The campfire flickered softly in the night, its light dancing across their faces. Makomo took small bites of her rice ball, then lowered her voice as she asked, "The Hand Demon… you were the one who killed it. Why did you say it was me?"
Soma bit into his own rice ball before answering quietly, "Because compared to me, you need that recognition more."
Makomo lowered her head, pressing her lips together as she fell silent. He wasn't wrong—she did need it. Only after arriving at Mount Fujikasane had she realized how harsh the rumors about Urokodaki's disciples truly were.
After all, there had never been a case like this before—a former Hashira serving as a trainer, yet his students couldn't even pass the most basic swordsman selection. Some hadn't even managed to survive.
To many, that said everything. Urokodaki's disciples were dismissed as useless—failures unworthy of the name.
Makomo didn't care much about how others saw her. At most, it would irritate her, stir a brief frustration. But what she could not accept—what she refused to accept—was how they spoke of her seniors, her fellow disciples, and Sabito.
Even in death, they were denied the dignity of being called Urokodaki's students.
"I don't want them to be remembered like that," she thought.
"Even so," Soma continued in a low voice, "killing the Hand Demon alone won't change everyone's mind. Some will still think you passed the selection by sheer luck. They don't understand how powerful it was. They'll keep believing your seniors—and Sabito—were nothing special. If you want to change that… you'll have to do more."
Makomo clenched her fists, her voice steady but filled with resolve. "I will. I'll show everyone who ever doubted Urokodaki's disciples just how far we can go… how high we can rise. I'll become someone they look up to—a Hashira they can't ignore."
As she spoke, a figure surfaced in her mind—Giyu Tomioka.
Ever since he had passed the selection, he had never returned to Mount Sagiri. To be honest, that had left her disappointed.
But now, thinking about it, perhaps he was carrying the same determination she held now.
Perhaps, somewhere out there, Giyu Tomioka was also striving—proving to the world that Urokodaki's disciples were not as worthless as the rumors claimed.
…
By another campfire, Kaigaku silently chewed on his rice ball, washing it down with cold water. Ever since Nishimura Kenichi returned, he had been casting strange looks his way—looks tinged with something like schadenfreude.
Kaigaku could more or less guess what Nishimura had told that man named Soma.
And truthfully, he wasn't surprised.
It wasn't just Nishimura—several others nearby were looking at him with the same subtle change in expression. No one here was a fool. Before climbing the mountain, quite a few people had followed Kaigaku, yet now he stood alone. What had happened was easy enough to guess.
He did not regret what he had done.
Even if he were given another chance, he would make the same decision.
That demon… it had never been something he could defeat. Rather than letting everyone die together, it had been better to create a chance for himself to survive.
Still…
Kaigaku lifted his head, his gaze drifting toward Makomo, who was speaking with Soma. He hadn't expected them to be this strong—to have been capable of killing even a monster like the Hand Demon.
If he had possessed that kind of strength back then… would he have had to flee in such disgrace?
Would people still be looking at him like this?
But in the end, he had survived. No matter the means, as long as he was alive, there would always be a chance to change his fate.
Finishing his rice ball, Kaigaku picked up his Nichirin Sword. He was already prepared for Soma to come over and drive him away—and when that happened, he wouldn't linger here for even a moment.
…
Daytime was, for the most part, a time for rest.
Only under the sun did they not have to worry about being attacked by demons. After finishing their food, everyone gradually settled down to recover their strength.
…
"You should get some rest too," Makomo said softly. "I'll keep watch for you. You stayed up all night yesterday… you must be exhausted."
"I'm fine, I—" Soma started to protest, but when he met her earnest gaze, he hesitated, then nodded. "Alright."
Makomo moved with quiet efficiency, quickly spreading a thick layer of clothing beside the campfire to form a makeshift bed. After guiding Soma to sit down, she carefully draped another heavy garment over him, tucking it in as though afraid he might catch a chill.
"Close your eyes and get some rest," she urged softly.
"…Alright."
Faced with her persistent insistence, Soma could only nod in agreement. As a demon, he could go days and nights without rest and feel nothing at all—but that was not something he could ever reveal.
Once he lay down, Kanao naturally leaned into his arm, curling up against him as though it were the most natural place in the world.
Makomo noticed.
From the very first time she had seen the two of them together, she had sensed something unusual in their relationship. There was a closeness there—an unspoken bond. They cared deeply for one another, so much so that Makomo felt that if it ever came down to it, either of them would willingly give their life for the other without hesitation.
For some reason, a faint sense of envy stirred in her heart.
Startled by the sudden emotion, her cheeks flushed slightly, and she instinctively turned her head away.
A gentle breeze brushed past, lifting strands of her dark hair. She raised a hand, tucking the loose locks behind her ear, but before she knew it, her gaze drifted back toward Soma.
What kind of girl… would he like?
The thought surfaced quietly, catching her off guard.
She forced herself to suppress the restless emotions in her chest, but in that moment, she suddenly thought of Furukawa Hiroshi. Back then, hadn't he been in a situation much like hers now?
