Amid the child's anguished cries and the woman's sobbing, Tanjiro raised his Nichirin Sword high.
At that very moment, the demon lifted his head. A flash of savagery flickered through his crimson eyes, and his hands clenched tightly—an instinctive reaction to the looming threat of death.
But then…
His gaze shifted past the boy in front of him, landing on Soma.
That cold, indifferent stare.
The same kind of presence as his own… yet utterly different.
Unlike the boy before him, who still wavered with compassion, the man standing there would not hesitate. The demon knew it without a doubt—if he so much as resisted, that man would kill his wife and child without the slightest pause.
Unwilling to die… yet powerless to resist.
In the end, his clenched fists slowly loosened.
Crunch!
The blade sliced cleanly through his neck.
The demon offered no resistance. His head was severed with ease.
It fell, rolling across the floor—until it came to a stop in front of the boy, still held in his mother's arms. With trembling hands, the boy clutched it tightly, tears streaming down his face, dripping onto the fading features of his father.
"Don't… hate anyone… don't hold onto resentment… this is what I deserve…"
The demon's voice, weak and fading, carried his final words.
"I'm sorry… I won't be able to stay with you anymore, Kenzō… you've grown up now… in the future, find a good wife… build a family of your own…"
As he spoke, tears pooled at the corners of his eyes. Then, both his body and his severed head began to dissolve—breaking apart bit by bit, until nothing remained.
Nothing at all.
Only a faint, unpleasant stench lingered in the air… along with a trace of sorrow so subtle that only someone like Tanjiro could perceive it.
Tanjiro stood where he was, gripping his sword.
Drops of blood slid down the blade, falling one by one from its tip, as though each drop rippled across the surface of his once-calm heart—disturbing it in a way that might never settle again.
He looked at the woman, quietly sobbing.
At the boy, kneeling on the ground, drowning in grief.
The air itself seemed heavy with sorrow.
Slowly, Tanjiro lifted his head and gazed at the bright moon hanging in the sky.
For most people, it was difficult to truly understand the depth of another's emotions—but for someone like him, whose empathy ran so deep, everything before him felt painfully vivid.
He had slain a demon.
And yet, there had been no battle. No desperate struggle. No narrow escape from death.
It had been easy.
Too easy.
And because of that… his heart felt anything but relieved.
If anything, it felt heavy—clogged, as though something was lodged deep within his chest.
"Let's go."
Soma sheathed his partially drawn Nichirin Sword and called out to him.
Tanjiro blinked, as if only just returning to himself. He glanced once more at the grieving mother and child, then bowed slightly.
"I'm sorry… but I had to do it."
The boy only looked at him with hatred.
The woman… the same.
Tanjiro said nothing more. He turned away, slid his bloodstained blade back into its sheath, and followed after the others.
...
On the way back, no one spoke.
Silence stretched between them, heavy and unbroken.
Tanjiro walked with his head lowered the entire time.
This had been his first hunt as a member of the Demon Slayer Corps.
But it was nothing like he had imagined.
There had been no life-or-death struggle, no fierce battle fought on the edge of survival. Instead, it had been simple—effortless, even. He had cut down a demon with ease.
And yet…
There was no sense of accomplishment.
No satisfaction.
Instead, his thoughts kept returning to that final moment—to the grief of that family, to the pain in their eyes.
A faint trace of confusion even surfaced within him.
"…Do you regret it?"
The sudden voice pulled him from his thoughts.
He looked up to find that Soma had stopped walking at some point and was now watching him quietly.
"…No."
Tanjiro shook his head.
He did not regret killing the demon.
No matter how much that demon had loved his family, no matter how kind he had been to them… the things he had done could not be forgiven.
They should not be forgiven.
"In that case," Soma said calmly, "you should feel relieved."
He paused, his gaze steady.
"But judging by the look on your face… that doesn't seem to be the case at all."
"Even though you've just killed a demon that deserved it."
He smiled as he spoke.
Tanjiro lowered his gaze slightly. "I was just thinking about that child… and that woman. Now that they've lost a father… a husband… what will their lives be like from now on?"
"Is that so?"
Soma studied him for a moment, then let out a quiet sigh of admiration. "Tanjiro, you really do empathize with others too easily… even with demons."
He paused, his tone thoughtful.
"Someone like you, walking the path of slaying demons… I'm afraid that every time you kill one, you'll end up carrying their sorrow with you. If you keep immersing yourself in that kind of grief, you'll need a very strong heart to endure it."
Tanjiro's hand tightened slightly around the hilt of his sword. Then he lifted his head and met Soma's gaze.
"I understand. I know now that hunting demons isn't as simple as I thought."
Soma said nothing more. He simply stepped forward and patted Tanjiro on the shoulder.
"There's no need to dwell on the dead," he said lightly. "Even demons are no exception. Don't burden yourself unnecessarily."
