The campfire crackled softly, its flames swaying in the night as the group gathered around it.
Soma sat closest to the fire, turning a freshly prepared roast chicken with practiced ease. From time to time, he sprinkled seasoning over the skin, and as the heat seeped in, a rich, mouthwatering aroma slowly drifted into the air.
Under the flickering glow of the firelight, his handsome features appeared calm and almost gentle.
Makomo sat not too far away, her Nichirin Sword resting across her arms. At first, her gaze lingered on his face, but before long, it inevitably drifted toward the chicken—its surface now roasted to a perfect golden crisp.
Without realizing it, she lightly licked her lips.
The moment she noticed what she had done, she stiffened, quickly straightening her posture. She even stole a glance at Soma to see if he had noticed—but when it seemed he hadn't, she let out a small breath of relief.
Then, almost immediately, she remembered—
she was wearing a mask.
No one could have seen her expression anyway.
That realization made her feel faintly annoyed at herself.
Straightening her back, she fixed her gaze on Soma again, who remained focused on roasting the chicken, and once more tried to persuade him.
"You really shouldn't take part in the Final Selection at Mount Fujikasane. It's extremely dangerous."
"Is that so?" Soma replied casually.
"Of course it is. Several of my fellow disciples… even Sabito, who was incredibly strong—they all went to Mount Fujikasane for the selection, and none of them came back."
"That does sound pretty dangerous."
Soma nodded lightly as he spoke, then decided the chicken was done. He pulled it from the fire, its skin glistening a deep golden color, and tore off the fattest drumstick, handing it to Kanao without hesitation.
Then he tore off the second drumstick.
His gaze flickered briefly between Tanjiro and Makomo before settling—
and he handed it to Makomo.
She accepted it, though she continued trying to persuade him.
Meanwhile, Tanjiro was left holding the chicken tail, his expression full of quiet grievance.
He had already expected Soma to give the best piece to Kanao, but seeing the second drumstick go to Makomo instead still left him feeling a little indignant.
"As a boy, you should let the girls have the better portions," Soma said with a smile, clearly noticing the dissatisfaction written all over Tanjiro's face.
"She's so strong she doesn't even feel like a girl…" Tanjiro muttered under his breath, before taking a bite of the tail.
To his surprise, it tasted far better than he'd expected, and his eyes lit up as he quickly forgot his complaints and focused entirely on eating.
Soma tore off a wing for himself and sat beside Kanao, eating quietly. From time to time, he lifted a flask and took a sip of alcohol.
"Are you even listening to me?" Makomo pressed on, taking a bite of her drumstick. The flavor made her beautiful eyes narrow slightly in satisfaction, yet she kept talking, her persistence almost at odds with her otherwise gentle appearance. "Hunting demons is truly dangerous."
"You make a very good point," Soma replied, glancing at her, though there was already a trace of irritation in his voice.
Makomo's eyes brightened.
"Then you'll agree not to go to Mount Fujikasane?"
"Even though it makes sense," he said, taking another sip of his drink and shrugging lazily, "I don't plan on listening."
That shameless response made her cheeks puff up in frustration.
Since she had removed part of her mask while eating, her expression was fully visible now—her puffed cheeks giving her an unexpectedly adorable look. It was the kind of expression that only suited someone with naturally delicate features, and Makomo undoubtedly fit that description.
Even Soma couldn't help but glance at her a second time.
Sensing his gaze, Makomo instinctively turned her head away, exposing the pale curve of her neck.
"Then why do you insist on taking part in such a dangerous test?" she asked, biting into the drumstick again, her voice tinged with frustration.
Soma shrugged casually.
"Don't you think it's… kind of noble?"
"When night falls and demons roam, devouring people, there are always those who step forward—slaying demons and protecting humanity."
Makomo lifted her eyes to look at him.
"Are you serious?"
Her voice had turned colder now.
"This isn't some lofty ideal you can talk about lightly. It costs lives. Have you really thought through whether you're willing to pay that kind of price?"
Soma's earlier remark about "nobility" had been nothing more than a casual excuse. In truth, his decision to participate in the Final Selection at Mount Fujikasane had nothing to do with lofty ideals.
After being nagged the entire way, even someone as easygoing as him was starting to grow a little annoyed.
So he turned the question back on her.
"Miss Makomo, you've been trying to persuade me this entire time… but why don't you try persuading yourself instead?"
