With an easy, almost familiar air, Soma draped an arm around Kiriya Ubuyashiki's shoulder and led him toward a house built along the mountainside.
Inside, the hearth was already lit, warmth spreading through the room. Servants stepped forward one after another, placing dish after dish onto the table until it was soon filled with an impressive spread.
Kiriya took his seat at the head of the table, kneeling properly with his back straight, his young face set in a composed, almost rigid expression.
Beside him, his sister Hinaki Ubuyashiki sat in formal seiza as well. Her pale hair framed her delicate features, but her gaze kept drifting toward Soma—who, in stark contrast, sat cross-legged without the slightest regard for etiquette.
Compared to how most swordsmen behaved in the presence of the Ubuyashiki family, Soma's manners were… lacking.
Though the age of the samurai had long since faded and the world had seen its share of upheaval, the rigid hierarchy of status still lingered beneath the surface.
The Ubuyashiki family had always been the backbone of the Demon Slayer Corps. For generations, its leaders had come from that lineage, and to many, the Corps itself was akin to a force of retainers sworn to serve them.
In fact, in the very beginning, the Corps had been formed by warriors loyal to the Ubuyashiki family, united in their pursuit of Muzan Kibutsuji. Only later had it expanded, taking in those whose lives had been shattered by demons, and those driven by the desire to protect humanity.
Over time, it had evolved into what it was now—a force dedicated not to any one family, but to the eradication of demons and the protection of mankind. Even so, the influence of the Ubuyashiki family still ran deep, shaping the Corps in countless ways.
It had even become an unspoken rule that the title of "master" would always belong to someone from that family.
Because of this, even the mighty Hashira would kneel on one knee before the master during formal assemblies like the Hashira Meeting. While such strict etiquette wasn't always enforced in casual encounters, respect was never forgotten.
And yet here was Soma—sitting cross-legged before the future head of the Ubuyashiki family without the slightest concern.
It was, by all accounts, improper.
Hinaki's cheeks puffed slightly with suppressed irritation, her displeasure evident. Having grown up by her father's side, she had seen countless swordsmen, including the Hashira themselves, and never had any of them behaved with such disregard.
But Soma seemed completely oblivious to her glaring eyes.
Instead, he appeared almost delighted.
Picking up the sake flask, he poured himself a cup without hesitation and drank deeply, letting out a satisfied sigh.
"Seven days up on the mountain, and all we had were rice balls and water," he said with a long exhale. "Finally, something worth drinking."
Watching him help himself so freely—without even waiting for Kiriya to drink first—Hinaki's eyes widened even further in disbelief.
No matter how young her brother was, he was still the heir to the Ubuyashiki family, the future master of the Demon Slayer Corps. And Soma, at the end of the day, was merely a newly recruited swordsman.
After finishing his cup, Soma casually picked up the flask again and poured a drink for Kiriya as well.
Hinaki opened her mouth as if to protest, but at a subtle glance from her brother, she reluctantly lowered her head and held her tongue.
Unlike his sister, however, Kiriya felt no offense—only a quiet sense of happiness.
Where Hinaki saw rudeness, he saw something else entirely.
To him, this unrestrained behavior felt… like closeness.
And besides, every truly capable swordsman had a temperament of their own.
Take Shinazugawa Sanemi, for instance. His temperament was famously rough.
Not long ago, he had been promoted to Hashira after slaying one of the Twelve Kizuki—Lower Rank One, Ubume. To celebrate, Kiriya's father had arranged a formal ceremony.
But Sanemi had shown no interest in it.
Perhaps it was because he had lost a dear comrade in that very battle. To him, celebrating while the dead had barely been laid to rest felt like a mockery. It made him question whether the fallen were seen as nothing more than expendable pieces—discarded once their purpose was served.
He could have voiced these doubts in private.
But he didn't.
Instead, he chose to confront Kiriya's father openly during the Hashira meeting, accusing him in front of everyone—declaring that he treated the swordsmen as disposable tools. Worse still, he questioned how someone so frail, someone who couldn't even wield a blade, had the right to lead the Corps at all.
He had, in no uncertain terms, declared that the master was unworthy.
Even from outside the room, Kiriya had heard those words clearly. At the time, anger had surged through him—so intense that he had nearly rushed in himself.
He had expected his father to be just as furious.
But his father hadn't been angry at all.
Instead, he had apologized.
In front of everyone, the head of the Ubuyashiki family had bowed his head to Sanemi, expressing regret for failing to consider his grief before hastily arranging the celebration.
To Kiriya, it had felt like an unbearable humiliation.
