In a courtyard encircled by blooming wisteria trees, a young girl in a white kimono hurried along, a lantern swaying gently in her hand. Her petite figure and delicate features gave her an almost fragile appearance, while her rare white hair shimmered like frost beneath the faint glow of the moon.
She crossed the courtyard and reached the entrance, where another girl stood waiting—identical in both appearance and bearing, as though they were reflections of one another.
"Father has already gone to rest. Is it something urgent?" the girl at the door asked in a hushed voice.
"It's a message from former Hashira Sakonji Urokodaki. There's no indication it requires urgent delivery, but Father once said that anything concerning the Hashira must be reported to him immediately."
A trace of reluctance flickered across the girl at the door. "But Father is already resting…"
"Bring it in."
A gentle voice drifted from within the room.
The white-haired girl at the door let out a faint sigh before stepping aside. Together, the two entered.
"Cough… cough…"
A violent fit of coughing echoed through the room. A tall, slender man struggled to sit up, draping a robe over his shoulders with visible effort.
"Hinaki… who sent the message?"
He raised his head, and in the flickering candlelight, his face came into view—one that was deeply unsettling to behold. From the bridge of his nose upward, his skin was almost entirely overtaken by a dark purple hue, wrinkled and rough like the bark of an ancient tree. Yet the lower half of his face remained normal, creating a stark and jarring contrast.
"It's from Sakonji Urokodaki-san."
The two girls—Hinaki and her younger sister Kanata—quickly moved to support their father. As they steadied him, concern filled their eyes at the sound of his labored breathing.
Father's condition is getting worse… Has he used his foresight again?
Just how much of the future had he tried to glimpse this time?
The Ubuyashiki family bore a terrible curse, one brought upon them by the traitor Kibutsuji Muzan. Every child born into the lineage was frail and sickly, their lifespans tragically short—especially the men, who rarely lived past thirty. Though the family endured through sacred bloodlines, the price was always the same.
And now… Father was nearing that limit.
Yet he still chose to peer into the future…
Ubuyashiki Kagaya took the letter, and Hinaki quickly moved the candle closer. As his eyes scanned the contents, a look of astonishment surfaced within them.
"The inheritor of Sun Breathing…"
As the head of the Demon Slayer Corps, Ubuyashiki Kagaya was no stranger to the term Sun Breathing—the original and most fundamental of all breathing styles. Long ago, swordsmen who mastered it had stood at the forefront of humanity's fight against demons. In those days, even the Upper Ranks of the Twelve Kizuki could be challenged.
But now…
Even the Hashira—the strongest among them—fell one after another when faced with those same Upper Ranks, devoured without exception.
"The successor to Yoriichi Tsugikuni's will…"
Kagaya murmured the name under his breath.
That legendary swordsman—the strongest in the history of the Corps—the one even Muzan himself had feared.
"If Sun Breathing can be passed down within the Corps once more… it will give us a stronger foundation in the battles to come."
His voice was quiet, but resolute.
"Father… what do you intend to do?" Hinaki asked gently.
"Grant special permission," Kagaya replied. "Even without taking the standard swordsman examination, they may join the Demon Slayer Corps directly. As for the rest… we will follow Urokodaki-san's judgment."
"Yes, Father. I'll see to it immediately."
Kanata bowed and withdrew without another word.
Hinaki remained behind, helping her father lie back down to rest. After a moment's hesitation, she asked softly, "Father… did you use your foresight again?"
"…Yes."
"And… what did you see? Was there anything important?"
Kagaya closed his eyes briefly, his voice growing faint.
"The future… has changed. It's become… unclear. Shrouded in haze…"
He exhaled slowly, but before he could say more, another bout of violent coughing overtook him. His condition had clearly worsened.
…
Birds that had been resting were startled awake by the sudden presence of early risers, flapping their wings as they took to the sky, their sharp cries echoing with irritation.
Mist still clung to the slopes of Mount Sagiri, where the once-silent air was now broken by the rhythmic shouts of training.
Urokodaki Sakonji, draped in a simple robe, stepped up to the window and looked outside. The family that had only recently moved in was already lively and bustling with activity. The man named Soma was awake, his upper body nearly bare as he hauled heavy logs back and forth, driving stakes into the ground and building a more suitable home for living.
Watching him carry thick timber alone, moving with surprising speed and steadiness, Urokodaki couldn't help but sigh at the vigor of youth.