Makomo blinked slightly. "Persuade myself… about what?"
"Why do you insist on taking part in the Final Selection?"
She froze for a brief moment, then instinctively placed a hand on the hilt of her Nichirin blade.
"I have a reason I can't avoid."
"Oh."
Soma responded lazily, clearly uninterested, then took another swig from his flask and patted his stomach.
"I've got a reason I can't avoid too."
Makomo stared at him, momentarily at a loss for words, before biting angrily into her drumstick.
…
Realizing that there was no way to change his mind, Makomo eventually gave up trying to persuade him.
From time to time, her gaze would drift upward toward the sky. When the Kasugai Crow returned once more, she didn't rush forward eagerly like she had the day before.
Instead, she stood off to the side, arms wrapped around her sword, chin slightly raised as she pretended not to care, watching Tanjiro excitedly retrieve the letter.
He unfolded it and began reading aloud.
"Dear Sir, Tanjiro, Kanao, and Miss Makomo, hello."
"The weather is wonderful today. Mother made a delicious meal, and everyone enjoyed it. Urokodaki-san even joined us. Haha—Sir, did you know? Urokodaki-san always wears that scary tengu mask, so I thought he must look fierce underneath, but actually… his face isn't scary at all. He even looks quite gentle—almost like a woman."
Tanjiro paused at that point and looked up at Makomo, who was still standing nearby with her arms around her blade.
"Is Urokodaki-san really that gentle-looking? I thought he'd look really fierce."
"Of course he looks gentle," Makomo replied without hesitation.
Tanjiro nodded and continued reading.
"Today is the third day since you left. Urokodaki-san said you've already reached Mount Fujikasane and will be taking the test tonight. Please be careful."
"Mother also said she's knitted new clothes for Sir, for my brother, and for Kanao. She even made a haori for Sir—it's really beautiful! I like it a lot too. When you come back and wear it, you'll definitely look very handsome. Dear brother, don't get jealous!"
Tanjiro lowered the letter slightly and glanced at Soma, muttering under his breath, "I wouldn't be jealous…"
Then he continued.
"Urokodaki-san has started clearing land near the house today. He plans to plant a whole field of rapeseed flowers. He said his disciples loved them, and he hopes that when they bloom, Sister Makomo will come back to see them."
"He also said that the nights at Mount Fujikasane can be very cold, so Sister Makomo should take care to stay warm. And if you encounter danger, don't push yourself too hard—please make sure to stay safe…"
Tanjiro's voice softened slightly as he read on.
Makomo, however, tilted her head upward, staring at the sky as she muttered quietly, "Sensei wouldn't write something like this…"
Her beloved teacher—there was no way he would write such childish things.
And yet—
though she said that, her shoulders trembled ever so slightly.
"Maybe he didn't write it himself," Soma said with a faint smile, "but it's definitely what he's thinking."
Makomo pressed her lips together and turned her gaze in the direction of Mount Sagiri, as if she could see the old man waiting there for his disciples to return.
"I'll come back."
Her hand slowly tightened around the hilt at her waist.
…
Mount Fujikasane was now close.
Even before they fully approached, the air carried the distinct scent of wisteria—something that instinctively repelled demons. For Soma, the smell was unpleasant, though it didn't cause him any real discomfort—just a faint, instinctive aversion.
"So this is Mount Fujikasane…" Tanjiro murmured, staring at the mountain range ahead.
It was steep—far larger than Mount Sagiri—and from the base up to the mid-slopes, it was covered entirely in blooming wisteria trees. As the wind passed through, petals drifted down like a quiet rain, scattering across the ground.
"Mount Fujikasane…"
Makomo lifted her head, her expression complicated as she gazed at Mount Fujikasane—the very place where her fellow disciples, and even Sabito, had all fallen. Her hand tightened slightly around the hilt at her waist as unease crept into her chest.
After a moment, she turned to look at Soma, who was also quietly observing the mountain, then glanced at Tanjiro and Kanao standing beside him.
"When we reach the summit," she said softly, "don't stray too far from me. I'll protect you."
Soma turned at her words, meeting the gaze of the masked girl with a gentle smile.
"Then I'll be counting on you."
Makomo drew another quiet breath, the pressure on her shoulders weighing heavily.
