"These demons… the things they've done, the cruelty they're capable of… none of it can ever be forgiven."
Tanjiro's face was pale as he stood amidst the carnage. What had once been an ordinary, happy family—nothing remarkable, nothing grand—had been utterly destroyed the moment a demon crossed their threshold. The air was thick with the stench of blood, suffocating, as if even the memory of their happiness had been erased along with their lives.
The parents, who had tried to shield their children, had been devoured.
The children, who had been protected, had watched helplessly as the very people who loved them most were eaten alive… only to meet the same fate themselves.
Such tragedy.
Such senseless destruction of another's happiness.
No matter what, such acts demanded punishment.
Tanjiro's face remained bloodless, but his grip on the sword at his waist tightened unconsciously.
Until now, joining the Demon Slayer Corps and becoming a swordsman had felt… almost passive. Something guided by others, by his seniors, by circumstances he had simply followed step by step. Before he even realized it, he had become one of them—a demon slayer.
But standing here, staring at the ruins of a life torn apart without mercy, he finally understood.
Understood why he had chosen this path.
Understood what it meant.
"The demon… has probably already left."
Soma inspected the room carefully. Near the eaves, faint streaks of dripping blood marked the path—evidence that the demon had carried off what remained of its "meal" after feeding.
"We should pursue it, sir."
Tanjiro lifted his head and looked at Soma, speaking up for the first time with a will that was entirely his own.
Soma glanced back, a hint of surprise flickering across his expression as he met the boy's resolute gaze.
"…Alright."
He gave a short nod, then turned to the man collapsed on the ground—Maeda Hiroshi, one of the Kakushi.
"Head back on your own. And remember—keep the wisteria incense burning at all times."
"Yes… sir."
Maeda forced himself upright. He tried to suppress it, but in the end, he couldn't hold it back. He doubled over and retched again, his body rebelling against the horror he had just witnessed. It was clear he had never encountered such a gruesome scene before. For someone like him, the shock wasn't just mental—it had already become physical. Perhaps, from this night on, the memory would haunt his dreams, leaving him unable to sleep.
Soma paid him no further mind. He moved ahead, following the trail left by the fleeing demon.
The bloodstains on the ground were still fresh. The demon hadn't been gone long.
But after roughly ten minutes, the trail abruptly ended.
At the point where the blood vanished, there lay a small fragment—a child's fingernail. Bits of flesh still clung to it. Nearby, a rattle, stained with blood, rested silently on the ground.
Ownerless.
Abandoned.
"Looks like the trail ends here."
Soma crouched down and picked up the rattle, examining it briefly. He had once bought something like this for Kanao… but it had been destroyed during the battle in the cave against Furukawa Hiroshi. After that, he had never thought to buy another.
Tanjiro took the rattle from him.
As he held it, he closed his eyes and breathed in its lingering scent.
And in that instant, it was as if he could see everything.
A slightly mischievous child… the most doted-on in the family, yet also the most timid. When the demon attacked, he had been hidden beneath the bed by his older sister, trembling in fear. But when he saw his parents about to be devoured… something changed.
He gathered his courage.
Grabbed a kitchen knife.
And charged at the demon.
…Only to be eaten himself.
The faint scent left behind on the rattle made Tanjiro lower his head. Gently, almost reverently, he wiped away the bloodstains with his hand. Then he lifted his gaze toward the bright, silent moon hanging in the sky.
"Sir… I won't let this demon escape."
His voice was soft, but it carried an unshakable resolve.
Soma scanned the surroundings.
This place was nothing but open wilderness—empty, desolate. With the trail gone, finding the demon again would not be easy.
At least, not for him.
Even a seasoned team of demon hunters would need time—careful searching, analysis, patience—to pick up the trail again.
But for Tanjiro, with his extraordinary sense of smell…
That was another matter entirely.
"…Can you still catch its scent?" Soma asked quietly.
Tanjiro closed his eyes and let out a slow, steady breath.
The last time he had put his full effort into his sense of smell, it had been out of fear for his family's safety under Soma's "threat."
But this time… it was different.
This time, he wanted it.
The air was filled with countless overlapping scents—the faint traces carried by the wind, the lingering presence of people, the sorrow left behind by the dead… and beneath it all, barely perceptible, a thin thread of something else.
The scent of a demon.
"…I can smell it."
After a long moment, Tanjiro opened his eyes and turned toward a specific direction.
...
Deep within the mountains, a lone wooden house stood in silence.
A flickering light swayed gently within, pushing back the darkness and casting a fragile warmth into the stillness of the night. Inside, a woman dressed in a kimono knelt by the hearth, carefully feeding firewood into the flames. A small pot rested above it, steam rising steadily into the air.
Beside her sat a boy who looked no more than twelve years old. Every so often, he would glance toward the door, unable to hide his anticipation.
"Mom… when is Dad coming back?"
He turned, eyes bright with hope as he looked at her.
"Soon, I think," the woman replied gently. "He should be home tonight."
Knock… knock…
A soft tapping came from the door.
The boy's face lit up instantly. Without hesitation, he rushed forward and pulled it open.
Standing outside was a man in a suit, a heavy pack slung over his back. His appearance was unremarkable, his features plain, though his brows carried a faint air of resolve—like any other man returning home late after a long journey.
