Chapter Text
“What the hell is with you recently?” Tengen finally asked, hands bringing down a big bowl of soup in front of him after one big slurp. A similar bowl laid across the table, which unlike his was still full and untouched—for Sanemi he had been staring at nothingness in complete silence for the last five minutes instead of eating.
“Huh?” he shook himself out of his daze, meeting Tengen’s raised nonexistent brow.
At the headquarters, the two of them found themselves summoned. (Aside from Shinobu, that is, who was already on her way out when they arrived. Sanemi had grabbed her arm for a quick talk, but she was insistent on not giving them anything.)
“Stop playing with your food,” Tengen scolded, and only now did Sanemi look at his supposed-to-be-retired friend:
His white hair laid on his shoulders freely with none of his embellishments in sight. He also wore a plain blue yukata—and as if that does not remind him of Giyuu enough—the bandage around Tengen’s missing arm was all too reminiscent of one of the most unpredictable people of his life.
Why is he like this?
Why is everything so reminiscent of Giyuu nowadays?
“You know, if Ren’s here, he would have cut you off just seeing you ignore food.”
“I just talked to him yesterday,” he reveals randomly, only for it to hit him now why he’s so out of it. “Fuck, I’m still drunk, probably.”
“Oh? You did?”
“Did what? The drinking or the talk?”
Tengen stares at him dead in the eye.
“I just said it, didn’t I?” Sanemi took a sharp breath and finally grabbed his spoon and took his first sip.
“Drinking on duty? Really, ‘Nemi?”
“For your fucking information, Oyakata-sama gave it to me.”
Tengen opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again before he gave up. The man chose not to question it further, shaking his head and resuming in eating instead.
“How was he?” he asked instead, just to fill the air. “Ren. What did you two talk about?”
Sanemi shrugged.
“You know how Giyuu got the thing? That,” he replied, swallowing and getting another spoonful. “I personally coordinated with Shinobu, and we confirmed it’s all Kyojurou’s flames, specifically all the shit about the Spell of Ember...and the son of a bitch Enmu.”
“Spell of Ember? His new form?” Tengen tilted his head in concern before widening his eyes comically wide, nearly knocking their floor table with his size. “Why would Tomioka- Is that the- wait, they fought?”
“That’s the thing: we don’t know, which is why we want to hear the truth from him directly,” Sanemi interjected immediately before Tengen reveals everything to everyone with that loud voice. “When we asked him about it yesterday, he said he didn’t. Both him and Giyuu were both insistent they never even met, but how the fuck else would Kyojurou’s flames get there if they didn’t…you know…?”
“When did this even happen?” Tengen crossed his arms, unimpressed with the non-flamboyance. He retired for like two fucking weeks and now he missed out on a hundred years’ worth of events.
“The other day. He was in the swordsmith village and he also wanted to talk to Giyuu for some reason, so we killed two birds with one stone. I dragged Obanai with me while I’m at it. Actually, you’re the only one not there,” Sanemi scoffed. “How’s retirement going? Sired a kid yet?”
The older hashira rolled his eyes. He understands now that the others may have found it funny.
“Irrelevant. What do you mean the scar came from Ren? He would never do that. Why would he even want to talk to Gi-?” Tengen freezes, backtracks, and laughs. Wait a second. “Wait, he’s Giyuu now? Sanemi.”
A vein pops in the Wind Hashira’s forehead. “Any problem with it, bitch?”
“Not my circus, not my monkeys, my friend.” Tengen teased him anyway.
“Look, I don’t know either and I don’t know what to feel about it. What does he even have anything to do with Giyuu? What would they even talk about? Shit- what if they’re fucking?”
And the other choked.
“-What?”
Sanemi simply frowned, eyeing the older hashira down before asking him the killer question with his gaze alone.
“Sanemi, man, be honest with me: why do you care if they fucked?”
The Wind Hashira glares at him back.
“Why do you?”
They both stopped talking, staring dead at each other in a ceasefire; a checkmate with which they both refused to surrender to.
It was helpless, however, for the truth already escaped and hung in the air uncomfortably. Touché.
“So!” Tengen clapped his hands as they stacked their bowls ready for disposal. “You’re fucking Giyuu now. Cute! What the hell.”
Sanemi snarls in offense.
