As the sun dipped slowly beneath the horizon, the gathering on the mountainside platform began to stir with unease. From somewhere near the summit, faint but unmistakable, came the feral roars of demons.
Their cries carried a raw, ravenous hunger—as if they were beasts awaiting their next meal. The sound alone was enough to drain the color from many faces. It was clear that a large portion of those present had never truly encountered demons before.
"Tap… tap… tap…"
Just as the tension reached its peak, the sound of footsteps broke through the murmurs of the crowd. At first, it was subtle, almost lost amid scattered conversations. But gradually, silence spread, and all eyes turned toward the figures descending from the mountain.
Two individuals appeared—identical in nearly every way. Both wore white kimono and carried delicate palace lanterns, their figures slender and their presence eerily alike. From appearance to bearing, they were almost indistinguishable.
There was only one difference: one had jet-black hair, the other pure white.
The black-haired youth stepped forward. His features were soft, almost childlike, and dressed as he was in feminine attire, one might easily mistake him for a girl—just like the sister standing beside him—if not for knowing the truth.
He was Ubuyashiki Kiriya, the third child of the Demon Slayer Corps' leader, Ubuyashiki Kagaya, and his wife, Ubuyashiki Amane. The only son among their children, he was destined—barring misfortune—to inherit the position of head of the Corps.
Due to the curse that plagued the Ubuyashiki bloodline, Kiriya had been born frail. Until the age of thirteen, he would be raised as a girl in every aspect, from clothing to mannerisms.
Now, as Kagaya's health steadily declined, Kiriya had begun to shoulder more responsibilities within the Corps. Among them was this very moment—the Final Selection at Mount Fujikasane, a crucial trial to replenish the Corps with new blood.
Feeling the weight of countless gazes upon him, Kiriya hesitated. A flicker of nervousness crossed his face, and for a brief moment, he found himself unable to speak.
At his side, his sister, Ubuyashiki Hinaki, stepped forward in perfect unison.
Almost the instant Kiriya parted his lips, Hinaki's voice rang out—matching his in tone and cadence, yet slightly louder, as if gently guiding him. To the crowd, it seemed as though two identical beings were speaking as one, their voices overlapping into something almost ethereal.
"Thank you all for coming to participate in the Demon Slayer Corps' Final Selection. At the summit of Mount Fujikasane behind us, demons captured by our swordsmen have been confined."
"Please take note—once you step beyond the wisteria forest, you will no longer be protected. At night, the demons roam freely."
"To survive here for seven days and seven nights is to pass the Final Selection and become a qualified swordsman of the Demon Slayer Corps."
Their voices lingered in the air, calm and distant, like something not entirely of this world.
Then, together, they spoke once more:
"The Final Selection… begins now."
With that, they stepped aside, lifting their lanterns to illuminate the path upward.
Everyone present already knew the rules.
Without hesitation, the boy with sharp blue eyes and a magatama pendant—Kaigaku—moved first. His figure blurred as he dashed forward, disappearing into the darkness almost instantly.
A large portion of the crowd followed after him.
Others hesitated, their feet rooted in place as fear clawed at their resolve—but in the end, most still forced themselves forward.
A very small number remained behind, their faces pale, eyes trembling with terror. One of them couldn't endure it any longer and turned, fleeing down the mountain without looking back.
Yet neither Kiriya nor Hinaki showed any reaction. To them, such choices were neither surprising nor worthy of comment.
Nearby, Makomo slowly closed her eyes.
Her heart was still unsteady, a quiet storm of tension and unease swirling within her chest. For a long moment, she stood there, breathing softly, letting the noise of the world fade away.
Then, at last, she opened her eyes again.
And in that instant, all hesitation was gone—replaced by a calm, unwavering clarity.
She looked at Soma, Kanao, and Tanjiro, drawing in a slow, steady breath before speaking softly, "When we reach the summit, stay close to me. Don't wander off. I'll protect you."
Her voice was light, almost fragile, as if it carried no weight at all—yet beneath that softness lay an unshakable resolve.
Soma couldn't help but glance at Makomo. The petite girl didn't even seem confident in her own chances of success, and yet here she was, thinking first of protecting others.
"Worry about yourself first," he murmured.
Though his blood seemed to simmer beneath his skin—an instinctive yearning for power rising within him—Soma forced it down. Perhaps this was what it meant to crave strength, but he refused to let that desire control him.
If not for that restraint, back when he had first become a "perfect lifeform," he could have immediately sought out demons to devour and strengthen himself.
But every demon's death would inevitably be sensed, to some degree, by Muzan Kibutsuji. Acting recklessly like that would only expose him to grave danger.
He understood this clearly: despite possessing near-perfect "stats," he was not invincible. He could still be defeated. He could still be taken.
Now, however, things were different. The Demon Slayer Corps had used Mount Fujikasane as a swordsman examination ground for centuries. The demons that died here would, in Muzan's perception, likely be nothing more than casualties of yet another round of Final Selection.
Even if the ever-cautious Muzan were to dispatch members of the Twelve Kizuki to investigate, they would be forced to halt before the mountain blanketed in wisteria blossoms.
