Chapter Text
The night smelled of damp earth and wild chrysanthemums. The air, cool and heavy with the usual tension that followed any meeting involving all the Hashira, was almost tangible in the gardens of the Ubuyashiki Manor. Giyuu, standing in his usual spot, slightly apart from the group, watched silently. The discussion about the Infinity Train incident and the appearance of an Upper Moon still resonated in the air, mixed with the echoes of the usual friction between his comrades.
His gaze shifted from an injured Rengoku when Shinazugawa's voice broke the silence that had preceded a statement made by Himejima.
"At least that brat Kamado didn't die," there was a hint of annoyance in his voice, as if that were inadmissible. "Although his compassion for demons is still a nuisance."
"Your lack of tact is, as always, a spectacle, Shinazugawa," Iguro murmured. Kaburamaru hissed softly on his neck as if agreeing with his statement.
Giyuu said nothing. His eyes, a dark and calm blue, moved from the furious figure of the albino to the rigid and critical posture of Iguro. A familiar emptiness expanded in his chest. They were chaos, yes, but a chaos connected by invisible threads of respect and a shared history from which he always felt excluded. He was the extra piece, the Pillar who, according to some—and himself—should not be there, because he didn't believe he deserved such a position.
"You say that as if you didn't agree with me," murmured Shinazugawa, furrowing his brow in his friend's direction. Iguro said nothing in response, simply held his gaze before shifting it forward to observe Himejima.
"I believe young Kamado has a promising future," Rengoku interjected. Who better than him to know about Tanjiro's performance? He was the one who saw him fight with everything he had during that endless night, providing support at key moments. His words, not Giyuu's. "He has a wild spirit that could face any demon!"
Shinazugawa grunted a denial in response but remained silent.
"Kamado-kun..."
Whatever Kocho was about to say was cut short by a change in the atmosphere.
Suddenly, the air seemed to turn vicious. Not like a poison, but as if the very space were being torn from its seams. An oppressive, dense, and unnatural pressure made all the Hashira reach for their swords at the same time. Even Giyuu went on guard, instinctively adopting a defensive posture.
Outside, among the flowering bushes, a figure materialized from a dense violet mist. It wasn't tall, and its skin had a purple, translucent hue with small dots that glittered intermittently, like stars covering its entire body, as if it were a galaxy trapped in a jar. Its eyes, without pupils, radiated a gloomy glow that made hairs stand on end.
"Pillars of the past..." its voice was a multiple whisper, as if thousands of people were speaking at once. "What an interesting outcome."
"A demon!" Kanroji shouted, drawing her sword and stepping forward, ready to fight.
"Do not approach," Himejima warned, his powerful voice cutting through the night. "Its presence is strange! It's not like Muzan's demons."
The demon let out a hollow laugh that echoed everywhere, extending its long, thin arms. There was no physical attack, no war cry. Only a sudden and absolute silence, followed by a flash of light that was not white or gold, but the color of an eternal twilight sky that was hypnotizing. Giyuu felt the world fade around him, felt the ground ripped from under his feet. An irresistible force pierced through him, not with pain, but with a cold and disorienting sensation of being dragged from his own reality.
He staggered, unable to find a foothold. A sudden dizziness churned his stomach. However, as soon as it all began, it ended, followed by a shout in a strangely familiar voice but with a note of desperation that could never belong to him.
"'Nemi!"
When the light faded, the garden was still there. His comrades were still there, all in defensive positions, confused. But they were no longer alone.
Three additional figures stood in the center of the clearing where the demon had been seconds before. The demon itself had disappeared.
The first figure, of powerful build, bore the same scars as Shinazugawa marking the skin of his face, though he carried the marks of many battles and lacked the perpetual anger of the Shinazugawa Giyuu knew. He wore the same uniform, but it seemed to fit him differently, with a serene and dangerous confidence. He was lying on the ground, wincing in discomfort from a fresh wound that ran down his arm.
Hovering over him was the second person. Giyuu's heart skipped a beat, because it was him. Unmistakably him. Although he no longer wore the two-patterned haori, his shorter but equally messy hair and his gaze of a blue so similar to his own were enough pieces to fit into the puzzle Giyuu had created in his head. However, there was an expression of panic and fear that he hadn't seen on himself in years and believed he would never see again. His posture was tense and protective, his sword pointed forward at a possible threat, his body acting as a shield for a fallen and exposed Shinazugawa. When he finally realized there seemed to be no risk, his grip on his weapon softened. But he didn't avert his gaze as Giyuu normally would; instead, he held it with a quiet acceptance.