Only his eyes…
…were a deep, unnatural crimson.
"Dad! You're back!"
The boy threw himself into the man's arms.
"I'm… I'm back, Kenzō," the man replied, his voice slightly stiff as he reached out and gently patted his son's head. "I earned quite a bit on this trip. I'll be staying home for a while this time."
He paused, then added, "I even bought you that rattle you always wanted when you were little…"
As he spoke, he began rummaging through his belongings.
"Dad, that was when I was really young," Kenzō said with a small shake of his head. "I'm already over ten now. I'm not a little kid anymore—I wouldn't play with a rattle."
"…Is that so?" The man frowned slightly, a hint of frustration crossing his face. "My memory hasn't been very good lately…"
"But since it's something you bought for me," the boy added quickly, looking at him with quiet expectation, "I'll still like it."
Perhaps he had already grown past the age for such toys—but the gift from his father still meant everything.
The man searched himself for a long time, yet found nothing.
"Come inside first," the woman said as she stepped out, her voice warm and gentle as she looked at her husband. "Don't stand out there. It's cold."
"Ah… right."
He entered with his son, still patting at his clothes as he searched. "I'm sure I put the rattle on me… how could it be gone?"
"It's okay, Dad. I don't really like rattles anymore anyway."
Kenzō brought over a cup of hot water and handed it to him, speaking with a maturity beyond his years.
"I'm certain I bought it… I must have dropped it somewhere. What a shame—it was a really nice one."
The man took the cup and sipped, but his brows furrowed slightly.
"Is it too hot?" Kenzō asked, tilting his head up. He was sure the temperature wasn't that high.
"Haha… I already drank some water on the way, so I'm not really thirsty."
In truth, it wasn't the heat.
It was that he didn't like the taste.
The man shook his head lightly, then pulled his son closer, as if to inspect him. "Kenzō, you've grown quite tall… you must be six already, right?"
"…Dad, I'm twelve."
A faint crease formed on Kenzō's brow. "Your memory really is getting worse. Should I find a doctor for you?"
"No, no… that won't be necessary."
The man's gaze drifted downward, settling on the boy's slender, delicate throat.
Almost instinctively…
…he licked his lips.
"I've been making you some clothes at home these past few days. Try them on and see if they fit."
The woman in the kimono stepped forward, her voice as gentle as ever as she looked at her husband.
"Ah, really? Then I'm sure they'll fit perfectly."
Yamashita Yūsuke chuckled and stood up, allowing her to help him change into the new clothes.
"They fit so well, Mom! You're amazing at sewing."
"You really are incredible, dear."
Both father and son offered their praise in unison.
"Oh, it's not as good as you both say..."
The woman lowered her head, a little embarrassed, though the warmth in her expression couldn't be hidden.
The candlelight flickered softly, illuminating the cozy scene of a family of three. The gentle glow wrapped around them, painting a picture of quiet happiness—though every now and then, as it passed over the man's eyes, a faint glint of crimson would flash within.
...
Tap… tap… tap…
Footsteps struck the ground in steady rhythm as they moved swiftly through the night, following closely behind Tanjiro.
"It's this way."
He sniffed the air as he ran, occasionally stopping to crouch down and carefully examine certain spots, breathing in deeply before closing his eyes and focusing on the lingering scent.
Step by step, he traced the invisible trail.
Before long, a lone house standing in the darkness came into view.
Under the pitch-black sky, warm light flickered within, casting faint silhouettes through the window—those of a small, harmonious family.
"The scent… it's coming from inside."
Tanjiro halted, staring at the quiet wooden house nestled deep in the mountains. The shadows dancing behind the window stirred something in his heart, reminding him of his own home long ago.
Back then, his family had lived in a house just like this, hidden in the mountains. His father worked tirelessly every day, while his mother cared for the household…
"…Is the demon going to destroy this family too?"
His hand moved to his waist, gripping the hilt of his sword tightly as his gaze hardened with resolve.
Soma also looked toward the house. From within, he could sense the presence of his own kind.
Makomo tilted her head slightly, observing the surroundings. "There doesn't seem to be any sign of forced entry. It looks like the family has been living peacefully."
Her words caused a flicker of confusion to pass over Tanjiro's face.
"…Let's go take a look."
Soma smiled faintly. "It's not exactly polite to disturb someone this late at night, but we can't just stand by and let a demon enter this home and destroy their happiness."
As he spoke, his gaze shifted toward Tanjiro.
Once, on a night just like this, he himself—as a demon—had entered Tanjiro's home, plunging his family into fear and despair.
Sensing that look, Tanjiro smiled.
Back then, Soma had appeared as a demon and terrified his family… but in the end, he hadn't harmed a single one of them.
There were demons who destroyed happiness without hesitation.
And then there was him—someone entirely different, despite being a demon as well.
Soma took Kanao's hand and stepped forward, intending to knock on the door himself.
"Sir, let me do it."
Tanjiro spoke up suddenly. Remembering that night from his past, he felt it was more appropriate for him.
Soma glanced back at him, then smiled. "Alright."
Taking a steady breath, Tanjiro stepped forward and gently knocked on the door.
Knock… knock…
The soft sound echoed through the warm, peaceful home.
Inside, the man of the house slowly lifted his head—
revealing a pair of crimson eyes.