“And you’re…” he stops himself, seeing the other man suddenly avoid glances. “…Tengen, are you fucking Kyojurou?”
The water wasn’t that warm, but it should do. Shinobu carried the basin to the next room, opening it gently to see Giyuu’s form underneath the sheets in the dark.
“Tomioka-san, I have to change your bandages,” she said, knocking on the wall in case he did not hear her footsteps—which he probably didn’t. The man groaned when the noise disturbed his sleep, but did eventually roll over.
She didn’t even have to accommodate him, but a certain Obanai Iguro and Shinazugawa Sanemi decided it was nice to invite Giyuu to a fucking public bath and get his bandages wet. The way he arrived in the mansion, she already knew they removed them at some point and rewrapped it again. Fucking heathens.
“Get up.”
He didn’t move.
“Tomioka-san, I’ll count to three and if you don’t get up, you’re changing your bandages yourself.”
“Kocho…” The hashira groaned louder. Eventually, he started pushing himself up groggily. Suddenly, a bamboo sword appeared, supporting Tomioka from the side as he sat up. There she noticed the devil, who nobody truly expected to be there.
Well, he’s always here nowadays. Shinazugawa Sanemi. Where Giyuu is, Sanemi is. Where Sanemi is, he will follow. She looked-
Except the thing is, it wasn’t Sanemi tonight.
“What a surprise.”
“Kocho.” The unwanted guest greeted coldly.
“Why is he so tired?” she asked, gesturing to Giyuu who was sitting up but still looked exhausted. He still looked asleep.
“We went to an onsen. It was a warm onsen. I think Sanemi just wanted to go there, honestly,” Obanai said, throwing the bamboo sword over his shoulder while with the other hand, helping himself to a cup of tea that Aoi must have given him.
The Insect Hashira smiled to suppress her annoyance. She specifically told him Giyuu can’t really get his wounds and bandages wet. “Oh, was it fun?” she asked menacingly, and Obanai averted his gaze.
“Just so you know, it’s not my idea,” the short man rolled his eyes. “Also, ’Nemi just wanted to tell you that we finally talked to Rengoku.”
“Oh?” That’s a surprise. She decides that the lecture about the wet bandages can wait. “…What did he say?”
“He was acting strange. Didn’t really say anything.”
“I see.” She stood now, now vexed, but paused upon further contemplation. She decided to sit down on the bed and tend to Giyuu’s old bandages, peeling them one by one. Then, she tightens the new bandages around the man’s chest, tapping his broad back gently to let him know she’s done. He took a deep breath, probably still asleep, and to her surprise, Obanai remained in the room.
“Strange, Iguro-san. Why are you still here?” Why is he here in the first place?
“Hmh?”
“Can I talk to you outside?” she politely offered before turning to Giyuu. “You rest here.”
“Mm.”
Together, the two stepped out the hallway outside, facing the Butterfly Estate’s garden. The moon was bright in the sky, and the breeze cool. She sat by the porch, but Obanai merely leaned on a pillar.
“What is truly going on between Shinazugawa-san and Tomioka?”
The man didn’t answer, merely crossing his arms.
“I understand that there was a newfound connection that happened after Ishikari, but for the sake of curiosity, will you be kind enough to tell me about it?”
“About what?” As expected, Obanai liked to play dumb and play with his food. Either that, or he’s honoring a secret Sanemi swore him.
“You know what.” She then smiled at the Serpent Hashira menacingly. It was effective, for he finally cracked.
“Mitsuri told me about the incident and Sanemi only gave me more details,” he admitted, avoiding eye contact. He wasn’t the kindest towards her or Giyuu, but he was one of the more tolerable ones that doesn’t immediately break something upon entering her house’s medical ward. “I’m starting to think Mr. High and Mighty is not as bad as we thought, thanks to him.”
“And?”
“And, by Sanemi’s words,” the man cleared his throat, and Shinobu smiled at the implication of humor. “He needs fucking medicine because the spell that was supposed to heal him also burns him.”
She chuckles, deciding to let it go.
“He said that, not me.” Obanai shrugged, downing the tea.
“What did Rengoku-san say about the spell?”
“He said it will fade in two moons. He looked confused, so I don’t think him giving Tomioka the scar was intentional.”
“ Well, regardless, thanks for the message. Very helpful, I'm sure,” she smiles. “On that note, did Uzui-san say something about-”
Crash!
