At last, the oppressive presence left behind by Muzan completely dissipated.
"Hah… hahaha…
That idiot…"
Inosuke collapsed onto the carpet of the grand hall, utterly unconcerned with the wound on his neck that was still seeping blood. Both hands braced against the floor, he burst into hysterical laughter.
The laughter echoed through the vast, empty hall. Blood trickled down his neck, soaking into the collar of that gorgeous High Priest's robe—like a crimson spider lily blooming in snow.
Below the platform, Tanjiro and Zenitsu stared, dumbfounded.
For a brief instant, that laughing boy—those eyes gleaming with madness—overlapped perfectly with the image of his father.
Too similar.
Not just in appearance, but in that bone-deep, mocking disdain for everything.
"Squish… squish…"
Accompanied by the wet sound of flesh writhing, Doma's head finally finished regenerating.
He didn't even bother wiping the blood from his face. Instead, he rushed forward and pulled Inosuke tightly into his arms.
"Oh my, oh my! Amazing! Absolutely amazing!"
Doma hugged Inosuke hard, rainbow-colored eyes blazing with an excitement never seen before.
"Inosuke! Did you see that?!
That high-and-mighty Lord Muzan, that stone-faced boss of mine—he actually ran away because of you!
You made him choke on it! You actually scared that coward!"
He cupped Inosuke's face, his gaze slipping past his shoulder toward the hall's entrance—the place where Muzan had vanished.
The gentle smile on his face instantly sharpened into something venomous, like a snake guarding its prey.
"That's another debt added to the ledger~"
But in his arms, Inosuke's laughter abruptly stopped.
"…Dad."
His voice was soft—so light it was almost carried away by the air.
The smile faded from his face, replaced by a sorrow and exhaustion far beyond his years.
"…What was I laughing about, just now?"
Inosuke stared at his own hands.
"These past few days… sitting up there, watching those believers kneel and cry—
Some sell their sons and daughters for money.
Some eat their own children just to survive.
Some have mountains of wealth and still aren't satisfied.
And then there are people like Shōsaburō… who, in the name of filial piety, became their mother's killer."
He lifted his head. His heterochromatic eyes reflected Doma's beautiful face.
"Hey… Dad.
I think I… kind of understand the old you now.
This world is so rotten… living is so painful…
Isn't it possible that letting them die without pain, letting them end their miserable lives inside a beautiful dream…
is also a kind of… merciful salvation?"
This was the first time Inosuke had ever voiced such a thought.
And it was exactly the creed Doma had preached for centuries.
Doma froze.
Looking at the hollow-eyed child before him, he seemed to see himself from hundreds of years ago—
Back when he was still human, seated high above, listening to people's ignorance and suffering, and finally concluding that death itself was salvation.
But now…
Smack.
Doma suddenly reached out and flicked Inosuke on the forehead—not hard, not soft.
"Stupid kid," he scolded, though his tone was full of affection.
"That way of thinking… yeah, your dad used to believe it was right.
I thought humans were pitiful and foolish, that living was nothing but suffering—so I 'freed' them, ate them, and let them live forever with me."
He reached out and gently touched the wound on Inosuke's neck, using his Blood Demon Art to stop the bleeding.
The icy sensation made Inosuke shrink his neck instinctively.
"But, you know…"
Doma's voice softened.
"Ever since I had Kotoha… and you, you little troublemaker…
I realized I was wrong.
Sure, living is hard. Sure, tragedies like Shōsaburō's exist.
But look—Kotoha's tempura is delicious, right?
You risking your life for your friends looks pretty cool, right?
And when our family is together, bickering and laughing… that's happiness, isn't it?"
He looked straight into Inosuke's eyes.
"If you die… there's nothing left.
No tempura. No hugs. No tears.
That empty 'paradise'—Dad's had more than enough of it.
As long as you live, your own paradise will eventually appear."
"Even if Dad doesn't know what the correct answer really is…"
Doma smiled brightly.