Truthfully, she didn't have much confidence in this trial. Mount Fujikasane… it almost felt like a curse. Over the years, aside from Giyu Tomioka, none of her fellow disciples had ever passed the Final Selection—none had even survived.
If she barely had confidence in herself, how could she hope to protect others?
As they stood there, more and more candidates passed by, making their way toward the mountain.
"Let's go," Soma said, glancing at Tanjiro before stepping forward.
Kanao followed closely behind him, her quiet eyes curiously observing everything around her.
Tanjiro, however, gripped the axe in his hands tightly, his expression tense. This would be the first time in his life—aside from facing Soma—that he would confront demons head-on.
And he wasn't the only one feeling uneasy.
Makomo, too, was just as nervous.
…
Candidates from all directions gradually gathered, eventually converging at a wide platform halfway up Mount Fujikasane. By the time Soma and the others arrived, quite a number of people had already assembled there.
Their arrival drew attention.
Some greeted them with polite smiles, while others looked on with clear disdain—but no one stepped forward to cause trouble.
A few people approached to exchange greetings, and Soma responded with casual courtesy.
Most stood alone on the platform, though there were a few small groups clustered together. One such group, in particular, caught Soma's attention.
At the center of it stood a young man with teal-colored eyes and black hair, his thick eyebrows giving him a somewhat imposing look. Around his neck hung a magatama pendant, and at his waist rested a dark-gold Nichirin Sword etched with lightning-like patterns.
Surrounded by others' praise, his expression was openly arrogant.
"Who's that?" a newly arrived boy asked quietly.
"That's Kaigaku," someone beside him replied in a hushed tone. "The top disciple of the former Thunder Hashira, Jigoro Kuwajima. He was personally trained by a Hashira."
"I see… so that's Kaigaku."
Soma's gaze lingered on him for a moment.
Aside from Kokushibo, this man would eventually defect from the Demon Slayer Corps and become a demon—later rising to Upper Rank Six.
Still, Soma didn't think much of it.
After all, Kaigaku's transformation hadn't come from ambition alone—when he encountered Kokushibo during a mission, isolated and utterly outmatched, he had been left with no real choice.
Hearing that he had been trained by a Hashira, the young boy who had asked earlier straightened instinctively, his tone filled with respect.
"No wonder… someone personally trained by a Hashira—this exam must be easy for him. That explains why everyone's gathered around him."
"Yeah…" another person muttered enviously. "My trainer was only a Kinoe-ranked slayer. I really wish I had a Hashira as my trainer."
"You've got it better than me," someone else added bitterly. "My trainer was just a retired Kanoe-ranked slayer…"
"Heh…"
Another boy who had just arrived let out a cold laugh.
"So what if he was trained by a Hashira? That doesn't necessarily mean he's strong."
Quite a few people nearby turned to look at him.
The boy lifted his chin slightly, patting the hilt of his sword with confidence. "The Final Selection at Mount Fujikasane depends on your own strength. It's not about who trained you. No matter how powerful your instructor is, if the disciple is useless, they still won't pass."
He paused briefly before continuing in a colder tone.
"Have you heard of Urokodaki from Mount Sagiri? He used to be a powerful Water Hashira, someone who's slain countless demons. But after he retired and became a trainer, he taught plenty of disciples… and not a single one of them passed the exam. In fact, none of them even survived."
"Seriously? Trained by a Hashira and still couldn't even stay alive? That's just pathetic."
"Heh, if it were me, and I still failed after being taught by a Hashira, I'd be too ashamed to live."
As the murmurs spread, Makomo, standing beside Soma, visibly tensed. Her hand instinctively tightened around the hilt of her Nichirin blade, her emotions wavering.
Soma glanced at her, then reached out and gave her shoulder a light pat.
Makomo lifted her eyes to him for a brief moment, then lowered her head again, biting down hard on her lip as she endured the sting of their words.
Soma didn't say anything to comfort her, nor did he step in to rebuke the others.
Because, in truth—
what they said wasn't wrong.
Instead, he simply raised his gaze and looked toward the summit of Mount Fujikasane.
As a demon, he could already clearly sense the presence of others like him scattered across the mountain. Though, in his mind, those creatures—beings unable to control even their own desires—hardly qualified as his kind.
At that moment—
he could feel his blood stirring, his body responding with a growing hunger.
Right now, he was still too weak.
Far too weak.
And he needed those even weaker demons…
to become nourishment.
...
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