“AHHHH!”
The two immediately stood up and opened the door, finding Giyuu on the bed with the tea spilled all over the floor. The new bandages she just wrapped around his chest started to smoke and burn, and she immediately grabbed the basin she got and damped it wet. She pats the damp cloth on his chest which immediately steamed as Giyuu screamed louder.
She didn’t fail to notice that Obanai was immediately on the opposite side of the room from Giyuu’s bedside, as if he was a carrier of contagious disease. Some things don’t change, still.
“Tomioka-san!” Shinobu was cradling the aching man’s body in her arms and lap in no time. “Can you hear me?”
“Kocho…!” He was hissing, eyes shut and watery in a dream-like pain with the scent of burning in the air. It was a horrifying sight, sound, and smell-
“Do something!” Obanai complained.
Now that, she didn’t appreciate. Was she not doing something? He’s the one standing there daft. Shinobu only glared at Obanai for a quick second before cupping Giyuu's scrunched up face in her hand and patting it gently.
“I need to take a look at your scar again.” At the slightest grunt of consent Giyuu gave, she pushed her sleeves up and then took the burning bandages off his body, immediately seeing the same old kanji scar lighting up bright orange from beneath Giyuu’s healing scarred skin. The fire was indeed Rengoku’s, she can see it now, but what is this? Why does it keep burning at the most random times?
...Is it really a random time?
“Ugh, is that how bad it gets? It really didn’t seem that the spell was meant for healing, now is it?” Obanai commented. “Are you sure you didn’t make a mistake in your research, Kocho?”
This fucking man.
“I appreciate it if you don’t question my scientifically-proven findings.”
“What are…you...?” Giyuu asked, now regaining coherence and gaining the attention of the two hashiras. Eventually, the burning on his chest stopped and the brand went back to its dark burnt shade of flesh. However, she did notice how color just started to return to his face. He looked more energized too, as if brought back to life. To confirm her suspicions, the marks and scars on his neck also just disappeared. It was as if nothing happened.
The exact same way it happened for the last fifteen or so times.
“Are you okay?”
When he just groaned in pain, but raised a thumb, she grabbed a new bandage roll on a cabinet nearby.
There is no helping it then. She had kept it to herself in hopes that it wouldn't bring uneasiness in the ranks, especially the higher order. However, seeing that some people (i.e. Obanai) were already too suspicious anyway, Sanemi and Tomioka deserved to know.
“What is it?” Obanai and Giyuu nearly chorused, though the former caught wind of the chorus and stopped halfway out of, well, spite, probably. She wouldn’t know. Instead, she focuses on the new bandages and sighed, revealing all her cards.
“I had Kanao look into the papers,” she begins, pausing momentarily to look the men in the eye. “Rengoku Kyojurou's papers. The Spell of Ember is an offensive and restrictive move.”
“And?” Obanai asked, before pausing and letting out a small gasp. Giyuu stared at Shinobu, who too just understood.
“It means Rengoku-san isn’t telling us something.”
“Offensives need to be cast,” Obanai understood, eyes widening in realization as he looks at the floor. “They're not really passive skills.”
She nods, and Tomioka only seemed more confused and daunted than ever. “Yes. Given it is a spell, it insinuates some form of effect on the receiver's end, which we now believe is this burning scar that ties Tomioka-san to...something. We also need to know why it's restrictive. What is it restricting, exactly?”
It took a while, but the Serpent Hashira slowly understood what the pair was insinuating.
“I see.”
“Well, if that's what we now think,” Shinobu said, dusting herself and standing up. “I also want to know why it fades by moons. A lot of things are unclear, as of now.”
They both turned to Obanai in sync, and the Serpent Hashira flinches as if he just regretted he even came here.
“Iguro-san, why don’t you go and see what he is doing right now?”
Holy shit. It was everything that repeated inside Akaza’s mind. Shit, shit, shit.
“Kyojurou!” he shouted, running past stubborn branches and large overgrown roots. The forest grew thicker as he went deeper, and it was unlike anything he ever dealt with before. Everything simply felt heavier, darker, and noisier. Following the traces of blood, he practically tore his way through the thick dark woods until he perceived a light. A clearing.
“Kyo—fuck-!” he choked at his own spit as he jogged, his shirt suddenly getting caught on a sharp branch.