"Let's go look for it together.
Whether it's hell or heaven…
As long as we're together as a family, we'll find something better than death."
Inosuke looked at him.
At that moment, there was no trace of a demon's cruelty—only a clumsy father trying his best to teach his child how to love life.
"Tch."
Inosuke turned his head away, eyes burning.
Not far off, in the shadows—
Daki watched the warm scene, suddenly deflating like a punctured balloon.
A hollow ache surged up in her chest.
"Waaah…"
She suddenly turned and buried her face in Gyutaro's withered chest, crying loudly.
"What's wrong, Ume?" Gyutaro asked awkwardly, scythes still raised.
"It's nothing…"
She sounded like a wronged little girl.
"Brother… why is everyone else slowly getting better?
I want that too… I want that warmth… I want that kind of life…"
Gyutaro fell silent.
He reached out with his black-spotted hands and gently patted her head.
"You'll have it, Ume."
He looked toward Inosuke's family, a glimmer of hope flashing in his eyes.
"Since we chose this place… since Inosuke calls us family…
Then we… we'll be happy too."
Hundreds of kilometers away from the Paradise Cult, in a certain town—
Bright sunshine. Bustling streets.
A man wearing a flame-patterned haori was energetically carrying out his patrol.
"Mmm! Delicious!!
Inosuke and the others really should try this—!"
Rengoku Kyojuro sat at a roadside soba stall, bowl in hand.
His booming voice startled the passersby, who turned to stare, but Rengoku didn't care. He finished the noodles in a few gulps, slammed the bowl down, and pulled out several crudely drawn portraits.
"Boss!"
Still shouting at full volume, he shoved the drawings into the vendor's face.
"The noodles were excellent! But I have a more important question—
Have you seen these three boys?!"
The vendor stared at the drawings—four circles with two eyes and a mouth.
"…Sir, is this some kind of talisman?"
"Not a talisman!"
Rengoku declared righteously.
"A very handsome boy! A red-haired boy! And a blond boy who cries all the time!
Have you seen them?!"
The vendor trembled. "N-no… I haven't…"
"Mm! That's unfortunate!"
Rengoku immediately packed up the drawings, left the money, and strode off.
"Then I'll ask the next place!"
Thus, a strange legend was born in this peaceful town:
A loud, flame-cloaked swordsman who asked everyone he met.
He popped out of the bushes while a young couple was kissing by the river.
"Pardon me! You seem very affectionate! But may I ask if you've seen these boys?!"
The couple nearly fell into the water.
He even knocked on the door of a public restroom.
"Good sir inside! Though you seem busy! Might you recall seeing these children?!"
An enraged shout came from within: "GET LOST!!"
Though his behavior was absurd and he was rejected time and again, Rengoku Kyojuro's smile never faded—and the fire in his eyes never went out.
Night fell.
At the Paradise Cult.
Moonlight filtered through the leaves.
Kotoha sat beneath the corridor, needle and thread in hand, sewing a new outfit for Nezuko.
Nezuko sat obediently beside her, eyes curved into crescents, holding fabric up to compare.
Nearby, Daki was helping too.
Though a courtesan, needlework was not her strong suit. She fumbled clumsily, trying to sew a jeweled flower onto a sleeve, pricking her fingers again and again.
"Ow!"
Daki angrily threw the needle aside.
"This stupid cloth is impossible to work with!"
"Miss Ume, don't be so irritable," Kotoha said gently, setting her work down and smiling as she pulled Daki closer.
"Here, I'll show you—like this… gently pass it through…"
She guided Daki's hands patiently.
Her hands were warm and soft, carrying the reassuring scent of soapberries.
Daki froze.
She stared at Kotoha from so close—those eyes as gentle as spring water.
Every time Kotoha held her hands, she lost focus.
Aside from her brother, no one had ever… held her hands like this.