The other Hashira had been outraged as well, displeased that their master had been forced into such a position. Yet his father had simply brushed it aside, as though it didn't matter.
After apologizing, he had calmly explained himself.
"I've tried to wield a sword," he had said. "But my pulse quickly becomes erratic. I can't even manage ten swings."
"If I could fight alongside you—if I could stand on the battlefield and protect lives with my own strength—I would gladly do so. But I cannot."
"I'm truly sorry."
And then, regarding the accusation that he treated the fallen as expendable pieces, he had said:
"If I truly saw you as mere tools, then I myself would be nothing more than a piece on the board—a piece that happens to move the Demon Slayer Corps. Even if I were to die, nothing would change."
"Sanemi, this is your first Hashira meeting, so misunderstandings are natural. I do not consider myself someone above you. The respect others show me is simply their kindness. If you do not wish to treat me the same, you don't have to."
"Rather than dwell on this, I only hope that, as a Hashira, you will continue to protect others. That is my only wish."
"And… I'm sorry for summoning you so soon after Masachika's death. You were like brothers, weren't you? It must be especially painful."
At the time, Sanemi hadn't believed a word of it. To him, it had all sounded like empty, polished rhetoric—the kind spoken by those in power.
But then, something unexpected happened.
The Flower Hashira, Kanae Kocho, stepped forward and said quietly that their master remembered the name of every single swordsman who had fallen under his leadership.
Sanemi had scoffed at that and tried to expose it as a lie. He began listing the members of several demon-slaying squads from memory.
Yet without hesitation, Kiriya's father recited every single name—every member of every squad, including the fallen.
Even the names of comrades Sanemi himself had already forgotten… were spoken clearly, one by one.
Shinazugawa Sanemi had been left utterly stunned on the spot.
And that wasn't all.
Later, in private, Kiriya's father handed him a letter—the final words left behind by Masachika Kumeno, the comrade who had fought alongside him against Ubume and lost his life in that battle.
The letter itself was simple, almost painfully so:
"I hope the people I care about can live happily, all the way until the end of their natural lives. I hope their lives will never again be threatened by anything unreasonable…"
…
From that day on, Sanemi never voiced another accusation against Kiriya's father. In fact, compared to the others, he became even more respectful, more mindful of his conduct.
Kiriya had once asked his father about that incident. He still remembered how his father had rested a hand on his shoulder and spoken gently:
"All of them have come here with the same goal, the same ideal. If someone is rude to you, does that mean you must reject them? If they have flaws in their character, does that mean you should push them away?"
"If you only surround yourself with people you like—those close to you, those who respect you—what kind of group will that become? Will they truly be people united in their resolve to destroy demons? Will they be warriors willing to lay down their lives for that cause?"
"Remember this: those with true ability often carry a certain pride. They each have their own temperament—some are rough, some are fierce, some are petty… but as long as they share the same purpose, as long as they strive to eradicate demons and make the Corps stronger, those flaws can be tolerated."
"Kiriya, one day you will become the master. Have you thought about how you will face these powerful swordsmen? How you will lead them?"
"It is not your title that will make them obey you, nor will it automatically earn their respect. What you must consider is how to prevent a strong force from falling into disunity, and how to bring them together against an even greater enemy."
Those words echoed clearly in Kiriya's mind.
Looking now at Soma—who showed no regard for the prestige of the Ubuyashiki name, casually pouring him a cup of sake—Kiriya couldn't help but smile, a youthful, earnest expression spreading across his face. He reached out, accepted the cup, and raised it.
Soma paused slightly at the sight of the boy toasting him, then lifted his own cup in response.
However, Kiriya, frail since childhood, was clearly not accustomed to drinking. Under his sister Hinaki's worried gaze, he took a small sip—only to break into a fit of coughing almost immediately.
And yet, even as he coughed, the boy stubbornly finished the entire cup.
That alone made Soma regard him with a new measure of respect.
No wonder… when the time came, after Kagaya Ubuyashiki sacrificed himself in a final gambit to ensnare Muzan Kibutsuji, this young boy had been able to steady the entire situation so quickly. Though his methods were still immature, there was already a trace of the Ubuyashiki spirit within him.
In many aspects, the Ubuyashiki family might not have been perfect. The Final Selection on Mount Fujikasane, for instance, had claimed the lives of countless passionate youths, and tragedies like those involving Sakonji Urokodaki's disciples were enough to wrench at the heart.
And yet, when it came to leading the Demon Slayer Corps—when it came to uniting its members and inspiring them to fight, even at the cost of their lives—the Ubuyashiki family had done something extraordinary.
