Inside a small cabin deep in the mountains, the candlelight flickered softly.
The room was thick with the smell of medicine.
On the bed lay Kamado Tanjuro, his body so thin it seemed little more than skin stretched over bone. His breathing was faint—so faint it was almost impossible to hear.
Beside the bed, a gentle woman had fallen asleep from exhaustion.
It was his wife, Kie Kamado.
"...Haa."
Suddenly, a soft exhale broke the silence.
Tanjuro, who had been lying motionless with his eyes closed, slowly opened them.
The dim, weakening gaze he had carried for so long suddenly shone with startling clarity. And the body that had been too weak to even stand seemed, for a brief moment, to regain a little strength.
Yet the sudden return of vitality brought him no joy.
Instead, his eyes lowered.
The thin skin clinging tightly to his gaunt face seemed filled with quiet sorrow.
"I… am going to die."
He simply knew it.
Perhaps his mind had become too clear.
Everything in the world suddenly felt incredibly vivid—so vivid it was almost overwhelming.
He could sense the moment each snowflake touched the ground outside.
He could see the faint puffs of breath escaping his sleeping wife's lips.
Even the tiny ants hidden in the cracks of the doors and windows seemed clear in his awareness.
Tanjuro understood.
This was the final flare of life before death.
His last moment of clarity.
Slowly, he struggled to sit up and stand.
He quietly looked down at his wife sleeping beside the bed.
In the final moments of his life, he wanted to say goodbye.
His hand lifted, moving toward her shoulder.
But just before touching her—
He stopped.
Regret.
Reluctance.
Guilt.
Fear.
And finally… helpless resignation.
He couldn't bear to pass the pain of his approaching death onto her.
Even if she could remain unaware for just one more day…that would be enough.
He stood up quietly. After one last lingering look at his wife, he silently stepped into the next room.
There, his children slept peacefully.
Takeo.
Shigeru.
Rokuta.
Tanjiro.
And his daughters—
Nezuko and Hanako.
One by one, he gently pulled the blankets back over them where they had kicked them off in their sleep.
"I wish… I could stay with them a little longer."
"I wish I could see my children grow up."
Looking at their peaceful faces, Tanjuro's eyes filled with deep reluctance.
But he could feel it clearly.
The life within his body was fading.
Time would not wait for him.
No matter how unwilling he was—
No matter how much he wanted to stay—
Everything would slip away from him, little by little.
Quietly, he walked over to Tanjiro's side.
Seeing the fatigue etched across his sleeping eldest son's face, Tanjuro felt a deep ache in his chest.
He knew that during his illness, this boy had silently taken on the responsibilities of the family.
"…He's still so young."
He wanted to cry, but held back his sorrow. He reached out and gently patted his son's cheek.
Tanjiro, startled awake, saw his father suddenly standing before him. His eyes filled with shock, then overwhelming joy.
In that moment, Tanjiro wanted to wake the whole family, to share this happiness with everyone—his mother, his sisters, his brothers... everyone.
"Shh."
Tanjuro placed a finger gently against his lips.
Seeing the excitement in his son's eyes only made the guilt in his heart heavier.
But no matter how painful it was, there were things he had to pass on.
This was the responsibility carried by the Kamado family.
Not only the burden of their household—
But something their family had protected for generations.
Tanjiro quickly closed the mouth he had been about to open.
"Put on your clothes," Tanjuro said softly.
"Come with me."
Tanjiro nodded firmly.
He dressed quickly, carefully stepping over his sleeping brothers before following his father outside.
The snow outside was heavy.
Large flakes drifted through the night like falling feathers, and thick layers of snow had already piled up across the ground.
Weather like this—cold and snowy—was perfect for selling charcoal.
If Father had still been healthy, the family would have earned quite a lot by now.
But Tanjiro was still young.
He didn't have enough strength.
Even after working hard for a long time, the charcoal he could produce was limited.
And he wasn't nearly as good at selling it as his father had been.
Because of that, he hadn't been able to earn much money for the family.
Tanjiro looked at his father's back as he walked ahead, his heart filled with joy.
Father has gotten better…
Everything will be alright now.
Life will only get better from here.
"Follow me," said Tanjuro Kamado.
Sensing his son's gaze from behind, Kamado Tanjuro's body trembled slightly—only for a moment—before he forced himself back into calm.
Tanjiro wanted to remind his father to take it easy. After all, he had only just started recovering. But hearing his father's tone, he simply nodded and decided he would bring it up later.
Soon, Tanjuro stepped directly into the deep snow.
Tanjiro hurried after him.
The moment his foot sank into the thick snow, his whole body dipped down slightly. Each step was difficult as he trudged forward.
But as he looked ahead, surprise flashed across his face.
Where Tanjiro's foot sank deep into the snow, leaving clear prints—
His father left none.
Not a single trace.
Tanjuro walked across the snow as if he weighed nothing at all.
Tanjiro was astonished.
