at the gesture, and stepped closer Zenitsu, whispering in his ear:
“Zenitsu-kun, you’re afraid of them too?”
“Yes,” he admitted in a low voice. “They could eat me alive any second. And some are deadly poisonous. Their small size gives them the advantage, and the venom… it paralyzes you. One bite—and it’s over.”
“How terrifying… Zenitsu-kun, let’s stick together and not fall behind Muichiro. With him, we’ll be safe,” Toki suggested with a faint smile. Zenitsu nodded, as if accepting an unspoken pact.
Muichiro quietly rolled his eyes—his gaze carried its usual shade of irritation, yet also a hidden warmth.
Kaigaku followed behind, annoyed by everything around him—even the forest’s rustle grated on his nerves.
“This is the place…” Jigoro stopped, pointing toward the thickening web.
Toki stood close beside Muichiro, who was carefully observing.
“There’s spider silk everywhere,” he noted, slowly running his finger across a branch. The web clung to his skin like an invisible sticky film. Toki flinched, but Muichiro didn’t pull back.
“I think he’s using it somehow…” Muichiro murmured, staring into the forest where the dark shadows of trees blended into one bleak canvas. “We’ll return here at night. For now, we wait at the estate,” he commanded calmly.
They began to turn back.
At that very moment, in the deeper thicket, faint voices merged into a sinister whisper.
“They’re here, just as planned. It was pointless to lure her out in Tokyo—too many hunters. Here it’s different. Two birds with one stone: we’ll lure the girl out, test her strength. At best—we’ll capture her, and then destroy the Thunder Estate. Too many young hunters there. Just as Akaza-sama intended: if we kill the students, the Corps will have no future.”
“And Tokito? His strength could interfere.”
“I’ll handle him myself. The rest is on you. Don’t disappoint me, Mother.”
“Yes, Rui-sama.”
Hidden by magic in the forest, two demons spoke—a pale boy with crimson eyes, and a girl with the same pallid skin. Behind them loomed twisted figures and dozens of cocoons, still holding living, breathing people…
“Muichiro, here,” the girl whispered, offering a towel.
“What for?” he asked, not taking his eyes off Toki.
“Your hands… the webs are all over them. What if spiders are still there? What if they’re venomous? What if they bite and you—” Toki’s thoughts began to race out loud, her voice trembling.
“And what if I what?” Muichiro asked with a faint smile, taking the towel, his gaze never leaving her.
“What if they bite you and you die…” Toki’s voice sank to a near whisper, fear flickering in her eyes.
Muichiro noticed and quickly wiped his hands, not letting her fears grow.
“I won’t die. There are no spiders here.”
He leaned closer, gently brushing his hand through her hair. Toki startled, looking at him sharply.
“Web,” he said, showing her a thin white strand clinging to his fingers before taking the towel again.
“Ugh! Disgusting!” she sighed, nervously combing through her hair.
Muichiro gently caught her hands.
“Calm down. There’s nothing else.”
He lowered her hand back to the ground, still holding it.
At first Toki didn’t realize what this touch meant, but then exhaled deeply.
“Alright… I wouldn’t have survived that,” she whispered, lowering her gaze. Then it struck her—Muichiro was still holding her hand.
Distant voices echoed.
Muichiro sighed.
“We have to go.”
They joined Jigoro.
“Tokito-dono, I will remain at the estate with my students,” the old man said firmly.
Muichiro gave a silent nod. His eyes, clouded with premonition, were already fixed on the forest. He moved first—soundless as a shadow. Kaigaku followed close, tense and bitter. Behind them trailed Toki and Zenitsu, and several other hunters who had volunteered to aid the Mist Hashira. They were young, but determination burned in their eyes: to save their comrades—or die trying.
“S-s-so scary…” Zenitsu stammered, his voice trembling.
Toki instinctively moved closer to Muichiro. She was drawn to him—to his quiet, almost icy composure. She needed his warmth, even if he himself didn’t realize how much it radiated.
Muichiro felt it—eyes were watching them. The forest was alive, brimming with alien breaths. Thousands of eyes. Step by step, he peered into the darkness. Paused. Breathed. It was too quiet. Too calm.
An hour passed. Not a single trace.
“Maybe there were no demons at all? Just some anomaly?” one hunter asked, weakly hopeful.
“Anomalies don’t devour people,” Muichiro replied quietly. “Even if they did, there would be bones left.”
Zenitsu nearly fainted, muttering again and again:
“B-b-bones… bones… there’d be bones…”
Toki placed her hand gently on his shoulder.
“Try to breathe. We’re right here.”
Step. Another step. And suddenly—Muichiro stopped.
“There,” his voice was sharp as a blade.
He pointed upward, into the branches.
“I’ll check,” Kaigaku snapped, springing into the air.
“Tch. Just a tree. Now I’ll show this Hashira who’s truly better here.”
“There’s noth—”
The phrase was cut short. Kaigaku vanished.
Muichiro threw a deep, fleeting glance at Toki. Then turned to the others.
“Go back.”
One hunter darted after Kaigaku—only to vanish as well. Muichiro understood: they were inside.
“This is enemy territory. Woven like a trap. Nearly invisible. That’s why the others sensed nothing.”
He drew his white blade, mist enveloping him completely. He leapt—dissolving into the air. Darkness thickened.
“Low Clouds, Distant Haze.”
His strike landed—precisely, at the trap’s heart. But the demon was faster.
When Muichiro landed, the entire area was smothered in web. Inside a black dome between the trees hung cocoons. Alive. He heard their hearts pounding.
“They’re still alive. But if I unleash my full power—they’ll die.”
“You’re Muichiro Tokito?” a soft, childlike voice rang out. “I’ve heard of you. You found me right away. That’s rare.”
The demon stepped from the shadows. White skin, crimson eyes, a grim serenity upon his face.
Rui.
And he wasn’t alone.
Three more appeared around him.
“Brother. Mother. Those outside—they’re yours. Mother, you know what to do. Don’t fail me.”
“Yes, Rui-sama.”
Muichiro tried to strike, but his blade halted—the web was harder than steel.
“Then I’ll start with you,” he murmured, eyes locked on Rui.
He knew—it was a Lower Moon. The rest were his creations. Turned.
“Three missing tourists,” Muichiro said quietly. “That’s them?”
“I always dreamed of a family,” the demon smiled. “And now I have a father, mother, brother, and sister. My dream came true.”
“Disgusting.”
Muichiro vanished into mist.
“How rude,” Rui sniffed. “He knows how to hide. Stay alert.”
The web dome contracted. Rui sensed it—Muichiro had been found.
“Father. He’s yours.”
A thunderous crash. A giant with a sword descended on Muichiro. He dodged, but the impact hurled him against a tree trunk.
Meanwhile, Kaigaku stirred—bound, wrists entangled in webbing. He clenched his teeth, surged power into his legs, and burst free with a jump.
He saw the battle.
“Tokito’s fighting. Time to act.”
He darted along the branches like lightning. Froze.
“Cocoons with the students. Still alive…”
He hid. Watched Muichiro. The Hashira was fighting—but without magic. Just his blade.
Kaigaku gritted his hilt.
“A Hashira? A genius? He’s stalling! Why?! Why isn’t he fighting for real?!”
He couldn’t hold back. He broke cover and charged into battle.
Muichiro noticed him.
“Good. He’ll handle the brute. I’ll go after Rui. It must be done quickly…”
Muichiro leapt, landing on the giant’s sword. Another push—and he was airborne again.
“I leave him to you,” he said to Kaigaku.
But Kaigaku had already decided otherwise.
“I’ll handle him—and the web. It gets in the way. I’ll clear it all!”
“Don’t touch it!” Muichiro shouted. “There are people inside!”
But it was too late.
“Heat Lightning”
The sickly-yellow blade exploded with blinding bolts, splitting the air. Waves of lightning scorched through the web, burning it apart. Cocoons fell one by one. From inside came screams… then silence. Blood dripped onto the ground.
The demon howled—his arm charred, his body trembling. But Muichiro wasn’t looking at him.
He was looking at the ground.
“You knew…” his voice was ice. “You knew there were people inside.”
“I destroyed the web! I wounded the demon!” Kaigaku shouted, but his voice cracked with guilt.
Muichiro turned away. His eyes darkened.
“A hunter saves lives. Even at the cost of his own.”
He heard the demon rise again. A breath. Silence.
“I order you… kill him.”
Muichiro vanished into the mist, moving toward Rui.
“Tch,” Kaigaku hissed. “I know that already, you arrogant bastard.”
Notes:
Hey guys 👋 I’ve literally been refreshing the site all day waiting for it to finally come back, and yay—it’s time for a new chapter!! I really hope you like it.
Ahhh what’s going to happen next? You’ll see next Tuesday — can’t wait to hear what you think!
Chapter 20: Okinawa Part II
Notes:
Guys, the new chapter is already here. Enjoy reading!
Chapter Text
Toki and Zenitsu were running.
The forest seemed endless, ink-black and alien, as if enemies lurked in every shadow. Those who had volunteered to help were swallowed by the web. Silently. Without a trace.
Only the two of them remained. Their strength was fading. Hearts pounded like harbingers of death.
They reached a small stream. Moonlight pierced the canopy—pale, alien, like light from another world.
“Zenitsu-kun, are you alright?”
“I… I’m gonna die from lack of air…” His voice barely rose above a whisper, his ragged breath trembling in the air.
They hid behind a tree, and Toki quickly placed protective seals given to her by Gyomei.
"The seals won’t work against strong demons, but at least they’ll give us some warning…" she thought, pouring a bit of energy into them.
The world froze, only her heartbeat and the buzzing of unseen wings remained.
“T-Toki-san, I-I’m scared…”
Zenitsu felt sick. Nausea clawed at his throat, as if his body itself refused to go on. Death pressed close. Too close.
Suddenly, Toki sensed the seals shift.
“Behind us!”
Her voice pierced the silence, and Zenitsu leapt aside but too late. He crashed straight into a web. Tiny spiders, no larger than fingernails, rushed across his body.
“Don’t kill me!!” he screamed, desperate, like a man who realized the truth too late.
Toki lunged toward him, but in the next instant her arms froze. They no longer obeyed her. Her consciousness slipped, her body felt hollow. She collapsed into silence.
“Toki-san!..” Zenitsu’s voice drowned in the darkness. And he too fainted.
Darkness.
Something snow-white stood beside their bodies.
A tall woman, sculpted like porcelain. Cold, terrifyingly beautiful. A spider with a human head crawled up to her.
“Excellent work. Carry them to Rui-sama’s domain.”
Kaigaku was fighting. And in that moment, the world belonged only to him.
A massive demon loomed before him, matching his strength blow for blow. But there were no webs here. That meant—everything was possible.
“There are humans there? So what?.. The only thing that matters is killing this demons!”
He surged forward, his blade tearing into flesh—but leaving no mark. Even one-armed, the demon was still dangerous.
“Tough, huh?.. How about THIS? Rice Spirit!”
Sparks erupted from his blade—five bolts of lightning roared and struck the demon. Flesh seared and crackled under the heat.
The monster still stood, but staggered.
“Farewell.”
With one precise strike, Kaigaku cleaved its head off. Blood hissed against the ground. Euphoria consumed him.
“How do you like that, Tokito?! This is the power of the future Thunder Hashira! Not your pathetic, musty mist! Hahaha!”
He was drunk on victory. Intoxicated by battle.
“Perfect. I sense two more nearby. Time to finish this.”
Toki opened her eyes.
A cocoon of web constricted her body like a shroud. Breathing grew harder. She turned her head.
Zenitsu—beside her. Unconscious. Pale.
“Zenitsu-kun! Wake up!!”
Silence. Only her own breathing.
“You worry about the boy when you yourself are in such a pitiful state?” A woman stood before her. Skin pure white, hair like threads. Eyes—dead. “Rui-sama is waiting. So don’t stall. The mark. Do you have it?”
Toki remained silent.
Spiders.
Hundreds.
They crawled across her face, tangled in her hair, slipped under her clothes.
Fear became tangible, sticky, like poison. She couldn’t breathe. She wanted to scream, to break free, to die—all at once.
But she didn’t let herself break.
Her eyes snapped open. Her breathing sharpened. Fear retreated. Panic—quieted.
“You’re afraid of spiders? Pathetic. Absolutely hilarious,” the demoness laughed. “Soon, before your very eyes, our children will devour your friend. They’ll tear down the old man’s estate. That lightning brat will die. And Muichiro Tokito as well. Rui-sama will rip him to pieces. And there will be no one left to save you.”
Toki raised her gaze.
“You have no idea what awaits you.”
“Shut up!” the demoness snarled and struck her across the face. Blood poured from Toki’s nose.
A knife. Sharp, cold. She pulled it from her sash—and drove it into the Toki's shoulder.
Pain. Sharp, consuming.
The scream burst from Toki, raw and deafening.
And the power—the same power—rose again. From within. Low and thrumming.
Toki bit her lip until it bled. She held it back.
“Toki-san!!”
Zenitsu was awake. His voice shook with fear, with rage.
“Hey!! Hey, you bastards!! I-I’m weak, yeah! But even I wouldn’t let you touch Toki-san! Let her go! Fight us fair if you’re not cowards!”
Toki looked at him. Eyes wet, brimming with something words couldn’t express.
“Zenitsu-kun…”
“Son, silence this screamer. Forever,” hissed the demoness.
A spider crawled toward Zenitsu and sank its stinger into him.
“ZENITSU-KUN!!”
Poison. Fast. Lethal.
He shuddered, groaned—and fell still. His head slumped.
“…no… Zenitsu-kun…” she whispered.
Tears streamed down her face. Inevitable.
Muichiro followed Rui’s trail, his body cloaked in mist.
“He was here. He ran this way…”
Suddenly, a faint shadow slid to his right. A girl, resembling Rui, blocked his path.
“You shall not pass.”
She vanished.
Reappeared—behind him.
Muichiro’s blade cut the air—and sliced only through a knot of spiders. The girl dissolved.
"Poisonous. One bite and I’m done. Then I must act quickly,” he thought. “She’s close. Too close. And that’s what I need…"
He scanned his surroundings. No cocoons. No hostages. Nothing to restrain his deadly mist. For the first time that night—complete freedom.
“Shifting Flow Slash.”
His blade slipped from its sheath in silence.
A slicing wave carved through the trees. One toppled.
And with it—the demon’s body. The head rolled free. The spiders vanished, as if they had never been.
Muichiro didn’t stop. He had to hurry—before it was too late.
The demon mother’s laughter cut off.
Shadows trembled, and the space around them shifted. A predatory rustle filled the silence.
“Mother… haven’t you realised yet?” a voice pierced the air.
Rui.
He stood behind her as if he had surfaced from the very fog.
“Rui-sama!” the woman cried in panic. “She… she won’t speak! That girl—”
He walked forward slowly, as if every second belonged to him. His fingers touched the woman’s neck.
“Silence.”
One sweep — and her body was flung aside like a broken doll.
He looked toward Toki.
“Don’t come… don’t come near me…” her voice trembled. Fear shone in her eyes — not feigned, but the kind that chills to the bone.
“Fear breeds strength,” he whispered, then suddenly stilled. He turned, as though sensing something. “We have company.”
From the sky, as if the night itself had split, Kaigaku dropped down.
“You won’t get away!” he shouted, bringing his sword down.
The grotesque demon lunged, but Kaigaku was already there — his blade pierced the foe. He turned — and saw Zenitsu: motionless, lying in the dust.
“Ha! Finally you’re dead, Zenitsu… The old man will cry… What a pity.”
Hatred ignited in Toki’s eyes.
“Thunder Swarm!”
Lightning illuminated everything — blind, merciless. It miraculously missed Toki, but it struck nothing of the demons.
“Damn! Again! Thunder Swarm!”
Nothing. Energy spent. It was all gone.
“How disappointing,” Rui appeared before him. One strike — and Kaigaku tumbled aside.
The demon turned its head toward the forest, feeling a more dangerous, deadlier presence.
“You found me quickly.”
Muichiro stood at the border of Rui’s demonic domain, the place that was his lair. He felt it like one senses deep water before a dive — viscous, predatory. Still, he stepped forward.
“Lunar Dispersing Mist.”
He rose into the sky, dissolved — and plunged down from above. Blows came one after another, silent and swift. Rui dodged… but not all of them.
He did not notice how Muichiro had appeared beside him. A blade, cloaked in mist, tore through flesh. Internal organs were wounded. Regeneration slowed.
“Bastard!” Rui hissed and hurled the hunter away.
"I can’t waste time. That woman—she’s too close to Toki. If she sees Rui die, there’s a high chance Toki will be in danger. So first — that woman."
“Rui-sama!” the woman shrieked.
“Don’t get in my way!”
Threads burst from the demon’s fingers, coiling around trees, around earth, up into the sky — predatory blades. Muichiro twisted to avoid them, but one scored his arm — deep.
“Tch…” he pressed the wound. Blood ran between his fingers.
He vanished. Dissolved.
“All you can do is hide…” Rui leapt into the air. Webbing flared in every direction.
But Muichiro was already heading for Toki. He had to save her. And Zenitsu.
“Found you!” Kaigaku’s voice rang behind Rui. “Die, beast!”
The demon’s head thudded to the ground.
“Yes! Did you see that?! Tokito-dono! I killed a Lower Moon!” Kaigaku shouted.
Muichiro did not turn. Somewhere ahead — a scream.
“Rui-sama! How dare you!”
The demoness swung. A knife aimed for Toki’s heart. She did not move. She only stared — even now, not unleashing her power.
“Toki!” Muichiro lunged, but he was too slow.
Lightning tore the darkness.
“Thunderclap and Flash, Prime”
Zenitsu. He rose. His body trembled, eyes clouded, but his blade flashed. The demon turned to ash.
Toki was saved.
Muichiro ran, bent over.
“Muichiro-kun… Zenitsu-kun… he… poison… he might die…”
Toki was losing consciousness.
“I’ll save him,” Muichiro said, glancing at the wounded Agatsuma.
He dashed to Zenitsu and checked his pulse.
“Alive. We must hurry back to the Thunder estate.”
Kaigaku stood, unable to believe his eyes.
“This… cannot be…”
“Shut up,” Muichiro stepped so close his voice cut colder than steel. “Contact headquarters and call for reinforcements. That’s an order.”
A look as if death itself stared through ice.
Kaigaku nodded, staggered back, and was led away.
Muichiro returned. He carefully removed the web from Toki, bound the open wound with a scrap of cloth, and held her. Tight. As if that alone kept her here.
“Forgive me. If only I had been here…” he pressed her closer, but consciousness had already left her.
Muichiro rose, carrying Toki in his arms. Her life was everything to him now.
By the time kakushi arrived, he was already carrying her. Blood seeped from his shoulder.
“Tokito-dono, allow us—”
“No,” he whispered. “I’ll do it myself. Attend to Agatsuma — he’s wounded and unconscious.”
After saying that, Muichiro did not listen. He walked toward the estate. He carried her, oblivious to his own pain. He felt guilt. Guilty that he had not been there. And now — he would trust her to no one.
At the Thunder estate gates they were met by Jigoro.
“Tokito-dono! How are you? I was told— Kaigaku—”
Kaigaku already dreamed of his place among the Hashira. In his fantasies he sat beside Kaguya, praised, admired.
He looked at Muichiro carrying Toki, and in his head the refrain sounded:
“You’ll see, Tokito. You’ll acknowledge me. I’m better. I am better than you!”
Muichiro looked back at him. His eyes were cold and clear as ice water.
“You will never take Rengoku Kyojuro’s place and you will never become a Hashira. People died because of you. You disobeyed my order and violated the hunters’ code. You will face severe punishment. And now, stay out of my way…”
Muichiro passed Kaigaku. The latter could not believe what he had heard.
“Tokito-dono, but I—” Kaigaku stammered.
Muichiro set Toki down on a bench; blood dripped from his shoulder, but he still drew his sword. In a heartbeat he was before Kaigaku.
“One more word, and I will deliver judgment myself. Do not forget who stands before you. I am a Hashira. You are nothing but pathetic trash who only learned to wield lightning, not your worthless brain.”
His blade touched Kaigaku’s throat. A drop of blood slid down.
“Tokito-dono! This is my fault! Please! Spare Kaigaku!” Jigoro fell to his knees.
Muichiro sheathed his sword.
“This is not your fault. Agatsuma Zenitsu fought like a true hunter in this battle. I’d sooner see him become Hashira than that pathetic fool.”
“Zenitsu… he—” Tears poured from the elder’s eyes.
“He’s alive,” Muichiro answered.
Kaigaku went pale. His mind cracked with hatred. Everything was collapsing.
“As for you…” Muichiro’s voice did not waver, “…you will bear punishment and answer for everything.” He turned to the kakushi, “Bind him. Send him to headquarters immediately.”
He took Toki again. Tenderly. Securely.
“Take him to the infirmary,” the misty Hashira addressed the young hunter who had been watching.
“Yes, Tokito-dono!”
Kaigaku watched them go. Inside, everything boiled, chimed, burned.
“I hate you. I hate you. I will kill you… I will kill you, Tokito…” the thought burned like poison.
They bound him. His eyes closed. They led him into darkness.
Muichiro laid Toki on a couch and sat beside her.
“Tokito-dono, your hand—”
“Her life comes first,” Muichiro answered in a low voice.
“Yes! Prepare the operating room at once!”
Doctors bustled. The wound was deep, the blood dark crimson. Injections, bandages, whispers.
He did not notice when his eyes closed; exhaustion pulled him under, his fingers still brushing against hers, as if to anchor her here.
“Tokito-dono! Faster! He needs help too!”
Voices of physicians and the hum of medical devices filled the first minutes — then absolute silence fell.
Chapter 21: Okinawa Part III
Chapter Text
The sunlight woke Toki.
She slowly opened her eyes. White walls, soft light, a faint scent of medicine. A hospital. Her heart started pounding faster when she saw the black-and-teal hair on the cot next to hers.
“Muichiro!”
She lifted herself, and pain immediately flared throughout her body, reminding her of the night before. Still, Toki stands up, stifling a groan, and quietly approached him.
His shoulder was carefully bandaged. Both arms, too. He looked pale and exhausted, but alive.
“Muichiro…” she whispered.
He slowly opened his eyes. When he saw Toki, a flicker of relief passed through his gaze. He tried to sit up, but winced sharply.
“Don’t… your wounds might reopen,” Toki said softly, placing her hand on his chest.
Muichiro didn’t respond. He just sat there, silently resting his head on her healthy shoulder.
“Mu…ichirou…”
Toki froze for a moment, then lifted her hand and slowly ran her fingers through his hair. It was soft, slightly tangled. She felt his steady breathing against her skin—warm, right at her collarbone.
“I’m sorry…” he whispered. “I was too far away, and I couldn’t protect you.”
There was a low, aching guilt in his voice.
“Muichiro, no. You fought. You saved others. It’s not your fault.”
“I should have stayed with you…”
He pressed closer, as if afraid she would vanish.
“But I wasn’t alone,” Toki remembered suddenly. “Zenitsu-kun! How is he?”
“He’s alive,” Muichiro replied without lifting his head. “And if it weren’t for him… then…”
He shivered, and she felt it through his slight tremble. Toki exhaled and touched his head again, gently stroking him.
“Muichiro, please… don’t blame yourself. I’m so glad you came. And these wounds—don’t worry about them. The important thing is that you’re alive. That we’re both alive… I’m really happy you’re okay.”
She pressed her cheek against his, and in that moment, Muichiro opened his eyes.
He silently wrapped his arms around her, circling her waist. Carefully, as if afraid of hurting her.
She returned the gesture: one hand in his hair, the other resting on his shoulder.
“Toki…” he whispered, then closed his eyes again and pulled her closer.
They sat like that in silence, feeling each other’s presence—real, tangible. Time seemed to stop, leaving only the two of them, as if their embrace was proof that they were alive.
Until a knock at the door interrupted them.
Muichiro slowly pulled back and exhaled heavily.
“Come in…”
A nurse and several kakushi entered the room.
“Tokito-dono, how are you feeling?” the nurse asked politely but with evident concern.
“Fine…” he answered
Toki lifted herself slightly.
“And Zenitsu-kun? How is he?”
“He’s sleeping. No toxins were detected in his blood. The others…” the nurse hesitated. “Eleven people were saved. Six died in the forest.”
Muichiro’s gaze swept over kakushi. They were clearly nervous.
“What about Inodama Kaigaku?”
“Last night, he killed two of our own and escaped. The trail went cold, but the search continues.”
Muichiro looked at them coldly.
“Report to headquarters immediately. He must be found. Fast.”
Once they left, Toki turned to him, her voice trembling.
“Muichiro… what happened yesterday?”
He looked into her eyes and recounted everything.
“I can’t believe… that…”
Toki abruptly stood and approached the window. Her eyes reflected a mix of anger and pain.
Fed up with lying in bed, Muichiro rose and came to stand beside her.
“You need to rest; you’re badly hurt,” Toki fretted.
“I’m fine,” he said calmly. “I want to check on Agatsuma. Will you come with me?”
Toki looked carefully at his wounds. The skin on his forearm was lined with dark marks, as if the mist itself had burned trails into his body. She wanted to say something, to stop him, to persuade him—but she could see in his eyes that he would go regardless. She simply nodded.
They headed to Zenitsu’s room.
The corridor was quiet, filled only with a faint antiseptic scent, until suddenly a loud, panicked voice rang out:
“What?! No! I need to know how much time I have left! Don’t hide the truth from me!”
“The lightning strike passed through your body and neutralized the toxin. Now all you need is rest. Let us set up the IV…”
“No-o-o! I’m scared of needles! A-a-ai! It hurts like a train ran over me!”
Toki froze for a second, then exhaled in relief. That unmistakable shriek sounded like it belonged to another life—a strange, noisy comedy in the middle of all the drama.
“Good… he’s awake,” she thought.
Muichiro didn’t wait. He swung the door open and stepped inside.
“No! What if there’s a hole left in my arm and all my blood drains out at night while I sleep?!”
The first thing he saw was Zenitsu, sitting on the bed, tousled, tearful, with the IV pinning him to the mattress, as if his own fear were restraining him. He gawked at the nurse, who calmly did her work as though deaf to all the yelling.
Muichiro stopped by the wall, arms folded. His face revealed no surprise—only a slight shadow of fatigue.
Toki stepped closer, stopped beside him, and tilted her head slightly, thinking:
“Don’t worry, Zenitsu-kun, your blood doesn't drains out… you are absolutly panic incarnate.”
“If you can scream, your life is not in danger,” Muichiro finally said. His voice was soft, like a breeze, but it resonated in the room like a gunshot.
“Tokito-dono!” Zenitsu sobbed, looking up. He seemed like someone brought back to life, but forgotten to explain why.
Toki approached the bed, bowed slightly, and softly said,
“Zenitsu-kun… thank you. You saved my life yesterday.”
“What? I… I saved you, Toki-san?” His eyes blinked rapidly, as if searching for a catch in her words.
“You called the lightning. It destroyed the demon. Nothing was left but ashes,” Muichiro explained. With each word, Zenitsu’s face paled further, soon almost as white as the sheets.
“T-t-tokito-dono! That’s impossible! Maybe the lightning struck by itself! I didn’t do anything!”
“No. It was you. The weather was clear. Or do you doubt my words?”
Muichiro’s voice became as cold as an ice blade. His gaze pierced Zenitsu as if to reach the very core of him.
Toki frowned slightly.
“Don’t pressure him like that… your gaze could unbalance anyone.”
Muichiro turned his eyes to her.
“Toki. Shall we go?”
“Ah… yes… Zenitsu-kun, we’ll visit later. Rest now.”
They stepped into the corridor. Quietly, as if continuing an unfinished thought, Muichiro said,
“I need to report what happened to headquarters. We’ll leave tomorrow. Head straight to Himejima-san. But today, we stay here.”
“A report?” she asked, frowning slightly.
“Yes…” He averted his gaze, a rare irritation in his voice.
“Himejima-san said he’ll write it himself from my account. You’ll tell what you saw, too.”
“Alright…”
He paused for a few moments, looking at her—his gaze softening, almost vulnerable.
“Will you watch the sunset with me… today?”
“Huh?…” Her heart skipped. Toki looked into his eyes, noticing that strange vulnerability, and nodded. “Yes…”
As they walked down the corridor, they noticed Jigoro approaching.
“Oh! Good afternoon!” he said, his eyes slightly red. “Tokito-dono… I’m sorry about what happened with Kaigaku. I hope he can be stopped before it’s too late.”
“ …Mm” Muichiro glanced at Zenitsu’s room door.
“I’m so glad Zenitsu survived!” Jigoro’s voice broke, and he wiped his tears. His joy was genuine, almost childlike.
“You are a wonderful teacher,” Toki said softly, smiling. “If not for Zenitsu-kun… I would have died.”
“Amida-san… thank you. I’m glad you survived. Please excuse me, I’d like to be with him for a while.”
Muichiro nodded, glancing at Toki and tilting his head slightly.
“Shall we go?”
She nodded in response.
They stepped into the garden.
The air was heavy with the scent of wet earth and flowers. Somewhere in the distance, a stream murmured, and above their heads, the leaves rustled softly.
“How beautiful…” Toki whispered, crouching near one of the flowers.
A bright, fiery-orange petal swayed gently in the breeze.
“That’s a tiger lily,” she said, moving closer. “People use them to decorate ponds and parks.”
Toki rested her head on her arms and continued watching the flowers, as if trying to absorb the calm.
Muichiro’s gaze lingered on her, then shifted toward the blossoms swaying in the evening light.
“Toki… what kind of flowers do you like?”
She tilted her head, surprised by the sudden question. Her lips curved into a thoughtful smile.
“Hmm… maybe sunflowers. They’re like tiny suns, always turning toward the light.”
He followed her gaze upward, to where the sky stretched, feathered with pale clouds.
“Sunflowers…” he repeated quietly. “They suit you.”
A soft silence settled between them, filled with the rustle of leaves and the murmur of a stream nearby. The world seemed gentler in that moment—just the two of them, speaking of flowers as if there was no demons waiting beyond the horizon.
And then, carried on the breeze, came the faint cry of a gull. The sound felt distant, yet close, as though the ocean itself had called to them.
Muichiro turned his head slightly, eyes searching the horizon.
“…Shall we go to the sea?” he asked. His voice was calm, almost hesitant.
Toki blinked, then smiled, her heart stirring
“Yes… let’s go.”
The garden slowly melted away behind them, replaced by the scent of salt and the wide stretch of sand. Before them, the sea shimmered—endless and alive—its waves already painted in the soft hues of sunset.
The breeze was salty, the air filled with the sound of waves. Sunlight fell on the sand like a golden veil. Toki slipped off her shoes and stepped into the water barefoot. Muichiro followed, like a shadow.
He watched her hair lift in the wind. She tucked a strand behind her ear; a faint smile played at the corner of her mouth. His heart beat faster—strangely, deeply.
Toki lifted the hem of her robe and stepped further into the water.
“Cool… but so nice…”
She gazed into the distance, where the horizon met the sea.
Muichiro stepped closer and stopped beside her.
“You know… your eyes—” Toki didn’t turn to him, simply continuing to stare into the blue. “They’re like the ocean. Deep… and turquoise.”
Muichiro said nothing. But something inside him stirred. Warmth spread through his chest, like a tiny flame igniting beneath the skin. He felt his heart beating faster, a light tingle beneath his ribs.
He watched her. He felt his heart quicken. It was that she had entered his life, as if she had always been there.
He lifted his gaze to the sky. The sun was leaning toward the horizon. The clouds began to glow pink, yellow, purple. The colors shifted like someone had opened a palette above the sea.
“Beautiful…” Toki whispered. “Muichiro, are you glad we made it?”
He nodded.
“Yes… I’d watch it with you every day.”
She turned to him—paused for a moment, then looked away. Her cheeks warmed. She smiled faintly, as if pushing away some uncertainty inside her.
“Ahem… well, you know. Watching the sunset every day might get boring…”
Muichiro shook his head.
“It wouldn’t.”
There was no hint of joking in his voice. Only honesty. Too simple to deny.
Toki felt flustered. The ground seemed to shift beneath her—not in a bad way, just differently. Her heart skipped an irregular beat, subtle, like the hush of the waves.
“All right…” she exhaled. “Time to go back. Shall we?”
Muichiro nodded and walked behind her, leaving faint footprints in the sand beside hers.
Tokyo.
Night.
The sky was thick and black, like soot. Only a few stars flickered faintly above the city, drowned in neon hums and the toxic pulse of lights. Somewhere, music rumbled, bar signs glowed, cars passed by. But in the alleys, darkness lingered—hidden, damp. The air smelled of blood.
Shadows slipped between buildings.
Kaigaku ran. His lungs burned, drops of someone else’s blood still warm on his skin. Behind him lay the bodies of hunters—useless, weak. He didn’t even look back. Why?
He knew where he was going.
Roppongi. The core of Tokyo at night.
There, beyond the bar lights and club luxury, in the very heart of the street, stood a building with no signs—but everyone knew its name.
Babylon
A place where you enter without a name and leave without a soul.
On the top floor, in a windowless room heavy with incense and the scent of flesh, someone laughed. Clear. Melodic. Terrifying.
“Douma-sama… you have a visitor.” A figure in black passed through the curtain. His face was deadpan.
“How I adore guests!” a voice from the dimness spread into a smile. “Especially ones… long-awaited. Just in time—I sent him the address myself.”
On the leather sofa in the center of the room sat Douma. His face was serene, almost childlike. Blood, thick as honey, dripped from the corners of his lips. At his feet lay a body, still warm, neck twisted. A girl in an evening dress. Rare blood. Necessary blood.
Kaigaku froze at the door. His eyes widened, but he didn’t step back. Only clenched his teeth tighter.
“Oh…” Douma clapped his hands. “You really came. So many rumors about you. They say you’re wanted all over Japan… scary, isn’t it?”
“…I don’t care.” Kaigaku clenched his fists. “I didn’t come for that.”
“And yet, you came immediately after receiving my message. What for?” Douma raised an eyebrow. Interest flickered in his eyes, like a predator noticing a strange scratch on its prey.
“I’ll do whatever you wish. Absolutely anything. In return—give me power. Give me blood.”
Kaigaku stood like a curse—angular, vicious, his face twisted with hatred. Not just anger. A thirst—corrupted, poisonous, desperate.
“Hm…” Douma licked his lips. “You’re… interesting. Very.” He rose, shaking drops from his hands. Slowly, he approached, staring Kaigaku straight in the face.
“All right. I’ll give you some blood. Just enough to survive. And you’ll do something for me… when the time comes. You’ll manage, Kaigaku-kun. I have no doubt.”
“Anything. Just give me a chance. I want them to regret it. To crawl. I want to see him break.”
“Him?”
“Muichiro Tokito.” Kaigaku’s voice trembled—there was something personal in it. Not just rage—humiliating, long-lasting pain.
“Oh…” Douma exhaled. His eyes clouded for a moment, then sparkled again with that playful light. Only his smile grew slightly wider. Sharper.
“Muichiro Tokito, huh…” He laughed softly, as if he had heard good news. “This is… getting interesting.”
Chapter 22: I Want to Stay With You
Summary:
Return to headquarters to report Kaigaku’s betrayal. Muichiro feels that he will come back and that something terrible is about to happen.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Muichiro woke up early in the morning.
This time, he wasn’t lying on a hospital bed but on a soft futon in Jigoro’s guest house. The room was quiet. Dawn light slipped through the thick curtains, painting the floor with pale stripes.
He sat up slowly, leaning on his hand—the wounds from the battle still ached deep in his body.
Turning toward the window, he saw a clear sky—shamelessly bright, as if the night and its nightmares had simply evaporated.
“I wonder if Toki’s still asleep…” He glanced at his phone. “6 А.M. Probably still asleep.”
Muichiro stood and stretched, exhaling softly.
“Ah, right…”
His eyes fell on the clothes he had worn to Okinawa—torn t shirt, stained pants.
He sighed.
"I’ll need to ask for a new uniform.'
He slipped into a simple home kimono and stepped outside.
The air was fresh and cool, not yet warmed by the sun—light, sharp, filled with the scent of trees and damp earth.
"I remember Kuwajimo-dono said the training halls are that way…"
He followed the path, but the first building turned out to be the wrong one.
From the second hall came the sharp shouts of a teacher. Inside, training was already underway—young students stood in their stances, gripping bokkens in both hands.
Muichiro quietly leaned against the wall.
They raised and lowered their swords with steady rhythm, repeating the same movements, building the foundations of their future forms.
He watched them, and unbidden memories surfaced.
His own training had been different—sparring with Kyojuro, battles of speed and instinct. Muichiro had been born holding a sword, it seemed. The knowledge had simply been there, and he’d never questioned why.
One of the students noticed him and bowed quickly.
“Tokito-dono, good morning!”
Muichiro gave a small nod.
“I need a new uniform.”
The boy wordlessly guided him away, and a few minutes later Muichiro emerged changed. The new kendo uniform fit perfectly.
The students bowed again as he passed.
He walked across the courtyard, letting his eyes wander over the rooftops, the shrubs, the stones arranged in delicate patterns. Everything radiated calm.
When he reached the garden Toki had admired the day before, he slowed his pace. The flowers hadn’t fully opened yet, still drowsy in the morning light.
“Sunflowers… I shouldn’t forget.”
The thought of her felt light as a feather—yet his heart tightened for no reason he could name.
7 A.M.
He stopped by Toki’s room and knocked softly.
“Toki, it’s me…”
The door was slightly open. He peeked inside.
She was still asleep, curled on her side, legs tucked in slightly. Her hair spread over the pillow like a soft cascade. Her lashes cast faint shadows on her cheeks.
To him, she looked unbearably fragile.
Defenseless.
Like a spirit from a forgotten fairy tale—ethereal, as if she would vanish if he spoke too loudly.
He didn’t wake her. He just stood there, quietly, as if memorizing the moment—then stepped out.
“Even in sleep… she’s beautiful.”
He didn’t want to wander anymore.
He was tired.
Returning to his room, he lay down and closed his eyes.
He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but through the haze of half-sleep, he heard a voice—warm, alive, familiar.
“Muichiro, wake up. It’s time to go.”
When he opened his eyes, Toki was there, sitting beside him—her smile was morning itself.
“You’re right. I’ll be ready soon.”
They packed quickly. It was time to return to headquarters.
Zenitsu stayed behind at the Thunder Estate—the doctors said he still needed time to recover.
After saying their goodbyes, Toki and Muichiro stepped through the gates of the estate.
Silence followed them, broken only by rustling leaves and distant cries of crows.
They got into the car and drove off without words.
Airport.
Metallic shine.
Crowds of smiling tourists.
Bright light.
Everything seemed far removed from their world.
The process went smoothly. Soon the plane rose into the sky, leaving Okinawa behind.
“Still… despite everything, that place was so beautiful,” Toki said softly. “We’re going straight to headquarters, right?”
Muichiro, still watching her profile, nodded.
“Yes. We need to report first. Then—to Himejima-san.”
“Alright… so, headquarters first,” she murmured, gazing out the window. The clouds looked impossibly distant.
When they arrived in Tokyo, a black organization car was already waiting. Like a shadow, it carried them swiftly and silently to headquarters.
Toki stepped out first. The building never felt welcoming to her—but today, it carried an even deeper sense of unease. She looked up at it, and a chill ran down her spine.
“I really don’t want to go in there… but there’s no choice.”
“Let’s go, Toki,” Muichiro called.
Inside, he gestured toward an empty room.
“Wait here. I’ll be back soon.”
“Alright.”
She left, and he lingered for a moment, as if making sure she was safe, before heading down the long corridor.
At the end stood a heavy door. Behind it—Kagaya Ubuyashiki.
His leader.
The man he served.
The man who had entrusted him with everything.
Muichiro knew what he had to report.
Kaigaku had broken orders.
Kaigaku had killed.
Kaigaku had endangered both Toki and Zenitsu — all to prove he was stronger. Better.
Muichiro could feel it—Kaigaku wasn’t done. He would show himself again. Soon. And Muichiro had to be the one to stop him.
He raised his hand and knocked.
“Oyakata-sama, this is Muichiro Tokito. May I come in?”
Two identical girls opened the door, porcelain faces expressionless.
“Father is expecting you, Tokito Muichiro,” they said in unison.
He stepped inside. Kagaya sat by the window, half-turned toward him.
“Oyakata-sama,” Muichiro bowed.
“Tokito-kun, no need for formality. Raise your head. I’ve heard of what happened in Okinawa, but I want to hear it from you directly.”
Muichiro explained everything.
“Inadama-kun is too young… blinded by pride,” Kagaya said, his gaze drifting to the distance. “Such actions cannot be allowed. A demon slayer must never sacrifice innocent lives.”
“I can feel he’s not done. He’s strong, but reckless. He may become a threat to the Corps. I let him go… so please, allow me to finish what I started.”
“Tokito-kun… I understand. But don’t blame yourself. It was I who ordered every hunter to search for potential traitors. Don’t carry that burden alone. You need rest. You’re wounded, and you must recover—because you are my most promising swordsman. Take care of yourself.”
“Yes, Oyakata-sama. Permission to leave?”
“Of course.”
Muichiro turned to go but Kagaya added softly.
“Tokito-kun… Amida Toki has been registered as your tsuguko for over two months. You understand, of course, that her mission goes deeper than that. Have there been… any further manifestations of her power?”
Muichiro froze. Then turned back.
Kyojuro's words echoed in his mind: Protect Toki-chan, even if it means protecting her from us.
“No. She uses the seals—they sometimes help us both. But… nothing unusual beyond that.”
He bowed.
He hadn’t lied.
He just hadn’t told everything.
“Good. You may go. Himejima Gyomei is waiting for you.”
Kagaya watched him leave.
“Your eyes… they’ve changed. And you’ve never been good at lying, Tokito-kun.”
Crows.
Their cries tore through the night like omens.
Muichiro walked through the halls like through a foreign cage. He could feel eyes on him—something cold and sticky clinging to his neck. He quickened his pace.
He was afraid.
Afraid Toki wouldn’t be there when he returned.
Afraid someone had taken her.
Afraid he was already too late.
“Toki!” he called, throwing the door open.
No response—his heart stuttered—until:
“Oh, Muichiro… sorry, I had my headphones on.” She pulled one out and stood up.
He crossed the room quickly, only relaxing once he saw her—really saw her, safe. Only then did he breathe again.
“We’re leaving,” Muichiro said. His voice was even, but tension trembled underneath.
