"How many disciples have you trained all these years as a 'trainer,' Urokodaki-san?"
Soma's voice carried a quiet but unmistakable edge as he looked at the old man, who had just removed his tengu mask to reveal a gentle, weathered face. "And in that state… how can you say you've honored those who have already passed? This isn't what your fallen students would have wanted to see, is it?"
Urokodaki Sakonji's eyes widened at the question, but the reaction faded almost immediately into something heavier—something defeated.
One by one, his students had gone to Mount Fujikasane for the Final Selection. One by one, they had never returned.
As their teacher, how could he possibly find the will to train new disciples after that?
In truth, Sabito and Makomo had been his last batch of students. Since then, he had taken in no one else—and deep down, he had no intention of ever doing so again. He simply couldn't bear the thought of watching more of his students fall on the path of demon slaying.
But… was that really what a "trainer" was meant to do?
Wasn't his duty to provide the Demon Slayer Corps with a steady stream of new blood? To lend his strength—whatever remained of it—to the eradication of demons in this world?
For the sake of protecting those whose happiness had yet to be devoured…
For the sake of purging the demons that plagued this world…
For the sake of fulfilling the unaccomplished wishes of his fallen students…
And… for himself.
Yet all these years, he had done nothing but stagnate.
That wasn't the responsibility of a trainer.
Silently, Soma refilled the old man's cup, watching as he stood frozen for a moment before slowly making his way toward a massive stone nearby. His fingers brushed over the carved markings on its surface—each one a silent testament to the past.
And then, gradually, something shifted.
The faint spark of resolve returned to the old man's eyes.
Soma poured himself another cup as well and raised it toward him from afar, a faint smile touching his lips. "Life is fleeting—drink while you still can."
Urokodaki lifted his head. The mist around them seemed to stir, and the lingering shadow in his gentle gaze—one that had clung to him for so long—finally began to lift. The weight of the Final Selection, the grief it had etched into his heart, felt as though it was dissolving at last.
"As a senior, as a Hashira who should shield the juniors from the storm, and especially as a trainer..." he said slowly, "I have failed in my duties these past years."
He raised his cup and drank deeply.
As the liquor burned down his throat, he straightened. The back that had grown more and more hunched with age now seemed to rise, regaining a measure of its former strength.
"But from now on, I will do what I should have done all along."
Turning to Soma, the old man bowed slightly.
"Thank you."
His voice was soft, yet utterly sincere. Without Soma's words, he might have remained trapped in the past forever. His students may never have blamed him—may never have thought it was his fault—but could he truly absolve himself?
No.
He would have continued to carry that burden, mistaking it for atonement.
But that, too, had been a mistake.
"Starting tomorrow," Urokodaki continued, extending his cup again, "I will devote myself to training more swordsmen."
Soma refilled it without a word.
As they drank together, Urokodaki glanced at him, a thoughtful look crossing his face. "When I first met you, I remember catching a strong scent of a demon on you. For a moment, I truly thought you were one."
Soma raised an eyebrow, a faint, amused smile playing at his lips. "Did that really happen?"
"It did," the old man chuckled. "If it hadn't been broad daylight—if you hadn't been standing there under the sun—I might have mistaken you completely. If you'd come at night…" He paused, still smiling. "I might have cut your head off."
Soma let out a soft laugh, taking another sip of his drink. "Then I suppose I was lucky."
"Or perhaps I've simply grown old," Urokodaki sighed lightly. "My nose isn't what it used to be. Even now, I still catch that scent of a demon on you… and I can't quite explain why."
"Maybe I am one," Soma said casually, gazing into the drifting mist as he smiled with quiet ease. "A demon who walks beneath the sun."
"Hah…"
The old man laughed as well, shaking his head.
"A demon walking in the sunlight? That's impossible. Not even Kibutsuji Muzan could accomplish such a thing."
Urokodaki Sakonji turned to Soma as he spoke, his tone thoughtful yet tinged with quiet conviction. "If all demons were like you, then what reason would there be for the Demon Slayer Corps to exist? If demons did not devour humans, if they did not trample over the happiness of others… then what need would there be to hunt them at all?"
As he spoke, the old man extended his cup once more, and Soma wordlessly filled it.
Taking a sip, Urokodaki let out a faint sigh, a trace of melancholy surfacing in his voice. "Why must demons destroy human happiness so recklessly? They… were once human themselves."
"But once they become demons, they are no longer the same," Soma replied with a faint smile, lifting his own cup and taking another drink. "They stop seeing humans as their own kind."
He paused briefly before adding, his tone calm but firm, "So when you encounter a demon, you should kill it. If that time comes again, I hope you won't repeat the mistake you made with the Hand Demon… the kind of mistake that leaves behind an irreparable regret."
"Yes… when you encounter a demon, you must kill it," Urokodaki echoed softly.
Soma gave a small nod in agreement, refilling the old man's cup as he finished his own.
By now, Urokodaki had drunk far more than he ever did in the past. Yet strangely, this was the first time in years that he felt truly at ease.
Tap, tap...
Soft footsteps approached from nearby.
A petite girl in a pink kimono walked over, her delicate features and gentle aura giving her the air of a childhood friend next door. It was Makomo.
Seeing her teacher drinking so freely, she puffed her cheeks slightly in mild disapproval. "Sensei, you shouldn't drink too much."