Soma possessed a lifespan that was nearly infinite—an existence even more "perfect" than Muzan's. There was no need for him to confront such a terrifying being before he had fully grown.
Compared to him, it was the Demon Slayer Corps that was desperate to locate Muzan and engage him in a decisive, life-or-death battle.
Suppressing his thirst for power, Soma's expression remained calm as he led Tanjiro and Kanao along the path toward the summit.
Makomo had been the first to move, walking ahead of them, but it didn't take long for her to notice that Soma wasn't in any hurry. He showed no intention of following her lead. Biting her lip, she came to a stop, unable to shake the fear that if she looked away for even a moment, these weaker companions might be slaughtered by demons.
Soon, they passed by Ubuyashiki Kiriya and Ubuyashiki Hinaki. Soma paused, his gaze lingering on the two figures who looked almost identical.
Noticing him stop, Kiriya lifted his head.
Soma studied the future head of the Ubuyashiki family for a brief moment, then shifted his gaze to the girl beside him—her white hair and delicate features giving her an almost ethereal presence.
He offered them a gentle smile before continuing on, leading Kanao and Tanjiro into the mountain. Makomo followed closely behind.
…
"Do you know which trainer those people came from, Sister?"
After Soma's group disappeared into the distance, Kiriya turned to ask.
Hinaki, with her snow-white hair, pale skin, and faintly blue eyes, seemed almost unreal, like a figure drawn straight out of an illustration.
"There are many participants in this selection," she replied softly. "While we have records on most of them, there are always a few who arrive through other means. I haven't seen those individuals before. However… I do know a little about the girl following behind them. Are you interested in them, Kiriya?"
"I just have a feeling they'll pass," Kiriya said, his gaze fixed on their retreating figures. "They might even become very powerful swordsmen."
He paused, frowning slightly as he searched for the right words.
"Most of the candidates are either excited, anxious, fearful, or hopeful. But that person…" He hesitated, then continued, "He gives me the same impression as the Hashira would if they came to Mount Fujikasane—calm, completely at ease in the face of the demons here."
"Yes… that's it. Composed."
Hinaki looked at her younger brother, her voice gentle. "The fact that you can already perceive such things is remarkable."
"It's nothing compared to Father," Kiriya replied, his eyes dimming with concern as he stared into the distance.
His father's condition was worsening with each passing day. As the one destined to inherit the position of head, the pressure on him weighed heavily.
At Kiriya's age, their father had already discovered Gyomei Himejima—recognizing his potential at a glance. Now, Gyomei stood as the strongest of the Demon Slayer Corps, the Stone Hashira.
And yet he himself… had done nothing more than follow the path his father had laid out for him.
Could he truly take on his father's responsibilities?
Could he bear the weight of being the "Master"?
…
Compared to the mountainside below, where wisteria blossoms spread in endless, breathtaking beauty, the summit of Mount Fujikasane felt stark and desolate. Soma glanced around with quiet curiosity, taking in the barren landscape.
"It's almost nightfall. We should prepare ourselves to face the demons," Makomo said, lifting her head to look at the setting sun, her tone edged with urgency.
Soma turned to her, his gaze settling on the mask covering her face. A faint smile touched his lips. "If you ask me, the best preparation would be for Miss Makomo to take off that mask."
"…What?"
Beneath the mask, Makomo's brows knit together.
"Over these past few days, I've seen your strength," Soma continued calmly. "Compared to the other candidates here, they're far inferior to you. And I imagine your fellow disciples—those who trained before you, including Sabito—must have been quite strong as well."
Makomo's hand tightened around the hilt of her sword, her head lowering slightly. "Their strength was indeed considerable… but what of it? In the end, we are all nothing more than Urokodaki-sensei's disgrace."
A former Hashira who had slain countless demons in his prime had retired to become a trainer—yet none of the disciples he raised had ever passed the Final Selection.
None of them had even survived.
Back on Mount Sagiri, perhaps the weight of that reality hadn't felt so suffocating. But here, on Mount Fujikasane, listening to the whispers of other candidates, every word felt like a blade piercing her heart. She wanted to refute them, to deny it all—but the truth left her no room to argue.
"And even now, you still think the problem lies with yourselves?" Soma asked, shrugging lightly as he looked at her bowed head. "Perhaps… the problem lies with Urokodaki-san himself."
"Absolutely not."
Makomo snapped her head up, her eyes filled with unwavering conviction.
Soma, however, merely shifted his gaze toward the sinking sun. "I've been to Urokodaki's residence. Hanging there, I saw masks just like yours—more than a dozen of them. They must have belonged to the disciples who trained before you… right?"
"They were all handcrafted by Sensei," Makomo replied softly. "They were meant to ward off misfortune and bring us good fortune."
"…Yet to me, they look more like masks that invite disaster."
His voice remained calm as he met her gaze. "Only after coming here did I notice something strange—every one of you wears a mask that looks almost exactly the same."
"What are you implying?" Makomo frowned.