“Is everything okay?” she asked softly, searching his eyes.
“Yes…”
She nodded and followed him. The unease in him seeped quietly into her as well.
Outside, Muichiro could feel the gaze from the window—the one where Kagaya had sat moments before. Watching. Always watching.
The crows cried again.
They turned a corner, passed the meeting hall, and finally—into the shade of an old tree, deep within the compound.
No one could see them here.
Muichiro stopped, looked at her… and then, as if strength drained from him, rested his head against her shoulder.
"Muichiro…” she whispered, feeling the weight of his silence. “It’s okay. It’s just us now.”
Her hand brushed through his hair. He relaxed a little, meeting her gaze.
“Sorry… did I scare you?”
“A little. But it’s fine. I’m here.”
“Let’s go. Himejima-san is waiting.”
The temple where Himejima trained young demon slayers stood at the very edge of the headquarters.
Surrounded by silence and nature, it felt untouched by the world — a place of solitude. A small house with tatami floors and wooden walls; everything spoke of harmony. And… of cats. There were many of them.
“Good evening. You must be tired. Please, come in,” the man greeted them with a calm smile.
Inside, the air was still. Cats stretched lazily at their feet. One of them — a shy black one — approached Toki.
“It seems she likes you, Amida-san,” Himejima said softly. “Her name is Kuro. I took her from a shelter not long ago. She’s quite shy and doesn’t usually approach strangers.”
“She’s adorable,” Toki whispered, kneeling to pet her.
Muichiro tried the same, but the cat quickly jumped back into Himejima’s lap.
“Now, now,” Himejima chuckled gently, “Tokito-san won’t harm you. Come inside, both of you. I’ll bring some tea — it’ll help you relax.”
Muichiro knew Himejima could feel everything — from his unease to the faint tremor of fear he carried. Though blind, the Stone Pillar sensed far more than most. And tonight, he clearly felt the storm that weighed over his guests, even if he didn’t know its cause.
They sat at a low table. Kuro climbed onto Toki’s lap, purring contently, while two other cats brushed against her hands.
“They say cats are guardians of the eternal gates,” Himejima remarked, returning with tea. “They see what we cannot. Perhaps that’s why they’re drawn to you, Amida-san.”
Muichiro glanced at him, then at Toki — and for the first time that day, his shoulders eased.
“Tell me everything about the mission,” Himejima said, setting a small recorder on the table. “Kakushi will prepare the report later.”
They told him everything.
When they finished, Himejima folded his hands in prayer and murmured a mantra.
“Kaigaku Inadama has lost his way,” he said quietly. “I will pray that he finds the light again.”
Toki turned to Muichiro — he looked exhausted.
“Muichiro… we’re done here. Maybe we should go home?”
He nodded.
“Thank you, Himejima-san.”
“Come again anytime,” Himejima smiled faintly. “My cats will be happy to see you.”
Muichiro walked Toki to the women’s quarters.
She turned at the door — his expression was distant, fragile, almost lost. Something in her heart told her he shouldn’t be alone tonight.
“Do you want to come in?” she asked softly.
He nodded.
She changed quickly and came back with a glass of water.
He was sitting on her bed, eyes lowered.
“Muichiro… did something happen?”
A pause.
A breath.
And then...
“I was afraid,” he said quietly. “That I wouldn’t find you there. In that room.”
He covered his face with his hands.
She sat beside him.
“But I’m here,” she whispered. “With you. Everything’s okay.”
A moment passed — an inhale, an exhale — and warmth filled the space between them. He leaned his forehead against her temple.
“Yeah… you’re really here.”
Toki felt his breath against her skin, steady and close. She let herself lean back against him.
After a while, his head grew heavier against her shoulder.
“You need to rest,” she murmured.
He wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her closer.
“I want to stay with you…”
Her heart skipped a beat.
The answer came before she could think.
“Okay… you can stay.”
They lay down together, sharing a single blanket — one that, like a childhood secret, hid them from fear, pain, and the world outside.
Muichiro’s hand found hers, holding tight even as sleep pulled him under.
Toki watched his face, peaceful in the moonlight, and thought:
“If only we had met in another world…”
She closed her eyes and fell asleep beside him.
Notes:
Crows, lot's of crows… 🐦⬛
Hey guys! I’ve just posted a new chapter — it’s a short one, kind of a transitional piece, but the ending turned out really emotional! Muichiro finally starts to realize that he, too, longs for warmth 🤍
I’m working on the longer chapters now, omg I can’t wait to share them with you!
Thank you so much for reading 💫
Chapter 23: The Sword That Returned Home
Summary:
Muichiro visits the Rengoku residence — it’s time to return what was once lost, and to face what he’s been avoiding for far too long.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The crows were crying.
Morning had come.
Toki slowly opened her eyes and lay still for a few moments, listening to the silence of the room. Then she turned her head. Muichiro was still asleep.
"He must be so tired… after everything…"
She looked at his face — finally peaceful. No tension, no shadow of pain or worry.
Through the slightly opened window, the sky was heavy with gray clouds. The world felt dim, half-submerged in a twilight before the storm, as if the sun itself hesitated to rise.
"Yeah… a gloomy day. Looks like it’s going to rain."
She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to shut out the memories — but they came anyway. Faces, voices, blood, loneliness. Too much, too fast.
After a few minutes, she carefully rose from the bed — moving quietly so as not to disturb his sleep.
Muichiro didn’t wake.
Her heart eased a little.
She sat down at the table and opened her laptop.
"I should finish something while there’s still time."
Her fingers tapped softly against the keys. She scrolled through ancient texts, comparing lines, transcribing passages for her research paper.
"There’s so little information about the king from the legend… I’ll have to improvise."
Her gaze drifted back toward the bed. Muichiro was still asleep — vulnerable, almost childlike, as if someone had finally allowed him to rest. Something in her chest tightened.
"Enkidu was Gilgamesh’s only friend — the one who understood him. Honest. True. The gods took him away… as punishment. And Gilgamesh changed. He kept searching — for meaning, for himself."
Her thoughts slipped to Kyojuro.
"Rengoku-san was the same for Muichiro. Not just a mentor. A friend. The only one he could trust. And he lost him — without even getting to say goodbye."
The ache rose in her throat like cold glass. She stood and, without quite realizing it, moved closer to the bed. Looked down at the sleeping Muichiro.
"I know I can’t replace him. But I won’t let you face this world alone."
Muichiro stirred. His lashes trembled. He was waking. Slowly, he pushed himself up on his elbows, rubbing his eyes.
“Toki… morning,” he murmured, his voice hoarse from sleep.
She came closer, smiling faintly.
“Good morning. How do you feel?”
He glanced at the bandages on his arms, then at her.
“Better, I think,” he said quietly — then added: “You look sad.”
Toki looked away.
“I was reading about a legend for my thesis. History always seems to carry loss.”
Outside, thunder rumbled distantly beneath a low, heavy sky.
He watched her — searching her face as if looking for an answer. Or warmth. He didn’t yet realize how much he needed it.
She felt his gaze and faltered slightly.
From outside came the rasp of crows — one, then another, then more.
“Crows again,” she murmured. “There are more of them today.”
Muichiro suddenly stiffened. His expression changed — as if he remembered something important. A promise. A duty left unfinished.
“Toki,” he said, “I want to visit Rengoku-dono’s house today. Will you come with me?”
She didn’t hesitate.
“Of course.”
They called a taxi — first to Muichiro’s apartment.
He packed quickly, taking a sword wrapped in thick cloth and securing it behind his back.
Toki waited on the couch, her hood pulled up, watching the rain begin to fall beyond the window — as if the glass itself held all the answers she needed.
Muichiro sat beside her.
“The taxi’s almost here,” he said quietly, his voice steady but distant.
She didn’t reply, only stared ahead — her eyes dim, unfocused.
The taxi arrived.
They stepped out into the rain — dense, heavy, smelling of wet asphalt and unease.
Muichiro knocked on the door. Toki stood silently behind him.
“You got here fast,” Shinjuro said, opening the door. He stepped aside. “Come in.”
He scanned the street before closing it.
“No one nearby,” Muichiro confirmed. “I can sense both hunters and demons within five kilometers.”
“I remember that sense well,” Shinjuro said, his tone rough but calm. “Still — caution never hurts. Senjuro’s at school, he’ll be back in a few hours. Let’s not waste time — you didn’t come here just to visit, did you?”
“No,” Muichiro replied. “I want to know everything you know.”
“Everything?” Shinjuro’s brow furrowed. “I only meant to give you something… What exactly are you looking for?”
“I think you don’t believe the official report either,” Muichiro said evenly, leaning against the wall.
Shinjuro froze. His eyes flicked toward Toki, who lowered her head.
“…No. I don’t,” he admitted. “They said Kyojuro was killed by a demon at home — that it was just a tragic encounter. But I know my son. He was searching for something. And he found it. That’s why he died.”
A chill crawled down Toki’s spine.
“Come inside,” Shinjuro muttered. “Kyojuro hated when guests stood in the hall.”
They entered the living room. Shinjuro traced seals into the corners — old, faded, but still strong.
“Why the seals?” Muichiro asked.
“Because what I’m about to say can’t leave this room,” Shinjuro said, turning to face him. His eyes were sharp, burning.
“I have one son left. I won’t let him lose me too. Muichiro… Kyojuro thought of you as a younger brother. He trusted you. And I do too. So swear — swear on your life and hers”—he nodded toward Toki—“that what you hear stays between us.”
Muichiro looked at Toki. She gave a silent nod. He bowed deeply.
“I swear. Please… tell me everything.”
Shinjuro studied him for a long time.
"His eyes… they’re alive now."
“The day before his death,” he began, “Kyojuro came home agitated. He tried to hide it, but I could tell — something had changed. He’d been in the organization’s archives. I checked the logs the next day… after he was gone.”
Toki’s hands trembled.
“Later, he went to Kyoto — to the old Hunters’ Library. That place holds everything that existed before us. Scrolls, records, history. I don’t know what he was looking for.
Or what he found. But whatever it was — it cost him his life. That’s why I don’t believe he was killed by chance. This goes deeper — something rooted in the distant past. And I think you already understand that, Muichiro.”
The Mist Hashira felt his chest tighten.
A dangerous game.
No rules.
Kyojuro had played it — and lost.
“There’s one more thing,” Shinjuro said quietly.
Muichiro raised his eyes. Shinjuro handed him a thick leather-bound folder.
“He left this right before his last trip. It’s a copy from the organization’s archive. For some reason, he went back to this case — and I’m sure it wasn’t random. Kyojuro never acted without reason. In it — everything they have on you. Maybe you’ll find something that matters.”
Muichiro accepted the folder.
“…Thank you.”
Then he unwrapped the sword on his back — Kyojuro’s sword — and held it out with both hands.
“This belongs here,” he said softly. “It should return to its home.”
Shinjuro’s hand trembled as he took it. He stared at the blade as if it still held his son’s soul. A single tear slid down his cheek.
The organization never even gave him back his sword… But Muichiro Tokito had returned what death had taken.
“Thank you,” Shinjuro whispered, bowing low. “Thank you, Muichiro.”
For a while, no one spoke. Words would’ve only broken the silence. Then — a familiar young voice called from outside:
“Father, I’m home!”
Senjuro was back from school.
“That’s enough for today,” Shinjuro said quietly. “Come. Let’s greet him together. He’ll be glad to see you.”
They stepped out onto the veranda.
The rain had almost stopped, but the sky remained heavy — a gray weight that refused to lift.
“Tokito-san and Toki-san?..”
“Hi, Senjuro-kun,” Toki smiled faintly, as if pulling the smile out from somewhere deep within herself.
“Hi…” Muichiro gave the boy a small nod.
Senjuro saw the familiar sword in his father’s hands and immediately understood why Muichiro was there. Without hesitation, he stepped closer and bowed deeply.
“Thank you… for bringing back his sword, Tokito-san…”
Toki noticed how he turned his face away, trying to hide his tears. She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him.
“Senjuro-kun... you don’t have to hold it all inside. If you want to cry—cry. If you want to scream—scream. We’re here.”
She held him tightly, feeling his pain unfold like a fragile bloom in her hands.
A boy who had lost his only older brother—and kept silent about it for far too long.
Her fingers brushed through his rough, flame-colored hair. And then… something inside him seemed to let go.
“Toki-san… thank you… I feel a bit lighter now.”
“I’m here,” she whispered softly.
He smiled faintly, then said:
“I want to make lunch. For you… and for Father.” He glanced at Muichiro. “Tokito-san, I’ve been training and learning the rules of shogi. Would you mind playing a match with me?”
Muichiro shook his head.
“I don’t mind.”
Senjuro smiled a little and went inside. Toki stayed under the porch roof, as if the rain was still falling somewhere inside her. Muichiro approached and silently placed a hand on her back.
“Let’s go.”
They returned when the sky had already merged with the earth—black, bottomless, torn apart by the cries of crows, as if the night itself was ripping the air to shreds. The thin branches outside tapped against the windows, whispering of time that never waits.
Muichiro said nothing about the headquarters. He didn’t want to go back. He couldn’t—after everything he’d heard.
And even more, he didn’t want to let her go.
“Stay with me…” he breathed, so quietly it sounded like he was asking the silence itself for mercy.
Toki stopped, turned slightly. She didn’t ask why—didn’t hesitate. In her gaze flickered a quiet recognition, as though she had already lived this moment once before, in a dream.
“All right…” she answered, and in that all right was everything—tenderness, exhaustion, and trust. “But… may I stay with you? While you read?”
Muichiro gave a small nod, as if afraid any sudden movement might shatter the fragile balance between the present and memory.
They settled in the living room—warm, dim, wrapped in half-light, where the creak of the floorboards sounded like the house’s own breathing, carrying memories too heavy for words. He spread the folder before him carefully, with the reverence of someone touching a grave. The paper crackled softly; old pages slid beneath his fingers, and in his eyes the reflected words—names, lines—flickered with the light of a past suddenly too close.
Toki sat beside him, their knees almost touching. For a moment she said nothing, then, as naturally as if she’d always done it, she rested her head on his shoulder.
Muichiro felt her weight lean against him—light, like the brush of a flower. He didn’t move, didn’t stop reading, but warmth began to unfurl quietly inside him, like a hearth’s flame burning a little brighter.
An hour passed.
The room breathed in silence.
When he turned his head, he saw that she had fallen asleep, still leaning on him, her lashes trembling slightly, lips parted in a faint smile.
Carefully, not to wake her, he lifted her into his arms. Her body was warm and light, like water touched by the sun. He carried her to the bedroom, laid her down, gently spread her hair over the pillow—touching her as one would touch a petal—and lingered for a moment, watching her, unable to leave.
"She was here again. Alive. Real."
When he returned and reopened the folder, the shadows of the past lay across the pages. That’s when he noticed the word, marked in ink.
Hakone.
He knew that place. It was where he was born. It was where he had lost everything.
The handwriting was unmistakable—firm, sharp, yet careful. Kyojuro’s. The word was underlined with intent. A sign. A key. A direction.
Muichiro stood up, walked softly to the bedroom door, and looked in.
Toki was still asleep, her hand fallen from the pillow, her hair spilling over the blanket.
Something inside him tightened with a strange mix of fear and relief. He looked for a long time—as if to make sure this wasn’t an illusion.
And then… he stepped inside.
No more hesitation.
No more thought.
He lay down beside her.
"Hakone… The place where everything ended. And maybe, where it will begin again. The place where I lost myself—and perhaps… can remember. Or at least understand."
He brushed his fingers through her hair—gently, as if touching the memory of spring. His hand slid along her cheek, barely breathing, then down to her waist. He pulled her closer, to feel that she was warm, real—to hear the steady rhythm of her heart. He closed his eyes. And at last, the night allowed them to dissolve into itself—to quiet down, to find peace… somewhere deep below words, where there was only breath, and sleep, and the silence between two hearts.
Morning came softly.
When Toki woke, Muichiro was already in the kitchen.
She stepped out, still half-asleep. He turned, met her eyes, and smiled faintly.
“Good morning,” he said.
“Morning…” she replied, watching him for a moment. Something about his expression felt different — thoughtful, deeper than usual, as if he’d been somewhere far away in his mind.
Muichiro’s gaze shifted from the window back to her.
“I wanted to talk to you,” he said quietly.
The silence between them stretched thin.
“Ah… sure. What is it?” Toki tried to sound casual, but her heart had already dropped. There was something too solemn in his voice. Too composed. It made her uneasy.
Muichiro hesitated, as if gathering his thoughts.
“I’d like to… go somewhere,” he said at last, careful, deliberate.
“That’s all?” she exhaled.
“And what is this place?”
“Hakone.”
Silence.
“Hakone?” she repeated softly. “You want to see Mount Fuji?”
Muichiro lowered his gaze. His voice grew quieter, almost a whisper.
“No. I want to see the place where I was born. Where I lived… before everything began.”
Something in her chest tightened.
Suddenly, everything made sense.
He had found it — the place buried deep in the report, and even deeper in himself. His hometown. The beginning of everything.
“I was thinking… today,” he said. “I don’t want to wait anymore. If that’s okay.”
Toki met his eyes. The calm in them wasn’t cold anymore — it was fragile, like the surface of still water.
“Mm,” she said quietly. “Let’s go to your hometown.”
Outside, the rain had stopped. The light was thin, uncertain — the kind that comes just before a journey.
Notes:
We’re finally getting close to some of my favorite parts of the story. Muichiro will soon come face to face with his past and maybe, he’ll start to understand and change.
See you next week 🌙The next chapters will be intense and yes, some familiar (and long-awaited) faces will return!
Chapter 24: Muichiro’s Past
Summary:
Hakone — the place where everything began and where it all comes to an end. Here, Muichiro finally faces it and begins to understand.
This chapter turned out a bit longer than usual, but I hope you’ll enjoy it ♡
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
They arrived at Shinjuku Station.
Today Muichiro was quiet, thoughtful. Too thoughtful even for himself. For a few long seconds before finally saying.
“Let’s get the tickets?”
She nodded.
“Two to Hakone, please,” Muichiro said at the counter.
“Of course. The next train leaves in thirty minutes,” replied the clerk.
They walked toward the platform. Muichiro’s gaze fixed on the heavy clouds above — as if searching for something within them. He barely looked at Toki.
“He must be nervous,” she thought. “It’s his first time returning since he lost his memories. Who knows what he’ll find there…”
“Muichiro, I could use some coffee. Want something?”
“Huh? Oh…what?” he blinked, pulled back from his thoughts.
“Coffee,” she repeated softly. “I’ll go grab it.”
“No… I’ll come with you.”
He bought it from the vending machine himself and handed her a can. They returned to the platform together. The day was hazy; the sun barely pierced through the clouds. The world seemed to hold its breath.
“Oh… that must be our train.”
They boarded. The city quickly slipped away, replaced by green hills and quiet suburbs. The ride felt shorter than either expected.
“Next stop: Hakone,” the announcement chimed.
Muichiro turned toward the window. Beyond the glass stretched dense emerald forests, soaked in silence. The air itself looked heavy.
“I’ve never been here before,” Toki whispered, her voice tinged with wonder. “It’s beautiful…”
“Yeah,” he murmured.
But she could feel the tension coiling inside him — not in his body, but deeper, in his soul.
When he caught her gaze, he lowered his head.
“Sorry. I’m just… nervous.”
She laid her hand on his shoulder.
“It’s okay, Muichiro. I’m here.”
They exited the station.
“So… where to next?” she called.
He unfolded a file and checked the address.
“This way.”
“Let’s take a taxi. We don’t know the area.”
At the taxi stop, Muichiro handed the driver the paper.
They approached a car at the edge of the square.
“Hello. We need to get here.” Muichiro showed the driver an address.
The taxi driver frowned.
“You’re not locals, are you?”
Muichiro hesitated. How could he answer? He was from here… once. In another life. Toki quickly stepped in.
“We’re tourists. It’s our first time in Hakone. Why do you ask?”
The driver shook his head.
“There was… a tragedy there six years ago. A family died. The locals avoid that place. They say it’s haunted.”
Muichiro lowered his gaze. His shoulders slumped slightly.
Toki reached out and took his hand — hesitant at first, but steady. He didn’t pull away. On the contrary, her warmth seemed to bring him back to life.
“We really need to go there,” she said softly.
“I’ll tell you how to get there,” the driver replied after a pause. “But I won’t drive you. Trust me — no one else will, either.”
Once he gave them directions, they continued on foot, following the route he’d described. Soon they reached a quiet residential district — small, detached houses scattered among narrow streets. Unlike Tokyo, the Hakone sky was bright and open, the sun shining high above the blue horizon.
Muichiro looked ahead and felt it — they were close.
That strange déjà vu had been haunting him ever since they stepped off the train.
From the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a grove of ginkgo trees. His heart began to race.
“Those trees…” he murmured, quickening his pace until he was almost running. “I know this place.”
He stopped suddenly, breath catching in his throat — and remembered the dream. Toki caught up, slightly out of breath.
“You know this place?”
“Yes. That dream…”
Across the street stood a single house.
Muichiro’s bangs shadowed his eyes as he lowered his head — and quietly crossed the road. The two-story building loomed before them, large but weathered, abandoned for many years.
Toki followed close behind, glancing around.
Passersby stared at them.
“Look, they’re actually going into that creepy house. Let’s get out of here.”
Muichiro ignored them. He reached for the handle — the door creaked open easily. Inside, the air was cool and dim.
“I’m home…” he whispered, stepping into the corridor.
Toki followed him silently, afraid to disturb his thoughts.
They entered a small room — once a study.
Muichiro found a stack of neatly drawn blueprints on the desk. The paper had yellowed; the ink had faded. He realized they were his father’s.
The report had said his father was an architect.
He placed the drawings back carefully and continued deeper into the house. He couldn’t remember any of it — yet every corner felt painfully familiar.
In the living room, his eyes caught on a photograph.
A family of four.
His family.
He picked it up, staring at the smiling faces. They looked so alive, so happy. He saw himself among them. Something broke inside him.
He clutched the photo tightly to his chest.
It hurt — the kind of pain that burned through silence. The pain of forgetting.
He couldn’t remember his mother’s gentle eyes, or his father’s calm smile. His brother’s identical reflection. He had forgotten them all — and it felt like betrayal. Betrayal of time, of love, of life itself.
Toki watched him from a distance, barely breathing, afraid to interrupt. Yet with every second, her heart clenched tighter — aching for him.
Still holding the photograph, Muichiro climbed the stairs. Two rooms awaited above.
He somehow knew — the one on the left was his. Of course it was. He stepped inside. Toys. Sketches. A little chaos, as if the family had simply stepped out for a moment and would return any minute.
Then he entered the next room — his twin brother’s. It was tidy, almost too mature for a thirteen-year-old. Books lined the shelves, thick with dust. Muichiro brushed his hand over one.
“Muichiro — ‘Mu’ means infinity. Live for both of us.”
He remembered the dream. The ginkgo grove. His brother’s voice.
“Yuichiro…” he whispered.
Toki approached, noticing a book on the desk. Her eyes widened — her heartbeat quickened. She picked it up carefully.
“That book… about the vampire in Romania…”
“Yes,” he said quietly. “It was my brother’s.”
Toki placed it back and turned to him.
“Muichiro, this is your home. Even if you don’t remember everything — your heart does. Your memories are still with you, just asleep somewhere inside.” She touched his chest lightly. “Here.”
He looked at her and pressed her hand closer against himself. She smiled softly.
“Toki… do you mind if I stay here for a while? Alone?”
“I’ll wait downstairs,” she said gently, giving him one last look before leaving.
As she descended the stairs, her thoughts drifted.
"It’s so sad,” she thought, descending the stairs. “To forget everything… and yet know your own story only from reports and other people’s words. Amnesia…”
She sighed softly.
“I don’t really remember my parents. Grandpa once said they were lost when I was a child.
Only now I think… it had something to do with demons. Demon Hunters organisation hidden the truth from ordinary people...”
Her fingers brushed the railing as she walked.
“Still, I had a good childhood. Friends, laughter. My grandpa raised me with care and warmth until he passed, a few months before I moved to Tokyo and started university…””
Her gaze drifted toward the garden outside.
“But Muichiro’s past… to lose everyone before his eyes, to kill with his own hands… that’s truly cruel.”
She wandered to the fireplace. More photographs stood there — the same family, smiling.
“They really do look like twins… And this must be his mother? She’s beautiful. And his father — his eyes, his expression… they’re just like Muichiro’s. They must’ve been happy, all thirteen years, until…”
Toki lowered her gaze.
She heard footsteps coming from the stairs and turned around.
“Toki, I’m done… I need to see that place.” He clenched the file in his hand. Toki immediately understood what he meant — the place where the demon had killed his family.
“It’s in the backyard… If you want, you don’t have to—”
“I want to go with you,” she said, stepping closer and taking his hand.
She looked into his eyes — she could feel that he didn’t want to go there alone. He tightened his grip on her hand and led her toward the door that opened into the backyard.
There stood a ginkgo tree.
Nothing else remained.
It was hard to believe that six years ago this place had been drenched in blood — his family’s blood. His own blood.
Muichiro walked a few steps ahead; Toki followed, scanning the quiet yard. Then she noticed his gaze fixed on the lone ginkgo tree, its carved leaves fluttering down in the wind like green petals. They approached the tree. Muichiro stood there, staring at it, as if trying to remember something.
A single leaf drifted down. Toki’s eyes followed its descent — and the moment it touched the ground, a terrible feeling washed over her, the same one she had felt that day in the university corridor.
Her shoulder began to ache.
She grabbed it instinctively. Then she looked at the tree — and saw blood.
Blood dripping down its crown. Their blood. The blood of the one standing beside her. His blood, and the blood of his family. And the power — that horrifying power that had taken their lives six years ago.
Muichiro turned toward her.
“Toki, what’s wrong?”
Her power had awakened again — the air around her thinned, as if a door to another world had cracked open.
“Toki, look at me.” He took her face in his hand, gently lifting her chin. She met his eyes. “Take a deep breath and close your eyes. Imagine there’s light inside you, and you’re walking toward it. That’s your strength. It’s part of you. Don’t lose control. You and your power are one.”
Toki did as he said. Slowly, the tension faded. Everything returned to normal.
He pulled her into a firm embrace.
“I think that helped a little,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around him.
They left the house and walked back toward the city, unaware that someone had been watching them from afar.
The road stretched quietly under the fading light. Muichiro had his arm around Toki’s shoulders, holding her carefully.
“How are you feeling now? Any better?”
“I’m okay,” Toki smiled faintly.
“Let’s stop somewhere and rest a bit,” he suggested.
They walked until they reached the city and stopped at a small café. Inside, bookshelves lined the walls; the air smelled of paper and coffee.
“Toki, what would you like?” he asked, wanting to make sure she felt better — and to distract her with something warm and gentle.
“Just tea,” she replied softly.
He went to the counter and soon returned with a cup and a small plate of cookies.
“Here,” he said, placing them in front of her.
Muichiro sat down across from her, his gaze calm yet searching.
“Muichiro… I don’t know if it was a vision or just my imagination, but… there was blood on that tree,” she said quietly. “So much blood… theirs… and yours. I could feel it…”
Her voice trembled as she looked down, her hand pressing her shoulder again.
Muichiro reached across the table and took her hand. He understood now — what she had felt was something he himself couldn’t. Her power ran deeper than healing; it connected her to those long gone.
“I’m really okay now. Don’t worry. You haven’t eaten either — not even breakfast,” she tried to smile, deflecting his concern.
He nodded, finally relaxing a little.
Toki glanced around, trying to change the subject.
“This place is lovely… books and coffee, what could be better?”
She stood up and pulled an art catalog from a nearby shelf, then returned and opened it so they could look together.
“Look,” she pointed at a page, smiling. “That’s Van Gogh. He often painted sunflowers and the night sky… it’s so beautiful.”
She gazed at the painting with warmth.
“Your favorite flowers,” Muichiro murmured, eyes still on the page.
“Yes… you remembered,” Toki smiled softly. “Muichiro, we still have one last thing to do, right? I know you want to go there. I’ll come with you. I want to be by your side.”
Her words touched him deeply. For a while, he couldn’t even lift his eyes.
“Yes… I really want to visit my family’s grave.”
Toki smiled again and turned another page. They sat in silence, drinking tea as the late afternoon light filled the café.
When they stepped outside, the sun was already setting, painting the sky in deep crimson and orange.
“Wait a moment,” Toki said.
She entered a small flower shop nearby and came out with a bouquet of white lilies.
“Shall we go?” she asked, offering it to him.
“Yes,” he said quietly, taking the flowers. “Let’s go.”
They took a taxi to the cemetery and soon found the grave of his family.
“It looks like… someone’s been here,” Toki whispered, pointing at the incense still burning and small sake cups left at the base of the stone.
“Yes… you’re right,” Muichiro said, setting the bouquet beside them. “Strange…”
He suddenly felt it — a powerful surge of energy, so intense it made the air tremble. He had never sensed anything like it before. His hand instinctively moved to his sword.
“Toki, stay close to me.”
He stepped in front of her, shielding her with his body.
“Muichiro?” she asked, following his gaze.
But there was nothing. Just emptiness. Muichiro stood still, sword drawn — and then, in the next heartbeat, the feeling vanished.
“Toki… I don’t know what that was. But I’ve never felt such a heavy, dark presence.”
Toki said nothing. She was still trying to comprehend what had just happened.
“Let’s get out of here,” Muichiro said quietly, and led her toward the exit.
Night had already fallen over Hakone. They walked through the quiet streets toward the station.
“Muichiro, it’s late… I think we missed the last train.”
“Then we’ll find a place to stay. I don’t feel that power anymore — it’s safe now.”
“All right.”
They found a small inn nearby and soon fell asleep.
***
“Muichiro! Muichiro! You sleepyhead! Wake up already! It’s August eighth — our day!”
Muichiro opened his eyes slowly, rubbing them with his fists.
“Our day?” he mumbled.
“You forgot? Seriously? It’s our birthday! We’re thirteen today! How could you forget that? Come on, Mom needs help with breakfast!”
He lifted his head — and there he was. His twin brother, Yuichiro, standing in the doorway with the same face, the same eyes, the same messy hair.
“I’ll be downstairs. Hurry up! ” Yuichiro said teasingly.
“Yeah, yeah…” Muichiro yawned, dragging himself out of bed.
He made his way down the stairs, half-asleep, barely lifting his feet. His thoughts floated around like leaves in a fog. When his elbow brushed against a vase of flowers, it crashed to the floor and shattered. A few shards cut into his leg, leaving a shallow scratch.
“Ow!” he hissed — the pain snapping him awake.
His mother and Yuichiro came running.
“Muichiro, sweetheart! You’re hurt! Let’s clean that right away,” his mother said.
“For heaven’s sake… how can someone be so careless, ‘Mu’—” Yuichiro frowned. “Completely useless…”
“Yuichiro, don’t start. Go get some cotton and ointment from the bathroom,” their mother said firmly.
Yuichiro left, and she turned back to her younger twin.
“I’m sorry, Mom… I broke your favorite vase,” he muttered, lowering his head.
“Oh, Muichiro,” she smiled softly, “it’s just a vase. Don’t worry about that. Especially not on your birthday.”
Her warmth wrapped around him like sunlight. The weight in his chest melted away. Yuichiro returned with the medicine, and while their mother picked up the shards, Muichiro dabbed at his wound.
“Ow… it stings.”
“You’re such a baby,” Yuichiro teased.
“Yuichiro,” their mother warned, but her face softened again almost immediately. “Once we’re done, we’ll have cake. Your father should be home any minute now.”
“Okay,” Muichiro said with a gentle smile.
And just like that, everything fell into place — their father came home, brought them gifts, and the whole family gathered at the table. It was warm, happy, peaceful — a day that felt as though time itself had stopped to preserve it.
Night came.
“Good night, Mom! Dad!” Muichiro called out, smiling brighter than ever.
Yuichiro only grunted in response. Though they were twins, they were opposites in many ways — Muichiro was soft-spoken, dreamy, open-hearted; Yuichiro was serious, reserved, logical.
“Come on already,” Yuichiro muttered.
They went upstairs to their room. Yuichiro sat beside him, and they talked — about their gifts, about the future, about silly things that made them laugh. Muichiro didn’t even notice when Yuichiro drifted off to sleep.
“Figures,” he thought, smiling faintly as he lay down beside him.
That night was hot and still. Muichiro woke to a strange feeling — a tightness in his chest, a silent alarm inside him. He shook his brother’s shoulder.
“What is it now?” Yuichiro grumbled, half-asleep.
“Yuichiro… I’m scared. Something’s wrong. Something bad is going to happen.”
“You’re imagining things again… go back to sleep…”
But then — they heard it. A noise from the garden. Footsteps. Scraping.
They froze. Then crept downstairs.
Blood. A trail of it across the floor, leading to the back door.
“Brother…” Muichiro whispered. “I’m scared.”
Yuichiro’s expression changed. He looked at the door — and opened it.
The garden was drowned in darkness.
Only the moonlight illuminated the splashes of red across the grass and flowers.
And then they saw it.
The demon.
Standing over the bodies of their parents.
It turned — and saw them.
“Muichiro, run!” Yuichiro shouted.
In an instant, the demon was upon them. Yuichiro screamed — his arm torn away in a single strike. Muichiro froze, staring at the twisted bodies of his parents, at his brother bleeding out before him.
He lunged forward, dragging Yuichiro toward the ginkgo tree — their favorite tree. But the demon followed. It struck again, tearing into Yuichiro. Blood splashed across Muichiro’s face. And something inside him broke.
He grabbed the nearest stone. His vision pulsed white. He no longer felt fear or pain — only the sound of his brother’s ragged breath, and the roar in his own head.
He didn’t remember how many times he struck. The demon’s face became a blur of red and shadow. He kept hitting, and hitting, until there was nothing left but blood — and blinding, merciless light.
***
Muichiro woke up with a start.
He was shaking, gasping for air, his heart pounding painfully in his chest.
He remembered. Everything.
The last day. The last smile. The warmth. The horror. The loss.
Tears streamed down his cheeks as he covered his face with his hands.
Toki woke up. She saw him trembling and rushed to his side, wrapping her arms tightly around him.
“Muichiro, I’m here! I’m here, do you hear me? You’re not alone…”
He rested his head on her shoulder.
“I remembered…” he whispered.
“I know,” she murmured, her eyes filling with pain. “I understand, Muichiro.”
He lay down again, and she stayed beside him — the only light left in his darkness. He listened to her breathing, the soft rhythm of her heartbeat. With every beat, the weight on his chest grew lighter. He held her tighter, as if afraid she might vanish.
Toki stroked his hair, his shoulders, his back — wiping the tears from his cheeks with cool fingertips. She looked into his turquoise eyes, shimmering with sorrow, and he looked back at her silently. For a moment, time stopped.
“Muichiro, are you feeling any better? I can get you some water…”
“No!” he clung to her suddenly. “Please… don’t go. Don’t leave me.”
“All right,” she whispered, brushing his hair back. “I’ll stay.”
The clock showed nearly three in the morning. Outside, the night was deep and silent.
Toki kept stroking his hair until his breathing evened out. His eyes closed. He rested against her chest, and finally, he slept.
“You’re not alone anymore,” she whispered, pressing her cheek to his hair. “I’m here, Muichiro. I’m with you.”
Morning came.
Muichiro woke up. The memories returned, twisting his body in silent pain. But when he opened his eyes—he saw Toki, still holding him close. He pulled her even nearer.
She stirred and whispered:
"Muichiro… how are you?"
Her fingers brushed through his hair.
"It’s hard to describe…" he met her gaze. " It wasn’t just a dream. It was a memory. August 8th. My brother and I had just turned thirteen. We were happy. No one knew it would be our last day together. That night… I lost everything. The demon tore our parents apart before our eyes. Then it came for Yuichiro… I survived. And I killed it. But I think… that night, I died too."
He pulled Toki into his arms. She looked at him and couldn’t hold back her tears.
"Muichiro… if only I could change it all. Heal them, bring your happiness back…" she covered her eyes with her hand.
"Toki… I’m happy that I found my lost life. Happy that I found you…"
He sat up, gently caressed her cheek, and wiped her tears away. His eyes were filled with boundless, pure love. For the first time, he smiled—truly smiled.
Toki looked at him, almost not believing it. He was there, beside her. The real him. The one he had forgotten.
For a long moment, they simply looked at each other, as if the whole world had vanished.
Then Muichiro spoke softly:
"We have to go back to Tokyo. The Corps might start to suspect something."
"You’re right," she replied.
He smiled—warmly, sincerely—and nodded.
For the first time, Muichiro felt whole.
He was no longer a shattered vessel.
He was himself again.
Notes:
Omg guys 💔 I actually cried while writing this.
Muichiro is my favorite character ever — he’s so fragile and deep, yet such a strong person. It was really hard to write, especially the scenes in his house and the dream about his family. They’re truly heartbreaking.
But at last, he remembered everything — and became whole again. From here, he’ll start to change, to understand and appreciate things more deeply. After all, he’s not just a genius or a master of magic and swordsmanship — Muichiro is a living, tender soul, someone who longs deeply for love and warmth. He was such a bright, sunny child once.
I tried to keep the spirit of the original, but added more details — since this story takes place in the modern world. I really hope I managed to capture that feeling 🙏
Btw, I visited Hakone last year — and it was breathtaking. The mountains, Mt. Fuji, the hot springs, all the green trees... The nature there is beautiful, yet so close to Tokyo. I thought it was the perfect place for Muichiro to have been born and raised.
Chapter 25: Sunflowers
Summary:
Something new is coming…
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The train arrived in Tokyo — right at its heart, Shinjuku.
Muichiro stepped out first. He stopped on the platform, his eyes sweeping over the restless station.
Something clawed faintly in his chest — the sense of being watched. But within the radius of his awareness, there wasn’t a single trace of hunting magic. Nothing — only air, thick with city dust and the echo of footsteps.
A distant caw tore through the morning sky.
Muichiro looked up.
Against the fragile blue, between the bones of buildings, a lone crow drifted — slow and almost otherworldly.
He felt a chill. Not from the wind — from within.
“Do we need to be anywhere?” a voice came from behind.
Toki had caught up to him, brushing her shoulder lightly against his.
He turned to her, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
“No. I took a sick leave. Until my hand fully heals — we don’t have anywhere to go yet.”
Toki’s gaze fell to the bandage peeking out from under his black T-shirt. The white cloth looked almost unnaturally clean against the city dust.
“I need to stop by the university,” he said quietly. “To check on a painting. Would you come with me?”
“Y-yes, of course… I don’t have any classes today. I’d love to keep you company.”
“And after that… maybe we could eat something. Or just walk. Together.”
His voice was soft, almost uncertain — but his eyes were warm. Warm in a way that existed only for her.
“Together,” Toki repeated with a smile — one filled with light.
They reached the university and slowly walked to the familiar building.
The art rooms smelled of oil and turpentine, as always. Easels stood close to each other like trees in a forest.
Muichiro walked up to one of them — his own.
He froze for a moment, looking at the canvas. His face was calm, focused, as if time, the city, and people around had simply ceased to exist. He reached for the varnish and, with delicate precision — as though touching something alive — added the final stroke. The one that sealed it.
Toki watched from a distance. She didn’t interrupt. Just looked — at him, in his quiet world. At the gentle motion of his hand, the black-and-turquoise strands falling down his back, the faint tension in his shoulders.
She exhaled softly.
He stopped. Turned his head toward her.
“Do you want to see it?”
“Can I?”
A small smile touched his lips; his gaze softened.
“Of course. You don’t even have to ask.”
Toki stepped closer — and for the first time, she saw the painting fully. And suddenly, she remembered — that story, the one about Gilgamesh and Enkidu. As if it were long ago. Another life.
Muichiro had captured their farewell.
Enkidu lay among golden-grey shadows, his body almost ethereal — ashen, violet-grey, weightless. But where his heart should have been, there was fire.
“It’s… beautiful,” Toki whispered.
She forgot everything. The demons. The pain. There was only the painting. His painting.
“It came to me because of you,” Muichiro said quietly, stepping closer. “I read that legend after the first evening I stayed at your place.”
“Why is his heart burning?”
He looked at the glowing center of the canvas — at that small, dying ember that had survived everything.
“I don’t know. I just… felt it should be that way.”
A pause.
“I added the varnish. I’ll let it sit here for a few days — let it dry.” He turned to her. “Shall we go?”
“Yeah…” she murmured, still gazing at the painting. “Let’s go.”
They left the university. The weather was soft and summery — sunlight warming the asphalt, a gentle breeze playing with the leaves.
Muichiro spoke first.
“What would you like to eat?”
“Ah…” Toki looked up, fidgeting with the hem of her skirt. “I’m not sure… We had breakfast not long ago. Maybe something sweet?”
“I was thinking of that little shop with the good dango,” he said, pausing to glance at the sky.
Toki watched him and couldn’t help smiling. Inside, she felt a quiet peace — that rare, still warmth she only felt beside him.
In those moments, she felt truly alive. As if something new and precious was awakening within her.
“What’s your favorite flavor?” she asked.
Muichiro met her gaze, his smile soft and bright.
“Strawberry and green tea.”
“That sounds delicious… I’d like to try that too.”
Toki smiled softly, tilting her head a little.
Muichiro glanced at her, as if considering something — and then, without a word, brushed his fingers against her hand. His touch was almost weightless, yet there was a quiet determination in it. Slowly, he intertwined their fingers and led her toward the subway — silent, calm, as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
She looked at him, and her heart responded with a trembling warmth. Toki tightened her grip slightly and smiled — tenderly, almost shyly.
They descended into the subway, still holding hands. Muichiro took a seat and gently pulled her down beside him. The silence between them spoke louder than any words. Their hands said everything.
Muichiro closed his eyes and leaned slightly toward the crown of her head. In that moment, he felt truly happy — for the first time in a long while.
The ice inside him had begun to melt.
When they reached their stop, Muichiro led Toki to a small but well-known dango shop.
The line stretched all the way to the street — clearly, people loved this place.
“Here it is,” he said.
“Wow, the line is huge! This place must be really popular,” she said in surprise.
“Yeah. Let’s get a few different flavors… and maybe something to drink?”
She nodded, and they placed their order.
“Please come again!” the shopkeeper said with a bright smile, handing over their boxes.
Muichiro thanked her, and the two of them walked toward the nearby park.
“It’s close,” he said. “Have you been here before?”
“Yes, I used to walk here a lot — even visited the greenhouse once,” Toki replied. “But I never knew about this dango place.”