"Haha, it's fine, it's fine," Urokodaki chuckled, though at the sight of his disciple's faintly annoyed expression, his tone softened with a hint of concession. "Just this once."
"Make sure there isn't a next time," Makomo muttered under her breath.
"In that case, you might as well drink a little more this time," Soma said with a laugh, pouring another cup for the old man.
Makomo shot him a reproachful glance, her eyes carrying a trace of playful complaint rather than any real anger—it felt more like a soft, unspoken pout.
Urokodaki downed another cup before glancing at Soma, then at Makomo, who occasionally stole quick, furtive looks in Soma's direction.
Though he had never married, Urokodaki was not oblivious. He could sense something budding between the two.
So, after finishing yet another drink, he reached out and gave Soma a firm pat on the shoulder.
Soma looked up at him, puzzled.
"What do you think of my disciple?" the old man asked plainly.
Makomo froze, clearly not expecting the topic to turn to her so suddenly. Her face flushed red as she hurriedly snatched the cup from her teacher's hand. "Sensei! You've clearly had too much. Stop talking nonsense!"
"I may have drunk a lot, but that doesn't mean I'm drunk," Urokodaki replied with an easy smile.
"The swordsmen of the Demon Slayer Corps walk a path filled with danger, always facing death in their hunt for demons. But if you meet someone you like…" His voice grew gentler, yet carried a quiet weight. "Then you should be brave. Be bold. After all, no one knows whether sorrow or misfortune will arrive first. Don't let hesitation become the greatest regret of your life."
Makomo's face burned even brighter. Feeling Soma's gaze drift toward her, she grew flustered, almost panicked. She quickly helped her teacher to his feet and began pulling him away, her voice soft and hurried. "P-please don't mind what Sensei said… he… he's just drunk and talking nonsense."
Without waiting for a response, she led Urokodaki away.
Soma stood on the giant boulder, watching Makomo lead Urokodaki off. He poured himself a cup of sake, looked up at the dark night sky, and drank quietly.
…
Before long, a girl wearing a fox mask with gently closed, smiling eyes approached at an unhurried pace.
Under the hazy veil of mist, her small figure seemed almost dreamlike.
"Thank you."
Makomo sat down beside him on the boulder, lifting her beautiful eyes to meet his. "I've never seen Sensei so relaxed before."
"Is that so?" Soma replied lightly, a faint smile on his lips.
"Yes," she said softly. "Sensei has always been trapped in the past, unable to let go of his guilt. But today… for once, he looked at peace."
Soma poured himself another cup and took a slow sip, the corners of his mouth lifting ever so slightly. "If I could help Urokodaki-san step out of that past, then I suppose I should consider it an honor."
And with that, he simply sat there atop the boulder, quietly watching the stars.
Mist drifted thickly over Mount Sagiri, rising layer by layer until it swallowed the sky whole. The stars that should have filled the heavens were nowhere to be seen, hidden behind the pale, shifting veil.
Makomo sat quietly beside him, saying nothing. With the fox mask covering her face—its eyes forever closed in a gentle smile—it was impossible to tell what expression she wore. Yet the way her small hands clutched tightly at the hem of her clothing betrayed her unrest. Her heart was anything but calm. It seemed as though she had something she wanted to say, but hesitation and shyness held her back, tangling her thoughts into silence.
A long moment passed before she finally gathered the courage.
"Sensei… what Sensei said earlier…"
"Mm."
"You don't have to mind it, Soma-san."
Her fingers tightened even more around her sleeve, as though even she knew those words weren't truly what she meant.
Soma acted as if he hadn't noticed. Rising to his feet, he smiled lightly and replied, "Of course."
With that, he picked up the wine flask and cup, turning to leave. "It's getting late. Miss Makomo, you should rest early."
At his words, her head lowered slightly, a trace of disappointment slipping through her composure. Watching his figure grow more distant in the mist, something within her suddenly surged forward, pushing past her hesitation.
"Soma-san!"
Soma stopped and turned back.
Through the hazy fog between them, he could only make out her faint silhouette… and those eyes, clear and beautiful enough to pierce through the mist itself.
"I… actually…"
Makomo faltered, her voice unsteady.
Soma was no fool. It wasn't that he didn't understand—only that he chose, in this moment, to respond differently.
"Miss Makomo," he said gently, a faint smile lingering on his lips, "some people aren't necessarily as good as you imagine them to be."
She fell silent, confusion flickering in her hidden gaze.
"Perhaps only after you truly come to understand someone is it worth saying the things you couldn't before. And the truth is… you don't really know me, do you?"
Makomo frowned slightly beneath her mask, unable to fully grasp his meaning.
"Some things seem beautiful from a distance," he continued, his voice calm and unhurried, "but once you get close, you may find they're not as good as you imagined. There may be deception… anger… even hatred mixed within."
As he spoke, his eyes rested on her.
"When you've truly thought it through—when you understand your own heart—then decide whether those feelings are real."
He paused, then added quietly, "It's easy to like someone… and just as easy to come to hate them."
Makomo looked at him, still confused, still unable to fully understand.
Soma said nothing more. He simply turned and walked away.
After all, the girl still didn't know the truth.
That the one standing before her… was a demon.
A demon she should hate.
A demon who had killed several swordsmen, including the one she had mentioned several times—Hiroshi Furukawa.
Once she knew the truth, she would realize how ridiculous her current feelings were. At that moment, it wouldn't be love she felt; she would want nothing more than to take his head.