Perhaps… just like she once had, he too had struggled with how to reject someone.
That realization left a faint bitterness lingering in her heart.
…
A Kasugai crow flapped its wings as it descended, delivering a letter. Tanjiro quickly caught it, unfolding the message and scanning its contents—but as he read, his expression gradually grew restless, even irritated.
Makomo found it strange. Every previous time the crow had brought a letter, Tanjiro had been visibly excited. So why did this one leave him so unsettled?
"What does it say?" she asked, stepping closer with her hands clasped behind her back, curiosity evident in her voice.
After a brief hesitation, Tanjiro handed her the letter.
Makomo accepted it, her eyes tracing the neat, delicate handwriting—it was from Nezuko.
"Dear Sir," it began.
"Urokodaki-san said that today marks the first day of the final selection. The nights atop Mount Fujikasane are dangerous, so I didn't dare write earlier. I only began this letter once I felt it would reach you during the day."
"Everything at home is well, so please do not worry. While you are on the mountain, please be careful of the terrifying demons. Please take care of yourself… and may fortune be with you."
"Today, I started learning sewing with Mother. I think by the time you return, I'll have learned enough. When that happens, I want to make you a haori myself. I suppose I could already try now, but I'd rather wait until you return… so I can take your measurements properly…"
The letter went on at length, filled with small, rambling details—but every line, every word, revolved around "Sir."
Not Tanjiro.
Just "Sir."
As Makomo read, she could almost picture the girl—leaning by a window, lost in thought, her heart full of quiet longing.
And suddenly, Makomo realized something.
Perhaps… she wasn't alone after all.
Almost unconsciously, her gaze drifted once more toward Soma, who lay resting nearby. The soft sunlight fell across his face, giving him a warm, almost gentle glow that was strangely captivating.
He was kind.
And undeniably handsome.
A good person, with a gentle nature—and strength to match.
It was only natural… that someone like him would be loved.
Before she knew it, Makomo found herself staring, lost in thought.
…
The mountain breeze carried a lingering chill, but the campfire kept it at bay.
By the time afternoon arrived, people gradually began to wake. Soma stretched lazily as he sat up, only to notice Makomo beside him.
She had fallen asleep on the mat, propped on her elbows, her chin resting in her hands—like a small cat dozing off mid-watch.
Quietly, Soma took the clothing that had been covering him and gently draped it over her.
At the same time, he glanced toward Kanao, who had woken almost in sync with him, and offered her a soft, warm smile.
…
When Makomo finally stirred awake, she immediately noticed the thick garment draped over her. Her cheeks flushed faintly, and she instinctively looked toward the spot where Soma had been resting—
—but he was no longer there.
Startled, she hurried to her feet, only to find him already gathered with the others around the campfire, speaking about something.
A flicker of self-reproach crossed her heart.
Without another thought, she quickly made her way over.
"Makomo, perfect timing," Soma called out with a smile, gesturing for her to come over. "We were just discussing how to work together tonight."
"Mm."
Makomo nodded and naturally took a seat beside him. With her mask still on, no one could see the expression on her face.
"We've been talking things over," Soma leaned slightly closer and explained in a lower voice, "about forming a plan for tonight—coordinating as a group instead of acting individually."
"Mm."
She nodded again in agreement. Demon hunting had never been something meant for lone warriors. It was about cooperation—fighting alongside companions, relying on one another.
Demons, on the other hand, were different. Most of them fought alone. Even if they possessed overwhelming strength—far beyond that of a single Demon Slayer—once swordsmen worked together, supporting each other seamlessly, they could often bring down enemies several times stronger than themselves.
The better the coordination, the greater the strength the group could unleash.
However, it was obvious that none of them had real experience fighting as a team. Problems surfaced almost immediately as they tried to organize themselves, and it was equally clear that many of them were subtly excluding Kaigaku.
Kaigaku himself seemed to sense it, growing unusually quiet.
Soma, however, acted as though he noticed nothing. Calmly, he began assigning roles according to his own ideas—who would focus on defense, who would take on offense, who would support and assist their teammates…
Of course, for now, it was all just theory.
So he encouraged everyone to think of better approaches, inviting suggestions. Perhaps because it was their first time attempting teamwork, everyone eagerly voiced their thoughts, offering ideas one after another.
And just like that, beside the flickering campfire, a simple and unpolished demon-slaying team was formed.
…
Once the team was established, they began grouping up and attempting basic coordination drills.
Since no one truly understood how to work together yet, the training quickly turned chaotic. Movements overlapped, timing faltered, and more than once they nearly got in each other's way.
After about half an hour, they stopped to rest. One by one, they shared their thoughts—what felt awkward, what didn't work, what could be improved. They discussed how to better respond when demons attacked, how to support each other more effectively, and how to coordinate their strikes to bring down their enemies more efficiently.
…
After identifying several issues, they trained for another hour before finally stopping to rest and prepare for the coming night.
But this time, something had changed.
They were no longer thinking of themselves as prey hiding from demons.
Nor were they simply trying to survive seven days atop Mount Fujikasane.