“We used to come here with Rengoku-san,” Muichiro said quietly. “He always knew every corner of the city… all the best ones.”
“I see…” Toki whispered.
They reached the park entrance.
“I’ll get the tickets,” Muichiro said, stepping up to the counter.
Toki nodded.
They settled on the grass under the trees and began tasting their treats.
“This is amazing!” Toki exclaimed. “I’m so glad I chose the strawberry one… I really love it.”
Muichiro smiled gently, watching her. He liked this — her joy, her light, the quiet warmth between them.
When they finished, he offered her his hand to help her up. Together, they walked toward the large glass building in the park’s center — the greenhouse.
“I love this place,” Toki said. “I was really into botany as a child, my grandpa was a botanist. ”
“Your grandpa?”
“Mm, he passed away some months ago, so that’s why I entered university later....”
“Sorry, I didn't know”
“It's OK, it just a part of life. He lived a long, full life.””
Muichiro looked at her and said.
“I have no idea what any of these flowers are called,” he admitted, stopping before a large red blossom.
“That’s a hibiscus,” she said with a smile. “They make tea from it — hibiscus tea.”
“Never tried it.”
“You might like it.
“Interesting… and what about that one?”
“Oh, that’s…”
They wandered through the greenhouse for a long time, talking softly, pausing to admire each flower and plant. Later, they stepped outside and explored a small open-air sculpture exhibition. Time slipped away unnoticed.
The sun was already sinking, tinting the sky in shades of peach and rose.
“Shall we start heading back to the station?” Muichiro suggested.
Toki nodded.
When they reached the entrance, she said quietly,
“I should go back to my place tonight…”
His expression dimmed. He didn’t want to let her go — didn’t want to be alone again.
He looked at her and said.
“Wait here for a moment. I’ll be right back.”
Toki blinked, surprised, and sat down on a nearby bench.
"What’s he up to…?"
A few minutes passed.
Then Muichiro returned — so silently she almost didn’t notice.
“This is for you,” he said, holding out a bouquet of sunflowers — bright and golden, like pieces of sunlight.
Toki’s eyes widened.
“For… me?”
A silly question — automatic.
“Yes, for you,” he said softly, a faint smile curving his lips.
“Thank you, Muichiro…” Her voice trembled. “They’re my favorite flowers.”
“I know,” he replied, sitting down beside her and taking her hand.
“I’ll walk you back to headquarters, okay?”
“Yeah…”
She looked at the bouquet.
“They’re so beautiful… like dozens of tiny suns.”
Muichiro didn’t take his eyes off her.
Toki could hardly believe this moment was real. Her heart was beating so fast it felt like it might burst.
“Shall we go?” he asked — and then felt something warm and feather-light against his cheek.
She had kissed him. Gently.
He turned to her, words caught in his throat — too full of feeling to speak.
Toki smiled, hugging the bouquet to her chest, and nodded.
“You’re right. Let’s go.”
The sky was darkening — night washing away the last traces of the day.
Feast for One
Several days had passed since then.
The city lived on — restless, glowing with neon, breathing in exhaust and fear. Tokyo, the great beast curled beneath the rain, devoured everything — events, fates, disappearances.
No one noticed.
As always.
And high above it all — in a glass palace atop a skyscraper, in the heart of Ginza — stood him.
Douma.
He stood by the window, tall, elegant, painfully beautiful. The kaleidoscope in his eyes shimmered with a thousand colors. He gazed down at the city — like a god admiring his creation.
“Ah… Tokyo. My sweet Tokyo,” he murmured, tilting his head as if speaking to a pet. “How many of you are there, little ones? Millions. Scurrying about. But so adorable…”
His voice was honey dripping from a blade.
“By the way,” he added lightly, “today is someone’s special day. If it can even be called that.”
He traced a finger across the glass, leaving a misty trail.
Behind him stretched a long table — perfect, festive.
Wine. Dishes. Desserts. Flowers.
But everything was false.
The food was dead. The wine — too thick. The flowers, cut short halfway to life.
At the center — a tray covered with a silver dome. The main attraction.
The gift.
“Where are you, Kaigaku?” he sang softly, adjusting the glasses. “I’m already missing you…”
Right on cue — the doorbell rang.
Douma turned with a sharp, fluid motion — like a petal caught in the wind. He glided forward, graceful, almost dancing.
He threw the door open, arms spread.
“You took your time… but that’s fine. I was just setting the mood. A festive one.”
Kaigaku stood in the doorway — soaked from the drizzle, eyes restless, face drawn and pale.
“Sorry… I did what you asked.”
“Good boy,” Douma purred, fluttering his lashes as he took Kaigaku’s hand, like one would a child’s. “Come in. Tonight’s about you. And, of course — champagne!”
He snapped his fingers.
The cork popped, foam bursting upward.
He poured two glasses and handed one to Kaigaku.
“To you. To your new life. And to the gift you’ve already earned.”
Kaigaku took the glass, wary, and drank.
Bitterness slid down his throat like a needle.
“Never tasted anything like that, have you?” Douma laughed, clapping his hands. “It’s the rarest bottle there is! And from now on — only the finest awaits!”
He moved to the table and held out a bag.
“The first part of your gift. You worked so hard, after all…”
Kaigaku looked inside — slowly, almost dreadfully — and froze.
Eyes.
Dozens. Maybe hundreds.
Human eyes — glassy, staring. Some seemed to recognize him.
Darkness surged up his throat, thick and choking.
“My girls…” Douma said sweetly, his voice dripping affection. “I remember each one. Sometimes I dream they whisper to me in the night… little words of love. Isn’t it charming?”
Kaigaku staggered back.
“No…” he gasped, clutching his stomach.
“Oh, come now,” the demon knelt beside him, eyes gleaming. “You’ll get used to it. You’re not just a hunter anymore. You’re the start of something new.”
He turned back to the table and lifted the silver dome. Inside sat a small black box.
He opened it.
Inside — a vessel filled with thick crimson liquid.
“The second gift. From me, personally. Think of it as… a piece of myself. Your rebirth. And a word of warning — don’t rush for revenge. Muichiro Tokito… he’s special. A genius. Perhaps even the only one of his kind. Don’t act rashly…”
Kaigaku grabbed the vessel and drank — as if to end it quickly.
And then — he felt it.
Ash.
Fire.
Darkness coiling up his spine like a serpent.
His eyes flooded red, his throat burned raw. He fell to his knees, gasping.
“What… have you… done… you bas—”
“Oh, hush,” Douma whispered, pressing a finger to his lips. “It’s all for you. You’ll see soon enough — you’re magnificent.”
He watched Kaigaku’s agony like a collector admiring a rare butterfly thrashing against the glass.
Then, smiling, he took out his phone.
“Little Akaza,” he crooned, his voice slick as oil, “I’ve sent you the coordinates. Don’t disappoint me, alright?”
Notes:
Awwww, they’re just too cute 😭💞
After Muichiro remembered his past, he definitely became more sensitive — especially with Toki. He finally realized his feelings, and he actually likes it. He’s just so precious.
Chapter 26: Broken Sword Part I
Notes:
OMG guys! Over 2000 hits!! I can’t believe it! 😱
Thank you so much for reading, love you all ♥️♥️♥️
I’m posting two chapters today, so enjoy reading! 🫶
Chapter Text
Several days had passed since their return from Hakone.
Muichiro sat with Toki on a park bench.
“My sword broke,” he said, looking at the cracked blade resting across his knees.
They had just returned from another mission.
The wind stirred his black-and-turquoise hair, the sun was sinking toward the horizon. And yet, in Muichiro’s voice, there was no relief, no weariness — only calm acceptance.
“What will you do now?” Toki asked.
Muichiro lifted his gaze. The ruined blade in his hand caught the light, reflecting his turquoise eyes.
“We need to go to Nagano. It’s the fastest way to have it repaired,” he replied. “I can’t stay unarmed. Especially now.”
He didn’t explain what “now” meant, but she could feel it.
He looked at her again — a little longer than usual.
“Nagano?” Toki repeated. “If I’m not mistaken, that’s near the village where the Demon Slayer swords are made, right?”
“That’s right.”
“It’s strange that such an important place is so far from headquarters…”
“It’s because of the ore. Only there can you find the right kind of Nichirin metal. Without it, a sword is just steel,” Muichiro explained, rising from the bench.
“I see…”
He paused for a second, as if thinking something over.
“I want to leave tonight. If everything goes as planned, we’ll be there by nightfall. Let’s stop by headquarters first,” he said, a faint smile touching his lips.
“Okay…” she nodded, feeling her heartbeat quicken.
She didn’t know why, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that this trip would be more important than it seemed.
A black car belonging to the organization drove them to headquarters. Muichiro went straight to Iguro’s office to report his departure.
Inside him, somewhere deep down, something stirred — not fear, but a quiet sense of foreboding. He stayed silent. He didn’t want to talk here. The feeling of being watched from the shadows had haunted him ever since their return from Hakone.
They walked quietly toward the exit, avoiding everyone. But there was one person Muichiro couldn’t ignore.
Kagaya.
He stood by the stone path, his hands folded behind his back. His white fitted uniform fluttered slightly in the wind. He didn’t turn around, but spoke:
“Tokito-kun, are you leaving?”
Muichiro bowed low, Toki followed, though less formally. She still felt that strange, creeping dread around this man. Her gaze dropped to the ground.
“Oyakata-sama,” Muichiro said calmly. “My sword has broken. I intend to stay in Nagano for a while.”
“I see. The sword is sacred to a Demon Slayer.”
Silence followed for a few heartbeats, broken only by the cawing of crows in the sky — more than a dozen of them.
Kagaya turned his head slightly. His eyes lingered on Toki.
“Take care of her, Tokito-kun.”
Muichiro bowed again. Toki lowered her gaze. Her fingers tightened unconsciously around the fabric of her sleeves.
Another crow cried out from the rooftop. A second voice answered it. The wind lifted the leaves, and through the lush garden passed a subtle tremor — as if something in the air itself had shifted.
Kagaya turned back toward the garden
“Farewell.”
Muichiro inclined his head slightly and touched Toki’s elbow, silently guiding her away.
“Let’s go, Toki.”
They quickened their pace.
Muichiro wanted to get away from that place. It felt heavy — thick, suffocating, like a swamp pulling everything into its depths.
Once they descended the stairs and reached the street, where ordinary people passed by without a care, it became easier to breathe.
The organization’s car was already waiting — ready to take their Mist Hashira to the station. To repair his sword. To continue the fight. All in the name of peace.
Muichiro opened the door and let Toki sit first, then sat beside her with a quiet exhale.
“Tokito-dono, your tickets to Nagano are inside the envelope.”
Muichiro turned his gaze — a yellow envelope lay by the door on his side, holding two tickets. He silently slipped it into his pocket, and the car began to move.
When they reached the station, Muichiro quickly stepped out. He wanted to be alone with Toki again.
“Our train arrives in ten minutes. Shall we hurry?”
She nodded, and they found their platform, boarding just before the doors closed. The organization had calculated everything perfectly. As always.
They found their seats. Muichiro sat by the window, Toki beside him.
As soon as he felt they were far away, he exhaled in relief.
“That feeling again?” she asked softly.
Toki felt it too.
He nodded.
Outside, the lights of small stations flickered and vanished into the black void between cities.
Muichiro sat straight-backed, leaning wearily against the wall. His sword lay across his knees, wrapped in cloth.
Toki sat beside him, listening to his breathing — quiet, steady, a little slower than usual. She noticed his eyes had closed.
He looks so exhausted, she thought, turning slightly toward him.
“Are you asleep?” she whispered, watching his profile bathed in pale lamplight.
“Almost,” he murmured. “I’m just… so tired.”
He wasn’t lying.
He was tired of everything.
He wanted silence — the soft, enveloping kind that only she could bring.
He turned toward the window.
“As long as you’re here, I can’t let myself be weak.”
Her heart trembled. She lowered her head quietly.
“Muichiro…”
It hurt her to hear that. His strength carried a hidden fragility — one he wouldn’t allow himself to show.
A few minutes passed. Muichiro closed his eyes fully this time — and almost immediately, his head slipped down to rest on her shoulder.
She didn’t move. Only took a deep breath. His hair smelled faintly of pine and cold air, still slightly damp from the evening wind. His body was warm, despite the calm detachment in his expression. She didn’t feel its weight — only peace.
Toki placed her hand gently over his, wishing to give him her warmth. She closed her eyes and let him rest against her shoulder, hoping he could at least find a little rest.
The train carried them farther and farther — through the night, through the sense of foreboding and secrets, toward a place that barely existed on any map.
“Nagano Station,” the voice announced over the speaker.
The platform was cool.
The station stood almost empty — few people traveled toward the mountains at night.
They were already being awaited.
Two figures — Toki instantly recognized them as members of the organization, though they looked like ordinary civilians. One of them approached and gave a silent bow.
“Tokito-dono, we were informed of your arrival,” he said, offering a piece of thick black cloth. “Please, cover your eyes.”
Toki knew about this procedure, yet it still surprised her.
“Even Muichiro has to do this? Does no one truly know the exact path?”
“You must do the same, miss.”
She nodded and allowed them to blindfold her. Darkness sharpened everything — the crunch of gravel beneath their feet, the sound of a car door opening, the faint smell of cold metal and wood, and the distant scent of mountain herbs.
They drove for a long time. The car made almost no sound, yet the road was winding.
Toki could feel traces of magic sliding across her skin, illusions weaving in the air, as if reality itself trembled around them. Even the driver didn’t know the route — ancient seals guided the way. Absolute secrecy.
Sensing her unease, Muichiro found her hand and covered it with his, as if to say: I’m here. You’re safe.
Finally, the car stopped. The blindfolds were removed — and Toki caught her breath.
Before them stretched a village hidden among misty slopes. Stone houses half-swallowed by moss, rooftops glistening with dew. The air was heavy with moisture — pure and crisp, like water from a mountain spring.
Muichiro stepped out and exchanged a few words with the driver. One of the Kakushi pointed toward a temple on the hillside.
“Let’s go. I need to deliver the sword.”
The mansion overlooking the settlement was dim and smelled of resin and metal. There were no decorations — only aged scrolls and swords hanging on the walls, silent keepers of the past.
From the depths of the hall emerged a man — short, slender, wearing a comical wooden mask like an actor from a Noh play. It was the village elder.
His steps were steady and deliberate, as if each movement was part of a ritual.
He stopped before Muichiro, peering through the mask’s narrow eye slits.
“Tokito-dono,” the old man rasped, “you arrived on time. Your blade…” — he extended his hands, and Muichiro passed him the sword — “I’m afraid I must tell you… the blacksmith who forged it passed away last week. We didn’t have time to inform you.”
Muichiro froze. His fingers twitched slightly. He lowered his gaze.
“...Tetsuido-san?”
“Yes,” the elder nodded. “He passed peacefully. In his sleep.”
Toki stood a few steps away but could feel the tension slicing through the silence. Muichiro clasped his hands but said nothing.
The old man paused.
“He was very proud of you. He said he placed that metal in good hands. Now, my son will take up the work — Hotaru. He’s the most skilled blacksmith we have left. Forgive him — he dislikes formalities, knowing his own temper. When he’s finished, he’ll personally deliver your blade. For now, please rest. Rooms have been prepared for you. Sleep well, Tokito-dono.”
Muichiro nodded silently, the faint ache of regret flickering inside him.
Servants led them to a small house nearby and bowed respectfully.
“These are your rooms.”
When the door closed behind them, the quiet seemed to wrap around everything. Muichiro guided Toki inside.
“Muichiro,” she asked softly, “that man… Tetsuido-san… was he close to you?”
The young man paused, considering.
“Not exactly,” he said after a moment. “But he’s repaired my swords since I was a child. Sometimes he’d take a little longer — just so I could rest for a bit. Only now I realize he did that on purpose. And he always said… no child should ever have to walk through this hell.”
“I see…” Toki whispered.
Muichiro looked at her and smiled gently — that rare, quiet tenderness that seemed to light his face from within.
“It’s alright,” he said. “He lived a long life. Don’t worry, Toki.”
She nodded and smiled too — her eyes glowing softly in the half-light.
“Then… shall we sleep? The road was… quite a journey.”
Muichiro didn’t answer right away. His arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her close — firmly, yet gently. For the first time in a long while, a genuine, peaceful smile appeared on his face.
“You’re right,” he murmured into her hair. “Just give me a few seconds… then we’ll sleep.”
“Mm…” she breathed, returning the embrace.
With each passing second, warmth filled her — a quiet, steady warmth, like a second heartbeat. With him, it felt so easy, so safe, so still that she wanted to stay in his arms forever.
And he — he wanted the same. To hold her always, to never let go. But something inside him restrained that wish. Reluctantly, he released her and said softly.
“Good night, Toki.”
“And to you, Muichiro,” she smiled.
And at last, night settled over the village like a calm, dark veil.
Just as the elder had said, his son came to see Muichiro the next evening. He practically kicked the door open, startling them both.
“Hey, kid!” he barked, holding something wrapped in cloth.
Turquoise eyes met the face of a man wearing a Tengu mask. He walked in like he was breaking through a wall — voice loud, steps heavy.
Toki, sitting beside Muichiro, flinched from the sudden, fiery intrusion.
“Don’t you dare break it again, you hear? That’s still old Tetsuido’s work — don’t you disgrace his name!”
Muichiro silently accepted the sword.
“Did you hear me, huh?!”
The young man calmly lifted his gaze. He hadn’t been spoken to so roughly in a long time, but he didn’t mind. At least it wasn’t a lie.
Slowly, he drew the white blade from its black sheath.
“Thank you,” Muichiro said quietly.
“Ha! I don’t need your gratitude,” Hotaru snorted. “Test it in battle — then you can thank me. For now, don’t even think of scratching it, kid!”
He left, trailing behind him the scent of fire, steel, and a life lived among silent blades.
“What a strange man,” Toki murmured, relaxing once he was gone.
“Do you think so?”
Muichiro tilted his head thoughtfully. Toki smiled softly.
“Tomorrow morning we’ll head back to Tokyo,” Muichiro said as the sun brushed the horizon. “We’ll need to notify the Kakushi.”
“The road won’t be easy,” Toki sighed. “It feels like another world here.”
“Yes. That’s why the organization guards it so fiercely.”
He looked at her — as if he was about to say something more, but changed his mind.
Night painted the sky in black tones. The fog thickened. Crows cried out — hoarse, anxious, breaking the stillness.
“Douma wasn’t lying,” a voice said.
It was slick and rippling — like silk sliding over rotting flesh, like something both elegant and grotesque. It shifted shape, yet had no face.
Gyokko — Upper Moon demon.
“He truly gave us the exact coordinates of the village. The smiths didn’t even realize they opened the door themselves,” he chuckled, stretching his long, slender fingers — like an artist preparing his brush.
“And there’s more…” his voice twisted into a grin. “In that village — the boy Hashira… and that girl always clinging to him. If I’m lucky, and she’s the one — the master will finally awaken from his long slumber. He’ll be pleased with me.”
The demon spread his hands, tracing invisible lines across an unseen canvas.
“A Hashira? Pfft. He won’t stand in the way of the great Gyokko-sama. For all his grand title — he’s nothing but a shadow, a pale sketch before true art. It’s my turn to bring some beauty into this miserable hole.”
He tilted his head, and moonlight slid across his distorted face.
“I’ll show these villagers what happens when a real artist gets to work. Now… where to begin? With a scream? A cut? A prayer?”
He laughed — a sound thin as a blade.
“Ah… inspiration has come.”
Chapter 27: Broken Sword Part II
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Muichiro opened his eyes.
Somewhere deep in the night, from the far end of the village, distorted sounds rolled through the air — harsh, bubbling, as if someone were choking on their own shadow.
The swordsman dressed quickly in the dark, threw on his jacket, and took up his blade. His fingers tightened on the hilt — instinct awakening before thought.
“That energy… it’s...”
Muichiro’s eyes widened.
He dashed out, reaching Toki’s room within seconds. The girl was awake — as though she too had felt the approach of something inhuman.
“Toki. Set the seals — and under no circumstances go outside.”
His voice was firm, urgent.
She understood everything without needing explanation.
“And you… what about you?..”
He stepped closer and brushed his fingers gently along her cheek. In that brief touch, she held so much fear, so much unbearable longing to stop him — and yet, she didn’t.
“I’m strong,” he said softly. “After all… I am a Hashira.”
She wrapped her arms around his neck, whispering.
“Please… come back to me.”
He nodded, resting his hand against the back of her head, drawing her closer until their foreheads nearly touched. His breath left him slowly — as if only here, near her, he could remember what it meant to be alive.
“I will. I promise.”
He let her go — and vanished beyond the doorway.
Toki remained standing in the shadows, hands clasped together, as if her prayer still echoed inside her.
Muichiro already knew: the situation at the other end of the village was out of control.
People were screaming. The sky had darkened, the streets filled with an alien, hostile energy — the same kind he had once felt at the graves of his family.
“A demon… a powerful one…”
He leapt onto the rooftops — moving from one to the next without touching the ground, light as morning mist.
Villagers ran in the opposite direction. Someone spotted him.
“It’s the Hashira! Tokito-sama! Please — help us! Demons! They’re everywhere!”
He landed.
“What’s happening?”
“The north district— it’s crawling with demons! Flying fish — hundreds of them! They’re tearing everything apart!” The man was hysterical, eyes darting wildly. “They’re eating people like they’ve been starving for centuries!”
Muichiro didn’t answer. His gaze turned toward the ruins ahead, and he sprinted forward again.
He moved across the rooftops until the square opened before him.
Hell had begun.
A crowd.
Screams.
Blood.
The stench of rotten fish — thick and clinging, seeping into the skin. Everything was slick with scales — the ground, the walls, even people. They were no longer human. Faces stretched and warped, eyes turning dull and glassy like those of dead sea creatures.
They charged at Muichiro.
He didn’t raise his blade. They were still alive — trapped under the demon’s spell.
“They’re not turned… this is his domain. He’s using it to create chaos. Those who’ve become fish are dying slowly under his magic, not Muzan’s blood. Which means… the faster I find him, the faster the curse will fade.”
He knew. He felt it — the enemy was near.
A leap — and before his eyes emerged the monster: a colossal octopus, crawling straight out of a nightmare. Its flesh writhed as if alive on its own, tentacles twisting through the air like tightening nooses.
Muichiro drew his sword.
Mist enveloped the square, shrouding him — turning the Hashira into a phantom.
In a single motion, he closed the distance — a hiss of air, and one of the octopus’s tentacles crashed to the ground. The beast screamed — blind, enraged. Its blows struck blindly, tearing through houses, streets, even the air itself.
One tentacle whipped sideways — crashing into the elder’s house.
“Tch…”
Muichiro sprang upward, pushed off the slick flesh, slid down — and burst inside.
“Elder!”
He made it in time. The blade flashed white — and the tentacle fell at the old man’s trembling feet.
“Everyone, out! Now!”
“Tokito-dono! He— he attacked without warning! We couldn’t— this demon—”
Muichiro looked at the elder, then at the frightened people beside him.
“He’s an Upper Moon. Leave him to me. Run.”
The tentacle whipped toward them again — but another force struck it aside. Someone else had arrived.
“Hey, kid! Don’t you dare break that sword!”
“Hotaru! My son!”
“Get up, old man!” Haganezuka grabbed his father and pulled him away. “Let the Hashira handle it! Try not to die, alright?!”
“Y-yeah…”
Muichiro was alone again.
He stood still, inhaled deeply — gathering all the mist, all the cold within the blade — into his breath, his pulse, himself.
“Low Clouds, Distant Haze.”
He vanished — then reappeared beside the creature, slicing clean through its body. Blood gushed out — thick, heavy, scarlet — raining from above like crimson stormwater.
Muichiro leapt again.
“Lunar Dispersing Mist.”
Dozens of invisible strikes fell from the sky — unseen, but slicing, burning, stitching the air itself.
The Hashira appeared before the creature’s face and delivered the final, precise, fatal blow.
The monster collapsed.
“It’s over… but this is only the beginning…”
He stood in the red puddle, surrounded by fragments of flesh and drifting smoke. The sword trembled in his hand — not from exhaustion, but from premonition.
Muichiro focused — felt the breath, the pulse of evil.
He’s here.
Somewhere close…
And then—
He knew. Felt it in every part of himself.
Toki was gone.
Emptiness.
Fear.
Panic.
“…No,” Muichiro whispered.
Then louder—
“NO!”
Toki stood pressed against the wall, staring into the night in horror.
She could feel it — with each passing second, Muichiro was farther away. The seals around her still protected her… but not from him.
“Found you.”
A strike.
Her body was thrown backward — the wooden panels cracked with a dull snap.
She hit the floor hard; warm blood immediately ran down her leg. Something thin — taut like a string — coiled around her ankle and tightened. Sharp pain flared through her head.
“Well, well,” came a smooth voice behind her — male, cold. “So here you are, girl. The one always hanging around that Hashira, hmm? Excellent. Saves me the trouble of searching. No wonder I opened my domain right in the heart of this hole — these villagers will soon witness true art, like the saints in Bosch’s paintings.”
She was lifted into the air. Around her — silence, save for distant echoes of battle. Before her stood a creature — pale, slick, as if molded from clay. Its eyes were bottomless, filled with bliss. It looked at her with admiration.
“So… I have more time for a new masterpiece.”
“Let me go!” Toki screamed — but another tendril wrapped around her mouth.
“Don’t scream. My ears are tuned too finely for that. They crave the sounds of beauty, not your shrill noise…” the demon purred. “Now then… you’ll be the first. The first to witness the glory of Gyokko-sama’s art. A lucky one indeed.”
In the next instant, they vanished. The world shuddered — and Toki found herself elsewhere.
A room.
Foreign.
Broken.
The floor — soaked in blood.
The ceiling — cracked and warped.
The air — thick, rotting.
“Welcome!” the demon proclaimed triumphantly. “Fortune smiles upon you! The first! The first to behold the magnificence of Gyokko-sama’s masterpiece!”
Toki slowly raised her head — and her breath caught.
In the far corner, under the trembling light of the lamps, loomed… a mass.
A body of flesh.
Of faces.
Of trembling forms fused together into a single pattern.
The people were still alive. They whispered, begged, moaned.
And one of them — looked straight at her.
“Well? So breathtaking you can’t look away?”
Gyokko leaned in, expecting awe, reverence — trembling with anticipation.
“It’s…” Toki whispered, voice shaking. “It’s… disgusting.”
Silence. Then — rage.
“WHAT?!”
A blow. The world turned upside down.
She was thrown back — her spine struck a tree trunk — blood spilling down from her head.
"Filthy peasant!" Gyokko screamed. "How dare you! Call my creation… disgusting?! I’ll rip out your tongue! Your eyes! You’re not worthy to behold art!"
"Toki!"
A flash shot from the forest — and in the next instant, Muichiro struck the vase. The blade of mist flared in the air.
"Are you all right?" his voice was sharp, but beneath it burned worry.
"Hashira…" Gyokko hissed. "I’ve killed dozens like you! You think you’ll be any different?!"
Muichiro turned suddenly, catching sight of the statue behind the demon. For a moment, the swordsman’s hand tightened around the hilt until his knuckles went white.
"You did this?"
"Yes! Isn’t it beautiful?!"
"Beautiful?.." Muichiro stepped forward. His voice was quiet — deadly calm. "You’re pitiful and vile. Upper Moon? You’re nothing but a tasteless pot."
"BASTARD!!"
Gyokko roared. Scales rippled across his body as he burst from his vessel. Hundreds of thin, trembling needles whirled in the air — deadly, humming with rage.
"Die!"
The needles shot toward Muichiro. He moved between them, his sword trailing mist, deflecting with surgical precision. But then — everything stopped.
Gyokko changed tactics. The needles turned — and flew toward Toki.
"What if I make her part of my next masterpiece?"
"No…" Toki tried to run, but pain in her leg made it impossible. Her body refused to obey.
Hundreds of venomous threads rushed toward her, vibrating with fury. And suddenly — warmth. Arms wrapped around her. Someone shielded her.
It was him.
"Muichiro…"
"Don’t be afraid," he whispered. "I’m here."
"Those needles… they’re… poisoned…" her voice trembled as she felt his body weaken.
He rose, unsteady, his eyes cloudy — yet his grip on the sword never faltered.
"The poison of this… pathetic thing… won’t kill me. I’m a Hashira."
Muichiro stepped toward the demon.
"You’ll regret this, you ugly pot."
"Pathetic mortal! Do you even know who you’re facing?!" Gyokko floated upward, condensing moisture around them. Muichiro couldn’t react — mist coiled into a watery prison. He was trapped, no way out.
"HAHAHA! Another Hashira dies! I am magnificent!"
Gyokko grabbed Toki by the hair and pulled her toward the cage.
"Look. Watch your hero suffocate. Watch him die before your eyes!"
She stared through tears, her panic overwhelming.
Muichiro was choking. His body bristled with needles, blood and mist filling the cage.
"You… weak…" the demon hissed. "A perfect fragment for my statue…"
"Hey, you clay bastard!"
An explosion. Metal sliced through mist. The cage shattered.
"I told you not to die without my permission," said a voice — rough, familiar.
Hotaru Haganezuka had run straight into the forest once his father was safe. He knew Muichiro would need him.
"Ha…ganezuka…san…"
"Guess that means I saved your life. You owe me now."
The demon shrieked. The needles turned on Haganezuka. He fell — but not before smiling.
"Don’t screw it up, kid."
Muichiro seized the opening — his blade pierced the prison’s weak point, and the swordsman burst free. Without hesitation, he sliced through the threads restraining Toki.
Water streamed off him. His breath was ragged.
Turquoise eyes fixed on the demon — no anger, no fear. Only cold, concentrated hatred.
He walked forward in silence.
"What’s wrong? Scared? You’re a worthless insect! A mockery of art!" Gyokko screamed, but Muichiro said nothing.
"Unlike you, I can create true masterpieces. I’m an artist. And your 'art'… is nothing but trash — just like your grotesque pot."
"DON’T YOU DARE!" Gyokko shrieked, hysterical. "Don’t call yourself an artist, you bastard! I’ll kill you!"
Muichiro glanced at the dying people fused into the living statue. His fingers tightened on the hilt.
"Useless? No. I just want to protect what little I have left. To save those who gave me this blade…" his voice was calm, but inside, ice burned. "And I won’t let you take Toki from me."
Smoke-like marks began to spread across his face — swirling like clouds.
Toki’s eyes widened.
"No…" she whispered.
Gyokko lunged forward — but the world changed.
Mist rose around Muichiro. Dozens of illusions formed; he slipped through the demon’s strikes like a phantom. With every movement, he grew faster, deadlier.
"You think that’ll save you?!" Gyokko shrieked. "Marked or not, you’re just a show-off! I’m the true creator!"
He mutated — his body growing, covered in scales, his domain thick with blades.
"You think that’ll help?" Muichiro smirked coldly. "A bigger shell won’t make you stronger inside."
He lunged — his strikes came faster than breath, the blade leaving misty moonshape scars in the air. He shredded the demon’s limbs before it could regenerate.
"Why… why is he like this?" Gyokko thought in panic. "This isn’t the same Hashira who was dying a minute ago! This is… impossible…"
Desperate, the demon collapsed his domain and fled toward Toki.
Muichiro understood instantly. Something inside him broke. The marks spread, crawling across his chest and arms. Blood dripped from his wounds, but his body surged with terrifying power — as if burning itself from within.
He swung — releasing a sharp, crescent slash of mist like a razor’s edge. The attack cleaved Gyokko clean in half.
Muichiro stepped toward the dying demon and crushed its throat underfoot.
"Who… are you…" Gyokko wheezed. "Such power… no human could… only he… only Ko—"
"Shut up," Muichiro coldly drove his sword through the demon’s mouth. "You’re annoying."
He struck again and again, hammering the body into the earth until nothing remained but a stain.
Muichiro was consumed.
The marks no longer obeyed him.
His breath grew harsh, his eyes unfocused — he was losing himself.
Toki stared in horror.
Suddenly, she felt it — the same presence as that night in Hakone, by the blood-soaked tree near Muichiro’s family grave. Death’s cold fingers reaching for him.
Kyojuro’s voice echoed in her mind:
"You asked about 'crossing the line'. The 'mark'? Once a hunter manifests it… their strength multiplies. We become similar to demons. But a human body cannot endure such strain — our lives are shortened. Worse still, if we lose control of the mark, we fight like rabid dogs… until death."
"Muichiro…" she whispered.
He didn’t hear her.
She tried to stand — pain seared through her leg — but still, she pushed forward, threw herself against his trembling back. The marks burned on his skin, radiating inhuman heat.
"Muichiro, please… stop… I don’t want to lose you! Please… you’re precious to me!"
She held him tighter.
Her hands began to glow — soft, white, like spring’s first light.
The glow touched his skin; the marks faded, the wounds began to close.
Muichiro froze.
He came to.
"Please… you’re precious to me... Please, come back, Muichiro..."
Slowly, he turned to Toki — saw her tearful eyes.
"I… I’m sorry…" he whispered, brushing her cheeks. "Toki… I…"
He collapsed against her chest, unconscious.
Toki sank to her knees, holding him, trembling — but alive.
He was alive.
Gyokko was gone. The demons had vanished. The captured souls returned to their bodies. The nightmare was over.
Only the crows above kept cawing, as if to remind them — this wasn’t the end.
"Douma… Gyokko is dead. Tokito killed him. I saw it all. And that girl... she used strange power.”
Kaigaku’s voice rasped, like a knife scraping glass.
In the silence of the hall — where neon reflections danced across glass walls — his words hung in the air like a drop of blood on a claw’s tip.
On his lavish leather couch, Douma froze mid-motion, still smiling. His eyes glimmered with icy light.
"Gyokko’s dead? What a shame… He was so… disgusting... But I suppose we’ll survive the loss."
Kaigaku stood in the half-light, his black eyes reflecting not the moon — but emptiness. Fangs flashed beneath his lips as he smirked. The shadow across his face looked like a scar.
He didn’t answer immediately. He only thought:
"You can use more than one element… and you nearly lost control — meaning you’ve awakened your marks. Tokito… don’t you dare die before I kill you myself."
A crooked grin twisted his mouth.
He stepped back — and vanished, bursting into lightning that tore the air apart.
Notes:
Honestly, I really love this chapter — one of my favorites so far 💔
It was so interesting to write the battle. I tried to keep the manga vibe.
Muichiro — this chapter marks the beginning of his power, the marks, and that strange force, like… 🫣
Oh, Gyokko is so disgusting, but honestly, his power is super spectacular, and writing his lines was kinda fun :)
Next chapter will be hot 🔥
See you on Friday!
Chapter 28: The letter
Chapter Text
Muichiro woke up.
His eyelids fluttered open slowly, and the first thing he felt was not pain — but silence. Unfamiliar. Almost gentle.
The world wasn’t falling apart anymore; his body ached, yes, but his mind was clear — like the storm had passed, leaving only the deafening stillness that comes after a scream.
He touched his face — both cheeks were covered with bandages.
Propping himself up on his elbows, he felt warmth nearby. Looking down, he saw Toki. She was asleep at his feet, curled up like a kitten. A cascade of chestnut hair spilled across the blanket.
Her face looked peaceful, yet not entirely free — worry and exhaustion lingered there, refusing to let her rest. She hadn’t left him. Not even now, when it seemed everything was finally over.
“Toki…”
Memories crashed back — her tears, her desperate pleas to stop the madness, that gentle power that had pulled him out of the abyss, like light breaking through darkness.
“Hey, kid. Awake, huh?” Hotaru’s voice came softly. “She really… stayed with you the whole time. Barely slept at all. You got lucky.”
Muichiro turned his head toward him. Hatoru’s tone was gruff, but beneath it — warmth, the kind that hides in roughness.
“Thank you… If it weren’t for you—”
“Shut up,” the man cut him off. “And besides—”
“M-Muichiro!” Toki’s voice rang out, bright and trembling. Her eyes shone. “You’re awake? Oh, I’m so glad!”
Her joy was radiant, genuine — and Muichiro couldn’t look away. There was something like quiet hope in her gaze.
Hotaru sighed deeply, and with a faint smile, stepped aside to give them space.
“Toki, how are your wounds?”
“Ah, these?” She gestured to the bandages on her head and leg. “Just scratches. Don’t worry! I’m just happy you’re awake and feeling better.”
Her tone was cheerful — but her cheeks flushed pink.
He only shrugged, a faint smile touching his lips.
“Yeah… that demon really pissed me off,” he muttered, half to himself.
Toki smiled — relieved to see him joking again, alive again.
He stayed in bed for another half a day. Toki never let go of his hand — holding it gently, tightly, as if afraid to lose him again. She spoke softly, telling him simple, ordinary things — and in her voice, Muichiro heard not just care, but life itself. Life that she had kept safe for him.
“Do you want to take a walk?” he asked quietly.
“But your wounds—”
“I’m fine. Thanks to you,” he replied, looking out at the clear sky. He knew — her power had healed him.
A crow cried somewhere in the distance, sharp and lonely — as if to remind them that the world still existed beyond these walls.
A shadow of unease crossed Muichiro’s heart, faint as a dark stain on a bright day.
“Alright,” Toki smiled. “If you’re sure you’re better…”
They walked slowly through the streets. The aftermath of destruction was everywhere — houses and forges damaged, as though the earth itself had wept after the storm. Reports had come in: there were many casualties, but many more had been saved when Gyokko fell.
They reached the cemetery. Among the gray stones, Muichiro stopped.
“I need to visit someone,” he said quietly. “Will you come with me?”
Toki nodded.
They stopped before a modest grave — his former swordsmith’s.
“Tetsuido-san… he forged Muichiro’s first blade, Toki thought, and he was one of the few who saw the boy as human, not a weapon.”
Muichiro looked at the gravestone, hands folded, eyes shadowed with quiet sorrow.
“Kid? Visiting Tetsuido?” — a familiar voice called out.
“Yeah,” Muichiro murmured.
“Catch!”
Haganezuka tossed him a sword with a grin.
“Fixed it up for you. Try not to break it this time — or I’ll break your neck instead. Take care, kid!”
Muichiro caught the weapon and smiled faintly, glancing from the sword to Toki.
“Let’s go?”
She nodded. They walked back together — down a road lined with silence, where every step seemed to echo the fragile peace they had yet to defend.
That evening, they were alone.
Toki sat in his room, fingers nervously twisting the hem of her kimono. Her cheeks glowed red, and her eyes kept darting away.
“Um… Muichiro…” she whispered.
He looked at her, head tilted slightly.
“I… I… can I stay with you tonight?” she finally breathed, meeting his gaze. “After the battle… I keep having nightmares. I don’t want to be alone.”
Muichiro said nothing. Just looked at her — the first time she had ever asked to stay on her own. Before, it had always happened by accident — quiet, unspoken.
He smiled softly.
“Of course. You don’t have to ask.”
Toki’s blush deepened.
“Thank you…”
She lay down beside him, facing the wall, wrapped up to her chin. Muichiro turned on his side and silently watched. Their bodies touched — barely, but enough to feel warmth.
“What?” Toki whispered, hiding her face under the blanket.
“Nothing,” he murmured. Then quieter: “I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have seen all that… the marks — they’re dangerous.”
She turned to him.
“Just… try not to use them again, alright?” her voice trembled with something deeply personal.
Muichiro nodded. No more words.
Outside, the silence rang clear and gentle. Though it was late June, the mountain air was cool — reminding him that here, summer always felt distant.
He closed his eyes and fell asleep.
He woke in the middle of the night.
The room was quiet — filled with the chill of the mountains. Moonlight seeped through the paper door, blurring the line between dream and reality.
Muichiro lay on his back, listening — not to his own breathing, but to hers.
He turned his head.
Toki slept beside him, curled into a small shape. She was trembling. Through the thin fabric, he could see the faint shiver of her shoulders; her lips were pressed tight, as if she was still hiding from the cold — or perhaps from the remnants of the battle.
Muichiro sat up slowly, fighting with himself.
Something inside him stirred — desire, longing, ache, gravity.
He looked at her once more. And gave in.
He moved closer, soundless. Slid his arm beneath the blanket and wrapped it around her waist, pulling her gently against him.
Toki didn’t wake. But in her sleep, she sighed softly — a breath of relief — and nestled closer, as if the world had just fallen back into place.
Her neck was right beside his face.
He closed his eyes and brushed his lips against her skin — barely a touch, almost imagined.
He could feel her warmth, her pulse beneath his mouth — life flowing, quiet and fragile.
He wanted to trace his lips along her neck, to feel her skin tremble under his breath.
He wanted to go lower — to her collarbones, her shoulders.
He wanted her to wake, to turn toward him, to weave her fingers through his hair.
He wanted to belong to her. And for her to belong to him — completely.
He had known it for a long time, almost since their first meeting. But in the past month, that truth had become painfully clear. And along with it came understanding: his desires — vivid, burning, alive — could lead to consequences. Irreversible ones.
He had no right. Not yet.
He withdrew.
His palm slid along her back — almost a farewell — before he carefully let go, the movement slow, reluctant, aching.
He rose and stepped outside.
The night was cold. The moon hung alone above the village — a silent witness. Muichiro stood barefoot on the wooden porch, eyes lifted to the sky, thinking only of her.
When he returned, he sat at the edge of the futon.
“Muichiro…? Why aren’t you asleep?” Toki’s voice was drowsy, quiet. “It’s cold…”
He looked at her.
“Are you cold?”
“Mm-hm…” she murmured, wrapping her arms around herself under the blanket.
He lay back down beside her and drew her close.
“Better?”
She nodded, smiling faintly against his chest.
“Yeah… much better…”
She was facing away from him. Slowly, she reached up, found his cheek, and brushed her fingers down to his neck. His skin tingled beneath her touch. He held her tighter.
“Sleep…” he whispered.
He didn’t let go. His hand moved softly along her sleeve, from shoulder to wrist, until his fingers found hers and intertwined.
He knew — she was the only one left in this world he could hold like this.
Calmly.
Tenderly.
Forever.
They woke at the same time.
Muichiro hadn’t let her go all night.
“Good morning,” he said quietly, his hand trailing along her back. “Were you cold?”
Toki hid beneath the blanket, then peeked out.
“No… And you?”
He remembered the night — his weakness, her breath, her warmth. He exhaled slowly.
“Not at all.”
His fingers slid through her hair — slow, careful, as if memorizing its texture.
“Let’s get ready? We should head home.”
“Mhm…” she murmured, still unmoving.
He stood first; she followed.