Tanjiro pressed his lips together.
He didn't agree.
But he didn't argue either.
He did not regret cutting down that demon. And if he were to face another like it, he would still strike without hesitation.
But once the blade had fallen, once everything was over—once the sins of the past had been judged and brought to an end—if he saw the lingering sorrow of that demon, he would still step forward… gently close their unblinking eyes… and try, in his own way, to share in that grief.
Because only by understanding that sorrow could he truly resolve himself.
Only then could he ensure that such tragedies would not continue.
Only then, when he grasped his Nichirin Sword, would he fully understand what it was he was ending… and what kind of sorrow he was cutting away.
After patting his shoulder, Soma turned and began to walk on.
"Sir—"
Tanjiro suddenly called out.
Soma glanced back, a hint of curiosity in his eyes.
"After seeing that demon today… what did you feel?"
"My feelings?"
Soma thought back briefly to the demon's face, then lifted his gaze to the bright moon above.
"What I felt," he said slowly, "is that I must never become a pitiful demon like that."
His voice was calm, but firm.
"I must never become the kind of creature that hands over the right to live or die to someone else. Never become that weak… leaving the fate of what I cherish in the hands of so-called 'stronger' people."
He let out a faint breath.
"And frankly, he was lucky. He ran into demon slayers. If it had been someone else… they wouldn't have just killed him. His wife and child likely wouldn't have been spared either."
This was similar to what Giyu Tomioka had once told Tanjiro: Never give others the chance to decide your life or death.
Now, after witnessing that demon kneeling and begging, Soma understood those words more deeply than ever.
And he took it as a warning.
A line he would never cross.
To become a creature that had lost its humanity… and yet still failed to protect the happiness it once held dear—that was the most pitiful fate of all.
After saying that, he gave Tanjiro's shoulder another light pat, then took Kanao's hand and continued walking ahead.
Tanjiro remained where he was, watching Soma's retreating figure.
A thought stirred quietly in his mind.
Soma was also a demon.
And yet… aside from the first time they met, Tanjiro had rarely seen any trace of savagery in him.
He had never seen him act like the other demons—never seen him lose himself to the scent of blood, never seen him destroy the happiness of ordinary people without restraint.
Instead, he was gentle, knowledgeable, powerful… and humble.
If Tanjiro didn't already know the truth, he would never have believed Soma was a demon.
Even knowing it now… he still couldn't see him that way.
Then why… was he different?
Why could he resist those instincts?
How had he managed it?
...
By the third day, the four of them—burdened with large packs and supplies—finally arrived at Mount Sagiri.
At the foot of the mountain stood a man wearing a tengu mask—Sakonji Urokodaki.
This old teacher, who came here every year during the Final Selection on Mount Fujikasane, always waited with hope in his heart. Each year, he watched his students set off, filled with confidence…
And each year, what returned to him were not their faces—
…but brief letters delivered by Kasugai crows.
Again and again, he waited.
And again and again, all he received were short messages bearing familiar names—
each one carrying news of death.
Each time he waited, it felt as though something was being torn out of his chest, leaving behind a hollow ache so deep it was almost unbearable.
And now…
At last, he had received news that one of his disciples had returned alive.
He had thought he would feel nothing but joy. And indeed, he was happy that Makomo had passed the trial.
But more than that… he felt guilt.
He had already received Makomo's letter. He now knew the truth behind the deaths of his students over the years.
It had all been because of a single demon—the Hand Demon he had once spared.
For days, the thought had haunted him.
Why hadn't he killed it back then?
If only he had steeled his heart—if only he had swung his blade without hesitation and severed its head on the spot—none of this would have happened.
So why had he hesitated?
Was it because he knew that, before becoming a demon, that creature had once been nothing more than an ordinary person? Because it had once had a loving older brother… a warm, happy home?
Or was it because of what he had witnessed afterward—
That even after turning into a demon, it had devoured the very brother who loved it most… and yet, in that final moment, that brother had still begged him not to harm his younger sibling?
Had that scene softened his resolve?
Or was it the demon's pain… its regret… the sorrow that lingered within it, that made his blade falter?
In the end, the answer was simple.
His resolve had not been strong enough.
He had allowed himself to feel pity.
And because of that moment of weakness, he had sent the demon to Mount Fujikasane instead of killing it outright.
He should have known better.
A demon would not feel gratitude for mercy.
It would only feel hatred—for being imprisoned in a place where, sooner or later, a swordsman would come to take its head.
And he…
He had continued to send his own disciples there.
One after another.
Delivering them, with his own hands, into the jaws of that demon that hated him.
It was the most foolish… the most unforgivable mistake of his life.
Those children had trusted him. Respected him. Even if they knew the truth, they would never blame him. They would never say it was his fault.
But—
It was his fault.
In the end, it all came back to one thing.
He had shown compassion to a demon.