His gaze shifted, landing on another scene nearby. The boy named Tanjiro was in an open clearing, gripping an axe as he sparred with a girl called Kanao.
Despite being a boy, Tanjiro was completely outmatched.
Almost every one of his attacks was effortlessly dodged by Kanao, while her counterattacks landed with uncanny precision. Each strike hit cleanly, leaving Tanjiro stumbling back in disarray, unable to mount any real defense.
"This girl…" Urokodaki murmured under his breath, eyes narrowing slightly. "Her perception of fighting spirit, her speed, her agility… all exceptional. Even her strength is nothing to scoff at."
Yet after only a short while, his attention returned to Tanjiro.
Though he was clearly on the losing side—thoroughly battered and thrown into awkward positions again and again—the boy showed no sign of discouragement. On the contrary, the more he was pushed back, the more determined he became. Each exchange seemed to sharpen him, every movement just slightly better than before.
Urokodaki could see it clearly: with every clash, Tanjiro was learning, analyzing, adapting. He was growing stronger in real time.
That sight stirred a memory.
Sabito.
In this boy, Urokodaki glimpsed the shadow of his former disciple—the same warmth, the same sincerity, and that intangible presence… that "spirit" that couldn't quite be put into words.
For now, Kanao clearly held the upper hand. But Urokodaki had no doubt that it wouldn't be long before Tanjiro began to catch up.
Beyond them, he also noticed the other children already busy with their own tasks, and the faint trails of smoke rising into the air—evidence that the lady of the house was preparing a meal.
Lively. Warm. Full of life.
That was Urokodaki Sakonji's impression of this newly arrived family.
"Tap… tap… tap…"
A slightly hurried set of footsteps broke the calm. Makomo, wearing her mask and carrying a wooden sword, stepped into the open yard. She paused briefly, glancing at the already active household, before quietly beginning her own practice.
Urokodaki noticed the faint hint of frustration in her posture—perhaps she was annoyed that she hadn't risen earlier than them.
Truth be told, even he hadn't expected this family to wake so early. The adults were one thing, but even the younger children carried themselves with surprising discipline and awareness.
…
As the mountain mist gradually thinned, Soma led Kanao and Tanjiro—who had just finished a round of sparring and taken a short rest—along with Nezuko, back toward Urokodaki's residence.
When they reached the entrance, they saw Makomo, who had just stopped training. She stood there, breathing lightly, her gaze falling on Soma as he approached.
"Hello," Soma greeted her with a small nod.
"Hello," Makomo replied politely, bowing. Her medium-length black hair fell gently along the sides of her face with the motion, though her expression remained hidden behind her mask.
Smiling faintly, Soma said, "I've come to see Urokodaki-san."
"Sensei has likely been waiting for you," she answered.
"Hah… then it seems I'm a bit late."
He let out a quiet sigh before glancing at her again, noticing her faintly uneven breathing. "Have you eaten breakfast yet?"
"I was just about to prepare some," Makomo nodded.
"Perfect timing," Soma said with an easy smile. "Lady Kie has made extra this morning. If you don't mind, you're both welcome to join us."
."Thank you, but there's no need to trouble you," Makomo replied, shaking her head gently.
Soma didn't insist. He simply smiled and walked past her, heading inside.
At the doorway, Urokodaki Sakonji was already waiting, a sword hanging at his waist. Watching Soma approach with the others, he let out a quiet remark: "You're more diligent than many swordsmen I've seen."
Behind them, Makomo, who had just stepped closer, felt her cheeks flush faintly at her teacher's words. She had started her training later than they had that morning, and the realization left her quietly embarrassed.
Fortunately, with her mask in place, no one could see the soft red spreading across her face.
"It is a beautiful morning. Why waste time that could be spent improving?" Soma said it with an easy smile.
Urokodaki Sakonji paused for a moment, then chuckled softly, a trace of nostalgia surfacing in his voice. "Indeed… time is precious. Before I knew it, I had already grown old."
His expression soon turned serious again as he continued, "I watched your training from a distance just now. While I don't know every detail, I have a general sense of your abilities. From here on, I'll tailor your training based on what I've seen."
"We'll follow your guidance completely, Urokodaki-san," Soma replied with a nod. After a brief pause, he added, "However, I would also appreciate some guidance for the younger ones—Takeo, Hanako, and Shigeru."