“I’ll go… change in my room…”
He stepped behind her, took her hand, and brushed her hair aside. His lips touched her neck — softly, somewhere between a kiss and a breath.
Toki shivered, leaning closer with a small, voiceless gasp.
He allowed himself a little more — a line of fleeting kisses along her neck, tender and almost weightless. Then he rested his cheek against her hair, his arms firm around her waist.
“Alright…” he whispered. “I’ll wait for you outside.”
He let her go — not immediately — and smiled. Toki slipped out of the room, cheeks flushed crimson.
Muichiro dressed, stepped onto the veranda, and sat down, hands resting on his knees. Toki joined him soon after, quietly sitting beside him.
“Something wrong with my face?” he asked lightly, mirroring her tone.
“No,” she replied softly. “You’re just… very handsome, Muichiro.”
Mist Hashira looked at her a moment longer than usual.
“Thank you.”
His gaze lingered on her lips. He leaned closer — just a little. He wanted to feel them, their warmth, their softness — only once.
But—
“Tokito-dono! You’re requested to return to Tokyo immediately! Urgent Hashira meeting!”
The kakushi’s voice cut through the morning like a blade.
Muichiro froze.
Toki turned toward the door, clutching her sleeve.
“Muichiro… did something happen?”
He didn’t answer right away. He tied the band around his eyes — the gesture of a warrior ready for battle. His expression hardened — distant, cold again.
“It seems… something very bad has.”
Muichiro folded his hands together — as he always did before a fight.
And Toki understood: their silence was over.
The car stopped by the gates of the headquarters.
Muichiro was the first to get out, rushing toward the meeting hall. Toki followed behind — like a shadow.
“Toki, I have to go,” he said over his shoulder, voice controlled, though the urgency bled through even in his gaze.
She nodded, watching him leave, then turned down another corridor — the one where the new recruits gathered.
Muichiro walked quickly, almost silently. He was the last to enter the hall. Everyone else was already in their places. The Hashira turned toward him — their gazes sharp as drawn blades.
“Tokito-kun,” came a familiar, quiet voice. “Come in. We’ll begin.”
Kagaya Ubuyashiki stood in the center of the room, still as white ash. Muichiro bowed low.
“Forgive my delay, Oyakata-sama.”
He took his seat — between Obanai and Sanemi.
“Welcome, my brave pillars.” Kagaya’s voice was soft, like the rustle of falling petals, yet there was steel beneath it. “What we have feared for centuries has finally come to pass. The demons have struck. They have declared war upon us. Iguro-san, please, share the details. Some of us—” his eyes rested briefly on Muichiro and Sanemi, “—have been traveling and don’t yet know what we’re facing.”
Iguro rose, his tone even, but tension coiled beneath his calm.
“Yes, Oyakata-sama. As you said, the demons attacked several key locations. The intelligence base in Osaka was wiped from the map. Losses — total. Kyoto as well, though with fewer casualties. In all cases, the presence of Upper Moons was confirmed.”
A heavy silence filled the hall. Iguro went on:
“But the worst happened in Okinawa. Last night, the largest training center — the Mansion of Thunder — was attacked.”
Muichiro flinched. His pulse quickened. He had just returned from there...
“The assault was swift — almost instantaneous. The enemy’s power was comparable to that of an Upper Moon. The information base had already been destroyed; we couldn’t respond in time. Everyone in the mansion was killed. One person survived… but only long enough to report flashes of lightning — and a sword, gleaming before his death.”
Muichiro already knew who it was.
“We suspect two,” Kagaya said quietly. “Hantengu — he can manipulate elements, lightning among them. The other — Kokushibo, the only demon known to wield a sword.”
“But… Kokushibo hasn’t been seen in years,” Mitsuri whispered. “Could the First Moon still be alive?..”
Her trembling fingers covered her mouth. Fear was written in her eyes like ink on parchment.
“Anything’s possible now,” Sanemi replied coldly.
Kagaya sat down again, nodding to Iguro.
“The attacks were synchronized — first the information base, then Okinawa and Kyoto. Their goal is clear: to strip us of eyes, blades, and future hunters. A calculated massacre. But there is one thing that works in our favor.”
He looked at Muichiro.
“Tokito-kun happened to be in the swordsmith village during an assault — and destroyed the Fifth Moon. Not only is that a great victory, it’s proof we can still fight.”
Muichiro only nodded, silent. Inside, everything was burning.
“Kocho-san,” Kagaya continued, “send your assistants to the affected cities. Civilians suffered as well. They’ll need help.”
“Yes, Oyakata-sama. And… what about me?”
“You’ll remain in Tokyo. Kanroji-san, Himejima-san — Osaka. Iguro-san — Kyoto. Tomioka-san — Okinawa. The rest will stay here. Tokyo is now our final bastion.”
He turned his gaze back to Muichiro.
“I’m proud of you. You’ve awakened your mark, haven’t you?”
Muichiro restrained himself and nodded.
"How does he know?.."
“Then congratulations. Few ever reach that stage.”
But Muichiro barely heard the words. His thoughts crackled like burning ash. His fists clenched.
“Iguro… you said everyone in Okinawa died. Was Kuwajima-dono there too?”
Iguro placed a hand on his shoulder and slowly shook his head.
“All of them, Tokito. Everyone is gone…”
Muichiro lowered his head. The hollow silence pierced his chest.
"He lost his master too…"
In the hallway where the Tsuguko waited, a tense emptiness hung in the air.
Toki sat alone, her eyes fixed on the door.
“What’s happening?..”
Footsteps. She startled, standing up. A moment later Zenitsu entered — disheveled, anxious, his clothes creased.
“Zenitsu-kun?.. Why are you here?”
“Toki-san… They called me in without a reason! I was sleeping at home, then suddenly—‘come to headquarters immediately!’ God, this is a nightmare! What if they want to make me someone’s Tsuguko?! It’s a mistake, right? Tokito-dono must’ve misunderstood! Or maybe you did!”
“No…” Toki shook her head, but before she could finish, Muichiro appeared in the doorway.
He looked at her — eyes hollow. He approached Zenitsu, who tried to smile but couldn’t hold it.
“Agatsuma,” Muichiro said quietly. “The Thunder Mansion is gone. Everyone’s dead. Including… Kuwajima Jigoro.”
Zenitsu froze. Then he dropped to his knees.
“No… this… this can’t be true…”
“It’s true. The demons… they killed them all.”
The corridor lights flickered. The air crackled with electricity — Zenitsu’s power slipping out of control.
Muichiro stepped closer, placing a hand on his shoulder.
“Agatsuma. Calm down. You might… burn everything around you.”
“I… I’m trying…” Zenitsu gritted his teeth. But the tears wouldn’t stop.
Muichiro asked quietly,
“He used a katana and thunder, didn’t he?”
“Yes…” Zenitsu whispered.
“Be careful. And… my condolences. I’m sorry.”
He turned to Toki.
“Let’s go,” he said simply.
Toki looked at Zenitsu.
“I’m sorry too. Kuwajima-san was… a good man.”
“He was the best…” Zenitsu murmured.
One by one, the Hashira began entering the hall. Tengen approached Zenitsu, offering condolences and a place to rest. Zenitsu nodded weakly.
Muichiro and Toki stood aside. She felt him falter, as if his body had lost its weight.
“Muichiro…”
“Let’s just go home,” he exhaled. His voice was drained, emotionless.
“All right.”
They left the hall — two shadows slipping away from the noise, the decisions, and other people’s tragedies.
The kakushi escorted them home. Muichiro could barely stay on his feet. Once they entered the room, he immediately staggered.
“Muichiro!” Toki caught him just in time.
“I’m… just exhausted…” He held her. “Let’s… just lie down, okay?”
She helped him, brought him water. Her heart raced anxiously.
"The marks… just like Rengoku-san said… this is the price…"
She placed her palm on his chest, and her power responded, flowing through her fingers into his body.
“Toki, don’t. They might notice,” he murmured, placing his hand over hers.
Toki looked at him sadly.
Outside, a crow cawed — sharp as a gunshot in the silence.
And then—
The doorbell sliced through the quiet like a scalpel — thin, precise, cutting through the living air.
Toki flinched, as if someone had tugged a string deep inside her, and began to rise — but Muichiro’s fingers closed gently around her wrist. His touch was cold, porcelain-like, yet firm.
“Wait,” he said softly. There was no fear or hesitation in his voice. Only focus. Something beyond awareness. A premonition.
He stood, never taking his eyes off the door, and reached for his sword by the wall.
The latch clicked. The door opened slightly.
A man stood on the threshold.
“Tokito-san, a package for you…” Muichiro’s eyes flicked to the man’s hands as he continued, “I’ve never seen a parcel like this before. So many readdressings… it feels like it’s crossed the entire country just to reach this address.”
Muichiro silently took it. He could tell immediately — it wasn’t just heavy. It carried a weight, like someone’s final will. The address had been crossed out and rewritten. Then again. As if someone had spent all this time trying to hide its trail.
He closed the door and returned to the room. Toki watched him — wary, shoulders trembling slightly.
“It’s… definitely from him,” Muichiro said, kneeling before Toki.
Together, they unwrapped the parcel.
Inside was a letter. The ink had run slightly, as if written in the rain. On the first page — a single phrase, written large and sharp:
If you’re reading this, it means I’ve already gone to a place where even fire cannot keep you warm…
“Rengoku-san…” Muichiro whispered, staring at the letter as if it were a ghost.
Chapter 29: Truth and Escape
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The sky was the color of milk.
The wind slipped through the paper screens like a thin shadow.
Kagaya stood by the window, his usual smile gone. A crow perched on his hand — silent, unmoving, as if even the air itself feared to startle it.
“I’ve seen everything,” he said.
His voice was light, but something sharp rang beneath it.
“She used her power. In the village she did it by instincts but now by her own wishes. I’m certain of it. She’s awakened. And you, Tokito-kun… you knew. Yet you said nothing. Still—” his tone softened to a whisper, “I’ll give you one last chance. You will have to make a choice. One. Only one. And it will decide everything.”
He turned toward the shadow beyond the door.
“Tell Tokito-kun he is to come to me immediately. With his tsuguko Amida Toki.”
“It’s… from him,” Muichiro said, kneeling before Toki.
“Rengoku-san…” she understood without needing any explanation.
The parcel opened with the brittle crack of paper. Inside lay a letter — folded, handwritten. The penmanship was unmistakable, painfully alive. It carried warmth. Strength. Life itself — all that was now gone.
Toki pressed a hand to her chest, as if her heart longed to break free and reach the voice speaking from beyond.
Muichiro unfolded the letter and began to read aloud.
If you’re reading this, it means I’ve already gone where even fire can no longer keep you warm.
Toki drew a quiet breath and turned away.
I kept wondering why, that night in Ueno, the demons were after Toki-chan in particular. Why Oyakata-sama sent her into the heart of the battle if he meant to protect her.
I thought I was mistaken. But one thought kept haunting me — and one suspicion proved true.
Muichiro’s voice was steady, yet something within it cracked — faintly, almost imperceptibly.
I learned that Toki-chan is the last descendant of an ancient clan — a clan wiped out long ago. Their power lay in lilies. In healing. In what no one else in this world possesses anymore.
Long ago, a dying man came to them seeking salvation. His skin burned in the light; his body rotted while he yet lived. Not knowing who he was, they gave him the lily — the medicine. And in doing so… they created a monster.
His name was Kibutsuji Muzan.
He was the illegitimate son of the Ubuyashiki clan head and a woman whose veins carried the black, primordial blood of demons.
The cure worked — he shed his humanity’s curse and was healed. But what was left in him was only hatred.
He sought vengeance, and gained the power that turned him into the creature that now hides from the light.
The Ubuyashiki realized their mistake — but it was too late. Muzan had already become a demon. They destroyed the clan of healers. Erased it from the earth, so that no one would ever know the truth: it all began with them.
Then they took power.
When Tsugikuni Michikatsu became Kokushibo, he killed his brother — Yoriichi — who had nearly stopped Muzan.
Everything changed.
The clans fell.
And the Ubuyashiki became the heroes of history.
But their curse never vanished.
The blood remembers. Kagaya is ill. His wounds never heal. His family dies young. Because they buried the truth.
And now… they’ve found her.
Toki-chan — the last one. The only one who can lift the curse through the lily’s power.
He waits.
He hopes her strength will return — that she will save him.
And then he will kill her. To erase all witnesses.
The demons seek her for a different reason. They know the lily can bring Muzan back — awaken him. Give him a body freed from the eternal sleep Yoriichi Tsugikuni cast upon him.
Forgive me, Muichiro.
I learned all this too late.
Protect yourself. Protect her.
Run.
Hide.
And remember — the crows are eyes. They see everything.
The letter trembled in Muichiro’s hands, but he clutched it tightly — as if afraid to let go of the last thread connecting him to someone he would never see again.
Toki stayed silent. The lilies on her shoulder stirred faintly — alive, as though they had heard their own name.
“It’s true…” she whispered.
Muichiro didn’t answer.
He only looked at her — and in his eyes lived everything: anger, sorrow, fear… and resolve.
Outside, a crow cried — harsh, like a warning.
Muichiro reached for Toki’s wrists, still bound by enchanted cuffs, and let his power flow into them. The metal responded — dimmed — and fell away.
He met her eyes.
“We have to run,” he said. “Now.”
“Muichiro?”
Toki clutched at his sleeve, but he was already pulling her by the hand — firm, fast, as if he knew the countdown had begun.
Their feet slid across the floor. Breath hitched.
Shadows stretched down from the ceiling like claws.
He didn’t look back once.
He only took his sword and the letter.
Far away, miles and miles away, Kagaya Ubuyashiki stood before an open window.
The night wind played with the curtains — like a ghost of the past that refused to fade.
A crow sat on his hand. And the eyes of that crow were someone else’s eyes.
Older.
All-seeing.
“Pity,” he murmured softly. Almost tenderly. “And to think — you were my most… promising one. And the girl, she could’ve been my miracle, my redemption. Even if she had to die for it. Together, we could’ve changed the world.”
His tone dropped — colder now, like steel under velvet.
“But you made your choice, Tokito-kun.” He raised his hand. The crow took flight, vanishing into the dark. “— And you’ll pay for it.”
The headquarters hall — heavy air, strained stares, the silence before a storm.
Kagaya’s eyes moved slowly across the Hashira. His voice was calm, almost indifferent.
“The girl turned out to be the descendant of a cursed clan.”
He paused.
“In her blood lies the key — to Muzan’s awakening.”
Silence again.
“Tokito-kun found out. And betrayed us. He chose her… and ran.”
A faint smile curved across his lips.
“Find them. Bring them back. Before it’s too late.”
Muichiro and Toki were running.
Across asphalt, across cracks, across shadows.
Their hearts beat in sync — hers, his, it was hard to tell.
The crows — they were everywhere. Hidden in the branches, on the wires, on the rooftops. Like living cameras. Watching. Seeing everything. And everything they saw — they sent back. To Kagaya Ubuyashiki.
Muichiro stopped abruptly. His pupils shrank.
He exhaled softly, almost soundlessly.
“Lunar Dispersing Mist.”
The world froze.
White haze spread everywhere — thick as the breath of the dead. It didn’t drift, didn’t move — it hung, like a shroud, like a curse.
From its depths, blades flashed — brief as reflections.
A faint, pitiful cry — and one by one, the birds began to fall from the sky.
Dead.
Muichiro tightened his grip on her hand — as if to anchor her here, in the present, where she was still alive.
He felt her trembling. Not from cold, but from the abyss that truth had opened before them.
The letter… was still near his heart. Warm paper. Cold words. Bitter truth. Terrible, irreversible. The price of that truth — Kyojuro’s life.
“Muichiro… I’m scared,” she whispered.
Her voice was fragile, like glass underfoot. And she wasn’t just afraid for herself — she was afraid for them both.
He stopped. Pulled her into an embrace.
She clung to him — as if his breath alone could bring her balance back.
“Toki, I’m here. I’m always with you.”
His tone was steady. But inside… something had already begun to crack.
“We have to hide. Now.”
The mist thickened.
Muichiro spread it outward, forming a circle — protective, ominous, seeping into every corner. It wrapped around the trees, the road, the air. Even sound changed — muted, distant, as though heard through walls.
"They’ll find us. Through the crows… If we take a car, they’ll see, they’ll trace, they’ll report. They’re everywhere. No. We can’t move on the surface. We have to go… underground. Where there are no eyes. No screams. No light."
He ran toward the subway, never letting go of her hand.
Their footsteps echoed hollowly, while in his head there was only one thought — don’t lose her.
Muichiro jumped onto the first train that came. The carriage was empty — people avoided the subway after dark, especially after the recent tragedies in Osaka and Kyoto.
It was safer here — for now.
He led Toki down the aisle between the empty seats and stopped by the last door.
The girl turned to him, her eyes wide — a mix of fear and hope.
“Muichiro… where are we going?” she asked quietly, her voice trembling.
“I don’t know…” he said, placing his hand on her waist. He felt her tense slightly at the touch. “I only know one thing — I don’t want to lose you.”
He pulled her closer.
She looked into his eyes — clear and cold, but with unbroken will within.
His hand brushed her cheek, slowly, as if memorizing every line of her face.
“Toki, I won’t let anyone take you away. You’re all I have left.”
He didn’t look away. He leaned closer, feeling her warm breath brush his lips.
Only a few millimeters separated them.
Toki closed her eyes and leaned in — her hands pressed against his chest.
Muichiro’s heart beat so loud it seemed it could be heard across the entire train.
She wanted so badly for this endless chase to be just a dream. To stay here, just the two of them — with the one she loved, and who loved her back.
Their lips almost met, but—
“Toki. The moment I say so — run. Don’t look back.”
The girl opened her eyes — and reality came crashing back.
The world full of enemies. A world where everything stood against the two of them.
Muichiro continued:
“Head to Shinjuku and wait for me at the park by the greenhouse entrance.”
He looked into her eyes — fear burned there. But in the short time they had spent together, Toki had understood the most important thing: in this world, only the strongest survive.
She nodded, gathering her courage.
He released her from his embrace.
“Now!”
In an instant, Muichiro drew his pristine white blade and deflected a sudden attack.
“Tokito! What the hell are you doing?!”
A voice behind him shattered the silence. Muichiro gripped his sword tighter — he knew who it was.
“Shinazugawa…”
He lunged after Toki, but suddenly a sharp blow hit his stomach. The train car door slammed shut.
Toki ran free.
Muichiro knew that if she had stayed, Sanemi wouldn’t have held back — it was too dangerous here.
“Tokito, so I’m your opponent,” Sanemi smirked, appearing beside him. “Don’t disappoint me, genius. Leave the girl to the others.”
He attacked with lightning speed. Muichiro dodged, but Sanemi’s wind attacks were chaotic and merciless. The mist Muichiro controlled could not always contain them.
"This is bad… he’s the worst opponent for me. His whirlwind destroys everything in its path…"
Muichiro gritted his teeth and lunged forward. Blades — white and green — clashed with a clang. The flurry left no room even to breathe.
“Tokito! Let’s go!”
Sparks flew like fire from the collision of swords. Muichiro was thrown back, but he stayed on his feet.
“Low Clouds, Distant Haze.” he exhaled, dissolving into the fog and creating several copies of his silhouette.
“Oh, so you want to play hide-and-seek?” Sanemi smirked and barely dodged — Muichiro’s blade pierced the floor, leaving a crack. “Tokito, you know the mist can easily be dispersed by wind — my element, your nightmare!” he shouted, directing his sword.
A whirlwind of black smoke surged behind him — sharp and deadly, like a thousand blades.
"No time to hesitate…"
Muichiro activated his marks and assumed a fighting stance. He swung, releasing a cutting crescent-shaped wave from his blade — it sliced Sanemi’s whirlwind in two.
“Look at that! Our genius really learned to control the marks? What kind of attack is that — you can’t even see the mist? Tokito, explain!”
“I don’t like explaining, and I’m not going to waste time,” Muichiro replied coldly.
“What?! Not going to waste time? Ha-ha!” Sanemi lunged at him. “Tokito, you idiot! What the hell, Hashira, you betrayed us?! She was cursed from the start! You knew and should have reported when she first showed power!”
“Shinazugawa,” Muichiro smirked, “I thought you were the only one who understood me. You loved Kanae Kocho, didn’t you?”
“Brat! Don’t you dare say her name!”
Sanemi unleashed a barrage — fast, furious, relentless. Muichiro dodged, but chunks of ceiling fell, almost crushing him.
“Oyakata-sama ordered you brought alive to headquarters. Lucky you, favorite. But alive doesn’t mean unhurt, Tokito! Rising Dust Storm!”
The sword pierced Muichiro’s left shoulder, stabbing through. Pain exploded, but he ignored it. His gaze burned with determination.
"I need to become stronger."
He assumed a stance, hiding his blade in the mist, and launched into attack.
“Low Clouds, Distant Haze!”
Muichiro struck Sanemi with a series of precise blows — deep cuts marking his opponent’s body. Thanks to the camouflage, the attacks were unexpected.
“Not bad… let’s continue, Tokito!”
Sanemi rose, glaring at Muichiro. Marks on his body glowed — preparing for a new fight.
Toki ran out of the train — straight into the ominous breath of the underground.
The station walls blurred past like visions. She frantically recalled the Tokyo subway map.
“I’m at Nakano Station now, so…” she turned sharply, sensing someone behind her, “Here!”
"Run. Only run."
She felt her legs vanish — as if she herself had become a shadow.
The platform flashed ahead like salvation. She was almost there — when a voice, sweet and thin, slithered along her spine like ice.
“Ara-ara… Toki-chan.” The voice chilled her. “I warned you: as long as you obey, you’re safe. But you and Tokito-kun broke the rules. And for that… punishment follows.”
Shinobu.
Standing like a shadow from another world. Her blade gleamed in her hand.
Her smile — cold, polite.
Toki dashed for the arriving train.
“Think I’ll let you?”
A swing — beautiful enough to watch, but deadly in its precision. Toki barely dodged.
"It’s good I trained…"
The train departed. The metallic hum dissolved in the darkness of the tunnel.
“Oy,” Shinobu covered her mouth with her hand, coquettish, almost playful. “Seems you missed your train. What a shame.”
Toki rose. Head spinning, legs trembling. A new light appeared in the tunnel — the next train.
"I have to make it… no matter what…"
“How boring,” Shinobu said with a hint of annoyance. “Well, you made this choice. Butterfly dance: a prank.”
They appeared instantly — clouds of butterflies, glowing like ghosts, spiraling, landing on her skin.
Toki struggled to keep panic at bay.
“I see, you don’t like insects?” Shinobu tilted her head, as if studying an interesting specimen. “Too bad. Don’t flail. They… are poisonous.”
"I can’t fight her. But… I have to escape!"
Suddenly, a scream.
Scraping.
Growls.
Rotten air hit her face. Shadows poured from the darkness — demons. More than a hundred. Many more.
Toki didn’t panic. Her heart tightened, her mind sharpened.
"No luck, but misfortune helps…" she thought, spotting the approaching train.
While Shinobu was distracted — she leapt.
Into the train. A second before the doors closed.
Shinobu remained on the platform. Around her, demons and butterflies swirled.
Toki collapsed to her knees, struggling to breathe. Her head spun. Eyelids heavy as lead. Poison.
"No, Toki… Muichiro is waiting for you…"
She bit her lip to draw blood. Pain sharpened her awareness. She pressed her hands to her chest — light flared, pure and soft. It dispersed the pollen, cleared the haze.
Then suddenly, sharp pain.
"Healing? Using it on herself is nearly pointless… these abilities only cause me pain…"
She pulled her hood over her face, hiding in the folds of shadow.
Her forehead pressed to the door.
The train raced through the night, through the roaring city — toward Shinjuku, where he waited.
Muichiro stood opposite his opponent, gripping his sword as if holding onto his very life. The station lay far below. On the roof of the speeding train, cutting through the darkness, there was only the wind and sharp, steel-like gazes.
"He activated the marks too… This is bad. He’s more experienced and knows how to use them fully. And I haven’t fully recovered from the last fight."
“ Ready for some fun, Tokito?” Sanemi smirked.
He vanished.
Muichiro barely had time to react — blade met blade, sparks scattering into the air. The strike was devastating. He was thrown back, landing with a dull thud on the roof of the car. In the next instant, Sanemi’s face loomed over him like an angry god.
He rolled just in time to avoid the next blow. His heart thumped in his ears like an alarm.
"The marks… They enhance his body. Speed, strength — monstrous. But mine…"
He leapt back, assuming his stance again, his gaze cold.
"My marks are different. I… am different. Mine aren’t just enhancement. They’re… expansion. Radius. Illusion. Mist… Wait! But those cutting attacks completely contradict…"
But Sanemi gave him no time to think. He soared into the air like a whirlwind, crashing down with a shout:
“Gale, Sudden Gusts!”
The strike hit like a hammer. But Muichiro slipped to the side, appearing beside him for a split second.
“You’re a close-combat fighter. And I’m not…” Sanemi smirked. “— Cold Mountain Wind!”
The air tore apart. A new storm of blades, power, and fury. Muichiro couldn’t dodge — he took the attack with his chest, sword bracing against it, enduring, but he was thrown even farther.
Nausea, ringing in his ears. Pain. Yet he stood.
“Close combat…” he whispered. “You’re wrong, Shinazugawa.”
He sheathed his sword. The air froze. One second — and his entire body shot forward like a bullet.
“Shifting Flow Slash!”
A single sharp swing. From the mist, as if from emptiness, a blade of energy burst forth. It cut through the air and pierced Sanemi’s shoulder. He staggered, dropping to one knee.
“Ha… another deep scar…” Shinazugawa smiled, wiping the blood. “I like it.”
Muichiro swayed. His chest tightened. He felt himself — at the limit. The marks burned his skin. Weakness crashed over him. He hadn’t recovered from the last battle. He knew. He could feel how much blood he’d lost. The wound on his shoulder — throbbing, hot. The marks sped up regeneration, but only delayed the inevitable.
Sanemi understood.
He was too close — too fast. Muichiro raised his sword, blocked a strike, but a kick slammed into his stomach. Air was knocked out of him. He fell.
Steps.
A shadow.
“Time to pay for breaking the rules!” a voice roared.
Pain.
A blade sank into his wounded shoulder. Sanemi twisted the sword. Muichiro let out a short, stifled cry, like a beast whose wing is being broken.
“Ha-ha-ha!” Sanemi laughed, leaning closer. “You’re at your limit, Tokito… but we’ve still got a long way to go. So… don’t you dare die!”
Muichiro felt the cold steel driving into his shoulder. Sharp, searing pain pulsed through his body. Blood ran down his arm, leaving a crimson trail across the roof of the train.
"I’ve stayed here too long. I need to go. Now." Muichiro’s gaze swept over Sanemi.
“What’s wrong, Tokito? Arm hurting?” Sanemi smirked, mockery in his voice.
“No. Just wondering if you can dodge this… as fast,” Muichiro said, snapping his gaze behind him.
Sanemi, reflexively, jerked and looked back — but of course saw nothing. At that moment, the thick, silent mist began spreading over the roof, enveloping everything in a dense, gray veil.
“That trick again, Tokito? I told you — useless,” Shinazugawa said irritably, swinging his sword with force.
"Fighting him is pointless… I just need to buy time. The longer the mist holds, the better chance we have to escape."
Muichiro instantly jumped down and landed in another car. The train doors had just opened — a chance! He dashed for the exit. But…
Sanemi was already there. He appeared like lightning, directly in front of him.
“I hate those who run away,” he said with cold fury, slashing his sword. Muichiro barely jumped aside in time.
But in that instant, something else filled the air.
“What the…”
The doors exploded inward, and dozens, hundreds of demons stormed into the car. Screeches. Roars. Claws and teeth, hungry for blood.
“What the hell are they doing here…?!” Sanemi yelled.
Muichiro fought off the first few, jumping back.
"I don’t know where they came from… but this is my chance!"
He swung his sword, cutting a hole in the ceiling, and leapt back onto the roof. Sanemi saw it.
“TOKITO!” he bellowed, and without hesitation, pursued. The demons followed him.
Muichiro ran, eyes darting around.
"I need to get to Shinjuku… it’s across the city… if I’m lucky…"
Below them, another train raced in the opposite direction — the only chance to escape.
Behind, the sounds of demons chasing Sanemi, and he chasing Muichiro, echoed.
“These creatures will only excite us more!” Shinazugawa yelled, laughing. “Don’t think they’ll stop me!”
He was no longer fighting. He was playing.
Muichiro looked back, and for a moment, their eyes met.
“Shinazugawa… I have no reason to fight you. I already said — I don’t like wasting my time.”
He dashed forward.
“What the hell… YOU WON’T ESCAPE!”
Sanemi lunged after him. But it was too late.
Muichiro reached the very edge of the train car and… jumped.
Pushing off with millimeter precision, he flew downward. His body crashed onto the roof of another train, rushing in the opposite direction.
Crack.
Pain.
Sharp, piercing.
Left arm — broken.
He barely lifted his gaze: far away, in the swirl of demons, Sanemi vanished.
Muichiro stood. His body swayed. He removed the marks, feeling his strength drain, as if someone were squeezing him from inside.
He pierced another hole in the roof and jumped into the car. Silence. Only the clatter of the rails.
He sat, leaning against the glass door. Looked at his arm.
“Bone’s broken,” he gritted through his teeth.
When the marks disappeared, blood gushed.
He tore a strip from his shirt and tightly wrapped his shoulder, stopping the flow for at least a while.
“I’ve wasted too much time… Toki, just wait for me.”
He closed his eyes, feeling detached from his body, pressing the back of his head to the glass.
The train raced through the night, through the roaring city — toward the place where she waited.
Notes:
Hey guys!
So, here’s a little twist I’ve been building toward since the very beginning — I hope it makes sense now!
Let me explain why, in my story, Kagaya is actually a manipulator and the real villain.
When I first watched the anime (a long time ago), I honestly thought Kagaya looked so suspicious — not evil exactly, but surrounded by this mystical aura, something calm yet unsettling. His children also looked oddly identical, almost like dolls — there was something slightly otherworldly about them, maybe even a little demonic.
It also always struck me as strange how ancient and wealthy the Ubuyashiki clan seemed — they’ve financially supported the Demon Slayer Corps for centuries (which definitely isn’t cheap lol).
And honestly, it felt strange that they, of all people, could have told the truth about demons, but chose not to. The fact that the organization is made up almost entirely of children only added to my suspicions ( Muichiro was only eleven 😢 — the fact that he became a Demon Slayer right after his brother’s death always felt terribly cruel and suspicious to me, especially considering his blood ties to the legendary swordsmen)
So, for me, it was natural to turn Kagaya into a morally gray, secretive figure rather than a saintly one. I really thought he’d end up like a hidden antagonist — kind of like Aizen from Bleach.
And when I later learned that Kagaya and Muzan are distant relatives — everything just clicked.
I’ve written many drafts and side stories before, and somehow Kagaya always ended up being the villain lol. I guess I just enjoy writing these kinds of characters — the ones who hide their darkness behind kindness.
I also believe that true evil doesn’t appear out of nowhere. It’s born from a storm of emotions — anger, jealousy, resentment, hate, the thirst for revenge.
In my fic, Muzan became a demon because his own clan turned away from him. In the end, all he wanted was revenge — to prove he was stronger than the ones who abandoned him.Sometimes I’ll want to describe a few of these characters in the future — definitely two of them, maybe more, I’m not sure yet :)
See you soon, love you guys 🖤
Chapter 30: Eyes of the Void
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Toki made it to Shinjuku and hurried toward the park. The stairs led her up — into a gray, silent street.
“No one’s here…” She looked around, pressing herself against the wall, holding her breath for a moment.
A guttural growl echoed from the alley. She turned sharply around the corner.
“Why are there so many demons in the city…? This isn’t good…” she whispered, clenching her fists. “I can’t stop now. Muichiro’s waiting!”
She slipped out of the darkness and kept running, careful not to draw attention.
“Looks like they can’t see me.”
Her uneven breathing burned her throat. By the time she reached the park, one thought pulsed in her mind — get there in time. She ran beneath the canopy of trees, and the world seemed to fall silent. But her legs were shaking.
“Just a little more…” she whispered, biting her lip and pushing forward again.
At the far end of the park, she finally saw the building — the same greenhouse where she and Muichiro had walked together not so long ago, carefree and smiling.
But now it was empty.
“Muichiro…” Her voice trembled as tears welled up. “No… he promised…”
She sank to the ground without removing her hood.
“He promised… he’ll come…I just have to wait.”
Muichiro reached Shinjuku. He stepped out of the train, unsteady.
Blood seeped through his clothes, dripping from his fingers onto the concrete. His steps were heavy, hollow. Pain didn’t matter anymore.
“I’m close… almost there…”
He climbed the stairs. On the surface, the city seemed almost frozen, tense, as if waiting for something dangerous.
Suddenly, a voice rang out behind him.
“Tokito!”
Muichiro flinched.
The voice cut through his nerves like a blade. He turned slowly, hiding his eyes behind strands of long hair.
Standing before him was Tengen Uzui.
“Tokito…” Tengen said quietly, stepping closer. His eyes scanned the boy — wounds, scratches, blood.
He knew Muichiro would be here. Rengoku loved this place. His best friend, Kyojuro Rengoku, loved Shinjuku very much.
Muichiro silently drew his sword and aimed it at Uzui. He was ready to strike at any second.
Tengen studied the young man, a deep pity in his eyes. He understood that Muichiro only wanted to protect what he cherished. Muichiro wanted freedom and happiness. He wanted to love and be loved. He had already lost so much in his life.
Tengen remembered him as always cold, like steel. But now… he had changed. He seemed truly alive. Tengen was genuinely glad for him. Muichiro’s gaze met his, saying everything without words.
The Sound Hashira stopped a few paces away. There was no anger in his eyes. Only… sorrow. He understood: now Muichiro, who had always been cold as steel, was alive. Truly alive. For the first time in a long while.
“I’m a Demon Slayer. My duty is to protect people,” Tengen said, slowly raising his blades. His voice was calm. “And I didn’t see you. So…”
He paused, then nodded.
“Go. She’s alone. She’s scared. Hurry, Tokito.”
Muichiro froze. The moment stretched like eternity. Then, lowering his sword, he whispered:
“…Thank you, Uzui.”
He turned and ran — toward where Toki was waiting.
Tengen remained where he stood. Straightening up, he looked toward the street.
“You’ve crossed the line, Tokito… but damn it… I would’ve done the same! Flashy as ever!”
He smirked.
From the alleys, a swarm of demons began to crawl out.
Tengen raised his swords.
“Well then — you came following his blood, you bastards?! Fine. Let’s begin. Run, Tokito! I’ll cover you.”
Muichiro ran forward, leaping over roots and the shadows of the streetlights.
Just a little more — the greenhouse was already within sight. One more burst of speed and…
“Toki!” he called out — a sharp, breathless whisper.
The next second, she rose from the ground and ran toward him.
Muichiro caught her with one arm, pulling her close, as if to convince himself that she was real — not another nightmare. He was covered in blood. His hand trembled. His chest ached. But now he was really happy.
Toki looked at him, noticing his wounds and the blood.
“Muichiro, your arm… You’re bleeding!”
She reached toward him, but—
“Not now. They could be nearby. We need to disappear — fast.”
“B-but—”
“Toki, I can handle this… We need to hurry.”
She nodded, pressing her lips together.
Muichiro gently ran a hand through her hair and continued.
“There’s a station nearby. We have to move quickly.”
“Yeah…”
He nodded and took her hand. Behind them, he could feel the predatory breath of the void — the demonic energy swelling like a storm.
“Uzui… be careful…”
They reached the station. Muichiro glanced over the platform — empty. The calm felt deceptive, like glass before it shatters. The screen flickered: Fukuoka — Arrival in 15 minutes.
He bought two tickets.
“It’s too exposed here. We need to hide… just for a bit.”
They slipped behind the station wall, where shadows blended with silence. Muichiro leaned against the cold concrete, gripping her hand. Their eyes met. He smiled faintly.
“I’m glad we made it out…”
“It wasn’t easy…” she whispered, intertwining her fingers with his.
He looked into her eyes, believing that they had escaped, that there was still a chance to hide, to run from the world and be together. He allowed himself to relax for a single instant, trusting in the miracle…
But the next instant — something shifted. The air thickened. A chill ran down their spines.
Toki noticed the change in his expression. She could feel the power too.
“Muichiro?” her voice trembled.
“Don’t move. We’re not alone.”
His pupils narrowed. He drew his sword — sparks of tension danced around him.
“That’s not a Demon Slayer… It’s a demon. And not just any demon,” Muichiro said — for the first time in a long while, his voice carried pure hatred. “One of the Upper Moons.”
From the roof descended something bright, colorful… like a flamboyant nightmare that had stepped straight off the runway of madness.
“Well, well… we finally meet,” the stranger sang, his tone languid, theatrical. “Muichiro Tokito, such a gallant knight… and who might you be hiding behind your back, hmm? Your lady love, perhaps?”
Douma.
Muichiro knew instantly who stood before him. He shifted into a defensive stance.
“Why so silent?” Douma pouted childishly, stepping close — effortlessly dodging Muichiro’s blade, as if they were playing hide-and-seek. “Oh! Careful! I’m delicate, you know.”
“Toki! Run!”
He lunged forward — but—
His blade clashed against another. A flash of lightning. Standing beside Douma was… Kaigaku.
“Haha! Well, well! Look at you two finally meeting!” Douma clapped his hands like an overjoyed director. “Toki-chan, make yourself comfortable! This will be the performance of the century! Ah, I adore tragedies.”
Toki stepped back, panic flashing in her eyes. Kaigaku stood near Muichiro, smirking like a starving wolf.
“Tokito! You look like a corpse!”
Muichiro said nothing — he simply vanished into the mist. A swing — the air shimmered like smoke. In the next instant, he was at Kaigaku’s face, slicing through his shoulder to the bone.
“Ooh…” Douma purred. “I’m starting to enjoy this little drama.”
Kaigaku staggered back, then laughed — a raw, unhinged sound. The wound closed instantly.
“You’re weak, Tokito.”
Muichiro met his opponent’s gaze, regretting once again that he hadn’t finished the job back in Okinawa — hadn’t killed Kaigaku with his own hands.
“Was it you who destroyed the Thunder Estate?” Muichiro asked, gripping his sword tighter.
Kaigaku froze. His face twisted into a manic smile.
“Yes! Oh, the screams, the bones, the tears, the begging… The old man howled like a dying beast. I loved it. You should’ve seen how I broke them — all of them.It was magnificent! Shame that idiot Zenitsu wasn’t there! But this is only the beginning, I…”
“—enough.””
Muichiro’s grip tightened. The mark spread again, burning across his skin. The pain was hellish — but hatred burned hotter.
“— Lunar Dispersing Mist!”
Arcs of mist sliced through the air, crescent-shaped and glowing faintly. They flew toward Kaigaku like punishment — like ghosts of those he’d murdered.
Douma narrowed his eyes.
“Crescents… fascinating. Just like his… How adorable. Could it be— a genetic echo? A memory of blood?”
Muichiro lunged forward. His blades grazed Kaigaku, nearly destroying him. But his strength was fading. His body betrayed him. He collapsed, clutching his chest, his heart jolting like a bird trapped in a cage.
Kaigaku grinned and stepped closer.
“— Heat Lightning!”
Lightning tore through the air. Muichiro dodged, but one strike hit true — he was thrown to Toki’s feet. His sword clattered away.
“Muichiro!” She knelt beside him, trembling hands covering his wound. A white light burst from her palms.
Douma applauded.
“Charming scene! Toki-chan, you really are an angel!”
Kaigaku kicked her aside and stepped on Muichiro’s chest, pressing his blade to his throat.
“Remember Okinawa, bastard? When you called me trash? Look at you now — beneath me, in the dirt! I was nothing… and now I’m a monster! Thanks to you! And you’re pathetic, worthless!”
He pressed down. Blood streamed in a thin scarlet line down Muichiro’s neck.
Douma watched with idle curiosity, tilting his head.
“Oh, Kaigaku… so pitiful. If it weren’t for his wounds, there’d be nothing left of you. You’re such an idiot, but that’s exactly your charm…”
Toki stared in horror — it was like watching death come again for the one she loved. She couldn’t let it win.
The air trembled.
At her feet lay Muichiro’s sword — white, pure, cold.
The decision came in an instant.
“Stop!” she screamed, raising the blade to her own neck. “Or I’ll—”
Kaigaku froze. Douma’s gaze shifted to her.
“I’m the one you came for…isn’t it? I’ll go with you. Just leave Muichiro alive.”
“Toki…” Muichiro’s voice was hoarse, his hand scraping weakly against the ground toward her. “Don’t…”
The demon smiled, almost sweetly, like a saint bestowing a blessing.
“I promise,” Douma murmured, leaning closer. His smile turned almost tender. “I won’t lay a finger on him.”
He turned to Kaigaku, eyes sharp as knives.
“We’re leaving.”
“What?! But I—”
“I hate being contradicted,” Douma’s voice was warm — but the ice beneath it could kill. “Or would you like to find out what it feels like when flesh dissolves?”
Kaigaku flinched and stepped back.
Toki approached Muichiro. Bending over him, she whispered words she had carried in her heart for a long time. His eyes widened. He wanted to stop her but couldn’t.
“Oh, me,” Douma giggled, “to separate lovers so gracefully — exquisite.”
He handed Kaigaku a strange sphere while Toki spent the last few seconds with Muichiro.
“Use it… creatively.”
Toki slowly rose and approached the demon, looking into his eyes.
“It’s the right choice, Toki-chan. Beautiful, tragic, elegant. I’m truly impressed.” Douma snapped his fingers. “Well, my dear, it’s time for us to go.”
And with that, they vanished — leaving Muichiro lying alone on the ground. Amidst the mist, the blood, and the night.
Toki strode after the demon down a corridor that seemed carved from a dream, shrouded in haze. The walls pulsed as if alive, and the air was thick, woven from someone else’s breath. Behind her came Kaigaku’s steps — ragged, heavy.
Douma turned, his eyes glinting with poisonous light, lips twisting into a fractured, almost loving smile:
“You can’t leave him alive.”
“Where’s Kaigaku?!” Toki spun sharply, but no one was behind her.
“What?” Douma spread his hands, thin, unnatural smile lingering. “I don’t know… He’s temperamental. Poof — gone!”
“You… you tricked me!”