Yet the happiness in his heart was so overwhelming that he barely dwelled on it. What puzzled him far more was why his father had brought him out here in the middle of the night.
Step by step, he struggled forward through the snow.
But his father's pace kept growing faster.
Just earlier, he had been so sick he could barely stand.
Yet now he was moving with incredible speed.
Father really is getting better…
Tanjiro clenched his fists, excitement swelling in his chest.
"Tanjiro…"
At some point, Tanjuro's figure appeared beside him, walking shoulder to shoulder.
Tanjiro turned toward him.
"Remember... the breathing," Tanjuro pointed lightly to his own nose.
"Remember the rhythm of the breathing I taught you. Don't forget it. I'll show you again. Follow me."
Tanjiro wanted to ask what was going on, but the expression on his father's face had suddenly become extremely serious.
In the end, he swallowed his questions.
Still, at that moment, how could he focus on something like breathing?
"Remember... the breathing," Tanjuro repeated.
"Alright." Tanjiro replied, trying to pay attention. But he was simply too happy; it was truly difficult to focus.
Seeing that his son was too overwhelmed with joy to notice the details, Tanjuro was flooded with guilt.
How could he force his son to focus at a moment like this?
He couldn't even bring himself to say the words that he was about to die.
Yet no matter how reluctant he was…
No matter how much he didn't want to shatter the joy his son was feeling…
Tanjuro knew that time would not wait for him.
He gently placed a hand on Tanjiro's shoulder.
Tanjiro glanced down in confusion at the hand resting there.
It was so thin it seemed like only skin clung to bone.
The sight made Tanjiro's heart tremble.
"Tanjiro…" Tanjuro's voice was gentle, calm, and soft. "Remember my breathing. Never forget it."
Tanjiro looked up at his father—
And suddenly felt an immense force surge through the frail hand pressing on his shoulder.
In the next instant, his entire body felt as if it had been lifted onto a galloping carriage.
They shot forward across the snow.
The trees on both sides blurred past them in an instant, falling far behind.
"Ah!"
Tanjiro nearly cried out in shock.
"Look at me," Tanjuro said again. "Pay attention to my breathing."
Still stunned, Tanjiro instinctively looked at his father.
He noticed it then—
His father's breathing.
It was extremely light.
Barely audible.
And yet… it carried an indescribable power.
"This is the last time… I can teach you."
Tanjuro spoke quietly.
"I regret not teaching you properly before. I thought I would wait until you were older…"
"…But now…"
"There's no time left."
His hand tightened on Tanjiro's shoulder.
His fingers pressed so hard they dug into Tanjiro's flesh.
In that moment, their breathing seemed to merge into one.
"This…!"
Tanjiro's eyes widened.
Suddenly, the entire world seemed to fall silent.
Everything slowed.
It was as if he had begun seeing the world… from an entirely different side.
Tanjiro felt as if… he were seeing another world.
Everything had become unbelievably clear.
Each snowflake drifting through the sky seemed visible down to the exact moment it would land. He could see when the wind brushed against the trees, when it stirred the branches, and how the air itself moved.
He could even see the flow of blood through his father's veins.
And he could see his father's heart—
A heart that was barely beating anymore.
At that moment, Tanjiro Kamado slowly lifted his head, staring blankly at Tanjuro Kamado.
"Remember this feeling."
The brightness in Tanjuro's eyes slowly began to fade.
"Never forget it."
"This… is breathing."
Tanjiro continued staring at his father in silence.
In this strange state—where it felt as if the entire world was laid bare before him—he could clearly sense the fading life inside his father.
"You foolish child," Tanjuro said gently.
"I can't stay with you forever."
"From now on… the family will have to rely on you."
His hand moved softly over Tanjiro's crimson hair.
"Tanjiro… it's time for you to grow up."
Tanjuro seemed as if he wanted to say more.
But suddenly his gaze lifted.
Heavy snow drifted down from the sky.
In the distance stood the cave where he had once slain a giant bear with a single swing of his axe.
At some point, two figures had begun living there.
One was a child.
The other…
Looked like something that was no longer human.
At that moment, the figure stood at the entrance of the cave, watching silently with calm, crimson eyes.
As if sensing Tanjuro's gaze, the figure gave a slight nod.
Tanjuro's heart tightened sharply.
In an instant, an old family legend surfaced in his mind.
There were terrifying creatures in this world.
Creatures known as demons.
Beings that were nearly impossible to kill.
He had never imagined that something so dangerous would appear so close to his home.
A cold sharpness flashed through the old man's fading eyes.
He patted Tanjiro's shoulder lightly and spoke in a quiet voice.
"Wait here."
Still immersed in sorrow, Tanjiro looked up in confusion.
But his father had already begun walking away—toward the deeper darkness of the mountains.
Under the faintest sliver of moonlight, Tanjiro could just barely make out the shape of someone standing at the mouth of a cave.
And the pair of crimson eyes staring from the shadows.
...
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