Tearing himself off the branch, not minding the rip it made, he continued running to that clearing ahead. Once near, his eyes started to adjust to the bright full moon.
There was a small lake right in the middle of the forest framed with menacing dark trees. No sign of Kyojurou, but the scent of his blood was the strongest here.
“Kyojurou!” he calls again, running around the shore and looking for any footprint, any clue—any godforsaken sign he was there.
That’s when he spotted an unusual bump right in the middle of the lake. It bobbed up and down like a log, but if he wasn’t mistaken, logs don’t have that much shape to them. And logs don’t have orange moss…or hair.
“KYOJUROU!”
He was floating.
Shit. Wasting no time, Akaza immediately ran to the water and waddled. The water was unusually cold with the surface only littered with lily pads and algae, but this is no time to be picky. When he got as deep as he could, he took off the ripped haori he stole and kicked himself off to a small swim.
As he got closer, he saw how Kyojurou’s blonde hair drifted lifelessly in the water, staining it with dirt and murky excess. He was face down on the lake, floating, and unmoving—and Akaza’s heart started beating louder in his chest in unease.
When his hand was only within arms’ reach, Akaza pulled the both of them back to shallower grounds. He can feel his own breath get stuck in his airways when the hand did not respond to his touch, and that it was cold. Or maybe because it was wet. Or maybe it was just him.
Once the water was on his waist level, he drifted the floating body to his chest and flipped Kyojurou over.
“Kyojurou, f-fuck,” he shivered at the ghastly sight and the evening chill, “What the hell?”
Suddenly, the hashira’s eyes blinked open in mortal alarm, revealing amber irises with menacingly thin slits for pupils.
“Kyo-!”
Before he could speak, or even register what was happening, Kyojurou violently reached for him with aggressive clawed hands, managing to grab him by the shirt and the both of them sank underwater again. He rose to the surface to breathe, struggling. “Stop…it!”
Sharp nails clawed for his arms and face, the hashira rampaging all over him, scratching whatever and wherever he could. A daunting shade of red started to stain the murky water around them, and Akaza—confused out of his mind—fought back defensively past this reds and grays as much as he could, finally managing to grab hysterical arms to hold them away from himself.
Stop, he wanted to say, but bubbles only went out of his lips.
Under the water—it was a bit hard to see—he could see Kyojurou’s face looking at him without any recognition at all. His teeth were bared and he stared at him in almost inhumane anger.
Stop! he mouthed again, dulled by the bubbles. As much as he could underwater, Akaza only kept the hashira’s arms by his side-
They touched.
They are touching.
And he just realized now that he was unharmed for none of Kyojurou’s hits were ever hitting. He pushed Kyojurou away in the water momentarily as he swam back to the shore. Choking out all the water he took in, he crawled out on the rocky banks and turned around in alarm.
He could touch Kyojurou.
Not long after, the man also emerged from the lake surface and marched towards him, taking small steps and heaving breaths as if tremendously exhausted. Akaza went back to his feet despite slipping a few times, and ran to the nearest tree.
Dripping wet, the hashira has his head down and was missing the entire front of his shirt, exposing a highly toned torso with a familiar symbol branded on his chest—a kanji just like his. And it was burning from the inside—just like his.
“Kyojurou,” he called carefully. He pushed himself back onto his feet and took a few steps back, and the hashira blankly followed his movement with soulless eyes. “It’s me.”
Wordlessly, the hashira’s hands twitched onto claws again and Akaza immediately jumped up on a high branch. When he missed, the hashira kept staring at him with glowing amber eyes and a blank expression.
“Fucking hell, it’s me!” he bargained. “It’s me. Akaza. Can you understand me? Kyojurou, get a hold of yourself!”
Fuck it. He decides to discard his human disguise in hopes of any sort of recognition. In a snap, blue tattoos reappeared all over his pale shell of a body, and his black hair returned to its original reddish pink. Though his clothes remained in its untailored, unflattering coverage, he believed this form might as well make him a bit more recognizable.
Kyojurou did nothing except immediately jump and chase after him. Unsurprised, Akaza received the blow of the hashira’s force but they both watched as the claws froze inches away from tearing his arm off.
It stopped midair stuck in some invisible force field, and he knew that all too well to not recognize it.
The spell is still here, but it’s restricting Kyojurou instead of him now.