“Me?” Pearls of laughter trembled in his voice. “Never! I’m here, close by. And as I promised, I didn’t touch Tokito Muichiro. But Kaigaku? Sorry… I never gave any word about him.”
“You…!”
Toki clenched her fists until her knuckles ached. The air around her thickened, strung tight like a bowstring.
“Wooooow,” Douma whispered, leaning slightly forward. “You… are beautiful in a fit of despair.”
Muichiro lay on the cold ground, exhausted, his breath barely a shadow of breathing.
The marks had burned everything alive out of him. He could barely whisper:
“I… I’m… so weak… I couldn’t… protect…”
The silence inside him was thick, like a whirlpool.
Footsteps. Then — a strike.
Strong, beneath the ribs. Then — second, third.
Crunch.
Pain.
His lips parted, letting out a thin trickle of blood. But he no longer cared.
“Tokito…” the voice in his ear sneered. “How lovely to see you like this: pathetic, worthless.”
Kaigaku crouched beside him, grabbing his black-turquoise hair and lifting his head, peering into his clouded eyes.
“You know… to be honest, I always envied you. You were a genius. The golden boy. From the moment you appeared, all eyes were on you. Even Kyojuro Rengoku took you under his wing. You became a Hashira at fifteen. Girls looked at you with admiration: ‘Tokito-dono! He’s so handsome… so strong! And me? I was always in the shadows. Watching you walk forward with that arrogant look, as if you were better than everyone. I hated those eyes. Turquoise. Cold. Do you hear me, Tokito? I HATE YOU. Why does everything come to you so easily?! Why not me?!”
But Muichiro didn’t listen. He was far away, in a world slipping through his fingers.
“Toki… I dreamed of hearing you say those words… I wanted to tell you too… I wanted to stay. To protect. To care.Just to be with you. All my life, only with you. Forgive me, Toki…”
He closed his eyes, sinking into the black silence.
A blade touched his face — blood welled instantly.
“Let me fix that smug little face of yours!”
Muichiro had already resigned himself. This was his limit. Death was waiting.
But a voice, echoing from the hidden chambers of his mind, brought the misty hunter back.
“Muichiro. Live… for both of us!”
A voice. Quiet, clear. So familiar. Muichiro recognized it immediately.
“Yuichiro…”
His eyes snapped open.
“I promised… you… I’d become stronger. Live… for both of us. I must…”
Something clicked within him. His eyes shone with a new light. Determined, as if a second wind had returned him to life.
He broke free from Kaigaku’s grip, staggering, and rose. The sword trembled in his hand, but he stood.
“Die, arrogant bastard! HEAT LIGHTNING!”
The electric sphere flew from Kaigaku’s hand, but Muichiro swung his blade — crescent-shaped, ragged, slicing scythes erupted from it. They cut the lightning in half, but his wounds reopened. Blood poured from his shoulder. He knew — this was his last strike.
The world began to melt.
Darkness clouded his vision.
He fell.
He barely managed to open his eyes… and saw only darkness.
Darkness full of eyes.
Thousands. They watched. Pierced.
Consciousness sank.
“What the hell…?” Kaigaku stood there. The world had turned into a black soulless void. The eyes — haughty, all-seeing — stared hungrily. He felt their thirst. They devoured him like hungry dogs. The abyss consumed, erasing the boundaries of reality.
It was a space of neither humans nor demons.
Ancient as fear itself.
Footsteps behind him. The clash of steel.
Kaigaku didn’t have time to turn. He only caught sight of a sword flying at lethal speed, embedding into the ground. Pain. Sharp, piercing. His hand was gone — sliced clean with a single strike.
“I need to get out. It will kill me. It’s… a monster!”
He grabbed the sphere and clenched it. A flash — and the thunder demon disappeared.
“The Nakime Sphere. Now it makes sense.”
From the darkness, a silhouette stepped forward. Behind him — a second. Both bent silently over Muichiro.
“We move. Little time left…” said the one who had stopped Kaigaku. “Soon, the real apocalypse begins here.”
The second lifted the young man’s body.
“And what about that coward? He’ll tell Douma everything.”
“Douma’s playing his game, and he…” The man looked at Muichiro. “…will only fuel his curiosity further.”
After those words, both vanished into the gloom.
“You… tricked me!”
Toki’s voice shook the air. Her anger was a living element. Everything inside her boiled with betrayal. And yet… didn’t she know? Demons can’t be trusted. But this was her only chance.
Douma watched her like a frightened kitten hissing at its owner’s hand.
Then, as if torn from a nightmare, Kaigaku appeared.
“There he is…” Douma whispered sweetly, squinting.
But something was wrong. Kaigaku trembled.
“There… there was… darkness. Monstrous. I… I couldn’t do anything. That monster… it can’t be killed…”
“Monster?” Douma arched a brow elegantly.
“I didn’t even have time to turn! There… was darkness… eyes! Everywhere! Hundreds! Thousands! They watched! I couldn’t leave! They saw everything!”
He pressed his hands to his head, lips trembling. He was terrified.
“Eyes…” Douma bit his lip, holding back a shiver. “And you’re not as simple as you seem… But this is… exquisite. So much more interesting… Oh… how fascinating… I can’t wait!”
They vanished, leaving only memories behind. And the night in Tokyo, which began a new era, was only just starting.
Notes:
Oh guys! I went through an absolute storm of emotions while writing this chapter! 😭💔
I was so worried for them — every scene felt like it was happening right in front of my eyes.
And that moment with the eyes… god, I loved writing it. There’s something about those mythological, dreamlike images that just come alive in my mind.🌙 👁️🗨️
I really hope you’ll feel the same while reading it!
Chapter 31: The Night of Battle
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Tokyo.
1 A.M.
“— Squad Thirteen, moving toward the western—”
“— …unit stationed around headquarters perimeter. Repeat: unit on—”
A click. Static. Then— Silence.
A strange, ominous silence. As if the whole world held its breath.
And then—
“—What the—”
Explosion.
The earth shuddered. The air imploded inward. Somewhere, a crow screamed.
From the direction of the eastern wall burst an unnatural light — blindingly white, like death itself.
Where Kagaya’s estate once stood — only fire remained. Devouring, writhing, dancing like hundreds of demonic hands tearing flesh apart.
The roof collapsed with a roar. Ash rained down like cherry blossoms.
But they weren’t petals. They were ashes.
From the radio came a broken, hysterical voice:
“Central… Central! Urgent! Headquarters under attack! I repeat, headquarters under attack! There are people still inside!”
But Kagaya’s body was never found. Not among the ruins. Not anywhere.
“WHERE IS OYAKATA-SAMA?!” — the swordsman’s voice cracked over the signal.
“We… we searched everything. He’s gone.”
“What do you mean— gone?!”
“He… wasn’t there.”
The signal cut.
Somewhere in the wreckage, a slayer groaned beneath a fallen beam.
Someone screamed a name — hoarse, desperate.
No one answered.
The air reeked of smoke and iron.
The Upper Moon’s power — vast as a storm — had crushed the Demon Slayer Headquarters in minutes.
The mansion was gone.
The sky turned a murky gray, as though even the sun had averted its gaze.
The low rumble of the train station merged with the city’s weary breathing.
Through the glass door of the carriage, Shinobu Kocho watched the tunnel blur into darkness.
Toki had just left — and with every passing meter, her heart grew colder.
Behind her — an empty platform. Beside her — a flickering vending machine. Before her — trembling air.
She could feel it.
They were near.
Hundreds of demons racing toward her.
And there she stood — the fragile butterfly herself, Shinobu Kocho.
Click.
Her blade slid from its sheath, silent as a sigh.
A head rolled across the floor, stopping at her heel.
“…I’m not in the mood,” she whispered.
The phone rang.
“Kocho-dono! Urgent! The headquarters— Oyakata-sama, he—”
Beep. Beep. Beep.
“I’m coming, Oyakata-sama. Just hold on.”
She reached Headquarters quickly.
Everything smelled of despair.
Blood on the tiles.
A demon had been trying to kill a young female Slayer.
“Sensei.”
Tsuyuri Kanao appeared like a petal falling from a spring tree and cut the demon’s head off. Elegant. Graceful. Terrifying.
“Kanao,” Shinobu smiled gently, “well done.”
Shinobu ran to one of the kakushi.
“Kocho-dono!”
“What about Oyakata-sama?” — the only question on her mind.
The Slayer bowed his head.
“At headquarters some say he’s dead. Others say he was rescued. He… vanished. ”
“Oyakata-sama…”
Suddenly, strange sounds rose — as if all the elements had conspired together.
They stood in the center — Shinobu and Kanao — back to back.
Shinobu noticed something approaching. Small. Ugly. Shaking. It smelled of smoke and death.
An Upper-Moon demon. From the ashes rose Hantengu. And with him — his emotions.
One, with a twisted face, screamed:
“You! You don’t understand! We’re afraid! We only wanted—”
The second shrieked:
“Kill! Kill them all! Laughter is bliss!”
The third gleamed with a grotesque joy. The fourth snarled, all fury. The fifth — the one who simply watched in silence — was somehow the most terrifying of all.
Shinobu did not look away.
“It’ll be alright,” she told Kanao.
Kanao nodded.
They rushed forward — straight into the heart of the rage.
Evening Tokyo pulsed beneath her feet — neon, traffic, the illusion of safety. The city lived on, unaware that death had already begun to crawl beneath its skin.
Akaza stood before the panoramic window.
Silent.
Unmoving.
A statue carved from night.
“Speak,” he said, quietly, almost indifferent.
A scout demon emerged from the shadow — bony, insect-eyed, crawling.
“It’s done,” he rasped. “The mansion exploded. Chaos is spreading. But… they didn’t find Kagaya Ubuyashiki’s body.”
Akaza’s fist tightened.
“What about the boy?”
“Muichiro Tokito was seen fighting Shinazugawa Sanemi. Wounded — but alive. Last sighting, Shinjuku. He’s hiding.”
“And the girl?” Akaza’s voice dropped lower.
The scout hesitated, shoulders trembling.
“No confirmed sighting. She vanished after departure. But… someone saw her in Shinjuku. Near the subway.”
A pause.
Akaza turned — slowly.
His eyes met the demon’s.
The scout paled — as though his soul had been pulled from his body.
“That’s enough,” Akaza said quietly.
From his sleeve, he drew a black sphere — shimmering like condensed night.
He tossed it upward; it hung, pulsing, distorting the air.
Nakime would feel it. She would open the door.
“I’ll go to Shinjuku myself.”
He disappeared — not with a flash, not with a sound. He simply ceased to be, leaving behind a chill that lingered long after.
Sanemi Shinazugawa hung up the receiver.
He sat atop the train’s roof, littered with demon corpses.
Those who had tried to stop him no longer existed.
“The gods must regret leaving all the fun to me.”
He rose. His sword gleamed wetly in the neon wind. The air bowed to him — wild, restless, reverent.
Sanemi was a berserker.
He didn’t know fear. The marks that burned his life away — just a price he paid without hesitation. He lived for battle. Breathed it. Without war, his soul went deaf.
Too few worthy enemies. Too many easy deaths.
But Muichiro… that quiet nineteen-year-old boy shrouded in mist — he made Sanemi’s heart remember how to beat in combat again.
“The only one who ever tried to understand you… Kanae…”
Sanemi leapt from the train, his steps light, dancing — as if running on air itself.
Landing on cracked asphalt, he broke into a sprint, dragging behind him a trail of wind and blood.
By the time he arrived — the station was already burning. Thick smoke choked the sky. The air reeked of ash, blood, and rot.
And then they appeared — Gyutaro and Daki.
The twisted siblings, born of filth and sin.
He — rotting, hunched, vile.
She — beautiful decay wrapped in silk.
“Just what I needed,” Sanemi sneered, drawing his sword. “Familiar faces. You two still not rotted away yet?”
Gyutaro contorted, twitching like a puppet.
“You talkin’ to me, huh? Think my face is ugly?!”
“Both of you,” Sanemi grinned. “C’mon, show me what you’ve got.”
A blur — steel sang.
The battle ignited like lightning. Wild. Furious. Beautiful.
Sanemi’s strikes carved through the air like wind blades from the mountains. He didn’t defend — he attacked. Relentlessly. His sword split the air again — a hurricane of motion. But pain rippled through his side.
The old wound — burning. The mark refused to awaken.
“Damn it… not now.”
“C’mon, coward! Hit me!” he roared.
“Coward?!” Gyutaro’s body twisted, blades bursting from his arms. “Flying Blood Sickles!”
Sanemi knew the trap — step wrong, and you’re done. But he didn’t stop. He never stopped.
“Blood Sickle Shower!”
Blades rained down. He deflected most — almost. One struck his sword. The steel blackened, rotting.
“Daki!” Gyutaro shouted.
“Catch!” She flung her sash — but Sanemi leapt from his own sword, twisting midair.
“They’re stalling… they don’t need to kill me. Just delay me…”
With a furious jerk, he struck his own blade, breaking it at the base — freeing the fragment from the demon’s flesh. But the price was steep — a sickle slashed into his side, cutting through flesh down to the bone.
“You haven’t got long. My sickles are venomous, so…,” Gyutaro growled. “...lie down and die.”
A thunderous crash behind them — the mansion. Sanemi froze.
"Oyakata-sama… they reached him…"
He took a step — and nearly collapsed. His whole body tightened. The ground swayed beneath him. Poison. It was flooding his veins.
“It’ll reach your heart soon,” the demon yawned. “You’re overrated, little slayer.”
Sanemi laughed. At first, a rasp. Then louder — almost mad. Laughed until blood spilled from his mouth.
“Perfect…” he hissed, igniting the mark. His pulse burst into fury. Muscles swelled, skin cracked. He moved — and in a blink, was right before Gyutaro’s face and took the demon’s head clean off.
But that’s exactly what they’d been waiting for.
“Idiot!” Daki screamed. Her obi sashes cracked like whips. Sanemi fell into a net of flesh and blood. Sickles slashed again toward his heart— and he vanished.
“Sanemi!” a voice rang out.
Masachika. The only one Sanemi could ever call a friend.
“Ma…sachika… you’re… just in time…”
“And you’re a damn fool, as always,” his friend panted. “You should’ve stayed down.”
Another arrived — his younger brother, Genya. He froze at the sight of Sanemi’s face — scarred by the mark, smeared with blood — but alive.
“Brother…” he whispered. Couldn’t believe it.
“Genya! Quit staring!” Sanemi barked, then turned to Masachika. “We go together. I’ll take the hunchback. You take his little doll. No sword? Who cares! Genya, give him yours!”
Genya nodded. Masachika caught the blade.
“You won’t leave here alive!” Daki hissed, her ribbons whirling like a storm of serpents.
They vanished.
Sanemi lunged — Gyutaro’s head flew again. In the same breath, Masachika struck — Daki blurred like smoke, reappearing behind Genya.
“Die, little brother…” she whispered.
Steel flashed.
“GENYA!!”
Masachika moved. The obi pierced his chest.
“MASACHIKAAA!!”
Sanemi’s scream split the street like thunder. He ran — breath breaking, blood pouring — too late.
Daki and Gyutaro were gone. The world fell apart into silence.
He dropped to his knees beside the body.
“You idiot…” Sanemi whispered hoarsely.
Silence. Only a crimson trail of blood, slowly soaking into the black asphalt.
Uzui Tengen climbed the concrete stairs of Shinjuku Station as if breaking away from the world of the living, one step at a time.
The ground hummed beneath his soles — a hollow, anxious resonance, as though the city itself was holding its breath.
“You’re here, Tokito… I can feel it. This place—too bright, too full of memories. Kyojuro loved it. Which means you would have chosen it too.”
A faint vibration stirred in his pocket — short, rhythmic, like a heartbeat. He lifted the phone to his ear.
“So they waited for this night…” he muttered darkly, lips curving in the shadow. “We focused on Okinawa and Osaka — and they struck straight at the heart.”
As if in response, demonic energy surged behind him — heavy and dense, like swamp fog, pressing into his lungs and under his skin.
Uzui straightened, eyes flashing with the thrill of battle; a feral grin flickered at the corner of his mouth.
“The subway. Of course. Fastest route to headquarters. Clever. Smarter than I gave them credit for.”
Soft, almost weightless footsteps echoed from below — he didn’t turn. He already knew who it was.
“Tch…” he hissed. “Not the best time.”
Tokito Muichiro emerged from the lower passage. His shoulder was torn open, blood running down his arm, clothes soaked with the aftermath of battle. But there was no fear in his eyes — only clarity. Sharp, piercing focus.
Uzui met his gaze. No words. No bravado. Just silence — and understanding.
Then, as if the world exhaled at once, the roar came.
Demons.
They were following the scent of blood. His blood.
“I’ll hold them off!” Uzui shouted — and before Muichiro could answer, he charged straight into the abyss.
He moved like an explosion — born from chaos itself. His blades flashed like lightning, every strike followed by thunder, each impact a beat in a roaring symphony.
“How dazzling!” he laughed, cutting through another one.
Shinjuku Station turned into a battlefield — breathing smoke and blood. Uzui rushed deeper into the subway’s throat, where the horde thickened.
“Here I am! The magnificent, incomparable Uzui Tengen!” His voice echoed through the concrete. “Now, let’s see you demons steal this spotlight!”
He danced between them like a performer on a cursed stage — every step an explosion, every leap a note of steel and fury. He composed his own finale to the rhythm of thunder.
“That’s right!” Uzui smirked, flicking blood from his blade. “No room for mediocrity in a star’s path!”
The phone buzzed again. He raised it to his ear.
“Makio?”
“Tengen! Suma and I are close — we’re heading to you. Everyone’s ready.”
“Excellent. I’ll finish something here; by the time you arrive you’ll head straight to HQ.”
He struck down another demon, and for a brief moment, gazed toward the dark tunnel where Tokito had disappeared.
“I hope you make it out…” he whispered.
And then — the world stopped.
The station fell silent. Even the roar of the metro died away. The demons froze mid-motion. Neon lights dimmed, one by one. The air went heavy — like being trapped underwater.
From the depths of the tunnel came footsteps.
One.
Another.
Out of the darkness stepped Akaza.
No noise. No theatrics. His arrival wasn’t spectacle — it was truth. Like silence before a gunshot.
“Too much noise,” he said, looking at Uzui. “Even for a clown like you.”
“Heh… Hey, pretty boy,” Uzui grinned. “Stage’s taken. The star’s already shining. Me.”
But from the escalators came screams. People — rushing upward, stumbling, clutching children, desperate for the surface.
“STOP!” Uzui’s voice thundered through the station. “BACK! IT’S A TRAP!”
Too late.
Hundreds of demons burst from the underground like a flood. Darkness devoured the living. Screams. Blood. The shriek of children.
Uzui couldn’t stand still.
He bit his lip until it bled.
“I swore, Hinatsuru…” he whispered. “Forgive me, my love…”
He activated the marks.
Light flared across his skin — searing veins, igniting every nerve. His eyes glowed; his heart surged forward.
“People!” he roared. “It’s going to get loud! But better deaf — than dead!”
He swung his blades — and unleashed a symphony of pain. Metal screamed. Air quaked. Demons collapsed, blood streaming from their ears.
He became motion. He became thunder. He was sound. He was death.
When the last demon fell, he dropped to one knee.
“Damn…” he gasped. “Not as young as I used to be…”
Blood filled his mouth; the marks burned from within. His body trembled — this was his limit.
Akaza stepped forward slowly.
“Not bad… for a human.”
Uzui rose — quietly, steadily.
“You were there. You fought Kyojuro.”
“Rengoku Kyojuro…” Akaza repeated, tasting the name. “They buried him not long ago, didn’t they?”
Uzui’s eyes blazed.
“You killed him?! Roar!!!”
He swept his blades across the ground and, as if bombs had detonated, light and sound burst into a blinding storm. Before the smoke had cleared, he was already there — the blades screaming.
But Akaza vanished into motion. His fist met Uzui’s stomach. Air left his lungs. Blood sprayed.
“He… was my friend…” Uzui choked.
“And you’re a fool. Can’t you see how meaningless it all is?”
Uzui struck again.
The explosion tore through the air — Akaza’s leg vanished, only to reform seconds later.
“Persistent.”
“Then listen — String Performance!”
The sound sliced through bone; blood streamed from the demon’s ears as he was hurled backward — yet he rose again. And then—
“Final Form… Blue Silver Chaotic Afterglow.”
Hundreds of slashes — deadly waves fanning outward — straight toward the crowd.
“NO!!”
Uzui dashed forward, shielding them.
He saw a child. He froze — screamed — and leapt.
He took the blow.
His right arm was gone.
He fell.
Akaza approached silently.
“You’re not bad. But you’re still human.”
“Ten Thousand Leaves Flashing Willow.”
A kick shattered his ribs.
The world dimmed.
Sound faded.
Color vanished.
“SENSEI!!”
Inosuke appeared — then Suma, Makio, Zenitsu.
“TENGEN!”
They caught him. Cried. Stayed with him. Until the end.
Akaza froze. They… loved him. Without fear.
And then — he was gone.
“STOP!!” Inosuke screamed.
“UZUI-DONO!!” Zenitsu cried.
They held his fading body.
“No… no, no, no… don’t die…”
In Uzui’s dimming eyes — Hinatsuru. Smiling. Hand on her belly. His son. His future.
His hand fell limp. The sound faded. And only silence remained.
Shinjuku. The final minutes of night.
Akaza stood atop a skyscraper, gazing down into the labyrinth of streets below. The city hadn’t yet awakened.
Moments ago — it had been carnage.
Now — only stillness. Dust settling. Smoke rising.
He remembered their faces — those who feared losing the ones they loved.
His phone vibrated in his pocket.
He answered.
“Got the girl,” came Douma’s sing-song voice — cheerful as always, laced with something cold and deranged.
For a moment, Akaza stood motionless. Then, without a word, he stepped forward — and leapt from the rooftop, vanishing soundlessly into the dawn.
A white blade lay on the empty street below — a Nichirin sword. Not lost. Left behind.
The scent of fresh blood lingered.
Akaza knelt and touched the hilt.
The first light of sunrise brushed across his face.
He pulled a small black sphere from his sash — and crushed it in his palm. A brittle crack. A breath of dust. And then — nothing.
Only a shadow remained for a heartbeat.
Tokyo’s sky brightened. Another moon faded. Morning came.
But it brought no peace.
Only silence after the scream — and cold after the blood.
Tokyo awoke, unaware that the darkest night had only just begun.
Notes:
Hey guys!
I got sick again, and this chapter was really hard to write (ㅠ_ㅠ)
It’s tough writing something that isn’t about Muichiro and Toki, but everything needs to unfold logically and tie together in the end!
I hope I managed to pull it off ♡
See you on Friday ♥️
Chapter 32: The Morning After
Chapter Text
“Masachika! Hang in there!”
Sanemi’s voice cracked into a hoarse scream. He didn’t even know why he was shouting anymore—the body under his trembling hands was already growing cold.
He knew. Deep down, he already knew: this battle had been Masachika’s last. He’d lost someone dear to him again. Failed to protect anyone—again.
“S… Sa…nemi… Ge…nya…”
“Don’t talk! Don’t waste your strength!” the Wind Hashira hissed through clenched teeth, as if he could shout down death itself.
But Masachika was already slipping away.
“Ge…nya… he…”
He never finished the sentence. His eyes slowly closed, a faint, peaceful smile frozen on his lips—as if he had left this world in peace.
Silence.
Genya stood in a daze.
The air around him trembled with the scent of blood and smoke, but he heard nothing—only his own breathing, distorted by something painfully foreign.
Only now did his mind begin to return to him.
“Masachika…” he whispered, stepping closer to his brother, who was holding the lifeless body. “Masachika, you…”
He reached out—and in that instant, everything snapped.
“This is your fault!”
Sanemi gently laid Masachika’s body on the ground and rose to his feet. His shadow loomed over Genya.
He struck him across the face—hard, sharp, sudden, like a gunshot.
“I told you a hundred times you weren’t cut out to be a hunter! A hundred times!” His voice shook—not from anger, but from pain. “I said you were a coward. But Masachika… he always begged me to give you another chance. He believed in you. And I… I agreed. Because I wanted to believe too. I wanted you to become strong.”
Sanemi grabbed Genya by the collar and yanked him closer.
“But you still don’t get it! This is a battlefield, Genya! People die here—it’s not a damn playground!” His teeth clenched. “It should’ve been you today, not him! His death is on your hands. You let your guard down, and Masachika died protecting you.”
He shoved Genya back. The boy fell to the ground like an empty shell.
Sanemi sank to his knees beside Masachika’s body again.
“Get out. Don’t let me see your face again.”
“B-brother… I…”
“You’re not my brother anymore,” Sanemi said quietly. “Get out of my sight. You don’t belong among the hunters.”
He lifted Masachika’s body into his arms. Staggering, he walked away—through the ashes, toward the dying headquarters. The poison still pulsed through his veins, but he didn’t stop.
The Kakushi transport raced away from Shinjuku.
Inside—ragged breathing, an oxygen mask, the smell of blood and medicine.
They were carrying someone who was on the brink.
“Oxygen mask! Administer etamsylate! His pulse is dropping—we’re losing him! Get the defibrillator ready!”
A jolt. The body convulsed. The heart faltered—then beat again.
Beside him sat Makio, hands clasped at her chest as if a prayer could keep him between worlds.
Her husband was dying right before her eyes. Tengen Uzui—always dazzling, bright, untouchable—was now fading away.
It didn’t feel real. It felt wrong, impossible.
He had always escaped—from traps, from nightmares, from death itself.
But not this time.
A prayer. Trembling fingers. A whisper: “Please… at least him… don’t let him die…”
The ambulance screeched to a halt at the Demon Slayer Corps hospital—miraculously still standing. Shinobu was already there waiting. She, too, was wounded, but her battle had been brief. Hantengu had vanished quickly—his true goal had been to destroy the Ubuyashiki estate; the rest had been a diversion.
The Kakushi had warned her about Uzui in advance.
She stood in the hospital with her fellow doctors and her loyal apprentice, Aoi.
But when she saw Tengen’s body—even her rational, disciplined mind recoiled.
Yet Uzui was strong. He had never given up before.
“Quickly! Take him to the operating room!” Shinobu ordered, turning to Aoi. “I’ll need your help, Aoi. Go on ahead—I’ll prepare and follow you!”
“Yes!”
Aoi sprinted down the hall toward surgery.
“Shinobu-san! Please! Save him!” Makio fell to her knees, sobbing.
“Makio-san, I’ll do everything I can. But whether he survives… that depends on him.”
Shinobu left to prepare for the emergency operation, leaving Makio alone.
Makio stared at the door; the red light above it flicked on—surgery in progress. She sank beside the wall and began to pray again.
Voices echoed from the entrance—Suma and the others had arrived. Inosuke bolted down the corridor.
“Sensei?! Where’s Sensei?!” He grabbed Makio by the shoulders. “Makio?! What happened to him?!”
Makio said nothing—just stared at the door behind which the doctors fought for Uzui’s life. Inosuke tried to rush inside, but Zenitsu grabbed him, dragging him back.
“Inosuke! Stop! They’re operating—you’ll only get in the way! Sit down and be quiet—your shouting could distract them and cause a mistake! They’re fighting for his life!”
He was right. Inosuke slumped beside Makio, waiting.
Suma glanced at the red light and closed her eyes.
“Makio, did you tell Hinatsuru?”
Makio shook her head. Suma pulled out her phone, found the contact.
“She needs to know. Better now than…” Suma glanced at the door and pressed call.
“Suma, hi!” Hinatsuru voice was calm—she didn’t know why they were calling.
“Hinatsuru… Tengen, he…”
Hina’s eyes widened.
“What happened to Tengen?”
“He was badly wounded in a fight with an Upper Moon. Shinobu’s operating on him right now—fighting for his life…”
“I’ll be there soon.”
“Hina—” Suma began, but the call had already ended.
An hour later, Hinatsuru arrived at the Hospital.
“Hinatsuru-sama, please, let us help you—” one of the Kakushi ran up, noticing her swollen belly. But Hina shook her head firmly.
“I’m fine. Thank you.”
She stepped out of the car and hurried toward the entrance. Through the garden, into the hall.
“Hina!” Suma ran to her, still in tears.
“Suma,” Hinatsuru embraced the younger wife and looked around at the others.
“Tell me everything.”
They told her—how they had found Tengen in Shinjuku, who his opponent had been, how he’d lost his arm and suffered severe internal injuries.
Hina listened to every word.
“All of you,” she said quietly, “pull yourselves together. It’s too soon for tears. Tengen is still fighting for his life—and we must fight with him! I believe in him. He’s the strongest man alive, and he will survive!”
“Yes! Sensei will definitely make it!” Inosuke shouted.
Hina sat beside the door and waited calmly.
The hospital was chaos—Kakushi and doctors ran through the corridors, carrying bloodied bandages and fresh supplies. The air was heavy with medicine, chlorine, and blood.
Three hours passed. Finally, the red light turned green.
Shinobu stepped out of surgery—her face pale, exhausted. Hina went to her immediately.
“Shinobu-san…” Hina’s voice trembled. “How is Tengen?”
“I did everything I could. He’s in intensive care now—his condition is critical, but there’s still hope. Today will decide whether he lives or death takes him for good.”
Shinobu met her gaze. “Hinatsuru-san, you’re in your final term. Please rest—think of your child.”
“Thank you, Shinobu-san…”
Hina turned to the others and relayed the news. Suma burst into tears, Inosuke was frozen in shock.
“Kocho-dono! We need your help—the poison is unusual. He should’ve died hours ago!” a Kakushi shouted from down the hall.
“You mean Shinazugawa-kun? I’m coming.”
Shinobu hurried off again—to save another life.
The doctors worked all day without rest. Shinobu didn’t close her eyes once, performing operation after operation.
By evening, she finally exhaled and returned home. She stripped off her bloodstained clothes and collapsed onto her bed, asleep within seconds.
“Sensei…” Tsuyuri whispered, watching her mentor’s exhausted form. She covered her with a blanket and brushed a hand gently through her hair. “Rest well.”
Tsuyuri left the room in silence.
Shinobu slept for a full day and night.
When she woke, her body was heavy, her heart heavier. Still, she wasted no time—she dressed and began her morning rounds.
“Shinazugawa-kun, how are you feeling? I see your appetite’s just fine,” she teased lightly.
Sanemi sat up in bed, devouring an omelet. He looked up at her voice, hesitated, then swallowed quickly.
“Shinobu? I’m fine. Just a little sore in the arm,” he said, flexing it as if to prove his strength.
Shinobu stepped closer, still smiling—but there was a flicker of concern in her eyes.
“Your arm, hm? That’s what bothers you? A little scratch?”
She leaned in, her gaze sharpening like glass.
“You nearly died from the poison, Shinazugawa-kun. I barely managed to prepare the antidote in time. And here you are, worrying about your arm.”
Sanemi froze mid-bite. Slowly, he looked up at her.
“How long did you keep running and fighting after the poison entered your system?”
“Uh… maybe two hours?”
“Two…” she exhaled. “You’re either blessed—or incredibly stupid. A normal person would’ve died in thirty minutes. Next time, just fall and stay down. I might not make it in time.”
She knew him too well—his recklessness, his need to sacrifice himself. It angered her, but more than that—it hurt. He was dear to her. Sanemi had been her elder sister’s fiancé, and even now, Shinobu still thought of him as family. The last one she had left.
“…Alright. I’ll be more careful,” he muttered, guilt flickering in his tone.
Shinobu’s smile softened. “Good. Then we understand each other. Rest now, Shinazugawa-kun. I have to go.”
She was almost at the door when he called out:
“Shinobu! What about Uzui? I heard people talking in the hallway…”
“I’m on my way to him right now,” she said.
Kocho hurried toward the intensive care ward.
The hallway greeted her with a half-asleep kind of tension. Inosuke had dozed off, his head resting on Suma’s knees while she absently stroked his hair. Zenitsu sat on the floor, hugging his knees, his gaze hollow — as if he hadn’t blinked in hours. Makio stood by the door to the ICU, her eyes fixed on it, unblinking.
"They’ve been here since evening… Haven’t even moved. Hinatsuru must’ve stayed in the living quarters. She’s seven months along — stress is the last thing she needs. That’s good…"
Just then, soft footsteps echoed behind her.
“Good morning, Shinobu-san.”
It was Hinatsuru.
“Good morning,” Kocho nodded, not slowing her pace as she entered the room.
The silence inside was almost sacred, broken only by the steady hum of the monitors. Aoi stood beside Tengen’s bed, eyes darting between the screens.
“Aoi, how is he?”
“After the surgery, his condition was critical. Pulse unstable, breathing irregular…” She looked up. “But now… it’s stable. Kocho-dono, you saved him.”
“No, Aoi,” Shinobu replied softly. “It wasn’t me. He was saved by his will — and by love. The love of his wives… and the child he’s waiting for. I only gave him a chance.”
She paused for a moment, then added, with quiet warmth,
“Come. Let’s tell them. They deserve to breathe again.”
“Yes, Kocho-dono!”
When they stepped outside, Inosuke’s eyes snapped open. He jumped to his feet.
“Where’s sensei?! What’s going on?!”
“Quiet, Inosuke,” Suma said gently. “We’re all waiting for news. Shinobu will tell us.”
“Zenitsu…” Inosuke turned to his friend, frowning. “You look like an old man.”
“I haven’t slept in two days,” Zenitsu muttered hoarsely. “I can’t… not until I know Uzui-dono will make it.”
“Relax! Sensei’s gonna be fine, I know it!” Inosuke jabbed his finger in the air, as if it could make it true.
Hinatsuru couldn’t help but smile faintly. And then — the doors opened. Shinobu appeared in the doorway, calm, composed, a soft smile on her lips.
“He survived.”
“Thank God…” Hinatsuru whispered, leaning against the wall in relief. Suma and Makio burst into tears, clinging to each other. Zenitsu seemed to come back to life.
“Told you so!” Inosuke shouted triumphantly.
“Now go rest,” Shinobu said quietly. “He’s alive.”
It was over. Uzui had been lucky again — luck had always walked beside him.
When the Sound Hashira finally opened his eyes, the first thing he remembered was the image of Muichiro Tokito — battered, broken, yet unwavering in his choice.
"Kyojuro always told him to listen to his heart, to choose his path even if it meant breaking the rules. And he finally did — chose his own life, chose the one who became his everything. And I made my choice too — that was my last mission under the Ubuyashiki clan. I won’t go against fate again, or break lives on another’s command. Hell, I even disobeyed orders — I let Tokito go. And I’ve never been so damn glad. I hope it really helped them…"
The sun shone bright, unbothered by the darkness of yesterday.
In front of the estate stood Genya.
He came to see his brother — but stopped halfway. His face was blank, but in his eyes burned the pain he could never drive away.
"He was right… I’m weak. Because of me, someone died again. Masachika…"
His fists clenched.
"But I can’t just stand here. I can’t let my brother bear it all alone. I have to grow stronger. I have to help him. Otherwise, I’ll always be the one who only got in the way."
Without a word, he turned and walked away into the gathering twilight.
Alone.
Back to where his true path began.
The day after the battle, the remaining Hashira began to arrive at headquarters — those who had been sent to other cities on special missions.
“What a… nightmare…” Mitsuri whispered, covering her mouth as she looked at the ruins.
“May the souls of the fallen find peace, and the wounded — healing,” murmured Gyomei, hands clasped in prayer. “Come, Kanroji-san.”
But half an hour before them, Tomioka Giyu and Tanjiro had already arrived straight from Okinawa.
“Tomioka-dono, please…” Tanjiro’s voice trembled. “I want to see Nezuko.”
Giyu nodded.
“Let’s go.”
They turned away from the others and descended into the underground chambers — the ones used to hold special prisoners. To their surprise, the lower levels were untouched.
“Nezuko!” Tanjiro ran to the bars, where his sister was slowly sitting up, yawning. He brushed a hand through her hair gently. “Thank goodness you’re safe…”
She blinked at him sleepily, yawned again — and for a moment, her eyes were childlike, innocent, just like before. Then she turned over and curled up again, falling back asleep.
Giyu watched in silence.
"Looking at her… I believe it’s possible. To bring back what was lost. To save hundreds, thousands. I just need to find the missing piece — and I’ll do whatever it takes."
“Thank you, Tomioka-dono,” Tanjiro smiled. “Now I can breathe again. Let’s go upstairs.”
Kagaya Ubuyashiki had managed to survive — barely.
He had hidden with his family in the northern wing of the estate, and by some miracle, they escaped alive, suffering only a few minor wounds.
But his condition was dire — and the battle that night was not to blame. The curse had begun to spread faster through his body, consuming him from within, each breath a quiet theft of his remaining life.
In a dimly lit room, silence stretched, broken only by Kagaya’s ragged breathing. His face was pale as carved marble; his eyes — cold, bottomless, like two pits of ink. The wounds pulsed beneath his skin, but pain no longer mattered. It had become part of him — poison flowing quietly through his veins, holding back the power that had long slipped from his control.
Iguro had returned early that morning. He’d been collecting reports from the surviving hunters — the losses were devastating, the damage immeasurable. By noon, he made his way to his master’s chamber.
Iguro stood at the door, feeling the chill radiating from within. His voice was steady, but darkness coiled beneath each word.
“Oyakata-sama, the destruction is immense. Our losses are severe. The medical corps is at its limit. The southern wing of your estate is completely destroyed, many perished and—”
Kagaya interrupted, his tone quiet, like the rustle of ancient pages.
“What of Tokito-kun? Have they found him?”
“I’m afraid not,” Iguro lowered his gaze. “Nor his tsuguko — Amida Toki. Almost no trace of them. We found only his blade, a great deal of blood at the station… and a faint mist.”
Kagaya closed his eyes. Silence stretched for several long seconds. When he looked up again, there was no life left in his gaze — only emptiness, cold and absolute.
“Iguro-kun, they must be found. Immediately. Tokito-kun has betrayed us. Amida-san… has become a weapon. Dangerous, unpredictable. In the wrong hands, she could awaken what must remain sealed in darkness. Otherwise… it’s over. He will rise. Tell everyone — Kibutsuji Muzan’s return would mark the end of the old world. That cannot be allowed.”
A chill ran down Iguro’s spine, like a blade tracing his vertebrae. He bowed low.
“We will do everything to prevent that.”
“I truly hope so.” Kagaya’s voice turned to a whisper. “Leave me.”
Iguro bowed once more and left without looking back.
Amane silently knelt beside her husband. His fingers trembled. He didn’t raise his eyes — afraid, perhaps, that the truth would reflect in them.
“Amane,” he said hoarsely, “is there a chance Tokito-kun knows? My crows reported changes in his face before he vanished. He read something… something he was never meant to see. If he learns the truth, I will become his enemy forever. It will be a disaster. His blood is dangerous — I’ve always known that. A genius born of Tsugikuni blood… I waited for his power to awaken, to serve me alone, but he never did. And Amida-san… she became his everything. The irony — she’s the only one who can save me. Save me, and our noble line. And then die. As she must.”
He fell silent. The room grew heavy, thick with stillness.
Amane gently placed her hand over his. Her touch was warm — but laced with unease. She looked at him with eyes clear and steady — no fear, no doubt. Only clarity.
“You tried to change fate — with your choices, your sacrifices, your faith in lies. You trusted Tokito-kun too much, blinded by his obedience. But he wasn’t what you believed. His blood, his past proved stronger than amnesia — as did his feelings. And the demons… the demons planned this long ago. They knew of the girl and waited for the perfect moment. Just as you waited for her awakening. And so, you lost.”
Kagaya didn’t answer. He froze — each of her words cutting deep, right into the fragile truth he had hidden beneath layers of civility and porcelain calm.
Amane continued softly, like one might speak to a child in need of persuasion.
“We will find them. We will bring them back. But not for redemption. Not for salvation. We will bring them back for order. For balance. For you, my dear. For our great lineage. For our future. And when the time comes, she — Amida Toki — will give you her power. As it was always meant to be. And Tokito-kun…”
She paused. Her voice grew almost tender.
“He will die if he truly knows the truth — as every descendant of a traitor must. But he will die beautifully. With honor. Like so many before him. So that you can keep looking upon this world with clean eyes, just as you always wished.”
She leaned closer, her lips brushing against his forehead.
“And until then… the game goes on.”
Somewhere near Tokyo, in a house hidden from sight, Muichiro finally opened his eyes.
“…Am I… really alive?”
Chapter 33: Ancient Blood
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Muichiro lay on a futon in an unfamiliar place.
The air was dense here, saturated with the scent of wood. The room felt spacious, with dark wood walls of polished timber; tatami covered the floor, and white shōji doors led to other chambers and outside—to where the rain was falling quietly.
It seemed to be late evening. Beyond the window, streams of water ran down, breaking softly against the earth. The dim light of a lantern cast wavering shadows across the ceiling.
Muichiro tried to sit up, but a sharp pain flared in his side. He glanced at his left arm—it was broken. When he tried to tense his muscles, his ribs screamed in protest. With a muffled exhale, he sank back onto the futon and stared at the window. The gray sky, heavy with clouds, mirrored his state of mind.
And then—
His eyes widened. Memories flooded in all at once, like a storm breaking through a dam.
“Toki!” the name tore from his lips.
He sat up abruptly, ignoring the agony in his body, and pushed himself to his feet. Sliding open the shōji, he stepped onto the veranda leading to the garden. Rain beat against the earth; the air was damp and heavy. Muichiro’s gaze swept the courtyard. In the center stood a training dummy—and beside it, a wooden sword. Everything felt strangely alive, as if someone had just been there and would return any moment.
Barefoot, he stepped onto the wet grass. The chill, the stickiness—it didn’t matter. The pain in his body was only a faint echo of the pain tearing him apart inside. He approached the dummy, took the sword, and assumed his stance.
“I have to become stronger…”
He struck. Again. And again. Each blow sent a wave of burning pain through his body. But he didn’t stop.
“If I’d been stronger… I wouldn’t have let them take her!”
He remembered her hands—warm, gentle.
Her trembling voice when she whispered: “I love you.”
The last time her fingers slipped from his wrist.
With a dull crack, the wooden sword split, a fissure running down its length. He knew it was pointless. These strikes would not make him stronger—only destroy him further. But he couldn’t forgive. Not himself. Not fate. He couldn’t forgive that he was alone again. Alone—just like before.
He swung again, and blood gushed from his shoulder, running down his arm, mingling with the rain. He didn’t care. He kept going.
“Stop! Please, stop!” A woman’s voice pierced the rain.
He didn’t hear her. One more strike. The last one. He staggered. Blood dripped from his fingers, soaking into the grass. Then—he felt warmth behind him.