"Isn't it possible," Soma said slowly, "that somewhere on this mountain, there's a demon specifically targeting those who wear these fox masks? Based on your strength, I'd say your fellow disciples were no weaker than you. People like that shouldn't fail so completely—not only unable to pass the selection, but unable even to survive."
Makomo's body trembled slightly.
In truth, she wasn't the only one who had harbored such doubts. Her fellow disciples—even her seniors, including Sabito—had questioned it before. Even their teacher had struggled with the same thought, unable to believe his students were so weak they couldn't even survive.
Perhaps that was part of what it meant to possess the heart of a strong person—they blamed themselves first, always thinking they simply hadn't done enough, hadn't been good enough.
Maybe they had questioned the Final Selection on Mount Fujikasane before. But the trial had existed for centuries, and none of the other candidates seemed to encounter such problems. Could it really be that only Urokodaki's disciples were the exception?
So they told themselves it must have been coincidence. A string of unfortunate accidents. Perhaps they lacked experience fighting demons in the wild. Perhaps it was their first time facing one alone. Perhaps they were caught off guard.
Humans were fragile, after all. Too much blood loss would kill them. A serious injury left untreated could be fatal. And a single critical wound—no matter how strong the swordsman—meant death.
Even the Hashira were no exception.
Accidents weren't rare.
But…
Was that really all there was to it?
Again and again, these so-called "accidents" had occurred—each one targeting Urokodaki-sensei's disciples. Even Sabito, who had been powerful enough to nearly wipe out all the demons on the mountain, had ultimately fallen victim to the same fate.
"Isn't that why you came here in the first place, Miss Makomo? To uncover the truth behind all of this?"
Soma's voice was low and steady. "Take off the mask—or place it somewhere obvious. If there truly is a demon targeting Urokodaki-sensei's disciples, then it should stop and reveal itself."
Makomo bit down on her lip, hesitating for a moment before finally reaching up and removing her mask.
Beneath it was a delicate, charming face—soft features, long lashes, and a healthy flush to her skin. She was undeniably pretty, yet her beauty wasn't the kind that dazzled at first glance. Instead, it carried a gentle warmth, like the girl next door you'd grown up with—a familiar, comforting presence.
With a light step, she leapt onto a tree branch, her body as nimble as a bird. She tapped lightly against another branch, then sprang upward until she reached the treetop. Extending her hand, she carefully hung the fox mask—its closed eyes and serene smile facing outward—on a high branch.
A breeze drifted through, and the mask swayed gently in the wind.
Occasionally, a nearby swordsman would glance up, notice it, and simply frown in mild confusion before returning to their own preparations.
Makomo dropped lightly back to the ground and stepped beside Soma. Tilting her head up, she looked at the taller man beside her.
"Do you really think… it's not our fault?"
"Everyone believes we failed Urokodaki-sensei. Some even say he isn't suited to be a trainer at all…" Her voice softened. "Why don't you think that way?"
Soma smiled faintly. "Most strong people tend to look for faults within themselves. But there are also those who aren't so strong—like me. I never look for problems in myself."
As he spoke, he lifted his gaze toward the fox mask swaying atop the tree. "I simply think that Miss Makomo is not only beautiful, but also very capable. And if that's the case, then how could your fellow disciples be any less impressive?"
"…Am I really that good?"
A faint blush crept across Makomo's cheeks. She tried to turn her head away, yet couldn't help sneaking another glance at him, as if to confirm whether he truly meant what he said.
"Of course," Soma replied easily. "After all, I'll be relying on you to protect me. In my eyes, Miss Makomo is someone worthy of admiration."
He lowered his gaze slightly, meeting her reddened face. "A beautiful and strong swordswoman."
Makomo grew visibly flustered. She turned her head aside, her cheeks puffing ever so slightly in embarrassment, though her hand instinctively rested on the hilt of her sword. Her voice, when she spoke, was soft but resolute.
"I'll protect you."
"I'll be counting on you, then."
"…Mm."
After a brief pause, Soma spoke again. "I have a question."
"Go ahead."
"What if… I were a demon? Would you still treat me the same?
Makomo blinked, then shook her head with a small laugh. "You really like to joke, don't you? How could you possibly be a demon?"
"Perhaps," Soma murmured.
He looked up at the fox mask swaying gently in the treetop. "There are too many things in this world that can't be guaranteed. Just like your fellow disciples—and even someone as strong as Sabito. Who would have thought that people like them would fall on a place like Mount Fujikasane? They could have become powerful demon slayers… yet they never even made it past the very first step."
"You're not a demon," Makomo said firmly, shaking her head. "If something clearly isn't true, why dwell on it?"
Soma only smiled, offering no reply.
Beside them, Tanjiro listened quietly. He looked at Makomo, who spoke with such certainty, as if there were no room for doubt. For a moment, he seemed as though he wanted to say something—but the words never came.
Instead, his gaze drifted toward Soma. Thinking of everything that had happened to the Kamado family recently, he couldn't help but hesitate.
After all… who would have believed that a demon like this could exist?
And yet, the person before him—
No matter how he looked at it, Soma didn't resemble a demon in the slightest.