Now, they were thinking about how to hunt—how to eliminate as many demons as possible.
…
During the break, Soma sat among them, eating a roasted rice ball like everyone else.
At that moment, Kaigaku approached.
"Need something?" Soma asked casually, still chewing.
"Why?" Kaigaku asked instead, his gaze fixed on him, filled with confusion and curiosity.
"…Why what?" Soma looked at him, puzzled.
"No need to pretend," Kaigaku said, one eyebrow lifting slightly. "Nishimura Kenichi spoke to you earlier, didn't he? About me. Don't tell me you don't care."
Soma paused mid-bite, lowering the rice ball as he looked at the boy before him.
This was the same Kaigaku who, in the future, would fall into becoming a demon—driving his teacher, Jigoro Kuwajima, to take his own life out of shame… only to eventually be beheaded by Zenitsu Agatsuma, the very person he had always looked down on for only mastering the First Form of Thunder Breathing.
"Since you've put it that way," Soma said at last, his gaze steady and open, "then I'll be direct."
Kaigaku's hand tightened slightly around the hilt of his Nichirin Sword. He lowered his head a fraction, his voice calm but tense.
"If you're going to condemn me, just say it," he said. "I doubt you want me staying here anyway."
Then he looked back up at Soma, giving a careless shrug.
"Honestly, I don't mind. Worst case, I just leave."
Soma shook his head lightly. "Why would I blame you for that?"
The answer was so different from what Kaigaku had expected that it caught him off guard. He stared at Soma, suspicion and disbelief flickering in his pale green eyes, as though trying to determine whether those words were sincere—or simply a lie.
"I don't know exactly how your teammates died," Soma continued calmly, "but I can more or less guess that you made your decision based on your own judgment. Maybe you thought you couldn't win, maybe you felt there was no other choice… or maybe you believed the outcome would be the same no matter what you did."
Kaigaku fell silent.
"If you had thought there was a real chance," Soma added with a faint smile, "you probably wouldn't have abandoned them so easily, would you?"
"…But abandoning your companions—and letting them die because of it—is still something that can't be forgiven."
Kaigaku lifted his head, his gaze drifting toward the setting sun as it dipped lower on the horizon.
He didn't regret his choice.
And yet… he knew that if he had truly risked everything, he might have been able to save one or two of them. But doing so would have placed him in extreme danger.
And those so-called companions? They had only just met. Strangers, really. Why should he risk his life for people like that?
Soma nodded, then shook his head again.
"I don't consider you a companion," he said plainly. "And I have no intention of entrusting my back to you."
Kaigaku's eyes widened in shock. "Then why… are you still letting me stay in your team?"
"Because there are people like you," Soma replied, lifting his gaze to meet his. "People who don't trust others, who won't entrust their backs to anyone. People who are self-focused, who won't throw their lives away for the sake of companions… and who can endure humiliation if it means surviving. People who believe that as long as they live, they can eventually change everything."
His voice remained steady.
"That's the kind of person you are, isn't it?"
Kaigaku didn't answer. He didn't deny it either. The confusion in his eyes, however, had yet to fade.
"In my view," Soma continued, "the ideal team is one where everyone trusts each other completely—where every member is willing to guard another's back. But someone like you… you're not suited for that kind of role. Still, people like you often possess greater ability, sharper instincts, and stronger individual strength."
He paused briefly before going on.
"So should someone like you be cast aside simply because you won't protect others or rely on them?"
He shook his head.
"I don't think that's the right approach."
"If a team is willing to cover your back—willing to take that burden for you—then your abilities and strength can be used even more effectively. And in doing so, you might be the very one who leads that team to victory."
Kaigaku fell completely silent.
He had always lived for himself, always relied only on his own judgment. The idea of a team existing purely to support someone like him—people who would willingly guard his back—was almost unimaginable.
And yet… if such a team truly existed…
Just the thought of it made his chest tighten.
To him, that kind of bond would be something unimaginably precious.
"So," Soma said casually, as though discussing something trivial, "if you ever find yourself in such a team… then at the very end of the battle, choose to leave only when you must."
He shrugged lightly.
"As for now, all I expect from you is simple—use your abilities to their fullest. Focus on what you can do best."
"Leave the matter of your back… to your teammates."
"What do you think?"
Kaigaku's hand unconsciously tightened around the hilt of his Nichirin blade at his waist.
If such a team truly existed… how could he possibly walk away from it without hesitation? Without caring?
Maybe he wouldn't be the type to risk his life recklessly for others.
But he knew this much—
He would fight until the very last moment.
And as long as there was even a sliver of hope, he would never abandon it so easily again.
Seeing Kaigaku fall into deep thought, Soma simply shrugged once more.
"Of course," he added bluntly, "with your current strength, you're still far from worthy of a team like that."
Kaigaku's grip on his sword tightened again—then slowly loosened.
He looked at the man before him, his voice steady, his expression resolute.
"Then one day… I'll make you believe—"
His tone sharpened with determination.
"—that I am worthy."
..
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