He turned.
A slender woman stood there—dark hair, violet eyes. He felt the demon’s presence in her. But… it didn’t matter. Demons no longer frightened him. Nothing did.
“Don’t interfere,” he whispered, tightening his grip on the sword.
The woman didn’t back away.
“No! You mustn’t move!”
She reached for him again—but he was stronger. He shoved her aside, and she fell to the ground. A young man with green-and-black hair ran up, alarmed.
“Lady Tamayo! Are you hurt?”
“No, Yushiro… I’m fine,” she murmured, her gaze still fixed on Muichiro. He stood with his head bowed, his breath uneven, fingers clenched around the sword’s hilt as if it were the only thing keeping him upright.
“You idiot! Lady Tamayo pulled you back from the brink of death!”
Muichiro didn’t answer. His hair clung to his face, rain streaming down his cheeks. The bandages on his body were soaked through; the cold bit into his skin—yet he didn’t shiver. He just stood there, gripping the sword.
“You hunters… you’re all the same!” the demon shouted.
“I’m not a hunter anymore,” Muichiro said quietly.
He lunged forward, striking at the dummy again. His movements were wild, desperate—not like a warrior’s, but like a man being torn apart from within.
“His wounds will reopen! He’ll die if this continues! Yushiro, stop him!”
Yushiro glanced at Tamayo—her eyes glistened with tears. She looked at Muichiro with the kind of sorrow reserved for someone determined to destroy himself.
“…Fine,” Yushiro muttered. “Only because you asked.”
He rushed toward the boy, trying to snatch the sword from his hands.
“I said—don’t interfere!” Muichiro’s voice cracked, and in the next instant, the entire garden was swallowed by mist. He appeared behind Yushiro, ready to strike with the flat of the blade—
When suddenly—
“Enough.”
The voice came from the darkness—cold, deathly calm. There was a depth in it, like an abyss calling his name. Muichiro froze.
He knew that presence.
It had followed him in Hakone, lingered by his family’s grave. It had been in Tokyo—at the station. It had been inside him, in that moment before his consciousness slipped away.
Slowly, he turned—and saw him.
“Kokushibo…”
The sword trembled in his grip. Ice settled in his turquoise eyes.
Kokushibo looked down at him in silence—as if measuring his worth.
“Why did you save me?” Muichiro asked, his voice hoarse.
“We’ll talk later. For now…”
His gaze shifted toward Tamayo. She stepped closer to Muichiro, carefully, as one would approach a wounded animal.
“Please, let me change your bandages. Your wounds have reopened…” Her voice was soft, like the rustle of silk.
“Lady Tamayo! You’re being far too kind to this ungrateful fool!” Yushiro snapped.
“Enough, Yushiro. He’s suffered more than you can imagine. He’s in pain now—you must understand that.”
Then she turned to Muichiro again.
“Please… let me help you.”
Muichiro lifted his eyes. Somewhere in the darkness, the silhouette of Kokushibo was fading— as though the night itself had dissolved into shadow.
He nodded—barely noticeable.
And without a word, he followed Tamayo.
She entered first. Quietly, as if afraid to disturb the air itself. The room was small, almost empty, except for a carved chest by the far wall. Tamayo knelt before it and lifted the lid. A faint scent of herbs drifted out. She took out bandages, vials of powder, and a small bottle filled with a dark liquid.
“Please, sit,” she said, turning toward Muichiro with a soft smile.
He still stood in the doorway. Motionless, watching her with that same distant focus one gives a burning wick—waiting for it to fade away.
Then, at last, he stepped inside and sat on the futon.
Tamayo came closer, leaning beside him, pausing in thought for a moment.
"This wound… it’s terrible. Good thing Kokushibo-san arrived when he did. Muichiro-kun might have lost too much blood again…"
“May I move your hair aside?” she asked quietly.
Muichiro slowly lifted his gaze. He didn’t like being touched. Especially by others. Especially—not now.
“I can do it myself…” he muttered, trying to manage it one-handed.
But his fingers slipped, his hand trembled. The attempt failed. He exhaled heavily and looked back at Tamayo.
She said nothing—just sat closer and deftly gathered his long hair into a low ponytail, twisting it into a small knot at the back of his neck. Her touch was feather-light.
“That’s better. Now I’ll change the bandages. It may sting a little.”
Muichiro didn’t respond. His gaze was fixed on the shōji. Raindrops tapped against the wooden frame—each one like a thought he couldn’t quiet. He wasn’t thinking about the pain. Only about her.
About Toki.
About how he didn’t make it in time.
About how foolishly he had believed he could protect her.
"I’d give anything… just to have her beside me again."
“I’m done,” Tamayo said softly after a pause.
She returned to her chest, grinding powders in a small stone mortar. The scent of herbs filled the room—sharp and damp, like a forest after rain.
Muichiro watched her movements. The way her hands rested over the bowl, how something ancient and quiet seemed to flow through her touch and into the mixture.
“You’re not… an ordinary demon, are you?” he asked suddenly. His voice was calm, but there was a guarded edge to it.
Tamayo lowered her eyes. There was no fear or shame in her face—only weariness.
“Yes. You’re right,” she said. “I was one of the primordial demons, born with the ability to see the essence of disease and curses. That’s why my potions became my greatest strength. Muzan knew this—and wanted me to brew elixirs to sustain his life, to find a cure for his own curse. He turned me… But his curse was unlike any other—it came from within his very soul. His hatred made him what he is. It wasn’t a spell, nor malice from another… It was himself. Healing him was impossible, even for me. But I devoted my life to helping humans. I’m a physician, and I’ve studied medicine for centuries,” she continued, handing him the small bowl. “So please, take this.”
Muichiro took the cup, bowed his head slightly, and swallowed the contents. The bitterness spread down his throat, but he didn’t flinch.
“Thank you,” he said quietly. “And… I’m sorry. For pushing you away earlier.”
“It’s all right. I understand. And please, call me Tamayo,” her voice was soft. “We’ve kept you waiting long enough. Shall we?”
He nodded. Stood. Followed her.
The house was larger than he’d imagined—beyond the door stretched long corridors, open halls, high ceilings with dark beams. Everything was too clean, too quiet. For a fleeting moment, Muichiro thought he wasn’t walking through a house at all, but through a memory of one.
At last, they entered a wide room with a round table in the center.
Yushiro was seated there, casting Muichiro an irritated glance—but he ignored it.
Kokushibo stood in the shadows.
Still as stone.
His face was partly obscured, yet Muichiro noticed the markings—four closed eyes burned into his forehead and cheeks.
No, not markings. Real. Living. Demonic eyes.
Muichiro approached and sat down. Fatigue pressed against his back. Silence pressed against his heart.
He looked at Kokushibo.
“Why would a demon of the Upper Moons… the First Moon… saved me?”
That question had haunted him since he awoke. The answer felt more frightening than pain.
“Because it was necessary.”
Muichiro’s heart faltered. He could almost feel the chill of those words slice through his chest.
“What does that mean?” he asked, quieter than he intended.
Kokushibo watched him. Carefully. Too carefully. His gaze traced Muichiro’s face—his turquoise eyes, pale as mist.
He stepped out of the shadows and sat across from him.
Face to face.
Eye to eye.
Muichiro didn’t look away. But he felt it—that dark presence seeping from Kokushibo, winding around him like smoke. Alive. Thick. Ancient.
“What were you doing there with that girl?”
Muichiro lowered his head.
He remembered. All too well.
How he lost.
How he failed to protect her.
How utterly weak he had been.
“Toki,” he whispered. “I wanted… to save her. And run away.”
His fists clenched.
“But… Douma took her. And I… I lost.”
Silence.
Kokushibo was thoughtful. His face showed no pity—only an ancient, distant sorrow. The kind seen in those who have witnessed too much.
“She is the key to awakening Kibutsuji Muzan,” he said quietly. “And she will awaken him. Exactly one and a half months from now—on the day of Obon. She will resurrect him with the lilies that grow in the world of the dead. And she will die. He will rise again. Whole. Complete. With a power no one can stop… or even comprehend. And then—”
Muichiro’s head snapped up. His eyes widened—emotions flashing one after another.
Shock.
Despair.
And then—fear. The real kind.
Kokushibo recognized it. And did not look away.
“I have to go,” Muichiro rasped. “I have to save her! Toki—she—”
He rose sharply from the table — but pain struck.
Sharp. Merciless.
As if everything inside him tore apart at once.
Darkness flooded his vision. The world wavered.
“Kokushibo-san!” Tamayo’s voice broke the silence.
“Hey! Stop it, he—” Yushiro shouted.
But Kokushibo didn’t stop.
“You failed once,” the demon said quietly. “And you will fail again.”
He pressed a finger against the wound—not too hard, but enough to make fresh blood spill. Pain carved through the moment, forcing it back into reality.
Muichiro gritted his teeth. He grabbed Kokushibo’s wrist in a desperate motion.
“Why… do you care?!” he choked out.
Kokushibo paused.
A long, heavy pause.
Then he looked at him again—deeply, piercingly, as if trying to pull his soul from his chest.
“Because my blood runs through your veins,” he said at last. “My power. You are my descendant. And I—your ancestor.”
Muichiro froze.
He forgot how to breathe.
His eyes widened in silent horror.
“I’m… his descendant? His blood… his power?”
“What are you— No. I’m not—!”
“The Moons you awakened,” Kokushibo murmured, “that was my power. And also… my eyes.”
He opened all six of them.
Six demonic eyes—dark, alive, endless.
They looked into Muichiro—and saw everything.
“I can see straight through you.”
He withdrew his hand slowly. There was no need to hold him anymore. Muichiro no longer resisted—not because he accepted it, but because he was broken.
The truth was too heavy, too monstrous to fight against. It settled on his shoulders like the weight of centuries, pressing out every breath.
Kokushibo sat down again, arms crossed like a judge delivering a verdict.
Muichiro trembled—not from fear, but from realization.
His heart pounded dully. The curse of his blood beat in his temples.
A descendant of a monster. A living echo of someone’s sin.
He was not a warrior.
Not an heir.
A descendant.
A stain.
A shadow of a curse.
He raised his eyes—meeting the demon’s face, that smelled of centuries and ash. Kokushibo’s eyes were an abyss. They didn’t reflect light—they devoured it.
“I…” Muichiro swallowed; his voice cracked in the silence. “I won’t let her die.”
Kokushibo said nothing for a long time. His gaze burned into him—not with six eyes, but with the weight of something far older. Muichiro looked fractured, like a shard of a mirror reflecting only half the light.
Finally, Kokushibo spoke.
“If she dies—Muzan will become invincible. He will gain power before which even the sun will be helpless.”
Muichiro clenched his fists—so tightly his palms stung.
“Why are you telling me this? Why?” he burst out.
He wanted to sound cold again, composed—but there was a storm in his chest.
“You serve him. You’re one of them. So why—”
“Because I want to destroy him. Forever,” Kokushibo interrupted, calm but sharp. “It’s time to end this endless chain of suffering.”
Muichiro stared at him, paralyzed. The darkness within him felt tangible now—like a black river flooding through his veins.
“You must understand why this is happening. The ritual is necessary. Without it, Muzan will not awaken. Right now, he sleeps—between life and death. Untouchable, but not almighty.”
Muichiro blinked.
“Awaken? But why? Why wake him at all?”
Kokushibo leaned back. His voice grew hollow, as if rising from the depths:
“Because only when he wakes can he be killed. Truly. Permanently. Now he sleeps inside a cocoon of magic. No power can reach him there.”
He paused. Then continued, slower:
“Her connection with the lilies… with the realm of the dead—it’s no accident. She will awaken him. She must die to give him that final power. Then he will no longer fear the sun.”
Muichiro flinched.
As if the words themselves burned his skin.
“No…” he whispered.
“But,” Kokushibo’s tone dropped lower for the first time, “if the ritual begins—and we interrupt it before the sacrifice—then we’ll have a moment. A sliver. A chance as narrow as a blade. He will awaken—but not fully. And then… only then, can we kill him.”
Muichiro lowered his head. His voice broke to a whisper.
“But… how? Even if he wakes… even if we reach him…”
Kokushibo stepped closer. His shadow fell across Muichiro’s face like a sentence from the night itself.
“During the battle at Shinjuku, I realized one thing,” he said. “Your blood is not ordinary. It carries the energy of our clan—the power that holds light strong enough to dissolve any darkness. It’s the same light I once had… before I became a demon. And the same as my brother’s—the one who walked through hell, and remained human.” He looked away for a moment. “In me, that light is gone. Burnt to ash. I am a hollow vessel. But you… you’re still alive. You are what I lost. Hope—or the end. The choice is yours."
Muichiro stood frozen, as if waist-deep in ice.
“That’s why you saved me…” he breathed. His voice faltered. His chest felt cold, empty.
“Indeed,” Kokushibo said. “Even if I'm still have Tsugilni blood, out power, I cannot kill him. I am still his creation—lost to myself centuries ago. But you… you are different. When I saw you, when I saw those Moons gleam from your blade, I knew—our blood still lives. Miraculously, stubbornly alive. I searched for a way to destroy him for hundreds of years, and learned one truth: only our blood, our power, can end him. That’s why I saved you. For the end. To break the circle.”
Kokushibo rose. All six eyes locked onto Muichiro’s heart.
“Don’t let the darkness consume you the way it consumed me. Your blood is the last candle. If it goes out—we’ll be lost in eternal night.”
He turned and left.
No sound. No trace.
Muichiro was alone. And in the silence, full of others’ voices, he felt something burning inside him—not fear this time.
Hope.
Or a curse.
Or something that could never be named.
He sat motionless.
Thoughts pounded in his temples like heavy rain.
The curse of blood. The ritual. The sacrifice. The dying sun.
He tried to breathe—and couldn’t.
But somewhere deep inside, in the blackest corner of himself, a small flame still flickered.
Hope.
So fragile, he wanted to hide it even from himself.
Yushiro leaned on the table, eyes fixed on the lamp.
A moth circled the flame, stubbornly, as if it knew it would burn.
“He always says things like that,” Yushiro muttered. “Kokushibo never changes.”
Tamayo looked at Muichiro—not as a warrior, but as a boy. One who had become a weapon far too early.
“Muichiro-kun,” she said softly. “You should rest. I’ll make you some tea… to help you sleep. Please… just rest.”
He didn’t answer.
He simply stood.
And left quietly.
Like a shadow.
And the moth still circled—until the darkness outside grew dense enough to swallow the light.
Notes:
OMG I so love this chapter 🖤
BTW, I decided to describe some of the characters — so today, a little bit about Kokushibo 👁️🗨️
Kokushibo is one of my favorite characters, right after Muichiro.
Honestly, I think he just looks incredibly cool!
I wanted to keep their connection — the bloodline, the fate, the family bond — just like in the original.
In this story, Kokushibo is loneliness itself — searching for redemption for his past mistakes. Why? You’ll find out soon 😉
He is darkness — the abyss that hides sorrow and the unbearable weight of memory.
And Muichiro is his light, his fragile hope.
His cursed blood once destroyed thousands of lives… yet somehow, it still left a descendant behind.Muichiro isn’t a perfect hero. He’s just a person who wants to be loved, who wants to be happy — even if it means making sacrifices for it.
And that’s what makes them similar. Both were born from pain.The original manga left me with too many mixed emotions and too much ache — as if everything went wrong when it shouldn’t have.
That’s honestly one of the reasons why I started writing this story.
So, in this fanfic, I wanted to tie their fates closer together — it just felt like such an interesting idea.
And honestly, writing their relationship — the way Kokushibo even looks at Muichiro, the way he speaks to him — it’s a whole different kind of pleasure for me 🖤
I hope you’ll enjoy it too!
Chapter 34: The Devil
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Toki found herself in a spacious, luxurious apartment decorated in a cold European style. Everything — from the minimalist furniture to the tall windows — screamed money and refined taste.
The apartment was located in the very heart of Tokyo, on Ginza — she realized it immediately after glancing out the panoramic window that opened onto the glittering city below.
"He’s not even trying to hide… But the air itself reeks of demonic aura. This place… it’s his. It’s too strong. He must be an Upper Moon."
“Toki-chan!” a cheerful, sing-song voice called out.
Douma appeared in the room, arms spread wide, radiating his usual fake warmth.
“Make yourself at home! I can’t stand it when my guests act all stiff and nervous. Especially such special guests.”
Toki said nothing. She simply looked at him, then walked slowly toward the window. Beyond the glass stretched Tokyo — vast, glittering, drenched in light. And yet, beneath it all, trembling with fear. She pressed a hand to her chest and whispered silently to herself:
"Muichiro… Please. Just survive."
“Beautiful city, isn’t it?” Douma suddenly appeared beside her.
He leaned in, cheek brushing her shoulder like an old friend’s.
“Though I’ve always found it boring… so predictable.”
He stopped right behind her. His reflection in the glass caught hers, and that feeling — sticky, heavy — crawled down her spine.
Her instincts screamed:
"Run. Find a way out. Before it’s too late."
Fear rose in her throat.
“You can keep staring out the window and pretending you don’t hear me,” Douma murmured softly, “but surely you don’t think I’m too stupid to notice what you’re planning, Toki-chan?”
Her pupils shrank. A cold shiver ran down her back. It was as if he could read her thoughts.
A claw brushed against her neck. A light press — a thin line traced her skin. The next moment, she felt something tighten around her throat — constricting, predatory — and then release.
She glanced at the reflection and froze. Around her neck shimmered a faint, crimson thread — delicate as silk.
By reflex she reached to touch it, but his fingers caught her wrist.
“Don’t,” he said sweetly, almost playfully. “That thread is woven from my blood. If you try to remove it, you’ll learn what hellish pain really feels like. It’ll strangle you — slowly, beautifully — until you pass out. Don’t worry, I won’t kill you. But bringing you to the edge of death… that’s perfectly allowed.”
He smiled with poisonous cheerfulness and added.
“And no, I don’t read minds. I just understand people very, very well. It’s a hobby of mine — watching, analyzing. And you, darling,” he ran a claw along her cheek, “you wear your heart on your face.”
His aura pressed down on her, heavy and suffocating. He stood too close, filling the air around her — like poison seeping into her lungs.
“I… understand. Please… move away…” Her voice trembled. “I… can’t breathe…”
“Of course, of course,” he chirped, stepping back as lightly as a cat done toying with its prey.
Toki fell to her knees, gasping. Her lungs burned.
"He’s a monster. And insane. If Kaigaku hadn’t interfered back then, Muichiro wouldn’t have stood a chance…"
She clutched her throat, eyes full of hatred.
Douma tilted his head toward the ceiling as if trying to recall something.
“Mmm, that didn’t go well, did it? I’m not some lecherous creep, you know — touching a girl without permission? How rude of me. Especially when her heart already belongs to someone else.”
He turned his gaze back to Toki, smirked, then looked over to Kaigaku, who was watching with a lazy grin.
“Kaigaku, it seems the attack on the Corps’ headquarters went quite well. A pity no Hashira died, though. Not that surprising — those weaklings never were good for much. But next time, we’ll get it right.”
He paused, smiling sweetly.
“By the way, you did great. And you, Toki-chan,” — he turned to her again — “you probably don’t know this, but it was Kaigaku who told me about your power. He was watching you. He saw how you healed Muichiro when he lost control of his marks. Can you imagine? Such a clever boy! Without him, finding you would’ve been quite difficult.”
That was a lie — or half a lie.
Douma had known from the very beginning.
But he loved to play. To twist people into roles they couldn’t escape.
He wanted Kaigaku to feel important, needed. So he let him discover the truth — and spread it.
Later, he’d decide what to do with that. Something… interesting.
Toki stayed silent, shoulders tense, gaze downcast.
“When Kaigaku told me that story, I nearly cried,” Douma continued with mock delight. “And that scene in Shinjuku… oh, it was truly touching. Not everyone would die for another, you know. Love, Toki-chan,” — he clasped his hands dreamily — “love is the most beautiful feeling of all. It makes people stronger. Right, Kaigaku? What do you think?”
Toki lowered her head. The memory surfaced sharp as a blade, cutting through her chest.
Kaigaku’s furious gaze. His voice slicing the silence:
“Utter nonsense. Hate is the only true source of strength.”
A soft, almost mocking laugh rang out behind her.
Douma appeared like a shadow — silent, dangerous — that playful sharpness gleaming in his eyes like a serpent ready to sink its fangs into its prey.
“Ah, Kaigaku, you’re so boring,” he drawled, leaning toward Toki, his voice a venomous mix of sugar and spite. “That’s why you don’t have a girlfriend. No one wants to share their life with a gloomy little stone.”
He rested his hand lightly on Toki’s shoulder, the chill of his touch seeping deep into her skin.
“Girls love warmth, sincerity, emotion — not gloom and grumbling. Don’t you agree, Toki-chan?”
Toki felt the weight of his energy — thick and cloying — pressing against her mind, drowning out her thoughts. But she had to answer.
She raised her gaze to meet his — her eyes cold and empty, like a mirror reflecting someone else’s malice.
“Girls don’t like empty threats and cheap bravado.”
Douma laughed — not loud, but low, trembling with a manic undercurrent, as if something deep inside him was being pulled by invisible strings.
“Oh, Toki-chan, your words… they’re like poison — sweet and cold.”
He turned to Kaigaku, his eyes flashing with devilish fire.
“Look at me — this is charisma. This is charm. Girls flock to me like moths to a flame.”
Then he froze, voice softening into something dangerously intimate.
“Do you know who won the heart of lovely Toki-chan? Muichiro Tokito. A hunter who did the impossible — tamed both fire and frost within one soul. Those turquoise eyes… even I find them unnerving.”
He smiled — a smile that was both an invitation and a sentence.
"He’s a true devil," Toki thought. "He plays with pain and fear the way a cat plays with a mouse."
Her gaze met his — cold, stripped of fear, stripped of hope.
“Shut up, Douma!” Kaigaku snapped, his voice cracking with fury. “Next time, I’ll take it out on him—” his glare cut toward Toki, “—and you’ll watch him die right in front of you! If he’s even still alive...”
“Kaigaku…” Douma’s voice dropped to a whisper as he appeared behind him so fast the other barely had time to flinch. “Never interrupt me.”
His fist sank into Kaigaku’s chest — the pain was sharp, bitter, all-consuming. Blood spilled, and Douma’s voice turned as cold as winter wind.
“Your pathetic attempts at cruelty ruin my mood.”
He turned toward Toki, a deadly, enchanting smile curling on his lips. Blood dripped from his fingers; his eyes gleamed with the hunger of a predator savoring the game.
Toki slowly stood, bracing herself inwardly for whatever would come next.
“I’m tired,” she said quietly. “Let me be alone.”
“How adorable!” Douma exclaimed with a mock bow. “Follow me, Toki-chan.”
Then, glancing at Kaigaku.
“Clean this up and disappear. I’m busy.”
“As you wish…” Kaigaku hissed through clenched teeth, wiping the blood from his mouth.
Douma led Toki through the darkness of his domain — a floor swallowed by shadow and silence. The panoramic windows were tinted so deeply the outside world looked like a myth.
Here — in this abyss — ruled darkness, temptation, and fear. And he was their sovereign.
The bedroom was vast and coldly luxurious, as though carved from someone’s fever dream. The tinted window devoured what little light there was. The air was thick, sweet — and smelled faintly of lilies.
On the bedside table stood a glass vial and a bouquet.
Crimson spider lilies — freshly cut, impossibly perfect, as if placed there just moments ago. Their flawless petals made them frightening in their beauty.
Toki froze. A quiet wave of unease rippled through her chest.
"That flower… it’s always meant death to me."
Douma noticed her reaction and tilted his head, smiling sweetly.
“What, you don’t like red spider lilies?” His tone carried a teasing undertone.
“No,” she answered — more quietly than she meant to.
He stepped closer to the bouquet, adjusting one stem as tenderly as if tending to a wound.
“They’re flowers of passage,” he whispered. “Between worlds. Pure as emptiness. Very… fitting for you.”
Toki said nothing. She only stared at them — a sign too clear to ignore.
“You’re in the darkness between worlds now,” he murmured, voice coiling like smoke around her nerves. “Phones don’t work here. No signal. Don’t even try to reach the outside world. That’s… very important.”
Toki’s gaze stayed locked on his, but something icy clenched inside her — his words wove around her like invisible chains, tightening with every breath.
“You need me… to bring him back, don’t you? Muzan. Your master.”
Douma’s smile faltered for the briefest instant; anger flickered in his eyes — he didn’t like being reminded of servitude. His lips twisted, as if she had touched a nerve no one was meant to touch. But of course, the smile soon returned.
“Oh?” He stepped forward, head tilted, voice soft and amused. “What an interesting guess. And where did you learn that?”
Toki remained silent. Only her eyes answered.
“Hmm… maybe someone rather clever whispered it to you?” he mused. “I wonder who that might be…”
He drifted to the side, lost in a mock reverie, his face faintly lit by that same cruel amusement.
Toki’s chest tightened — she already knew who he meant.
“No idea who that could’ve been,” he finished lightly, turning his gaze back to her.
A shiver ran down her spine. He was toying with her — he knew everything. She bit her lip to keep from trembling, her heart sinking like a stone.
Douma’s smile stayed bright.
“Exactly,” he said, raising a finger in mock delight. “You’re the key, Toki-chan. Your path isn’t that of a mere healer — it’s the thread between the living and the dead. You’ve felt it, haven’t you? That strange energy near you?”
Toki remembered Hakone. Nagano. The step into emptiness. The breath of the wind. The scent of lilies in a lifeless place.
“We’ll perform a little ritual,” Douma’s voice dripped like honeyed poison. “We’ll open a door — to eternity. The Gate of Lilies.” He gestured toward the window, where the night rippled like a living veil.
“And if I refuse…?” Her voice trembled, thin as glass about to break.
He moved closer — unhurried, like a predator savoring the moment. His breath was warm and cold at once.
“Toki-chan… you don’t have a choice. Everything’s already decided.” He smiled softly — almost tenderly. “I’ll be right here. Watching. Guiding. Remember the thread?”
Her hand moved to her neck. The invisible burn was still there.
“And besides…” he continued, brushing a strand of her hair, plucking it as delicately as a petal, “if you become stronger — who knows who you might have to save…”
He paused. When he spoke again, his voice was lower, darker.
“You see… there’s one among us. The worst of all. A creature of hunger and darkness. Everything he touches dies. No spark, no light — only death. Only emptiness. His eyes… are those of a predator.”
He smiled wider. Toki could barely breathe.
“Kokushibo,” he finally whispered, as if the name itself were a curse. “He’s what may await you — or the one you care for. The eyes Kaigaku saw… they could only belong to the First Upper Moon.”
A chill crawled across her skin. She understood everything.
“So… be a good girl, and one more thing—” Douma reached for the vial. “Your magical energy is nearly gone. Drink this — it’ll help you recover.”
Toki instinctively stepped back. Douma looked at her and smiled brightly.
“Let me tell you something. Long ago, there was a woman among us — gifted beyond belief. Like me, she was a primordial demon, with the rare ability to sense the very essence of disease and curses, and heal them through…” — he lifted the vial, studying its glow — “elixirs like this. She sealed her power within them. A remarkable woman. Muzan wanted her power for himself, of course — he turned her, hoping she’d cure him. But he was mistaken. Years later, after his long ritual sleep, she fled and vanished without a trace. Given her skill with illusions, I can’t say I’m surprised.”
He smiled faintly and placed the vial in Toki’s hand.
“So I kept her collection. Waste not, want not. This elixir restores magical energy. Humans and demons alike possess it in varying amounts. The marks of Demon Slayers are dangerous because they consume it greedily — until the body collapses and death becomes inevitable. Though…” — his smile deepened — “there are exceptions. But even they lose their minds in the end. They survive… but go insane.”
He sighed theatrically.
“If only the hunters had these elixirs, they could delay the death of their brightest ones… assuming, of course, they drank it in time.”
Toki listened in silence, afraid to move. She remembered Kyojuro’s mark. Muichiro’s mark. The ache inside her grew sharp.
Douma went on, almost gently:
“I’m rambling again… Toki-chan, your gift consumes you, too. The risk of death is great — and I can’t have you dying in vain. So don’t be afraid. It’s in your best interest to survive.”
He leaned close, his whisper brushing her ear.
“There’s nothing to fear. Drink it — and rest, my sweet Toki-chan.”
Then he stepped back into the shadows and dissolved into them — as if he’d never existed.
Toki remained, alone.
In a room full of silence and night, where the window didn’t let light in — it absorbed it.
Something inside her rang, faint and metallic. The air smelled of lilies.
And of death.
She looked at the vial — deep emerald green, as if born from myth.
"Muichiro… please. Just survive."
She drank it. Warmth filled her veins. And she sank into sleep.
Notes:
Douma. He’s one of my favorite characters here. I tried to keep his original essence but made him more like Mephistopheles — a devil who watches because he’s bored, nudging people toward sin or revelation just to see what they’ll do. Then he judges them — not by morality, but by the fragile beauty of human nature itself. He’s not as simple as he seems (though, honestly, was he ever?). Writing him is pure pleasure. Oh, if only you knew what awaits him later…
Chapter 35: The New Upper Moon
Chapter Text
She had a nightmare.
It was thick and viscous—like tar. Like darkness itself, the kind that swallows everything and offers no escape.
A demon—tall, black, as if carved out of the night, six eyes gleaming—pinned Muichiro to the wall, driving a blade through his chest like a nail.
Bones cracked with a dull, sickening sound. Blood ran down the sword, the wall, his body.
He didn’t scream. He didn’t even flinch. He just stared forward, silent, unblinking—and that silence was more terrifying than any cry.
She watched him being torn in half.
Her voice drowned in paralysis.
The fog pressed into her lungs, crushing her chest.
She couldn’t move, couldn’t scream—only watch as he died.
Muichiro… ripped apart, then swallowed by a boiling sea of eyes. Thousands. They all looked at her. They all knew.
Toki woke up screaming—a muffled, strangled sound stuck somewhere between dream and reality. Her body was soaked in cold sweat. The air cut her throat like ash.
Nausea rose.
She staggered to the bathroom, turned on the cold water, and stared at her reflection—pale skin, trembling lips, hollow eyes. Tears wouldn’t stop, though she barely noticed she was crying.
“It’s just a dream… just a nightmare…”
But every part of her knew—it wasn’t just that.
She slid down to the tiled floor and froze there, staring up at the ceiling, as if by staring long enough, her heart might stop hurting.
Her pulse slowed. Only the dull, bitter heaviness remained inside—so deep it made her want to howl.
She showered. The water ran down her skin, but brought no relief.
With every breath, pain stirred awake again. With every blink, she saw him—Muichiro—covered in blood.
She wiped her tears with the back of her hand.
“Have to believe…” she whispered faintly. “Faith is all I have left.”
Late morning. Gray, unmoving. She reached for her phone—no signal.
"No service. I’m really trapped."
A sharp knock at the door. She threw on a robe and opened it.
Douma stood there—crimson-and-black jacket, loose blond hair, flawless smile. But his eyes—iridescent, cold, snake-like.
“Good morning, Toki-chan!” he said cheerfully. “Such red eyes. Did you dream something awful? You can tell me—I’m an excellent listener.”
He tilted his head, studying how a strand of wet hair slid down her neck with the droplets. Toki stared back, silent, frowning.
“I ordered some clothes for you,” he added casually, pointing toward the bags in the living room.
“Why?” she asked quietly, unmoving.
“I like my home beautiful. And now that you’re part of it, you should match the decor. Once you’re ready—join me in the kitchen.”
He snapped his fingers.
“Kaigaku, bring Toki-chan’s things to her room.”
Kaigaku carried the bags in with visible irritation, dropping them on the carpet.
“Good boy,” Douma drawled lazily, disappearing into the hallway.
She opened one of the bags. Inside—a dress. Silk. Black. Terrifyingly beautiful. Luxurious to the point of cruelty.
"He’s mocking me. Mocking everyone. I’m just a puppet in his hands. A real devil wrapped in charm."
She put on the dress, knowing that defiance might cost her dearly—and stepped out.
“Ah! You’re radiant!” Douma clapped his hands. “Kaigaku, admit it—she’s lovely, isn’t she?”
He stayed silent.
“Was I not clear?”
“Yes. It fits perfectly. Shows off her figure. Happy now?” Kaigaku muttered.
“Quite. A lady deserves compliments—especially when she’s earned them.” Douma smiled.
“You wanted to talk?” Toki’s voice was ice.
“Oh, yes! But first—breakfast.”
The table setting was almost theatrical: a shining glass of wine, meat with a perfect sear.
“What is this?” she asked suspiciously.
“Marbled steak. From my favorite restaurant. One of the best in the world. Enjoy.”
He ate with unhurried pleasure, cutting the meat slowly, savoring every bite.
“I didn’t think demons ate normal food,” she said.
“You’re right, my dear. Usually we don’t. But I’m… exceptional. I enjoy tasting everything. And what’s more delightful than sharing a meal with a beautiful girl?” He smiled, eyes glinting. “Though, our usual meals are rather different. Humans are like wine to us—the deeper the emotions, the richer the flavor. I personally prefer women. Especially when they’re in a state of se—”
“Enough,” she cut him off.
“All right, all right,” he chuckled.
Her hands trembled as she held the utensils.
"I can’t eat this. The whole house reeks of death. That dream… and him…"
She pushed the plate away.
“I’m not hungry.”
“Still uneasy? Everything still frightens you? Maybe dessert, then? Every girl loves something sweet.”
She nodded slowly. Dessert was the lesser evil.
“By the way,” he said lightly, leaning back in his chair, “Kaigaku and I are leaving for a while.”
Toki looked up. Without changing his tone, he raised his knife—the blade hovered in the air, pointed straight at her.
“Remember: in my house, my rules apply. No foolishness.”
She didn’t flinch. Just looked at him directly. She knew—there was no escape.
He was the devil in sugar coating. The host of a macabre masquerade.
Douma lowered the knife. His smile softened, almost tender.
“No use running…”
Toki stayed silent, head bowed.
“We’ll be going, Toki-chan. Don’t miss me too much. I’ll be back soon.”
His voice was gentle, but every word carried a hidden threat—cold, relentless, like morning frost.
The demon rose, gave Kaigaku a brief glance—a command without words.
“Let’s go.”
Kaigaku followed, bound by his own fate.
And in the empty house, only Toki remained—alone, at the table, in silence thick as blood frozen in her veins.
Fear bloomed inside her, but it did not crush her spirit.
Doom rang in her heart, but it did not break.
They walked through the dark corridor of Nakime’s dimension — one of the Upper Moons.
This was where demons hid what they wished to resurrect. And here, now, they gathered to discuss the most important thing.
“I became a demon. I gained power… Then why do I still feel like trash? Like filth?” Kaigaku’s thoughts stormed in his head, clashing like black waves in a tempest, as he followed Douma’s back.
Douma caught the flicker of his dark mood. He turned slowly, a faint, almost gentle smile curling his lips.
“Ah, right! I forgot to mention — I’d like to nominate you for the position of Upper Moon. Gyokko’s dead, so the path is open.”
“You’re serious?” Kaigaku froze in disbelief, before a spark of joy flashed in his eyes.
“Absolutely. You’re strong and clever. Unlike the Demon Slayers, I value foresight. A bright future awaits you. The only thing—” he turned toward the boy, smiling as if holding a wicked secret, “—is that you listen to me. I created you. Only I can show you the way. And forgive me if I’m ever harsh. It’s just... the way I am.”
An innocent smile.
The devil incarnate.
“Thank you, Douma!” Kaigaku bowed his head submissively.
“How adorably naive. Manipulating you is a pleasure. Stupid, but useful. Which means… the game continues. What shall I play next?”
Douma’s grin widened as he stopped walking.
“We’re here,” he exhaled brightly, spreading his arms as if to embrace the structure before him. “Come now, don’t make me wait. I can’t wait to see my dear brothers again!”
He halted, turned lazily — and his tone turned to ice.
“Kaigaku. Listen carefully. I talk. You don’t. Not a word. And don’t interrupt me. The consequences... won’t be pleasant.”
“Y-yes…” Kaigaku breathed out.
Douma opened the door and slipped inside.
“Wait for my signal,” he tossed over his shoulder, vanishing into the dark like mist.
“You’re late again, Douma!” someone barked, irritated.
“Ah, little Akaza!” Douma beamed, entering the hall with his signature, honeyed smile. “I’m a businessman, you know. Schedules and all that. A minute here, a minute there… And you’re still without a woman?”
Akaza’s gaze sharpened like a blade. He said nothing — just turned away. Calm as ever, but his body screamed: “Do not cross the line.”
“Enough stalling,” Akaza rumbled. “We can begin.”
Everyone was there. Everyone — except one.
“Still not here, Kokushibo? Busy, as always? Or perhaps…”
Footsteps echoed.
The air thickened — as if darkness itself had condensed into a fist and descended upon the room.
Douma’s amusement shone brighter.
“Oh, you came after all. How delightful.”
Kokushibo stood in the shadows, leaning against the wall, arms crossed. Silent.
The silence itself grew heavier with every heartbeat.
“The last operation was a success,” Akaza began. “We destroyed the information hub in Osaka, attacked Kyoto. The assault on Tokyo went nearly as planned.”
“It was beautiful!” Daki giggled. “So many screams! So much blood!” she twirled as if dancing in her own madness.
“And yet… not a single Hashira killed,” Gyutaro muttered darkly.
Akaza lowered his gaze. Uzui. He remembered — not the battle, but the tears that could have fallen.
“Their deaths weren’t the main goal this time. It was a distraction. Next time — they’ll die,” he said firmly. “What matters is, the girl is in our hands.”
He turned to Douma.
“You have her?”
“Of course,” Douma smiled, resting his cheek on his palm. “She’s waiting… for her fate.”
Akaza tensed.
“You haven’t forgotten what you’re supposed to do?”
“Little Akaza, don’t be such a bore. I know exactly how to handle women. Even… if it’s against their will.”
“Shut up!” Akaza snapped. “This isn’t a joke! You know how important she is. If you ruin this—”
“How sweet, how worried you sound,” Douma murmured, his eyes drifting toward a silent silhouette in the dark. “You’re so… predictable.”
Kokushibo said nothing. He was the silence.
“It will happen in a month and a half,” Akaza said. “On Obon. When the dead return. That’s when we’ll awaken him. That’s when she’ll die. And then, our Lord—”
“Boring,” Douma thought. “The same endless sermon about power, chaos, domination. You’re so flat, Akaza. So dreary. I couldn’t care less about resurrection — I just want a bit of fun.”
He sprawled across the couch.
“By the way,” he said lazily, “we did lose someone. Did anyone notice?”
“You mean Gyokko?” Gyutaro replied.
“Exactly. Our little pot broke… and all because of one boy. Muichiro Tokito. I wonder, is he still alive?”
In the shadows, Kokushibo remained still. No words, no glance, no movement.
“You didn’t kill him, did you, Kokushibo?” Douma’s gaze teased, testing.
“What are you implying?” Akaza growled. He knew — Douma’s words always carried more than they seemed.
“Oh, nothing. Just thinking. Isn’t it funny that a mere boy defeated an Upper Moon?”
No response. Only the dense silence pressing in.
Douma yawned.
“Alright, alright, I have something more interesting. Remember the Thunder Estate in Okinawa? That weakling was supposed to handle it… what was his name again?”
“Rui,” Akaza said, narrowing his eyes.
“Yes, that’s him. So, I took the initiative. Turned one of Jigoro Kuwajima’s students into a demon and told him to kill the rest — students included. Such charming devotion, don’t you think?”
“Why didn’t you report this?” Akaza’s voice was edged with fury.
“Oh, Akaza, I love surprises. Now then… allow me to introduce a candidate to replace Gyokko.”
He turned — slowly, almost theatrically — toward the doorway.
“Kaigaku, come in.”
Kaigaku stepped forward — and froze.
Cold slammed into his chest like a wave. The air itself felt weighted, thick — as if night had liquefied and was pressing down upon him.
And at its center — him.
Kokushibo.
He wasn’t simply in the darkness. He was the darkness.
Kaigaku dared not even twitch.
“So you’re Kaigaku,” a voice rasped, deep and ancient, as if torn from the echo of time.
“Y-yes…” Kaigaku stammered.
Douma appeared beside him as if from thin air — graceful, predatory, serene.
“My student. Lightning, thunder, swordsmanship… Rather like you, Kokushibo. Isn’t that a miracle?”
No reply. Only that crushing silence.
Akaza stepped forward.
“I want to test him myself,” he said flatly. “And one more thing — I found Muichiro Tokito’s sword in Shinjuku. Abandoned. Lying in a pool of blood.”
He glanced at Douma.
“Strange, isn’t it? For a Hashira.”
“Very strange,” Douma breathed with a sweet, empty smile. “Fascinatingly strange. Perhaps he found himself a new sword? Or maybe he’s just… dead? Who knows, that pretty Muichiro Tokito.”
Kaigaku went pale.
“His sword? What does that mean? Did Tokito survive or…”
He looked at Kokushibo — his palms slick, breath uneven. The darkness pressed even from afar, though the demon hadn’t moved a muscle.
Akaza stepped forward, and the sound of it seemed to rattle Kaigaku’s bones.
“Let’s begin,” he said calmly.
Kaigaku squared his shoulders, trying to appear confident. His hands trembled — not from fear, but unbearable tension. The pressure in the hall was almost physical, like the walls themselves were closing in.
“You tremble like a leaf. Changed your mind about joining us, Kaigaku?” Akaza mocked.
Kaigaku broke from paralysis and barked,
“No! I’m ready!”
One step — and that was enough for everything inside him to tighten like a drawn bowstring.
“Show me what you can do,” Akaza said, neither disdainful nor intrigued — merely demanding.
Kaigaku exhaled. Then inhaled.
And vanished.
A flash. A crack. Thunder rolled through the marble floor, shattering it. He struck from behind — quick, sharp, like a predator. But Akaza was already there.
Silence fell. The others watched.
A moment later, Kaigaku was flung across the room, slamming into a marble column with a sickening crack. Blood spattered from his lips.
“Too loud,” Akaza said. “And far too predictable.”
Kaigaku staggered to his feet, coughing blood, fists clenched.
“Heat Lightning!”
Lightning burst forth — wild, searing, a chaotic web across the air. But Akaza didn’t move. He walked forward, calm, through the storm. Bolts danced around him but didn’t touch — as if even lightning feared him.
“Power without control is emptiness,” he said, and struck.
The first blow — to the gut, precise and brutal.