It was not something just anyone could achieve.
After all, the Ubuyashiki family did not possess the kind of power that Kibutsuji Muzan wielded—the ability to control the lives of subordinates at will, or to peer effortlessly into the depths of a person's heart.
And yet, as the future head of the Demon Slayer Corps, Ubuyashiki Kiriya had done something far more difficult. He had personally raised a cup to Soma—a mere newly promoted swordsman—and even served him food with his own hands. For most ordinary swordsmen, such sincerity alone would be enough to win their unwavering loyalty.
To treat others with genuine sincerity, and to be repaid with righteousness in return—this was a principle deeply rooted in the culture they had inherited from that distant eastern land. Though the world had begun to change, and examples of rebellion and upheaval had grown more common, a master who truly cared for his people would rarely, if ever, be betrayed.
Soma drank leisurely, his gaze occasionally settling on the frail-looking boy before him.
Noticing the look, Kiriya—despite clearly being unaccustomed to alcohol—still lifted his cup again, determined to drink.
Soma chuckled softly and, before the boy could take a second sip, reached out and stopped him. Under Kiriya's puzzled gaze, he said lightly, "Sake is good, but you should exercise restraint."
Only then did Kiriya lower his cup.
Had Soma bluntly told him that his body couldn't handle alcohol, the boy's pride would have driven him to insist otherwise. But phrased this way—as a matter of discipline rather than limitation—it was something Kiriya could accept.
Beside them, Hinaki's expression softened noticeably. She had been worried about her brother's health, and Soma's quiet intervention eased her concerns.
Ironically, while advising Kiriya to be restrained, Soma himself showed no such intention. He drank deeply, ate heartily, and from time to time even picked up food to place in Kanao's bowl, as she sat quietly by his side.
Hinaki blinked in surprise. She hadn't expected this rough, ill-mannered swordsman to possess such a gentle side.
As the meal went on, Soma spoke casually with Kiriya, most of their conversation revolving around what had transpired atop Mount Fujikasane.
At one point, he mentioned the existence of the "Hand Demon."
The moment the topic came up, Makomo fell silent.
Memories surged—of the older disciples who had died over the years, of Sabito who never returned, and of their teacher waiting endlessly on Mount Sagiri. If their teacher were to learn that all those deaths had been caused by the very demon he himself had captured and placed on the mountain… Makomo could not even begin to imagine the guilt that would follow.
Kiriya, upon hearing this, was equally shaken. He rose abruptly to his feet, pain flashing across his face.
Even Hinaki, sitting beside him, lowered her head as tears slipped quietly from her eyes.
The mood at the table collapsed into heavy silence.
And yet, as though completely unaware of the atmosphere he had created, Soma calmly lifted his cup again. He even poured sake for Hinaki, setting it before her.
She puffed her cheeks in protest, clearly having no intention of drinking.
Raising his cup, Soma looked at the sorrow-stricken group and said evenly, "This cup is for those who died on Mount Fujikasane… They died well."
Hinaki's eyes widened in anger at those words.
But Soma had already drained his cup in one motion.
"There is glory in death," he continued, his voice steady, "and shame in surviving without purpose. A toast—to those who gave their lives on the path of slaying demons."
"Glory in death... shame in life,"Kiriya murmured, repeating the words under his breath.
His teeth clenched, grief and something fiercer mingling in his expression. Though he could barely tolerate alcohol, he lifted his cup once more and forced himself to drink.
Hinaki, who had resisted until now, slowly reached for her cup as well.
"Glory in death, shame in life," Makomo whispered the words too, her voice trembling.
Clink.
When Soma finished his drink, he casually crushed the empty cup in his hand, letting the shards fall to the floor. Then he let out a hearty laugh.
"Well, the sake's been drunk, and I've eaten my fill. Time to sleep."
Without another word, he stood, took Kanao's hand, and followed a Kakushi attendant toward the prepared rooms.
The broken fragments of the cup lay scattered across the floor, the faint scent of sake lingering in the air.
Kiriya watched his departing figure—the man who could be both gentle and utterly unrestrained, who had not even bothered with a proper farewell—and felt an inexplicable sense of admiration stir within him. If only his body were stronger… if only he could take up a blade and fight as that man did.
Even Hinaki, who had earlier been so angered by Soma's lack of manners, now felt a trace of regret. How could she have judged someone who lived by such words—gloryin death, shame in life—so harshly?
For a fleeting moment, she even wished she had done as her brother had… and raised a cup in respect to a swordsman like him.
..
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