Even though he knew—once someone became a demon, everything that made them human would eventually fade away.
Yet when he saw that demon's suffering, when he sensed its sorrow… his resolve wavered. His blade faltered.
He had been too soft.
"Are you still blaming yourself, Urokodaki-sensei?"
A gentle voice spoke from beside him.
The girl standing there wore a beautiful pink kimono. Her long black hair was neatly arranged, swaying softly in the breeze, and her delicate lashes fluttered lightly. There was an almost overwhelming sweetness about her presence—an innocent charm that seemed to bloom naturally.
As she grew older, her figure had begun to take shape, yet her face still held that youthful softness, giving her a kind of fleeting, dreamlike beauty.
Urokodaki Sakonji turned his head to look at her, then lifted his gaze toward the sky.
"No matter how you look at it… this is my mistake."
"Everyone makes mistakes," Nezuko said gently. "Who can truly say they'll never make one? Back then, how could you have known that the demon you spared and placed on Mount Fujikasane would cause such terrible consequences?"
"But if I hadn't been so soft… if I hadn't shown mercy to a demon…"
Urokodaki's hand clenched slightly.
"I knew demons were beyond saving. I knew they were meant to be destroyed…"
"I knew that, and yet…"
"Enough with the 'I knews'!"
Nezuko suddenly cut him off, a trace of anger in her voice.
"How could anyone have known that the Hand Demon you left on Mount Fujikasane would harbor such hatred toward you? How could you have known it would turn out like that?"
She took a small step forward, her eyes firm.
"Yes, most demons are terrible. Maybe almost all of them are beyond saving… but does that mean there can't be exceptions?"
She looked at him steadily.
"Urokodaki-sensei… isn't it possible that some demons are different?"
"No… there's no such thing as a different kind of demon."
Urokodaki Sakonji gritted his teeth, his voice firm and unyielding.
"The moment someone becomes a demon, everything they once were as a human begins to fade away. There are no exceptions."
"Or is it just because you've never seen one… that you believe exceptions don't exist?"
Nezuko clenched her fists, her tone resolute.
"If I were a demon, I would never harm others. I would never become like those demons who destroy people's happiness without a second thought…"
Her voice carried an unwavering conviction.
Urokodaki looked at her and let out a faint, almost self-mocking chuckle as he tilted his head toward the sky.
"It was that same kind of naïveté… that cost me the lives of the disciples who trusted me most."
Seeing him sink once more into guilt and sorrow, Nezuko turned her head away slightly. Deep down, she couldn't agree with him at all.
Yes, most demons were beyond saving.
But not all.
There had to be exceptions.
For example…
Soma.
He was proof enough.
Perhaps most demons were cruel by nature—but he was different. He had to be.
Thinking of him, Nezuko couldn't help but rise onto her toes, peering into the distance with hopeful anticipation, searching for a familiar figure.
She didn't have to wait long. Far off, a group of figures appeared.
"It's him! Soma-san is here!"
Her face lit up instantly, and she bounced with excitement, her joy as unrestrained as a child's.
In truth, Urokodaki had already noticed Makomo returning long before Nezuko did. The relief of seeing his disciple safe and sound eased some of the weight in his heart, and watching Nezuko's cheerful reaction, he couldn't help but smile faintly.
On the path leading toward Mount Sagiri, Soma and the others continued forward.
The closer they got, the faster Makomo and Tanjiro moved, their steps quickening as they repeatedly glanced ahead.
And the moment they saw the familiar figure waiting for them on the mountain—
their faces broke into bright, uncontrollable smiles.
Then, as if unable to hold back any longer, they both ran forward.
Soma, meanwhile, simply held Kanao's hand and watched quietly from behind.
"Nezuko… I'm back!"
Tanjiro ran toward his sister, his voice filled with relief and excitement.
Nezuko ran toward him as well, waving her hand eagerly, her happiness written all over her face.
"Brother, you're back!"
They met halfway and stopped, both beaming.
"Nezuko, do you know what I went through on this journey? There's so much I want to tell you—you're definitely going to want to hear all of it…"
Tanjiro began speaking almost breathlessly, eager to share everything.
But then—
he froze.
Nezuko had already run past him.
She headed straight toward the figure standing behind him—toward Soma.
She slowed as she approached, stopping a few steps away and standing there quietly.
The breeze stirred, lifting a few strands of her dark hair, letting them fall gently across her youthful face—an effortless blend of innocence and beauty.
"Sir, did you have a good journey?"
Her cheeks were faintly flushed, her eyes bright with joy as she looked up at him.
Soma seemed slightly surprised, but he nodded nonetheless.
"Quite well."
Not far away, Tanjiro stood there, watching the scene unfold with a faintly aggrieved expression.
He had been so eager to share everything with his sister…
And yet, somehow, he had been completely ignored.
After all, Nezuko had never been like this before.
...
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