"…Very well."
…
Urokodaki Sakonji proved to be an exceptional teacher. Under his guidance, many of the mistakes in their previous training were corrected one by one. Even concepts he wasn't directly familiar with—like Kanao's unique perception of fighting spirit—he could still offer valuable insight into.
For Soma, the difference was especially clear.
Until now, everything he knew—whether it was swordsmanship or the principles of Breathing Styles—had been the result of his own trial and error. Though he had managed to piece together a system that suited him, there were inevitably flaws hidden within it.
But Urokodaki was different.
With his greater experience and deeper understanding, he could illuminate those blind spots, steering them away from inefficient paths and unnecessary mistakes.
…
Time passed in busy, fulfilling days.
Each day, Soma either devoted himself to building their home or trained alongside Tanjiro under Urokodaki's instruction. Occasionally, he would descend the mountain to purchase daily necessities.
As for money, he had no real concerns. Though he wasn't officially a member of the Demon Slayer Corps and received no salary, acquiring some funds during the night was never particularly difficult for him.
As several more days slipped by, the date of the Final Selection at Mount Fujikasane drew closer.
And with it, something subtle began to change.
Soma noticed that Urokodaki's demeanor during training had grown heavier, as though weighed down by unspoken thoughts. Makomo, too, was no longer as relentlessly diligent as before. More often than not, she stayed by Urokodaki's side—or sat alone atop the large stone behind the house, its surface covered in countless sword marks.
…
That evening, Makomo once again sat alone on the scarred boulder, her fingers tracing the grooves left behind by blades.
The people who had carved those marks…
Most of them were already gone.
Aside from herself, only Giyu Tomioka remained.
She did not fear death. Long ago, she had already accepted the possibility that her life would end on this path. And yet… there was something she couldn't quite let go of.
Before Sabito left, he had entrusted her with something—to take care of their teacher.
And now, as her own time approached, she found herself wanting to entrust that same responsibility to someone else.
But she…
had no one to entrust it to.
Now, she was the last one left.
If she, too, were to disappear, then the person she respected most—her teacher—would be left utterly alone. That thought weighed on her heart far more than the fear of death itself. Worse still, she feared that he would once again shoulder all the blame, just as he had before.
"…Will I follow the same path as my seniors?"
Under the gentle moonlight, Makomo gazed at the moon suspended in the pitch-black night, watching the cool silver light spill down. Then she turned to look at the massive stone covered in sword marks.
"If I fail, let my soul rest here."
She lowered her head, letting out a quiet sigh. But when she lifted it again, her eyes had hardened with resolve.
Drawing her Nichirin sword, she struck once under the moonlight, carving her own mark into the unyielding stone.
Then, she sheathed her sword and turned, beginning her walk back.
Halfway there, she suddenly stopped.
Looking up, she saw a figure seated on a tree branch beneath the moonlight. A man held a leaf to his lips, playing an unfamiliar tune. Though she couldn't understand the melody, there was something strangely soothing about it.
Sensing her presence, Soma leapt down lightly from the tree, landing before her.
He was tall—imposingly so—and standing this close, the quiet pressure he exuded made Makomo instinctively tilt her head upward to meet his gaze. Under the moonlight, his features seemed almost strikingly handsome.
Over the past few days, she had gradually grown familiar with him—and with the Kamado family as a whole.
He seemed… like a good person.
That was her impression.
"Good evening, Miss Makomo," Soma said, looking at the girl wearing the fox mask with its closed, smiling eyes. "Would you mind taking a walk with me?"
It was late at night, and they were alone—a man and a woman. He was tall and carried an undeniable presence, while she was small, almost fragile in appearance. In such circumstances, most girls would feel at least a trace of unease.
Makomo, however, wasn't afraid.
Just… slightly self-conscious.
After all, walking alone with a man at night wasn't exactly proper.
And yet, she had a feeling he wanted to say something.
So after a brief hesitation, she gave a small nod.
Soma shrugged lightly and started walking ahead. Makomo tilted her head as she watched his broad back for a moment, then quickly followed.
Before long, they arrived once more at the large stone she had just left.
Soma's gaze settled on it.
Makomo frowned slightly, puzzled.
Then, after a brief silence, he spoke.
"Miss Makomo… do you think Sabito's soul might still linger here—still watching over the one he cherished most, Urokodaki-san?"