Carefully, just to make sure, Akaza reaches up to test his hypothesis. While the man’s body was frozen, he raised his free arm slowly towards the hashira.
Surely enough, he managed to touch Kyojurou again—skin to skin, palm to arm.
He quickly pulls his hand back to see if it burns, but it wasn’t. He couldn’t believe it.
He can touch Kyojurou—and he was colder than life.
“Okay, alright, what the fuck…” he heaves through heavy breaths, feeling himself enter a state of panic he never felt before.
There, amber irises glared at him past angry eyebrows and slightly darkening sclera, and veins started to protrude near his forehead and cheeks. Flame-like swirls in maroon appeared to embrace his neck and face from his hairline. Scratches, bruises, and bleeding open wounds also littered his body as seen on the exposed skin of his torn-apart uniform, and his sword was nowhere in his person, which should have been a red flag on its own.
The hashira also seemed stunned at this staredown, or perhaps it was the fact he can’t land a hit with an invisible force stopping him. Akaza held him a bit tighter hoping to push him away, and that’s when his own chest started to burn, and both of them flinched at the sudden sensation of burning pain.
Alright, so that can’t work still. He still can’t hit back.
“…!” The hashira didn’t waste any moment to launch himself after him right after flinching away, and Akaza dodges only to grab the nearby haori he discarded earlier and using the fabric to slam it on the man’s mouth.
“Kyojurou! Stop it!” Lips inevitably parted and there, Akaza saw fangs and this third hypothesis was finally confirmed correct. He felt his soul sink to his soles at the sight-
“You’re…”
A demon.
Mixed feelings came over him all at once, and time was not merciful as Kyojurou clawed onto the soil and threw it all over in his direction. He stands once again in a higher branch and thinks about it more slowly.
Someone turned him, and it has to be someone with Muzan’s permission in order for the blood to transfer.
…But that can’t be? Nobody knew about this. If anyone from the moons knew then-
A name suddenly pops into his head. A pair of fans. Long flowy robes. A mischievous grin-
Oh, no.
“A…kaza…”
He awakens to reality, hearing Kyojurou talk. He snaps out of it and sees the hashira with his head down, chest steaming and the flame-like marks on his cheeks fading. He’s no longer clawing, and so he jumped back down.
There, Akaza turns to see red blood dripping straight on Kyojurou’s very face, and he looks at his own bleeding shoulder where the blood came.
“Hey, I’m here, got a hold of yourself now?” he called carefully, also bracing himself as he walked closer. The hashira started to look around, clawing aimlessly at his own throat, and then collapsed on his knees as if suffocating. Akaza walked faster and attempted to catch his fall, but he already fell to the ground in a thud. “Kyojurou!”
He watched as the hashira started to choke on what could be air, and that’s when Akaza noticed the faint smell on what remained on his clothes.
Douma.
It is really is that fucking little shit.
“Akaza-” Kyojurou gained his attention again, eyes back to normal and face bloody of Akaza’s own. “I…can’t…breathe…”
He started to panic, looking around in anxiety, anger, fear, and agitation all at once. Everything made so much sense now. Douma wanting to see him. Then Douma meeting with Muzan. Then him disappearing into some secret mission only the two of them knew. He was the eyes. Douma was the eyes that had been watching them all this entire time.
As if to confirm his hypothesis, snowflake-shaped frost started to spread from where Kyojurou’s uniform remained intact by his hips, as if a parasite taking over its host’s entire being.
“Oh shit.” Akaza held the frost in panic, wanting to stop while a million questions ran through his mind, and while also feeling Kyojurou’s cold skin, too—and that’s the hashira started to scream aloud in excruciating pain.
“Hold on,” he tries, seeing the scar again. Now that he thought of it, everything about Kyojurou had this snowflake-like frost except his chest where the heart is. He was steaming the entire time too, perhaps he was still fighting it? “I got an idea.”
Compass Needle. He summons his compass and blue surrounds the both of them on the ground. Like he guessed it would be, as all-too-familiar sizzle caught his ears.
“AHHH!”
But then again…
He had always wondered what Kyojurou would look like as a demon. He imagined him as far stronger with black scleras and cat-like orange irises. His body would be covered in black and orange swirls like his family haori, except maybe he’d finally get rid of the stupid shirt and show off his body more. And he would be a beautiful servant to the Lord, and they would fight for eternity.