The second — to the throat.
The third — sent Kaigaku flying, crashing through tables, candles, stone. Blood glimmered in the flashes of lightning, burning against marble.
Douma laughed softly, lounging like a man at the theatre.
“Oh, how painful!”
Kaigaku rose again — bloody, trembling, his breath ragged.
“I… won’t lose…”
“Prove it,” Akaza said. For the first time, a flicker of interest passed through his eyes.
Kaigaku roared. All his rage, despair, and pride erupted. Lightning spiraled, a storm collapsing inward before bursting out in divine fury. The floor cracked; the light filled the hall like the wrath of gods.
And within that sacred storm stood Akaza.
Unmoved. Unshaken.
The lightning burned through his arm, but his regeneration was instantaneous.
“Your resolve… is nothing,” he whispered.
Then struck.
The final blow.
Kaigaku fell.
His breath shallow, his eyes dim. The pain was gone — only the heat remained.
“But there is something in you, after all,” Akaza muttered, stepping back and nodding.
Hantengu silently offered a vial — thick, dark red, almost solid.
“Drink,” Akaza ordered. “The blood of our Lord.”
“Kibutsuji Muzan…” Kaigaku breathed — and drank, without hesitation.
Power exploded through his veins. A surge, searing and violent, tearing through every cell. He gasped — choked by the force he couldn’t yet control.
Douma watched, covering his smile with his hand, eyes gleaming like a cat watching a foolish mouse.
“You didn’t even ask what it would cost. Then again, that’s your charm — stupidity and courage, hand in hand. It’s almost too easy… but that’s what makes it fun.”
The meeting neared its end.
One by one, they faded into the darkness — like stars dying before dawn.
Only Akaza remained. His silhouette lingered a moment longer — then vanished.
“What are you plotting this time, Douma…?”
Chapter 36: The Ritual That Cannot Be Escaped
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The night wind slid through Tokyo’s narrow alleys like the breath of a long-departed spirit. Somewhere in the distance, a train screeched as it braked. Somewhere else, a child cried — a small, warm, living sound that suddenly felt frighteningly real after that suffocating, oppressive darkness.
Kokushibo walked without quickening his pace. The air around him seemed to hold its breath; even the wind refused to come near — as if nature itself recoiled, unable to approach him. His cloak stirred slightly, but the movement was slow, like the stillness that follows a great storm. His silence was not quiet — it was an abyss.
He vanished into the shadow of the district, and the night seemed to sigh in relief.
The room was silent — not dead, not hollow, but waiting, like a breath held before a scream.
The clock had stopped ticking, as if it had grown tired of fighting time. All that remained was breathing — shaky, uneven — and the irregular beat of a heart that had lost its rhythm under the weight of thoughts too heavy to let him breathe.
Muichiro sat on the floor with his head bowed, as though its weight dragged down his shoulders. His hair fell along his face, spilling shadows across his clothes — he was quieter than the room, more silent than the night itself.
Kokushibo’s words echoed not in his ears, but in his blood: “You are my descendant. Don’t let the darkness consume you the way it consumed me. Your blood is the last candle. If it goes out—we’ll be lost in eternal night.”
He clenched the fabric of his clothes tighter, as if trying to hold onto a reality that was slipping away — a reality without Toki, without answers, without an end to this waiting.
And yet he lifted his gaze — not toward the ceiling, but higher. Through the wooden beams, through the white shoji screens — to where the stars shone indifferently, like observers who refused to intervene in another’s tragedy.
“I will save her. That’s it. Not for the world — for her. And that is enough.”
He rose — slowly, as if he were lifting himself not from the floor, but from the depths of his own resolve. And in the same moment, he heard footsteps.
Heavy, steady, unhurried — sounding like the heartbeat of a storm trapped inside a man. He recognized them before the shadow crossed the doorway.
Kokushibo.
Darkness itself, so dense it could be felt not on the skin, but in the soul. He entered without a sound, the way fate walks into a room. And Muichiro stepped out to meet him.
Kokushibo stood in the corridor with his arms crossed — silent, carved from something older than stone, with eyes reflecting a past too close to be forgotten and too vivid to ignore. His gaze did not burn — it weighed, like a blade resting on a scale.
Muichiro approached — unhurried, not a single wasted step. And stopped.
Kneeled.
Touched his forehead to the tatami.
“Please,” he breathed — so softly the sound nearly dissolved, though the steel in his voice never wavered. “Make me stronger. I must save her. I’m ready for anything. Even if I have to walk through hell. Even if I must destroy the world. I will save her.”
Silence. Not even the wind moved. Then — a single step.
Kokushibo came closer and stood above him like a mountain before which a warrior bows not for mercy, but for a sword. His face held no expression, yet his eyes… his eyes left no emotion hidden in the dark. Everything Muichiro tried to conceal — they had already seen.
“Training will begin when you can hold a sword with both hands again,” he said, his voice deep, resonant, like the hum of steel. “When pain stops being an excuse and becomes fuel.”
He leaned closer, his shadow enveloping Muichiro completely.
“Do not expect mercy. This will not be a game. This will be hell. Not the one you’ve already seen. One that goes deeper — into your bones, your blood, your dreams. Into your very core. Prepare yourself, descendant.”
He straightened, turned without another word, and disappeared into the darkness of the corridor, as though he had become a part of it — a branch of an old curse that still lived.
Muichiro did not move. He remained kneeling. He did not tremble. Did not lift his head.
Only his fingers tightened around the cloth.
“No matter what happens. She is what matters.”
The lights of Tokyo flickered below, like the uneven rhythm of a breath — too bright, too alive for the dead stillness that wrapped around him. The elevator rose slowly, almost lazily, its mirrored walls reflecting and distorting his silhouette, creating a kaleidoscope of shifting faces — masks in a theater where every movement was a lie, every word a performance.
Douma. He was still smiling. Of course he was. A smile was both his shield and his mask. Or perhaps both at once.
When the doors slid open, he stepped out unhurriedly, as if the world itself could wait. He slipped off his luxurious jacket, tossing it onto the leather sofa — carelessly, like shedding a skin. His fingers drifted in the air, and he let out a soft, amused breath.
“So… an Upper Moon,” he murmured. “How delightful. Congratulations, Kaigaku — you finally got what you wanted. But for how long?”
The apartment was filled with a pristine, deliberately artificial silence. The air carried a thin scent — cold metal, lilies, and something else… subtly alien, like the remnants of a dream. He sank into the chair, crossing one leg over the other, his gaze sliding over the night city behind the glass. The window reflected his eyes — beautiful, endlessly calm, polite, utterly empty.
“Well then, Kaigaku… the pain is setting in already, isn’t it? No… not yet. Too soon. But soon… very soon, you’ll learn what true agony feels like. His blood breaks everyone.”
He rose to his feet and began to pace slowly across the room, as if thinking aloud — though in truth, he was simply savoring the taste of his own thoughts.
“Your pain is no longer my concern. It’s yours. You’re still my toy. And you know… I even enjoy watching the way you break.”
But that wasn’t what occupied Douma now. His mind was elsewhere — in a place thin and fragile, like the line between life and death. He stood by the window, lost in himself, and the city beneath him looked like an anthill of gods: lights, movement, indifference. All of it a stage. And somewhere out there… was she.
Toki.
“Power is born from pain, isn’t it? But in her case… it’s different. She clings to love. That makes her weak — and terrifyingly strong. How… beautiful. It will be her curse. And her blessing. If she survives, of course. If she doesn’t break first…”
He smiled faintly, his gaze turning almost dreamy.
“I’ll say Kokushibo turned Muichiro Tokito. That the darkness consumed him. He is his descendant — who knows what that bloodline can do. I’ll say she’s the only one who can save him.”
He turned, and that familiar gleam flashed in his eyes — anticipation.
“It’s time to begin,” he said, a hint of almost childlike impatience in his voice.
Toki sat by the window, legs drawn to her chest as if trying to make herself smaller, to hide. The glass stretched from floor to ceiling, separating her from a city that lived its relentless life. Rain blurred the streets; cars became wet insects, passersby — shadows stripped of names and faces. Everything moved, yet nothing touched her.
She didn’t know whether it was day or night. The light was dim and tired, like after a sleepless argument with oneself. The room felt foreign — too perfect, too sterile. No dust, no trace of time, no trace of life. Soft carpets, glass, flowers in expensive vases — all of it looked painted rather than real. As if she never lived here. As if she never should.
Her fingers brushed her shoulder. The pain was gone, but the mark remained. The lily — a brand — no longer faded from her skin.
“The ritual…” The thought flickered. “I must awaken the power that has slept for centuries. The lilies… they will be the key. But if they awaken the darkness…”
She hadn’t asked for this. Hadn’t agreed. But who ever asked her?
Her chest tightened — not from fear. From the realization that choice no longer existed. She lowered her forehead to her knees, trying to fold inward, trying to vanish.
“They won’t stop. Even if I die — they’ll find a way. They’ll wake him. I don’t want to be the one who does it. But can I avoid it…?”
And then — a memory surfaced: You see… there’s one among us. The worst of all. A creature of hunger and darkness. Everything he touches dies. No spark, no light — only death. Only emptiness. His eyes… are those of a predator. Kokushibo. He’s what may await you — or the one you care for. The eyes Kaigaku saw… they could only belong to the First Upper Moon.
As if answering her thoughts, the door creaked. He entered without a sound — like a snake. Or a dream. Or death.
Douma’s gaze found her instantly — small, fragile, silent by the window. As though he had been waiting for precisely this moment.
“Did you miss me, darling?”
She didn’t turn. He shrugged lightly — theatrically.
“You remember why you’re here, don’t you?”
“The ritual…” Her voice was barely audible. “You said I must awaken evil.”
He chuckled — softly, as if her words amused him.
“‘Evil’ is such a loud word. Let’s talk about you, Toki-chan.”
He stepped closer. His hand grazed her shoulder — as if searching beneath the skin for the lily. She flinched. He felt it — and his smile grew gentler.
“Your power can’t be hidden anymore. It’s waking up, and if directed properly… you’ll be able to open the gate. Beyond it — you’ll learn the truth. I’ll be right beside you. We’ll cross the boundary together. And afterward — you will have the flower.”
He said it like a lullaby whispered before a nightmare.
“And then everything will finally become… truly fun.”
Toki lifted her eyes. Their gazes met.
“I don’t want to become the one who destroys everything. Even if I must pretend. Even if it breaks me.”
He saw it. And smiled again — differently this time. As if he finally found the thing he had been living for.
“You must become stronger, Toki-chan. Not for evil. Just to understand one simple thing: you are the center of this game. Want to know why?”
A pause. Eternal — like the moment before a shot.
“I was at a gathering today. Kokushibo was there. And I learned something: Muichiro Tokito survived.”
Toki’s heart lurched. He noticed.
“But… he’s no longer the same. Kokushibo’s darkness devours everything, and he was no exception. He’s become a monster, just like Kokushibo himself. You see—” Douma glanced playfully at his claws, “the blood that runs through your beloved’s veins is the same blood that runs through Kokushibo’s. Because they”—his smile turned cold—“are relatives.”
Her lips trembled; her breath faltered.
“Wh-what are you…” she tried to speak, but no words came.
He only smiled. He didn’t lie. He simply rearranged the truth.
“Don’t be afraid,” he said softly, almost comforting. “The flower will save even those like him. It’s your power. You’ll help me, and I’ll help you. A deal. Simple as that. Take my hand… and who knows — perhaps we won’t awaken Muzan at all. Perhaps you will make this world interesting without him. I am unpredictable, after all.”
He wasn’t lying. He was merely moving pieces across the board.
Toki remained silent. Her heart raced. And only one name beat inside her chest — Muichiro.
“I think you’ve already made your decision,” he whispered. “And now… you’re far too lovely to be troubled any further. Good night, Toki-chan.”
He left — leaving behind silence and the pounding of her heartbeat.
The night felt foreign. Like a skin that could not be shed.
Like blood that did not warm.
Like pain that would not fade.
Kaigaku staggered down the corridor, smeared with blood — his own? someone else’s?
He didn’t care.
His conscience was still screaming, but its voice drowned in the boiling surge of strength, in the burn of Kibutsuji Muzan’s demonic blood.
He hadn’t taken it as medicine.
But as poison.
As truth.
As hunger.
Doma’s power was nothing compared to this. Now he knew: he had become a monster. And that — was his choice.
He tore everyone apart. Faceless. Nameless. Mindless.
Why did you take it…?
Because I was tired of being nothing.
You didn’t become stronger. You’ll just die slower.
He gasped, bracing himself against the wall, feeling the curse eat through his flesh, crawl into his mind. Muzan laughed in his skull. Doma watched from the shadows. And somewhere deep inside — Muichiro. A spot of light, unbearably alive.
“You were better. Everyone loved you. I… I hated you for that! Now I’ll erase you. Even from memory…”
He collapsed to his knees. Blood streamed from his eyes instead of tears. Pain dripped from his nose. Darkness seeped from beneath his nails.
But he didn’t break.
A ragged inhale.
A slow exhale.
His fists tightened. And he… smiled. Wildly. Truly.
“You were wrong, Doma… I’m not a toy. I’m a knife.”
He rose — swaying like a drunk, but standing.
Around him — blood.
Within him — fury.
And ahead — the encounter he could no longer escape.
“Muichiro Tokito… I’m coming for you. Alive or dead — it doesn’t matter. I’ll destroy everything you love.”
Notes:
Hey everyone! Life’s been pretty hectic lately. I’m barely managing to keep up with posting chapters, but I’m doing my best to stay on schedule 💪
Hope you all have a great weekend!
Chapter 37: The Clarity
Chapter Text
Muichiro woke early in the morning — the first rays of sunlight brushed across his face, gently pulling him out of sleep. A quiet knock sounded at the door.
"Three weeks. Three weeks since I’ve been here… Three weeks since Toki was taken by the demons…"
“Muichiro-kun, may I come in?” a soft, warm voice asked.
“Yes,” he replied, barely audibly.
Tamayo entered the room, carrying a tray with medicine and fresh bandages. Muichiro lowered his gaze. Kokushibo’s words from the night before echoed in his mind:
Your training will begin when you can hold a sword with both hands again. When you stop using pain as an excuse.
Tamayo knelt on the tatami beside his futon, offering him a gentle smile.
“How are you feeling?” she asked.
“A bit better,” he answered simply.
Her smile remained, tinged with sadness.
"There was so much pain and silence in this young boy… and so many trials still ahead of him."
The thought made her heart quietly ache.
She carefully removed the old bandages and examined the wounds.
"They’re healing far faster than they should. He truly is Kokushibo-san’s descendant… there’s no doubt. My medicine is strong, but his own regeneration multiplies the effect several times over," she thought as she wrapped his shoulder with clean cloth.
Muichiro turned his head toward the shōji. Beyond them stretched the morning sky — clear, cloudless.
“How much longer until it’s healed?” he asked.
She knew the question held much more beneath the surface. She’d heard that conversation.
“I’ll do everything I can to speed up the process. And your blood helps — the bones are already starting to knit. Normally it takes months.”
“I see,” he nodded calmly.
Once again, he was reminded of the power running through his veins. Ancient, immense. Whether it was a curse or a gift — he didn’t know. But for now, it was working in his favor.
At that moment, an irritated demon appeared at the doorway.
“Lady Tamayo, you’re fussing over this hunter again?” Yushiro huffed.
Muichiro looked at him without any visible reaction. Tamayo shook her head gently.
“Yushiro, don’t complain. Bring some water, please. I’ll join you in a moment.”
Yushiro straightened instantly, his posture becoming stiff and proper.
“Yes! At once, my lady!”
Muichiro watched him go, almost with curiosity.
“Don’t take it personally,” Tamayo said. “He’s always been this way… but deep inside, he does worry about you.”
“I do not worry,” came a voice from behind the door.
Tamayo smiled without turning.
“He understands you better than he seems. He just… doesn’t like demon slayers. But you know, if not for him — things would be very different.”
“What do you mean?” Muichiro asked, lifting a brow slightly.
“It’s his power that suppresses Kokushibo-san’s urge to kill. He restrains the hunger without weakening him. Yushiro is one of the very few remaining primordial demons. Muzan’s blood doesn’t run in his veins.”
Muichiro frowned.
“I thought they were all gone. Only echoes of the past… anomalies.”
“There are a few. Very few like me and the strongest among us is Douma, although unlike Yushiro, we did accept Muzan’s blood.” Her voice grew quieter.
Muichiro tensed almost imperceptibly.
“He is a primordial demon — one who could see through the very essence of people. A double-edged blade that exposes the deepest, hidden emotions. After receiving Muzan’s blood, he became even stronger. Yushiro, however, is different. He remained himself. Rejected by demons and demon slayers alike. He belongs nowhere.”
She lifted her gaze. Her violet eyes met his.
“I think you two will get along. He will help you.”
Muichiro didn’t respond. He only blinked and shrugged lightly.
“Where is Kokushibo?” he suddenly asked. Muichiro could feel it — the darkness wasn’t in this house.
Tamayo paused for a heartbeat. Her eyes dimmed, and the tray in her hands trembled ever so slightly.
“Kokushibo-san… is almost never here,” she said softly. “He is always alone.”
She straightened, gathering herself.
“Yushiro’s seals suppress his hunger, but… the place where he resides demands blood. It doesn’t matter whether it’s demon or human. Kokushibo-san has become an unwilling hunter. A prisoner of his own curse. That is why he stays away.”
Muichiro remained silent. He knew it was the truth. He could feel it himself — the absence of that overwhelming heaviness, that void that seemed to swallow the air around it.
The absence itself pressed on him more than the presence ever did.
Tamayo rose, adjusting the sleeve of her kimono.
“I’ll be in the hall. Come when you’re ready, Muichiro-kun.”
He watched her leave, sensing the quiet ache hidden in her voice. She was worried — not just for him, but for Kokushibo as well.
Muichiro looked out the window. A bright blue sky. Not a single cloud.
Tamayo entered the room, where Yushiro was already waiting with a tray.
“I brewed your favorite tea, my lady!”
She gave him a warm smile.
“Thank you, Yushiro.”
He cast a quick, suspicious glance toward the hallway.
“I don’t trust him. He’s way too quiet… and besides — Demon Slayers have always been idiots. He almost killed us last time!”
“Yushiro, enough,” she said sternly. “You’re exaggerating. He’s lost. He’s suffering. You can understand that.”
“Suffering, huh… He’s not thinking about anything except his girl! The world is burning, and he couldn’t care less!”
The demon crossed his arms in irritation.
“Yushiro…” Her voice softened. “Unlike us, he’s human. Broken. And the only thing he has left is love. You and I have seen what Muzan did — centuries of blood and pain. But he… he’s only lived about twenty years. He wants to save the one he loves. That’s not weakness. That’s humanity. And you know that.”
“Tch… these Slayers…”
“I told you, I’m not a Slayer anymore,” came a voice from the corridor.
Muichiro stepped inside and silently sat down across from Yushiro, looking him straight in the eyes.
"That gaze… just like Kokushibo’s. As if he’s looking straight through me…"
“Hey, you!” Yushiro pointed a finger at him. “Don’t you dare touch my lady!”
“I’m not planning to,” Muichiro answered calmly.
Tamayo poured tea and placed a plate of breakfast in front of him.
“My lady! You’re cooking breakfast for him too?! He’s a Slayer!”
“I’m not a Slayer,” Muichiro repeated without looking up.
Yushiro pursed his lips. Tamayo let out a quiet laugh and shook her head.
They’ll get along eventually.
Days and weeks passed. Tamayo continued to treat Muichiro tirelessly, while Yushiro kept throwing displeased looks his way. Muichiro’s body grew stronger; his wounds finally healed. At last, he could hold a sword with confidence again.
He sat on the tatami, staring at the lone moon drifting across the night sky.
Yushiro was lurking behind the corner, squinting.
“Tch, definitely related,” he muttered. “That detachment, that coldness… Kokushibo always sits like that — lost in thought, far away from everything.”
Muichiro felt the stare and turned.
“Do you want to say something?” he asked quietly.
Yushiro grabbed the doorframe as if caught red-handed.
“N–no! I’m just watching. You never know what you’re plotting. Still waters, you know…”
“I’m just sitting,” Muichiro replied with innocent simplicity, tilting his head slightly, as if he genuinely didn’t understand what Yushiro meant.
Yushiro straightened up, covered one eye with his hand, and crossed his arms.
“Tch, why do you tilt your head like that? Is that a family trait?”
Muichiro blinked, not understanding.
At that moment the corridor darkened — Kokushibo had returned from another hunt. Muichiro glanced to the side; Yushiro only shook his head.
“Well, I won’t interrupt your family reunion. Farewell!”
He came when the night was at its blackest.
No words, no warning. He simply appeared — as always.
A shadow that felt more alive than a body. The air tightened, as if frightened. The house grew smaller. Silence of death lay upon Kokushibo’s shoulders.
He looked at Muichiro with six shimmering eyes .
“Your wounds have healed. Are you ready?”
Muichiro nodded.
“Yes.”
“Then follow me.”
They stepped into the garden.
The moon hid behind torn clouds; its light fell like dead ash.
Kokushibo stopped. In his hand — a wooden training sword. He tossed it toward Muichiro.
“Attack me. This will do.” He tilted his head slightly. “A real blade is not for you yet.”
Muichiro tightened his grip. The wood was cold — yet it felt as if someone inside it was breathing… or dying.
He asked no questions.
“Sea of Clouds and Haze,” he whispered.
White fog enveloped the garden as Muichiro dashed forward.
One strike — sharp as a mountain wind.
Kokushibo parried with terrifying ease. He didn’t even look. He knew where Muichiro would be — not with his eyes, but with his body.
"His mist is weak," Kokushibo thought as he threw Muichiro aside. "It only hides him — a boy afraid to face the truth."
Muichiro attacked again. And again.
And every time — defeat. Every movement predicted. Every swing read in advance.
Blood on his lips. Yet he rose. And rose again.
“Mist is only a veil,” Kokushibo murmured. “Are you planning to hide forever?”
Muichiro watched him.
He didn’t feel fear — only a heavy, impossible awe.
"He’s like a deity. The embodiment of battle itself. When I dreamed of becoming strong… I imagined exactly this. Nobility. Ancientness. Silent greatness…"
An ideal. And that made it terrifying.
Kokushibo struck again. The wooden sword flew from Muichiro’s hands.
“You used Moon once. Why not call it again?”
“I… don’t know how. I tried. But I only know the marks…”
“Correct.” Kokushibo’s voice deepened.
He stepped closer. His shadow slid across Muichiro’s face like blood over snow.
“But the marks tear me apart, make me nearly insane,” Muichiro said quietly. “I can’t afford to lose my mind. Or my life.”
Kokushibo gripped his sword.
“You must awaken them. Only then will you reach true strength. Bare your fear. Let the beast inside you out. You are not a hero. Not a savior. You are flesh. Instinct. Do what you must — or die.”
He snapped his fingers — and the world collapsed.
They stood in Kokushibo demon’s domain. His own hell.
The sky vanished. The ground turned into crimson flesh. From the walls stared hundreds of eyes. Swords vibrated in the air like living things.
No sky. No light. Only hunger. Only blood. Only truth.
“These blades,” Kokushibo continued as Muichiro looked around, “belonged to every enemy I have slain. They carry their final words, their final emotions — all drawn into my darkness. You will learn here. If you endure. If you do not lose your mind.”
He attacked first. Without warning.
A strike to the neck.
A strike to the ribs.
He moved like a shadow before dawn.
Like a beast that had forgotten its name. Ancient movements — older than language itself.
Muichiro blocked two blows. Not the third. He fell.
A blade jutting from the ground like a bone wanted to taste his blood — but Kokushibo grabbed the hilt in time.
“Too weak,” he breathed. “The marks. Activate them. Now.”
Muichiro rose. The marks ignited across his skin. He charged.
Fast. Sharp.
He blended with the mist, striking from everywhere. Even Kokushibo stepped back half a pace.
Then — a blow between the ribs.
Blood on his lips. Marks pulsing like burning chains.
“The marks serve,” Kokushibo said. “They do not rule. Yes, they torment you, and yes — they will tear you apart.”
Muichiro kept fighting.
Not from anger.
From pain.
Almost blind. Barely conscious.
He was losing himself — like before.
“First lesson.”
Kokushibo raised his hand.
Swords rained from the sky.
Thousands.
One for his heart. One for his throat. One for his eye.
None killed. But each made him feel death.
A shock of icy clarity flooded Muichiro. Instincts surged — the marks settled into something controlled.
He stood.
Shaking.
Heart pounding like madness.
Kokushibo studied him — all six eyes without a trace of mercy.
“Remember this feeling. Clarity — that is what commands them. And remember, you are a Tsugikuni. A descendant of those who not only mastered the marks — they created them. Out of thousands of Slayers, only you can truly wield them, if your mind remains clear. Our blood will keep your body alive — but only your mind can stop the marks from devouring you whole.”
He lowered his sword. Muichiro still stood frozen.
“Mirror of Misfortune, Moonlit ,” Kokushibo said, unleashing another strike. A crescent of light tore through the world.
Muichiro stood.
Gripping his sword.
The marks devouring him.
But he stood.
He couldn’t die. He must survive.
"Clarity… yes. I lived on inertia, always drifting in fog — so I created fog around myself. But now… it’s different. I feel it. I am stronger than primal fear. I will not lose myself again. And only he can help me become someone who can protect her."
The attack threw him to the ground. The marks extinguished. Only pain remained.
Kokushibo stood over him, sword still raised. His voice was low, echoing — like a stone falling into a bottomless well.
“Tomorrow the real training begins.”
He looked at Muichiro from above — not with contempt, but with merciless clarity.
“I will not spare you. Not once. Not a single blow. Not a single breath.”
The mist trembled as if frightened.
“You think the marks are a path to power. You are wrong. They are only a catalyst. A spark that ignites within the fractures of your soul.”
He stepped closer.
“They will drag out everything. Fear. Rage. Hunger. Everything you hide. Everything you refuse to admit.”
Muichiro said nothing. Breathing heavy. Hands trembling.
“The marks don’t give you strength. They open a door. And beyond that door, you won’t find power — you’ll find yourself.”
He pressed a finger to his own chest.
“I know this because the marks consumed me once. I lost clarity — just once — and it was enough to change everything. I allowed darkness in.”
He exhaled — as if for the first time in minutes.
“That wound never heals. You can either plug it… or tear it open from the inside.”
Silence settled over the garden like a shroud.
Only distant wind moved — like a voice long gone.
“But as I said, the marks do not kill those of our clan. They only try to seize the mind. I was weak — I let them. But my brother, Yoriichi… he mastered them. Mastered pain. Mastered himself. And remained human. He kept his light.”
His voice dropped lower. Almost grieving.
“He became stronger than I ever did — without losing himself.”
He paused, remembering something distant and unbearable.
“And I… allowed myself to be weak. And became what I am today.”
He turned sharply. His back like a mountain — silent, severe, but not indifferent.
“Do not let the marks consume you. Do not let them become your nature. Let them be a tool. Never the master.”
He cast one last look — like a warning, like an oath.
Muichiro remained standing.
He couldn’t feel his fingers. His legs were numb.
His body burned from within.
But in his chest, something flickered.
Meaning.
Even through the pain.
He looked at his hands. At the wooden sword.
And tightened his grip.
"I’ll save you, Toki. Just wait for me."
Chapter 38: The Descendant
Chapter Text
Morning arrived without warning — without the whisper of a rustle, without the glint of dawn. It simply was.
Muichiro’s eyes snapped open — sharply, like a warrior roused not from sleep, but by a forgotten call echoing through the heart of battle.
Silence filled the room — alive, resonant, unsettling.
There was pain.
An echo of yesterday’s lesson.
An echo of Kokushibo.
“In the past, using the marks felt like leaping into the unknown. As if something inside me crushed my ribs inward and wrung the life out of me drop by drop. The consequences were painful, terrifying. But today… it is different. There is lightness. Or perhaps… clarity. The kind I always lacked.”
He rose. In the mirror hanging on the wall, a face stared back — not tormented, not hardened.
Simply… empty.
And yet within that emptiness, something solid took shape.
A decision.
Tamayo entered almost soundlessly — like a shadow made of care.
On the tray she carried was a porcelain cup with medicine, quiet strength hidden within.
“It will soften the aftereffects of the activation,” she said. Her voice was warm, though her gaze remained focused.
“Thank you,” he answered softly, nearly a whisper.
The day passed like a waking dream — dissolved in thought. Muichiro felt no hunger, sensed no time. Only when he finally stood and walked out of the room did he realize: he was ready.
Yushiro appeared without warning — tense and sharp, like a drawn string
"He didn’t look directly at him — only threw sideward glances, quick, wary, catching everything."
“Do you want to say something?” Muichiro’s voice was calm, like the surface of a lake right before a storm.
“No…” Yushiro frowned. “Just… giving you something.”
He held out a scroll. The seal on it was intricate, layered, like an ancient tongue whose last speaker vanished with a forgotten temple.
“This thing concentrates your energy. I made similar ones for Kokushibo,” he muttered. “It’s… a reservoir. Or, if you overload it — a lock. You’ll figure it out.”
Muichiro ran a finger along the paper’s edge. The magic inside stirred — like a slumbering beast.
“It resembles the Demon Slayer seals… but on a completely different scale. This demon is not merely strong. He is… ancient.”
He lifted his gaze.
“Thank you.”
Yushiro stared back — too intently, too deeply, as if trying to read every last thought in him.
“Pft,” he snorted. “I just want to save this stupid world, and I need you for that. Damn… apple doesn’t fall far from the tree… that look…”
He groaned.
“You really are like him.”
Muichiro didn’t answer. But his eyes narrowed in sudden surprise — and for some reason, it didn’t frighten him.
Evening crept in.
The sky drew a gray veil across itself.
The birds grew silent. Even the leaves refused to rustle in this strange forest.
The young man felt the approach of darkness — not night, but demonic.
Then he heard him.
“Are you ready?” The voice came from behind — sudden as always, like a flash.
Muichiro didn’t turn immediately. He already knew.
Kokushibo had come.
When he finally turned, cold, crystalline certainty shone in his eyes.
“Yes.”
They stepped into the garden, where the leaves lay motionless, as if afraid to move.
Kokushibo took up his swords with a grandeur like he was lifting relics of long-dead gods. His footsteps were soundless, his movements unbearably precise. Gloves tightened around the hilts, his face carved into perfect concentration.
Night descended — and swallowed them instantly.
Kokushibo said nothing. But his hand rose.
And everything began.
“Dark Moon, Evening Palace.”
Like the toll of a temple bell in emptiness, his blade split the air. Crescent arcs burst forth — fluid, distorted, like reflections on rippling water.
Muichiro raised his sword and blocked the strike. One, then another — but not the third.
A shadow sprang beside him. A blow.
Pain tore through his leg, then his arm. He fell to one knee.
“In a real battle,” Kokushibo stood over him, “you would have already lost your limbs.”
“Then… I would tie the sword to my hand,” Muichiro rasped, forcing himself up.
“And die with it,” came the cold reply. “Stand. This is only the beginning, descendant.”
He didn’t explain.
He didn’t teach with words.
He showed.
Muichiro understood: the demon, like Muichiro himself, disliked explanations. He taught through experience. Through demonstration. Through the ancient lunar magic — the magic of their clan. They truly were alike.
Kokushibo shifted into a poised stance and spoke:
“Pearl Flower Moongazing.”
A crack.
Both hands on the sword.
Kokushibo moved with fluid grace, yet every step he took birthed chaos.
Crescents burst from the air — like pearls scattering from a shattered necklace.
Muichiro clenched his jaw. His rhythm faltered. Too many.
He scooped a handful of stones from the ground and hurled them. One lunar blade vanished. Then another. Some remained.
“These moons… they’re strange — like fragments of a soul. Their shapes are unique. They feel alive.”
He stepped forward, exhaled — and struck.
The air tore like cloth.
Kokushibo leaned aside. Something flickered in his eyes.
“Loathsome Moon, Chains,” the demon intoned.
One — two.
Two scything arcs, and chains of light interlaced across the sky.
The crescents cut off every retreat, sealing him in.
Muichiro froze — and understood.
“They’re tangible. Not just unique in form, but dense. Solid. Meaning… they can be used.”
He pushed off one of the lunar blades.
His body found its balance.
He rose — above Kokushibo, above the maw of the attack — swung, and missed again.
Kokushibo didn’t move. He observed. He didn’t interfere.
“Drilling Slashes...”
There was no room to breathe. A whirlwind. Cuts upon cuts. Blades twisting into a storm, each coil deadlier than the last.
Muichiro stepped into it. He caught the rhythm of the storm — and slipped through it like a shadow.
“I’ll take this blow.”
He gripped the sword tighter and struck at the oncoming crescent.
The seals Yushiro had given him responded perfectly — Muichiro funneled all his strength into a single point, right where the demon’s seal pulsed.
Then—
He parried.
And the stored energy burst free.
In that moment, Muichiro felt the full force of his ancient blood.
His power was no longer ephemeral, mist-like — no.
It was like the crescents themselves: sharp, clear, and breathtakingly bright.
He was no longer fighting.
He was dancing with Kokushibo’s lunar storm.
He could feel the magic of his lineage thrumming in his veins.
“Mirror of Misfortune, Moonlit.”
Kokushibo’s blade carved the air, and it seemed the world cracked.
One strike, two — and from each, three more were born.
Muichiro felt the vibration rippling through him.
Fissures split the earth where he had stood a heartbeat before.
“You think the moon is light,” Kokushibo said calmly. “But it is the other side of it. It watches, but it does not speak. And yet — you hear it, don’t you?”
Muichiro didn’t answer. But fear no longer lived in his breath. Marks flared across his cheeks.
He wasn’t afraid anymore. He grasped the essence of the magic — felt that it had always been with him. From the very first day he held a sword.
All his mist stances, his veiled techniques — reflections of his clan’s moons.
“Clarity… I understand it now. It’s like these moons — a light living inside my soul. I never felt it before, but now I feel everything.”
He took his stance — firm, unwavering.
“Moonbow, Half Moon.”
The final one.
Six strikes from above.
Like drops of blood falling from a slit sky.
He leapt back — too late. All six moons reached him.
Pain burned through his shoulders, back, chest.
He fell.
He didn’t scream. Only clenched his teeth.
He lay there, staring up at the gray sky — and somewhere behind it, distant, the moon still hung.
Kokushibo approached in silence.
Muichiro pushed himself up on trembling elbows.
His lips quivered.
He lifted his gaze.
In his eyes — not ash. Light.
Blood ran down his forehead, dripping into the grass like an omen of what was yet to come.
The air trembled.
His heartbeat echoed not in his chest, but through the earth itself.
He rose with difficulty — wounds blazing, breath scraping in his throat — but his eyes… remained clear.
Kokushibo did not move.
He waited.
“Is that all?” the demon finally asked, his voice ringing with centuries.
Muichiro closed his eyes.
Shadows of the past flared inside him:
Toki’s hands on his cheek.
Rengoku’s smile.
His brother’s eyes — one second before death.
Heat swept through his body —
and in the next moment… the mark began to spread.
Kokushibo narrowed his eyes. His blade trembled.
“…So you do hear her,” he murmured. “Then… show me.”
Muichiro raised his sword. He didn’t know how. He simply… let his body speak.
A flash. The air bent. A crescent burst from the tip of his blade — wavering, young, its light not harsh, but pure.
The final exchange.
Kokushibo unleashed his moons. Muichiro stepped through them. The mark blazed.
He swung. A second crescent erupted. It didn’t cut. But it stopped the attack.
For the first time.
The wind rippled their clothes.
“…I see,” Kokushibo finally said. “So you truly managed to awaken them…”
He turned away.
“We continue tomorrow.”
And then he vanished — like a dream dissolving at dawn.
Muichiro was left standing alone.
The mark still burned on his forehead, yet the pain had receded. He looked up at the moon.
It still seemed distant. But he could feel it now — watching him in return.
He walked back to his room slowly, as if he didn’t want to disturb the air.
The muted light lay across the walls like a weary, softened haze. Muichiro stepped forward — and his eyes fell upon the letter.
Rengoku Kyojuro’s letter.
He picked it up.
The paper was unexpectedly warm, as if the breath of the one who wrote it still lingered within.
The handwriting — steady, slightly angular, as though even in ink Kyojuro could not hide his blazing straightforwardness. The words — simple. Too simple for the weight they carried. A word wrested from death. A trace of a voice lost beyond the veil.
Muichiro held the letter the way one holds another’s memory — carefully, without trembling, but with the respect that remains after pain.
He didn’t even know why he’d taken it with him.
Maybe he wanted to remind himself of something… or someone waiting beyond the training hall.
Kokushibo stood by the wall, unmoving — as though carved from obsidian.
Pale moonlight split his silhouette, flooding one half of his face with silver, while the other drowned in heavy, breathless shadow.
A shadow too deep to belong to a man.
He did not turn when Muichiro entered. His voice drifted through the room like something spoken underwater — quiet, muted:
“…What are you holding?”
Muichiro stepped closer. Slowly, as if in a dream.
He extended the letter — movements detached, almost instinctive, as though his body itself knew this belonged in Kokushibo’s hands.
“The last words of Rengoku Kyojuro. He managed to leave them for me… He wrote everything he learned. About Toki. About Oyakata-sama. He wrote… that we should have run. Escaped. While there was still time.”
Kokushibo accepted the letter — unhurriedly, almost soundlessly. And read — silently, restrained, slowly. As though each word entered him like a shard, cutting from within.
The silence that settled over the room grew thick as blood — not merely surrounding them, but seeping into their skin. There was no peace in it. Only waiting.
When he finally spoke, his voice was low, distant — as if rising from beneath the ground:
“…He suspected everything. Knew enough to be erased.”
Muichiro didn’t respond.
“Do you believe his words?” Kokushibo asked.
His voice carried the weary impartiality of a judge long tired of his own verdicts.
“Yes,” Muichiro answered without hesitation.
Kokushibo nodded. Slowly, without surprise — as though he had foreseen it. He glanced at the letter once more, then placed it gently on the table.
Not as trash.
Not as a mere object.
But as an offering.
“I learned that the Ubuyashiki clan and Muzan are bound — by blood — when I became a demon. When I left the ranks of the Moons, the world meant nothing to me. Only my purpose remained — a single anchor. I wanted only to destroy Muzan. The Hunters’ organization was irrelevant to me — just noise that briefly held back the darkness while pretending to act for the sake of peace. But the Hunters had long lost the strength to oppose us. Clarity abandoned them when it abandoned me… and my brother.”
He looked at Muichiro and continued:
“But I should have turned my eyes on those who created him. Had I done so earlier — I would have found you. And perhaps others would not have paid the price for my blindness.”
Muichiro held his gaze — long, unblinking. He spoke softly, yet every word fell like a nail hammered into emptiness:
“In Hakone… That was you? You were at my family’s grave?”
“Yes,” Kokushibo replied as though confessing something obvious. “That was the first time I felt your blood. I understood then that you were not just another Hashira — you were my descendant, and perhaps the heir to my strength. I confirmed it later, watching you fight. In Hakone… I learned about the girl as well. But the time had not yet come.”
Muichiro inhaled — hollow, as if the air resisted him.
“Why do you want to destroy Muzan?”
Kokushibo didn’t look away. He stepped closer. His presence felt more than physical — it pressed upon the world, filling the space around them, like the night itself moving forward.
His voice was calm. But in that calm was more than in any scream:
“For the same reason you wished to flee. I was bound by chains of ignorance and madness. I was Muzan’s blade. Until the day I learned the truth — and understood that the rot does not seep from the curse, but from those who call themselves salvation.”
He bowed his head. Not like a man — like someone who knows the weight of repentance, but no longer expects forgiveness.
Muichiro clenched his fists. When his voice came, it no longer trembled:
“If I am your descendant… Then I have the right to know who my clan was.”
The demon’s gaze deepened — bottomless.
The answer did not come at once.
Even the moon through the window seemed to pale, holding its breath.
When Kokushibo finally spoke, his voice changed — no longer a demon’s, nor a man’s, but something ancient, carrying the weight of centuries:
“…It was more than four hundred years ago…”
Chapter 39: Tsugikuni Michikatsu
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“If I am your descendant… Then I have the right to know who my clan was.”
Kokushibo remained silent for a long time. The moon in the window seemed to pale, as if drained of its color. And when he finally spoke, his voice was no longer the same. It had changed—become deeper, older… almost otherworldly.
“It was more than four hundred years ago… In those days, when the word ‘demon’ did not yet send terror crawling into one’s bones, Kibutsuji Muzan was nothing more than a man frail, mortal, desperately clinging to life. He did not yet know that he would soon become the beginning of the end. A clan of healers, moved by pity, offered him a lily: a rare flower whose power could change the very essence of the body. And so, from the desire to heal, a curse was born—one that would cast its shadow over the entire world. Japan then was ruled by a fragile silence. The world was full of whispers—primordial demons, beings who did not yet know the taste of blood, drifted between realms, sustained only by flickers of emotion. Anomalies slid through twilight, leaving faint burns on human souls like the breath of a ghost. Demons, as we know them, were rare. But even then—in the farthest corners—eyes were beginning to awaken, hungry for flesh…"
***
Michikatsu Tsugikuni—that was his name then—was born into a noble clan of swordsmen, guardians of order and protectors of the city of Hakone. The firstborn, destined to become the clan head, he became an older brother to Yoriichi. The boys grew up in warmth and discipline, learning not only the art of the blade but also the wisdom of strategy.
‘Yoriichi, shall we walk to the waterfall after dinner?’ Michikatsu proposed one evening.
‘Yes,’ the younger replied.
And so, under the cloak of night, the brothers went to the waterfall—a place where the world felt like a living breath rather than a weight of expectations. Yoriichi loved it there—among the whisper of water and the silent stars, they could forget their duties and simply be children.
‘It’s so beautiful here,’ Yoriichi whispered in awe, watching the stars shimmer in the water’s reflection.
‘Yeah,’ Michikatsu smiled, sharing the moment.
But in the quiet of the night, amid the murmur of wind, two red eyes pierced their backs.
‘Children… easy prey,’ hissed a cold voice from within the shadows.
The demon crept closer, hidden in the night. But Michikatsu’s heart sensed danger—he stepped between his brother and the encroaching darkness.
‘Yoriichi, don’t move. We’re not alone,’ he said firmly.
Yoriichi pressed against him, fear tightening in his chest.
‘I’m scared…’ he whispered.