The third figure was Iguro. Without the bandages covering his scarred face, Giyuu found it hard to identify him, but when a gust of wind stirred his hair and his dual-colored eyes were exposed, he finally recognized him. Kaburamaru was much larger, observing calmly from his shoulder. His hand was on the older Tomioka's back, his sword also pointed forward. However, just as with the other man, upon seeing no real danger around, he seemed to relax and, instead, began to scrutinize his surroundings with a calm, assessing air.
"'Yuu," the older Shinazugawa spoke with a hint of discomfort, breaking the tense silence. "My back hurts. Get off me, will you?"
His older self blinked down at him in confusion before becoming aware of his position and, with Iguro's help, straightened up before offering a hand to the older albino.
"My apologies," was all he said, his voice low and calm, almost a whisper that could be lost in the night wind.
It was Kanroji's shout that snapped them out of their trance, making them see that this was very, very real.
"Wh-what is this!?" she asked confusedly, pointing a finger at them. "A trick of the demon? Illusions?"
"I'm afraid we are not illusions," declared the future Iguro, his voice the same, but with a deeper, more mature tone, less sharp. "Though I wish we were."
The older Shinazugawa crossed his arms, an action his younger self often did, but on him it seemed a gesture of patience and meditation, not frustration and anger. "It seems that brat has played a nasty trick on us," he said, and his gaze settled, to everyone's surprise, on him, on Giyuu. Not with disdain, but with something that seemed... affectionate recognition, as if he were remembering something distant.
Giyuu felt a wave of confusion. That gaze was something he yearned for and yet found terrifyingly foreign.
"Who are you?" demanded the real Shinazugawa, drawing his sword. His face was contorted in a grimace of fury.
Tomioka spoke, not for the first time but directed at them. His voice was equally calm, but there was an underlying warmth, a certainty that resonated in the air. "We are you," he stated the obvious, simply and directly. "Just... from a more distant time, I'm afraid."
A murmur of disbelief ran through the Pillars. Kocho approached, her smile sweet but her eyes sharp as spears, assessing the situation. "That's impossible. And if it were true, why you? You're never together," she asked, her gaze shifting between the three newcomers, seeming to grasp the strange harmony that enveloped them.
It was then that Giyuu saw it. While the Future Iguro answered Kocho with an explanation about a demon that manipulated time and how they were sent to face it, the Future Shinazugawa moved. He approached his older self and, with a movement so natural it seemed he had repeated it a thousand times, brushed a speck of dust off the shoulder of his haori with his finger. It wasn't a rough or impersonal gesture. It was intimate. Affectionate. And the Future Giyuu didn't flinch or pull away. He simply inclined his head slightly in silent thanks, his shoulder relaxing under the touch, like a cat accepting a caress.
Then, as if aware of something, he pointed to the albino's arm and murmured something Giyuu couldn't hear; however, Future Shinazugawa just shook his head and moved his arm as if to say: it really doesn't hurt, see? It's nothing.
There was a flicker of hesitation on Future Giyuu's face, lasting only a second before he nodded.
Giyuu held his breath. That small interaction, that casual and meaningful touch, was more shocking than any declaration they could make. How? When? Why?
He wasn't the only one; Iguro had seen it too. His eyes narrowed behind his bandages, and a deep, confused furrow appeared on his brow. His future self noticed his gaze and held it, not with challenge, but with a sort of resigned understanding.
"It seems," said Future Iguro, addressing everyone, but his gaze still fixed on his younger self, "that we are stuck here. And until we figure out how to defeat Akumu in the future to close this rift, we will have to... coexist."
Himejima nodded.
"Then, I will inform Oyakata-sama about this."
The word "coexist" echoed in Giyuu's ears like a bell toll. He, who could barely hold a conversation with his comrades, now had to face a mirror of a future where, apparently, things had changed. Where the friction and glances between Shinazugawa, Iguro, and him were not charged with hostility, but with something more. Something that made him feel a pang of longing so sharp it nearly buckled his knees.
The night no longer smelled of chrysanthemums. It smelled of chaos, of paradox, and of the disturbing scent of a possibility he had never dared to dream.