That unfamiliar, almost maternal warmth—combined with the recent emotional turmoil—made the Upper Rank Six's eyes suddenly redden.
"What's wrong, Miss Ume?"
Kotoha noticed at once and softly set the needle aside.
"Is something troubling you? If you don't mind, you can tell me."
Daki bit her lip, head lowered, like a child who'd done something wrong.
"Kotoha… Auntie.
I… I envy you all.
Inosuke was hurt, driven back here—but he has you. He has Lord Doma.
But my brother and I…"
Her voice trembled.
"I keep thinking about the past.
That filthy, stinking riverbank at Rashōmon.
That mother who always beat me. That samurai who tried to burn me alive.
I feel… like I don't belong here.
Like I don't deserve this warmth."
Kotoha listened, eyes filled with compassion.
She didn't lecture. She simply reached out and gently but firmly pulled Daki into a hug.
"Silly child."
She stroked Daki's beautiful silver hair.
"There's no such thing as deserving or not.
If you want it, this is your home."
"Are you afraid?" Kotoha asked softly.
"Afraid of the place that hurt you so badly?
Afraid of Yoshiwara?"
Daki stiffened.
That place was her nightmare.
Her stage of fame.
The source of all her tragedy.
"…Yeah. Maybe.
Even though I was an oiran there, even though no one dared touch me…
I still hated it. Hated the smell…"
Kotoha released her and looked into her eyes.
Those gentle eyes now shone with a strange resolve.
"Then… let's go there."
She smiled and made a shocking proposal.
"Let's go to Yoshiwara."
"Huh?!"
Daki's eyes widened.
"Go there? Why?!"
"To face it."
Kotoha gently adjusted Daki's bangs.
"I want to go with you.
I want you to see that you're no longer that helpless little girl.
With me there. With everyone there. No one will hurt you again.
Let's overwrite those bad memories… with new, happy ones. Okay?"
"Mm! Mm-mm!"
Nezuko excitedly raised her hand, saying she wanted to go too.
Daki stared blankly at Kotoha—then threw herself into her arms, tears soaking her clothes.
"Okay… I want to go too…
I want you all to see how beautiful I was as an oiran…"
The next day—
When Kotoha told Doma her plan,
Doma, who had been peeling grapes for Inosuke, dropped one straight to the floor.
"Huh?! Yoshiwara?!"
He shook his head violently.
"No, no, absolutely not!
Kotoha, it's too chaotic there! And so far away!
What if you run into the Demon Slayer Corps? What if you meet bad people?
And you're all women—going to a pleasure district—"
"Doma," Kotoha interrupted, her gaze unwavering.
"I've decided.
Miss Ume needs closure. And besides…"
She looked out the window.
"Since coming to the Paradise Cult, I… don't think I've ever left this mountain.
I want to see the outside world. I want to see the places where Inosuke once fought."
Doma froze.
He looked at her.
For over a decade, he had protected Kotoha too well—like a canary in a gilded cage.
He gave her luxury, gave her endless affection.
But he had forgotten—she was human. She yearned for freedom.
A deep sense of guilt washed over him.
Yes. As a husband, as a leader—he couldn't even walk with her under the sun.
"…I understand."
Doma sighed, his playful grin fading.
"Then… go."
He turned to look at Daki and Gyutaro, who were peeking from behind the door.
His gaze sharpened instantly—an unquestionable command from Upper Rank Two.
"Daki. Gyutaro. Listen carefully.
This trip—your only mission is to protect Kotoha and Nezuko.
If Kotoha loses even a single hair… or suffers even the slightest grievance…"
A terrifying chill radiated from him.
"…You know what to do."
"Yes!!"
The siblings snapped to attention and answered loudly.
Not far away, leaning against a pillar and watching everything—
Watching his mother pack, watching Daki's excitement, watching the old man's reluctant compromise—
Inosuke's lips curled unconsciously into a smile.
A smile from the heart.
"…This is nice.
This… is what a family is supposed to be like."
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