Michikatsu drew his sword—his last line of defense.
‘Don’t be. I’ll protect you.’
‘Hah,’ the demon laughed sharply, ‘a mere child cannot defeat me.’
It lunged. Michikatsu blocked the attack and pushed his brother toward safety.
‘Run!’ he shouted.
But the demon had no intention of letting prey escape. It chased after Yoriichi, knocked him to the ground, and raised a clawed hand.
‘No!’ Michikatsu roared, his blade flaring crimson in his grip.
And then something impossible happened.
Yoriichi’s sword blazed with unbearable light, as though the sun itself ignited within the steel. Bright, sharp bursts—like blades of pure radiance—erupted and severed the demon’s head, leaving only smoke and burning shadows behind.
Michikatsu stared, stunned.
“What was that? I saw light—like the sun’s fire in his chest… How did he do that?”
‘Yoriichi!’ He ran to him. ‘Are you hurt? Are you alright?’
‘I…’ Yoriichi’s voice trembled. ‘I imagined my sword becoming the sun… Demons fear the light… I don’t understand… I…’
‘What matters is that you’re alive,’ Michikatsu said, pulling him into a tight embrace.
In that moment, a new magic was born—a force capable of scorching the darkness and annihilating the creatures of night.
Yoriichi invented the magic of the Burning Sun, and Michikatsu—the Bright Moons that cut through all things.
The brothers became legends. Students came to them, seeking to learn their secrets, their sword arts, their magic, their clarity, and their marks. With each passing year, more techniques emerged—new styles of blade and magic.
But eventually, the Tsugikuni brothers understood a harsh truth: only their clan could wield the magic of the sun and moon, and only they could withstand the deadly toll of the marks that granted hunters inhuman strength. Even on the brink of death, losing blood, the marks did not kill the Tsugikuni—they only tried to consume their minds, but clarity, vast and quiet, the very clarity they taught others, remained with them until the end.
Many hunters, knowing this, still risked using the marks. Some resisted their mind-shattering effects but lost years of life; others burned out from the sheer power, dying in battle from exhaustion.
Meanwhile, demons multiplied, and the world changed.
Time passed.
Muzan rose to the throne of the demons, gathering stronger and stronger monsters under his banner.
The clan of healers was blamed for birthing evil—their name became a curse.
Wars engulfed Tokyo, swordsmen fell, and demons burned cities without mercy.
One man heard of all this—a man who sought with all his strength to stop Muzan, and who knew of the brothers, of their magic—the only weapon strong enough to fight monsters.
‘Brother,’ Yoriichi handed him a letter, ‘Ubuyashiki wants to see us.’
Michikatsu looked at the message; the weight of duty settled on his shoulders.
He could not leave Hakone—the traditions demanded that the eldest son lead the clan—so Michikatsu stayed behind, and Yoriichi went alone.
Yoriichi reached Tokyo, met with the head of the Ubuyashiki clan, but refused to work under him and instead formed his own group of demon hunters.
They fought back against demons—and this angered Muzan.
He knew of the brothers and their power. He did not want to face Yoriichi—he was too dangerous.
And so a merciless plan was born.
‘Tamae,’ Muzan whispered, ‘make Michikatsu destroy everything with his own hands. Yoriichi is too hard to reach—he’s surrounded by hunters and has few weaknesses. But Michikatsu… is another matter. They boast so proudly of their clarity… Let him taste what it means to lose control. Let what empowers him destroy him. And you… you will help him drown in his own darkness.’
‘Yes, my lord…’
That night, everything collapsed.
Michikatsu sat in his study, sorting important clan documents—something about Nichirin ore and the Nagano smiths.
A sudden chill ran through him.
He took his sword and stepped into the hall.
And then he saw something that froze his blood.
His brother—now a stranger—entered their home and slew their father and mother with the very sword meant to protect them. He watched Yoriichi pierce his wife and child.
‘Yoriichi! No!’
The marks flared across his cheeks, his grip tightened around the sword.
Michikatsu was swallowed by terror, grief, confusion, sorrow. No clarity—only darkness, mingled with tears and blood.
He saw his beloved brother trying to kill him like a beast.
But anger broke him—his marks erupted, blinding his mind entirely. Darkness devoured his consciousness.
The fight was vicious, brutal, and in the end Michikatsu fell—unconscious, nearly dead. The marks consumed what remained of his reason, refusing to accept the horror before him.
‘Pathetic,’ Yoriichi said coldly. ‘Not even worth killing.’
Michikatsu watched his brother walk away, his heart tearing apart.
The marks gnawed at his mind; his wounds were fatal. Death loomed like a cold shadow.
And then, from the abyss, a voice:
‘Michikatsu Tsugikuni… I know everything. I will give you power. You will avenge them and save your soul.’
Having lost everything, he agreed. The future meant nothing.
He wanted only one thing—revenge.
Muzan’s blood filled him. He ceased to be Michikatsu Tsugikuni.
Kokushibo was born— a demon consumed by hatred.
Years passed. Hunters multiplied.
But Kokushibo slew them by the dozens, sparing not even those who once called him teacher.
To him they had become those who followed Yoriichi’s path—and those who opposed his new master.
Then came the battle in Kyoto—a momentous, pivotal battle.
Yoriichi triumphed—struck Muzan, weakened him, robbed him of much of his strength. The Demon King slowly waned. Yoriichi became a hero.
But Kokushibo was hollow, full of hatred that he drowned in relentless slaughter.
He forgot himself, his past, his humanity.
Muzan did not hold him in chains—Kokushibo had sworn allegiance of his own will.
Years later, Kokushibo finally found Yoriichi again.
“Brother… listen—”
“You will pay for everything, Yoriichi. For destroying our clan…”
The battle dragged on. Yoriichi tried to speak the truth—tried, again and again—but the demon would not listen.
Kokushibo slew his own brother with his own hands, deaf to every word. His blade drank the crimson blood of the one he loved most. But no relief followed. Only a hollow abyss, and a hatred that grew heavier with each life he claimed.
And then—silence.
Only pain.
Only emptiness.
Kokushibo became a legend feared even by demons. He killed without hesitation. Without a name. Without a soul.
And the Ubuyashiki… rewrote their tale. A new history—in which evil was not born from their hand. In which the healers were the ones to blame, the ones who had created Muzan himself. A history where the Tsugikuni became the ancestors of Kokushibo—the most terrifying creature Muzan ever commanded.
Not even Yoriichi’s glorious name could save their clan from disgrace. The Ubuyashiki became heroes, and after Yoriichi’s death took command of the Demon Slayer Corps.
But the curse reached them too.
Muzan began to wither, slowly, but did not vanish. Men of the Ubuyashiki bloodline died at thirty-one—decaying, rotting alive in agony and terror.
In those days, they did not understand the depth of their mistakes. It would take them centuries to comprehend.
Years passed. Centuries.
Muzan fell into an eternal sleep; the magic and blood of Murechi preserved his body, but the wound left by Yoriichi had carved too deep.
Tamae fled.
But Kokushibo found her—still serving the will of her master.
And she told him everything. Everything she had done with her own hands.
She destroyed his clan.
She created the illusion that consumed Michikatsu Tsugikuni’s mind.
She forged Yoriichi’s voice, his image with a blood-soaked blade, his words.
And she hid the true murderer of his family—Kibutsuji Muzan.
“Kill me,” Tamae said. “I have nothing left. He took everyone I loved. I served him too long, and I will not return. I won’t continue preserving his body. Death by your hand, Kokushibo-san, is the only fitting end for the one who destroyed your noble family.”
And then Kokushibo understood. Clarity—cold and merciless—returned to him.
But it was far too late. He had committed too many sins.
His hand trembled.
He saw it all—the truth he had refused to see:
He had killed his own brother. Innocent. The only one he had left.
And Kibutsuji Muzan, the master who had given him power, had slaughtered his family with his own hands.
His heart froze. Darkness and agony flooded him.
Then he made a decision.
“I will not kill you, Tamae. You and I—we are victims, drowned in shadow and deceit. I am still a monster, a murderer. Thousands of deaths weigh on my shoulders, and I will never atone for them, just as you cannot atone for yours. But perhaps… we are the only ones who can change anything now. You, with your knowledge and your curse—and I, with what remains of my strength.”
Tamae felt tears spill down her cheeks. She bowed deeply.
“He destroyed us. But to destroy him, we must wake him. Completely.”
Kokushibo said nothing.
He knew the war would never end while Muzan’s heart still beat. And this time—he wanted to end it forever.
To destroy Muzan, he needed to awaken him.
Not the sleeping phantom.
Not the faded myth.
But the beast itself—breathing again.
Vulnerable again.
A terrifying plan.
Madness.
Nearly impossible.
But there was no other path.
“I will follow you, Kokushibo-san,” Tamae said quietly.
Kokushibo did not answer.
For the first time in centuries, he felt not rage, not hunger— but something heavier.Memory. An ancient name, ringing faintly in his chest: Tsugikuni Michikatsu.
***
Muichiro listened, breath held tight.
The words settled inside him like ash after a fire. He did not know what to say—only heard his own heartbeat, and felt the darkness growing thicker around them,
soaking in the pain the man before him had carried for so long.
Kokushibo said nothing more.
He simply lifted his gaze to the lone moon suspended in the fathomless black sky— cold, unmoving, a mirror to everything neither of them could bring themselves to voice.
Tamae stood nearby, silent.
Her hand tightened on her shoulder—softly, almost fragile. Her guilt, like their suffering, needed no words.
Yushiro exhaled.
Quiet. Almost soundless. But in that silence, it rang like a shot. He understood everything.
Two more weeks passed after that day.
Two weeks during which Muichiro trained with Kokushibo relentlessly, walking through pain and fire each day—by choice, because he had sworn to himself to save.
Meanwhile, in the heart of Tokyo, Douma was speaking with Toki.
“My dear… do you know what humans fear most, from the dawn of their existence?” His voice was almost gentle. Almost human.
Toki said nothing. She tried not to look at him. This demon frightened her. Not with his words. Not with his smile. With his eyes— too alive, too empty.
“Silent… delightful,” he murmured with a smile. “Well then—fear of death is not the deepest fear. There is one even older. The fear of the dark. All-consuming. Bottomless. A chthonic dread sleeping inside every human. Our Kokushibo… he is its embodiment.”
Still, Toki did not answer.
She only closed her eyes— not to see, not to let his poison seep into her thoughts.
“We have work ahead of us, don’t we?” he continued, voice softening like velvet. “To grow stronger. To make this world a little more interesting…
and me… a little happier.”
There was still time before the ritual, but she needed to accept her power— and that was never a quick process.
“Come, my dear, Toki-chan?”
Toki stepped out first. Silent.
Douma lingered for a moment and walked to the window.
Outside, a crow shrieked—sharp, piercing.
“Oh…” he chuckled lazily, narrowing his eyes into the darkness. “It seems someone is watching me. How terrifying… And how predictable.”
Notes:
Hi everyone! I hope you enjoyed the chapter. I took the liberty of changing Kokushibo’s reason for becoming a demon. I just feel he fits so much better as a victim of circumstance, someone who genuinely wants to set things right. Honestly, I really love Michikatsu; he’s such a great character!
As the year is coming to an end, I’m feeling pretty tired - lots of work, lots of things to take care of and on top of that, I accidentally started writing another fanfic. Maybe I’ll show it someday… but no promises, lol.
Wishing you all a wonderful week 🍀
Chapter 40: Kyoto
Chapter Text
“Awakening will demand blood. A great deal of blood. And—a key. A girl whose soul harbors a garden of lilies. The last descendant of a clan that once knelt before evil in hopes of healing. Toki. Toki, whose hands carry not only a gift, but a curse.
How lovely.”
Douma smiled at his own thoughts. His gaze slid across Toki’s silent face, and once again he mused:
“Good thing you fell in love after all. Lucky. Crossing the boundary will be much easier when you have fear. And motivation.
And I know. You fear the dark.”
“Toki-chan,” he said aloud, “did you know the ritual will take place in Kyoto—the sacred land of spirits? Have you ever been to Kyoto?”
Toki lifted her tired eyes to him.
“Yes. Once. Our school took us there on a field trip.”
She held his gaze for a moment. His eyes looked glassy, yet an abyss lived behind them.
"Kyoto… That means it won’t be his space. I might have a chance… maybe to make a call?.."
Douma seemed to sense the flicker of thought.
“By the way, I hope you didn’t bring your phone? That could cause all sorts of trouble…”
“I did,” she answered simply.
"No point in hiding it. He’ll know anyway."
He extended his hand, and Toki obediently placed her phone into it.
“Good girl.”
She lowered her eyes.
"Does he read minds? Or is there a watcher? Or is he just bluffing?.."
When she looked up again, he was already smiling—without moving his lips. Yet his voice flowed directly through her mind:
“Clever. But I allowed you to realize that.”
Toki clenched the hem of her dress in her fists.
They stepped outside— for the first time since she had been thrown into his cage.
A night street. Lantern lights. People walking past, laughing, alive. And not a single one of them suspected who was walking beside her.
The devil in human form. A conductor of fear and pain. A creature bored with the world.
Toki inhaled the fresh air. It smelled of freedom—fragile, impossible, like cracked glass. But beneath her skin something already whispered: this was only the beginning. And it would hurt.
Douma pressed a finger to his cheek.
“Kyoto, Kyoto,” he drawled as a sleek black car pulled up to the curb. “And here is our transportation.”
He opened the door for her with a gentleman’s gesture. She stepped inside. He closed it gently, then moved aside— as if sensing a gaze.
"Annoying insects…"
Crows circled above the rooftops. He looked at them with lazy amusement.
"Still watching? How dull."
He snapped his fingers. The sound of shattering frost followed— then the thud of bodies. The crows fell lifeless, frozen in twisted shapes.
Kagaya felt it in the same instant.
A sharp stab in his chest. Ice. As if a hand from the abyss had brushed against his heart.
“Amane… she’s with him. He planned all of this. Douma… he…”
A call came through. High and musical, like a small bell—mocking.
“Ubuyashiki-sama… oh, forgive me—Oyakata-sama. Spying on couples isn’t very polite, you know. Who can say what kind of relationship Toki-chan and I have?”
Kagaya clenched his fists.
“You promised… you said you would help me. You said—”
“Ah-ah, stop right there. Easy, Oyakata-sama. In your condition, getting upset might make you fall apart. Literally. As for promises… I only said I’d help however I could. But the choice was yours. And you chose… poorly.”
Silence. Kagaya froze.
“What are you—”
“Kyojuro. Rengoku Kyojuro could have changed everything. He was a flame bright enough to burn even us. But you—you extinguished that light. You killed him with your own hands. Tried to hide the truth again, and condemned everyone to tragedy.”
Douma’s voice softened. Almost tender.
“Your clan always errs. And I do enjoy watching how you pay for it. Again. And again. You killed him. Pierced his heart with her sword. And I merely watched. A beautiful death. Tragic. Heroic. But far too late.”
“No… wait!”
Beep—beep—beep.
The line went dead.
Kagaya sat motionless. His eyes were glassy. Only ringing, suffocating silence echoed in his skull.
“Dear…” Amane whispered.
“Amane… they will revive him. He will return. And then we will have nothing left to hide.”
The curse inside him stirred—alive now, pulsing.
Meanwhile, Douma slid back into the car and shut the door.
“Let’s go. We have plenty ahead of us tonight.”
He turned to Toki with a soft smile—one that sent icy shivers crawling along her spine.
“Ah, Kyoto…” Douma murmured, leaning back. “You know, Toki-chan, I’ve always loved the Gion district. Lovely girls, so much tradition… such a delicate scent of an era. And the food! Have you ever tried their yuba tofu?”
He smiled as he watched the highway lights blur past the window— as if he weren’t carrying a victim beside him.
Toki stayed silent. Her gaze was fixed on the darkness outside.
The road felt endless— unbearably long.
And Kyoto… Kyoto was beautiful on postcards. But here, in this car, in this reality, the ancient capital looked like a gate to the underworld.
She was terrified. A coldness clutched her abdomen, her fingers chilled and damp with sweat. Her breath grew shallow.
“Muichiro… you’re there, aren’t you? Just hold on. Don’t give up.”
The car slowed and stopped at the foot of a hill—where a wild path led into the thick forest. Night lay heavy there. Silent. Almost lifeless.
Douma stepped out first, circled the car, and opened her door with courtly elegance, as if they had arrived at a ball.
“We’re here, Toki-chan. Charming place, isn’t it?”
She stepped out, and the Kyoto wind brushed her face. It carried a scent—wet earth, damp moss, and something blooming… something uneasy.
The torii gate. Old, crooked, forgotten. The red paint peeled away. And beneath it—lived a silence so deep it made one want to stop breathing.
All around them stretched crimson spider lilies, an enormous field of blood-red lycoris.
They grew as if they knew their time had finally come.
“Right here,” Douma murmured, gazing at the flowers. “Four hundred years ago. This is where Yoriichi Tsugikuni first wounded Muzan. Glorious times.”
He turned to her.
“Toki-chan. Shall we begin?”
Their eyes met. He didn’t speak aloud, but the voice slid into her mind—soft and sticky, like honey:
“I would have told you about my ability anyway. We’ll need a way to communicate once you cross the boundary between worlds, won’t we?"
He moved in a flash, faster than lightning, seized her. His eyes boring into her soul And Toki’s consciousness shattered. The world slipped off its axis.
She fell through that blooming field—and then everything went quiet. Completely quiet.
When her eyes closed, Douma caught her gently in his arms.
He stood there, holding her like a bride beneath the ancient gate, and the air trembled. As if the earth remembered—
that it was cursed.
Douma took out a thin needle and pricked her finger. A drop of blood fell to the ground— and the soil breathed.
The gate vibrated. The wooden pillars emitted a low, unnatural hum. The flowers bowed, as if in prayer.
“Mmm… not enough,” he muttered, watching the blood sink into the earth.
He pulled out a vial—thin glass, a potion shimmering like stardust.
“Tamayo was always the best of us. Open your mouth, darling. I have something for you. Don’t worry, it’s a very rare thing…”
He gently parted her lips and poured the potion in. Toki’s body jerked; her breathing turned ragged. The vibrations in the air grew stronger.
She was falling. The world plummeted away—Douma, the gate, the night all dissolved. Only one scent remained: lilies. Sharp, sweet, thick—like a dream on the edge of waking.
Toki awoke in a field. Beneath her hand—soft stems, firm petals, earth wet with dew. Spider lilies. Hundreds. Thousands. All crimson, as if she lay at the heart of a wound.
She rose. Her dress whispered across the grass; her bare feet felt the ground—alive, trembling, calling.
“The garden will open only if you find its core,” a voice said.
Warm, like breath against her ear.
Familiar. Douma’s voice.
“Is this… my world?” Toki whispered.
“Yes—yours. I simply opened the door.”
"So it really did appear in my dreams… The atmosphere is the same as in Hakone near Muichiro’s home. I saw his family’s blood on the tree—so I really am connected to those who died. And every time Muichiro was near death, I felt it… It was all true," Toki thought as she walked deeper.
She didn’t know where she was going.
But she felt she had to go *that* way.
Each step echoed like a faint heartbeat.
The lilies parted for her, as if they recognized her. As if they remembered.
And then—she saw it.
Amid the sea of red—one.
Blue.
Cold as a star.
Quiet as a secret.
A blue spider lily.
Toki froze, breath held. The world seemed to stop. The wind died. The petals stilled.
Outside, at the gate, Douma opened his eyes.
“Ah…” he whispered, and joy bloomed across his face—pure, childlike joy. “She… feels.”
He spread his arms toward the vibrations.
The sky shuddered, as if recalling a forgotten language.
The gate answered with a deep, pulsing rumble from the earth itself.
"Just a little more. Everything is going perfectly."
Toki stood before it. The blue spider lily.
It didn’t glow, didn’t burn, didn’t sing. But the air around it trembled—like space trembling before a sword raised above a throat.
“You feel it, don’t you?” the voice whispered.
It was everywhere—in the leaves, in the earth, in her blood.
Toki sank to her knees.
Her fingers trembled. She didn’t know whether she should touch it.
Didn’t know if she would survive if she picked it.
But she understood—if she walked away without touching it, everything would disappear.
“Power awakens when you accept yourself. Even if you’re afraid. Even if you’re shaking.”
She touched the petal. Something stirred inside her. The world inhaled.
A flash. Light—not bright, not burning, but deep, cold. As if a door opened—not just to another world, but to memories that had slept for centuries.
She saw: hands gripping a sword; blood on petals; a woman’s voice calling across time; a fire that didn’t warm, but burned away lies; Muichiro standing in the mist, his eyes holding the same loneliness as hers.
Toki recoiled, gasping. Her chest tightened; her heart beat too fast.
"Enough. That’s all for now. Too soon."
Outside, Douma smiled.
“Hah… there it is. You’re touching the world with your bare hands. And it answers you. How adorable.”
He looked at the torii, and they shook—shivering at the call.
"Soon, Toki-chan. You’re right at the edge. Just don’t collapse too early…"
He traced a finger along her cheek, watching her sleep in his arms.
Light—almost translucent.
But inside her— the key. And the sacrifice.
A dull crack.
Wood exploded, not cut by a sword, but by force.
Muichiro stood with his blade lowered. His breath was steady—yet tension filled his eyes.
Something inside him trembled. Too quiet to be fear. Too deep to be mere exhaustion.
“You’re distracted,” came a voice behind him. Sharp. Like a blade against dry wood.
Muichiro didn’t turn. He knew—the man always watched.
“I—”
“Don’t explain.”
No irritation. No pity.
“If you cannot focus, you’re not even fit to hold a sword. Let alone ask for a new one.”
Muichiro tightened his grip. Silent. Like in childhood, when swallowing pain was easier than speaking it.
“I just…”
Kokushibo stepped closer. His footsteps made no sound—only a shadow lengthening on the ground.
“Foolish. Right now you must think not of the goal, but of the means. Cast aside your thoughts, or they will destroy you and you will lose, descendant.”
Muichiro straightened, gripping his sword firmly. Kokushibo tilted his head, as if studying every vein in the boy’s face.
“You have one week. Obon approaches.”
Muichiro glanced at him. He felt the darkness again—but he was already used to it. He looked ahead with renewed resolve, lowering into a stance.
“I will need a sword.”
Kokushibo gave him only a single glance, then turned and walked into the forest. The trees seemed to part for him on their own.
Muichiro remained standing. With a training blade.
And with a heart in which something burned brighter and brighter— defying the cold.
Chapter 41: His Sword
Chapter Text
There was no wind in this place, no time — only a hollow stillness and the wan moonlight that no one had called.
Muichiro stood at the threshold between darkness and light. His breathing was steady, his blade poised. Yet tonight, everything felt different.
Kokushibo said nothing. His shadow stretched behind him like an ink stain. He approached — slow, almost ceremonial. And something glimmered in his hand.
“Take it,” he said. His voice was firm, like a stone that had lain centuries beneath water.
He offered Muichiro a sword.
The blade was black. Light. Frighteningly elegant, as though forged from the night’s own shadow.
“This sword belonged to me when I was still human — Michikatsu Tsugikuni,” he added quietly. “A name I no longer bear.”
Muichiro did not reach for it at once. He looked at the weapon as if it were alive. It seemed to breathe. And yet he accepted it — carefully, reverently. His fingers closed around the hilt, and the blade answered with a weight he recognized. As though it had been waiting.
“Thank you,” Muichiro murmured. For the first time, his voice sounded not cold, but… almost warm.
Kokushibo did not reply. He only stepped back.
“Tonight is our final training. If you do not die here, you’re ready to face the dawn. My sword will be your companion. Are you prepared, descendant?”
Muichiro drew the blade and sank into a low stance.
“I’m ready.”
“Then let us begin.”
Kokushibo’s sword began to change. Steel became flesh, rippling with hundreds of eyes. Additional blades grew from his body — black as tar. Six bottomless eyes, each with a wicked iris, fixed themselves on Muichiro.
Darkness swallowed them. Hundreds of lunar eyes watched from beneath the earth. Blades driven into the blackened sky and ground trembled in anticipation.
They faced each other. Blades bare. Silence heavy — like ashes after a life burned away.
Kokushibo stepped forward. Space quivered. The sky ignited with violet rings — the orbits of dead moons.
“Mirror of Misfortune, Moonlit.”
The world warped. The air filled with crescent blades spinning along chaotic trajectories.
Every movement of Kokushibo tore the fabric of reality. Every strike — a death dance.
Muichiro barely managed to parry the first blow. The second split open his shoulder. He didn’t retreat. The lunar edge came again. Muichiro stepped aside — and for the first time, attacked.
“Moonbow, Half Moon.”
He invoked it — the magic within his blood.
His swing turned the steel white, but not as before. Not the white of milky mist. Now it shone bright, like the moon carved into a starless sky.
That white illuminated a hidden road through the night — the only path within darkness, leading toward escape.
Six sharp crescents burst forth from that shining arc, descending upon the demon.
One thin blade of air grazed Kokushibo’s cheek.
Kokushibo snapped his fingers. Blades tore free from the walls and hurtled toward Muichiro, guided by all-seeing eyes. He dodged, deflected — the rhythm rising.
“He has grown faster,” Kokushibo noted. “What will you do next, descendant?”
“Pearl Flower Moongazing,” Muichiro whispered.
His attack fractured into chaotic, countless strikes. Every blade of Kokushibo’s was repelled.
Muichiro’s breath trembled. His hand shook. Blood dripped onto the ground.
“This is not enough.”
Kokushibo summoned an enormous crescent, gleaming like a wound carved into the world. It was meant to cleave his descendant in two.
And then it happened.
A mark flared across Muichiro’s face — a pattern of clouds, like those from ancient Japanese prints.
He felt everything: Kokushibo’s breath, the trembling air, the direction of the strike before it even began.
The battle continued. This was no longer training. This was a ritual. Muichiro moved like a shadow gliding over water. He was one with the blade.
He was the heir.
In a single blink, Kokushibo vanished — reappearing before him. The strongest strike. The lunar blade nearly pierced his heart.
Muichiro did not evade. He met the blow — and answered.
A dull crash of steel. Both of them were thrown aside.
Then another strike — sudden, sharp. Muichiro appeared right before Kokushibo’s face, his blade blazing with light, his eyes filled with unwavering clarity and resolve. The Mark granted him inhuman strength, yet did not swallow his mind. Kokushibo took the blow head-on; blood spilled from the wound. His regeneration began at once.
Silence.
Kokushibo lowered his sword. His face was hidden, but his voice — softer than before.
“You are ready, descendant.”
He stepped closer. And for the first time, he extended a hand — bare. An open palm.
Muichiro rose with difficulty and took it. His fingers were blood-stained, but his eyes were full of light.
“Tomorrow it begins,” Kokushibo said. “Be what I failed to become.”
They walked out of the darkness.
Kokushibo said nothing. His footsteps — like the fading echo of a vanishing century — dissolved beyond the threshold. Muichiro followed him into the half-light, heavy with the scent of dried herbs and paper.
They were already waiting. Tamayo — calm as an evening breeze — and Yushiro, tense as if holding a storm inside.
“We need to discuss the plan,” Yushiro said immediately.
“I’m leaving for Kyoto. Now,” Kokushibo replied without turning.
He left.
Yushiro let out a breath and rolled his eyes.
“Classic. Doing everything his own way again. Fine. Let him.”
Muichiro watched him go. The quiet inside him trembled like thin ice.
“Hey! Descendant, don’t drift off,” Yushiro snapped, and Muichiro blinked, pulling his blurred gaze back. “Tomorrow depends a lot on you. Like, oh, I don’t know — the fate of the world, humanity, all that. He knows what he’s doing. So just… let it go.”
“…Alright.”
Muichiro sat down at the table. Tamayo was beside him, her gaze holding a quiet, worried stillness.
Yushiro began:
“The plan is simple. Tomorrow, near midnight, those idiots will start the ritual.”
Muichiro frowned. The air grew heavier.
“It has three phases,” Yushiro continued, shuffling papers covered in seals. “First: locating the spider lily and materializing it in our world. I’m sure Douma has everything prepared. Second: shedding the blood of the sacrifice onto the flower.”
Muichiro jerked his head up.
“Blood?”
His fists tightened. Thoughts of Toki pierced him like shards of ice. She was in danger again.
“Let me finish,” Yushiro grumbled. “Just a drop is enough. The flower awakens, and its power removes the affliction. In Muzan’s case — it does the opposite and reawakens him, since his ‘affliction’ right now is the wound from his battle with Yoriichi Tsugikuni. But the third phase…”
Yushiro fell silent for a moment. His voice dropped:
“In the third phase, the flower demands the life of the sacrifice — the life of a healer from an ancient bloodline. Then it grants the absolute. And Muzan becomes… unstoppable.”
Muichiro remained silent. Yushiro nodded.
“That’s exactly when Kokushibo will drown everything in his darkness. And we — burst in. The girl is saved, Muzan is powerless and still half-asleep. Perfect moment to finish him. You take his head, Kokushibo backs you up.”
Muichiro cast him a doubtful look.
“And how do we break in? And what about the demons?”
“We use their own weapon.”
Yushiro tossed a sphere into the air. It glimmered with a crimson glow.
“Naikime’s sphere. But now it’s bound by my seals, so it obeys me. As for the demons… They won’t understand anything. Darkness will swallow everything, and in that moment — you finish him.”
He paused.
“Kokushibo will be present at the ritual. I can feel it — he’ll open his domain, and then it begins.”
Muichiro sat with his hands clenched. The silence in his chest felt deafening. Something inside him whispered that things could go wrong.
*Toki… I will save you. I swear it.*
Meanwhile, in the ancient capital…
Demons were gathering. Darkness thickened before dawn. The Upper Moons waited for the coming night like beasts before a hunt.
“Is everything prepared?” Akaza asked, standing beneath the crimson sky.
“Yes, A-Akaza. Our L–Lord has already been transported to the gates,” Hantengu rasped, bowing low.
And somewhere in Kyoto, in chambers drenched in lies and chilling luxury…
Douma smiled.
“Everything will be fine, my dear. You only need to begin the ritual. Then everything will change. You’ll see it yourself.”
He spoke softly, as though coaxing spring to bloom — but steel hid behind every word.
“We will open the Gate of Infinity. With the lily… everything will be different.”
He wasn’t lying. But he wasn’t telling the truth either.
“Muzan? Who cares. Let him continue rotting in his coffin. But what comes after — now that will be interesting. Truly.”
Toki remained silent. She doubted. Every word he spoke, every promise he made.
Then he approached her. His voice dropped, becoming almost confessional:
“Do not doubt. He — Muichiro Tokito — will be there. He will come to save you… and then you will save him. From himself. From the demon within. From the darkness that has already consumed him.”
He smirked. His face shone like porcelain, his smile glinting with abyssal delight.
“And you?” the girl asked.
“Me…?” He tapped his cheek with a finger, like a child pretending not to know the answer — before his voice twisted. “I will simply watch. Watch their faces distort. Watch hope crumble. Watch the knife slip into someone’s back.”
He closed his eyes. For a moment.
“Without me, they are nothing. A pack of fools. All I need is a stage, because I adore putting on a show.”
He looked at Toki — piercing, tender, unsettling.
“I’ll let you go. At the right moment. If… you amuse me.”
A smile. One that no human could possess.
A devil’s smile.
Chapter 43: The Ritual Part I
Chapter Text
The ritual took place before the very torii gates, surrounded by hundreds of spider lilies — as if marking a boundary between the world of the living and the realm of the dead.
The dark forest swallowed the moonlight, and even the faint silver glow could not break through the dense canopy.
The grass stood still, untouched by wind or the breath of night.
Time itself seemed frozen, awaiting something inevitable.
Demons had gathered here — like a parade of death. A procession of shadows and chaos upon sacred ground.
The Upper Moons stood together: Akaza, Hantengu, Daki and Gyutaro — positioned beside an enormous coffin, like figures from ancient legends about vampires locked in eternal slumber.
Kaigaku stood off to the side — newly made a Moon and unworthy of standing among the lords.
Kokushibo lingered in the shadows, as though guarding something — either peace, or an avalanche of looming dread.
Douma was the last to arrive. He stepped out of the car and unhurriedly opened the door.
“Darling, it’s time.”
Toki felt her heart tighten, nausea rising to her throat — a knot choking every breath. The demon’s honeyed words now seemed like nothing but bluff, deception before the inevitable.
She stepped out of the car, and hundreds of eyes fixed upon her — as upon a sacrifice.
For that was the role she had been given.
She noticed how Douma theatrically extended his hand to her — like a knight to his lady. She met his gaze… and saw the captivating horror within it: a rainbow kaleidoscope carrying only chaos and discord.
“Toki-chan, take my hand and let’s go!” he winked with a faint, playful smile.
A voice echoed in her mind — quiet, as if belonging to someone else:
“Remember what I told you. He will come. Look — a part of his darkness is already here…”
Douma nodded toward the shadows. Toki’s eyes widened.
He was there — the very one she had seen that night. The one who killed Muichiro in her dream. Kokushibo.
Her heartbeat stumbled, and darkness seemed to swallow her from within. Kokushibo looked at her — inscrutable, bottomless.
“He’s always like that,” Douma said calmly, taking her hand. “Let’s go!”
He dragged her forward into the unknown — thick and cold, like a swamp consuming everything alive.
Only darkness, fear, and the torii gates before them.
Beneath the gates stood the coffin.
“Kibutsuji Muzan…” Toki whispered.
Beside it rose a pedestal — cold and unyielding, like the stone of eternity.
“You need to lie here,” Douma said.
Toki instinctively recoiled.
“Hey, there’s nowhere to run. Or did you forget?”
Fear froze in her eyes. She looked at the man who slept an eternal sleep. Pale skin, slightly wavy black hair, features too fine and beautiful — unsettling in their fragile, otherworldly perfection. The aura around him was terrifying — like something draining all life.
Douma lifted Toki in his arms and gently placed her on the pedestal.
“I haven’t treated even my favorite women this delicately, my dear,” he smirked, with a sweet yet horrifying smile. “Shall we begin?”
His eyes locked onto hers, and Toki felt cold.
Not the cold that bites the skin — the one that lulls the soul.
Her eyelids grew heavy. They began to close.
Toki sank into a world beyond reality.
“The first phase of the ritual has begun,” Douma said calmly.
The demon turned toward the darkness — toward something even he could not name.
“You’re not standing in that corner for nothing, Kokushibo. Show me what darkness truly is, or I’ll be terribly disappointed.”
Then he looked back at Toki.
She resisted his magic faintly — cold, beautiful, inescapable.
He gazed at her as though he were in love. In some way… he was.
For Toki was more than just a girl — she was someone who could make his life brighter, more interesting.
Douma touched her forehead; his eyes shimmered. She finally sank into an icy sleep.
“You have nothing to fear… Without you, I would grow terribly bored and lonely,” he whispered into her ear.
And then he thought:
“So beautiful and fragile… like a flower made of crystal. A shame I must break it.”
Flowers.
Crimson, like fresh blood. They were everywhere. Petals covered the ground in a dense carpet, trembling under an invisible wind.
It felt as though they were breathing — like wounds that had not yet healed.
Toki stood in the middle of that field.
Alone, pale, like a lost soul.
The world was silent.
Only the sky throbbed with unease, filled with a deep, bloody light.
They were everywhere.
“Lycoris… the very ones… blooming at the border between life and death. Their roots — in the past. Their petals — signposts to the next world. And yet… why are they growing beneath my feet?”
The field seemed endless. Red, pulsing. The sky looked like glass smeared with blood. No wind, no sound — as if death itself held its breath. This place was a threshold, and Toki understood that perfectly.
“There was a battle here… once. A ritual site. People fell on this ground. I can feel it. Their screams, their shadows… they’re still here.”
She moved forward, not knowing why. Intuition pushed her ahead, like a forgotten memory.
“I’ve dreamed this before. Only then the flowers were blue… azure… spider lilies. They search for them. They’re like a legend.”
She stopped. Before her — a lily. Blue. Alien among the scarlet ones, as if from another world.
She leaned closer — almost afraid to touch it.
“Here it is. The one. The one that calls. The one where it all began…”
Toki touched the petals. They were cold.
But then — another one. A second. Beside it. Almost identical, but slightly darker. Like a reflection in water.
“I thought there was only one… How strange. And what if… what if he really comes?”
Her fingers froze above the stem.
“Muichiro…”
She closed her eyes, and for a moment, her chest felt lighter.
“Foolish. It’s foolish to believe a demon. But… what if I just stay here? Just stop feeling pain… stop choosing. I’m tired. And here everything is so quiet. So beautiful.”
The world seemed to wait for her choice.
Silent.
Unyielding.
“Douma, how much longer?” Akaza snarled.
His voice tore through the silence like a knife ripping open the fabric of a dream.
Douma spread his arms theatrically, smiling with syrupy sweetness.
“Don’t rush the girl. You know how hard important decisions are for them… Though... what would you know about that?”
The smile was honeyed; the eyes—pure ice.
Akaza slammed his fist into a boulder beside him.
“Shut up. The Master cannot wait any longer. The mortal world is far too dangerous for him right now.”
“Ah, you’re such a bore,” Douma sighed. “Fine, fine.”
He leaned down abruptly and shook Toki by the shoulders. She remained in the world of lilies—silent, pale, untouchable. Asleep. But his frostbitten gaze slid into her consciousness like a blade.
“Come now, darling. Let me in… completely. You’re already at the threshold—so let me look deeper… and help you cross it.”
Toki knelt beside the flower. Her fingers grazed the petals as though saying farewell.
“I will awaken evil,” she whispered. “And all of it… thanks to something so fragile, so beautiful.”
A voice echoed through her bones, soft yet chilling.
“I see everything,” Douma breathed, with terrifying precision. “Even the things people hide from themselves. You found it, didn’t you? The blue flower… I can feel the air trembling around you.”
“I don’t want to become something born of evil,” Toki exhaled, her voice shaking.
“What? No, no.” His tone softened, almost gentle. “You won’t. It’s all for him, isn’t it? For Muichiro? And me… I’m simply curious to see how all of you play your parts.”
“I don’t trust you,” she whispered. “You always lie.”
“I never lie, Toki-chan. I merely… speak differently.”
And then she heard it.
A voice.
Warm. Sharp. Real.
Muichiro.
A pulse of sound through the fog. Her heart lurched, tears burning her eyes.
“I told you. Time to come back. I’m here.”
Tears welled. Her throat tightened. Toki shuddered. Gasped. And—
Awakening.
A sharp inhale. Air like an icy blade.
Pain crashed over her like a rockslide. Blood surged from beneath her ribs. Her vision split. She lay on the ground—an ice dagger buried in her abdomen.
“Just a drop would’ve been enough…” Douma murmured. “But I couldn’t resist. And there’s still a third phase ahead. Bear with me, dear. Things are about to get even more interesting.”
Toki forced herself upright.
Her hand pressed against her stomach—hot, sticky blood seeping between her fingers.
Pain. Blinding. Nauseating. Silencing.
She looked around—but Muichiro wasn’t there. Only darkness. Six eyes staring from the void. All-seeing. All-waiting.
The flower settled onto Muzan’s chest. Slowly faded into his body.
“Just a little more,” Douma whispered.
She felt herself slipping. Life draining through her fingers like water. Pain unbearable. But something inside her still held on.
Blood spilled like molten ice. Her heartbeat slowed. Her vision dimmed.
“And here it is—the moment of truth…” Douma breathed, watching the lily disappear. “Forgive me, Toki-chan. I simply must know what happens next…”
Frost flared in his palms.
Blades of ice rose—hungry for blood.
They arced toward her, gleaming.
She didn’t even have breath to scream. But she lifted her head.
“Forgive me… Muichiro. I…”
Toki did not cry out. She only raised her head to meet death. She saw them—flying straight at her.
A flash.
The crack of a blade.
A rush—
Darkness.
The world folded into thick, ringing black.
Warmth. Sudden, enveloping.
And then, again—absolute darkness.
But within it—a white arc, a crescent moon, tearing through the icy blades, slicing the thin red thread at her throat— the thread that bound her to Douma.
She blinked.
And saw him.
Turquoise eyes. Like sunlight drowning in water. His voice low, trembling with fury and fear:
“Toki. I’m here. Don’t you dare die.”
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LizzyDannah03 on Chapter 2 Sun 28 Sep 2025 12:44AM UTC
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LizzyDannah03 on Chapter 3 Sun 28 Sep 2025 12:56AM UTC
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Millie (Guest) on Chapter 4 Wed 24 Sep 2025 02:39AM UTC
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Lilooloo on Chapter 4 Wed 24 Sep 2025 09:04AM UTC
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Millie (Guest) on Chapter 5 Wed 24 Sep 2025 02:51AM UTC
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LizzyDannah03 on Chapter 5 Sun 28 Sep 2025 01:15AM UTC
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LizzyDannah03 on Chapter 7 Sun 28 Sep 2025 01:34AM UTC
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CaseinNitrate (Guest) on Chapter 8 Sat 20 Sep 2025 05:37AM UTC
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KazenoKokyu on Chapter 11 Sat 30 Aug 2025 02:38AM UTC
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KazenoKokyu on Chapter 11 Sat 30 Aug 2025 01:31PM UTC
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KazenoKokyu on Chapter 12 Tue 02 Sep 2025 04:54PM UTC
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KazenoKokyu on Chapter 13 Fri 05 Sep 2025 11:34AM UTC
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Lilooloo on Chapter 13 Fri 05 Sep 2025 05:46PM UTC
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KazenoKokyu on Chapter 13 Fri 05 Sep 2025 06:21PM UTC
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KazenoKokyu on Chapter 14 Tue 09 Sep 2025 01:15PM UTC
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Lilooloo on Chapter 14 Tue 09 Sep 2025 03:59PM UTC
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ZhigulMangalova (Guest) on Chapter 14 Wed 01 Oct 2025 12:42PM UTC
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KazenoKokyu on Chapter 15 Fri 12 Sep 2025 06:58PM UTC
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Lilooloo on Chapter 15 Sat 13 Sep 2025 09:49AM UTC
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KazenoKokyu on Chapter 15 Sat 13 Sep 2025 06:22PM UTC
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KazenoKokyu on Chapter 16 Tue 16 Sep 2025 10:38AM UTC
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LizzyDannah03 on Chapter 16 Sun 28 Sep 2025 02:51PM UTC
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Millie (Guest) on Chapter 16 Thu 02 Oct 2025 01:33AM UTC
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Lilooloo on Chapter 16 Fri 03 Oct 2025 05:29PM UTC
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