But it’s not like this. It shouldn’t be like this.
This is not the way it should go.
“Look, I hope you can hear me right now.” He grabs Kyojurou’s hand and held it to grab his own neck. This is about to be the weirdest thing he’ll ever do in his life, but if it defeats Douma’s agenda and saves Kyojurou, then so be it. “Choke me.”
“W-what…?”
One hand holding Kyojurou’s hand on his neck and the other securing it in place, he tried again.
“Just do it!”
Kyojurou shook his head, but they both knew he couldn’t afford it. Desperate, Akaza took a drop of his blood and held it up for Kyojurou to taste. The moment it drips on his lips like it did a while ago, his body started convulsing again, fighting the urges, some marks appearing on his skin.
As planned—his hand finally starts tightening around his neck. “…!”
God, he’s strong.
With that killing intent, his chest scar started burning—his entire body burning—and melting the frost with it.
He immediately swiped Kyojurou’s torn uniform aside to see the brand burning on his chest, as if the letter that was burned into his skin was a window showing what the fires of hell were like. He knew his own scar looked and felt the same way when it was his turn, but he only saw now how disgustingly beautiful it looked when skin burned. It was as if there was a furnace inside his body, where his heart should have been.
Kyojurou kept choking him and he starts to feel dizzy.
He long flinched away from the hashira the moment he started screaming, and watched as his body twitch and twist in pain. He called helplessly, not knowing what to do, and could only crawl back hesitantly past the screams and attempts at grabbing. Suddenly, Kyojurou’s hand lets go of him and pushes him away.
The frost was mostly melted away, but it was still not enough.
“A…kaza…”
He widened his eyes at this, as he heard his name grunted out from the deepest parts of Kyojurou’s soul. He can recognize him now at the least.
“The…”
“Fuck it, you need to melt it all off,” he interrupted, looking around for the haori fabric he used to gag Kyojurou’s mouth. He pats it on the wet shoreline and uses it to damp the brand on his chest. It took him too long to figure out that water helps.
“AHH!”
It burns Kyojurou and the air started to smell like cooking flesh, but just like how choking gets worse after one drinks up, the scar eventually cools down. He watched as the enlarged veins started to disappear next. The markings were the last to fade, and some tint of color started to return on his pale cold skin.
“The-“
What is he even saying?
“The sun…!”
Akaza looks up in alert, and saw the shadows of the clouds tinted with orange from the east. The sun.
“The sun is rising…” Kyojurou choked out as he seethed in his own pain.
On the horizon, the dawn kissed the treeline. The blacks of the sky became blue, and Kyojurou just warned him. His primary instinct to run kicks in.
Shit.
He needs to run-
They need to run.
“Fuck!”
With no response from the exhausted hashira, he grabbed onto his body and supported him to his side. He threw one arm over his shoulder and was a tad bit thankful he cut his way through the forest. At least the path was already cleared for the long road back home. He had a lot of questions ready, but tried to walk it off until it was time.
Soups done, the two of them were finally called in Ubuyashiki’s room. It was almost sunrise, and they would have watched it rise of only they weren’t immediately called. It was dark inside, with two of the daughters sitting silently, wide-eyed as always, staring at them next to large oil lamps that were just as large as them. Behind them, beyond the open doors, was a view of the dark sky already turning blue and orange.
The two summoned hashiras sat and bowed in acknowledgement, unmoving for minutes as their swords rested on their rights.
After a minute or two did the Corps leader finally appear, supported by his wife who led him to the front of the room.
“Sanemi, Tengen, my children,” he called first, and they both bowed respectively. “I have just talked to Shinobu. I am here to deliver important news to you.”
Sanemi glanced at Tengen discreetly, but the man did not look back. He only watched as their leader sat down, in front of his wife and two children, and brought out a scroll. He placed it down on the small wooden tray in front of him and unrolled it.
“I want you to listen carefully about what I am about to say,” he started. “I want to apologize first to you, Tengen.”
“Me, Sir?”
“I do acknowledge your retirement, but please understand this is a highly urgent matter.” He bowed deeply in acknowledgement, shaking his head. Kagaya then turned to Sanemi. “And you might leave for another long mission, Sanemi. Were you informed?”
The hashira nods diligently. “I was told, Oyakata-sama.”
“Good,” the leader finalized, grabbing a nearby stick from one of his kids and pointing to the parchment on the tray. “Children, this is a copy of Rengoku Kyojurou’s reports, as rewritten by his brother Senjuro upon my personal request.”
At the mention of the names, Miss Amane nods at them and allows them to scoot closer to look.
“This is the copy borrowed by Shinobu Kocho for referencing purposes.” There were smaller scribbles on the margins of two different handwritings, one which was undeniably Kocho’s. The other was neater, in an older form of Japanese that they couldn't completely understand. “I was also told of what happened yesterday in a certain onsen.”
They could hear wings flapping just outside the room. It must have been Oyakata-sama's weird talking crow.
“Our summoning of Rengoku Kyojurou was in good faith, Oyakata-sama,” Sanemi immediately defended himself, to which the man only laughs a little and shakes him off.
“I didn’t say it wasn’t.”
Even Tengen gave him a knowing look. That was until the blind leader suddenly places his stick down. “Ah, the sun had risen.”
They both looked up to their leader’s face, from the top of which orange sunlight already kissed. They both turned around and saw the sun rounding up the horizon, the dark sky slowly turning bluer and bluer. Tengen sits sideways, crossing his arms.
“Continue, Oyakata-sama. What is this about?” Sanemi pleaded. He glances down to the papers, and tried his best to read the text upside down. Tengen then looks back as if sharing the same sentiment, but their leader remained quiet.
“Oyakata-sama?” Tengen asked, now concerned. “Do…you need us to close the door?”
“No, no.” He raises a hand, stopping them. They kept watching the sunrise, as if waiting for something. “Let’s wait for the crows.”
Crows…? Sanemi frowned, and Tengen only tilted his head. Now it’s starting to feel strange why they’re even there.
“We are approaching a new era in history, children. I have given some of you special missions. Others, I merely notified of the current events. As for the last two of you, a combination of such,” he said. The sun had swallowed the entire room by that point. “This is about Rengoku Kyojurou.”
They looked at each other again, as if confirming.
“I am about to tell you two very disturbing news.”
The two hashiras both straightened up and stilled. Kagaya himself took a deep breath first, face unreadable, before revealing. Each of his two daughters scoots forward to slide the two hashiras one folded parchment each, both stamped with the wisteria crest from their civilian allies. The other, however—the one in front of Sanemi—bears the swordsmiths’ purple wax.
Both hashira received the letters and hesitantly opens them. What they read nearly made the both of them keel.
“Rengoku Kyojurou’s heart had stopped last night,” Tengen reads first, voice slow and dark. “Oyakata-sama, there…but there were no crows. He’s not dead.”
The master only stares at him.
“Let’s wait for the crows.”
Oh, no.
The taller man crouched in the corner as his shoulders started to shake, and while no sounds were audible, the truth started dawning down on them like a waterfall.
Sanemi was not as tame. He pressed his forehead harsher on the tatami mat, hands gripping it next to his head in increasing desperation. His letter reveals the swordsmith village was under attack.
“Patience, children. Let’s wait for the crows.”
“OYAKATA-SAMA!” Tengen finally bursts out. When he stood, Sanemi stood as well. They both bowed on their waist-level and remained apologizing for the rebellion, but it’s either this or none.
“Compose yourselves.”
Sanemi looked up, as the sun already started to go up higher in the sky. It had been a few minutes into the morning now. No crows still flying overhead.
The both of them sat back, almost collapsing, as they fell back down to the floor.
“Children, I admit I am with lapses, and for that I am terribly apologetic, but all I ask of you right now is to have faith,” he said. “Trust in your comrade, Tengen. Trust your brother, Sanemi. Let us patiently wait for the crows.”
As if on cue, that’s when a loud caw cuts through the room’s delicate silence. All immediately tensed up, and Tengen and Sanemi were already out to the doorway squinting at the flying black bird in the sky.
The crow had long lashes.
“Muichiro Tokito, Kanroji Mitsuri, Shinazugawa Genya, Kamado Tanjiro and Kamado Nezuko defeated Upper Moon 4 and 5! Caw!”
It flew in circles, and Sanemi collapsed on the floor in relief.
However, another crow joined the first one, this time, they recognized him as…
“Ren,” Tengen exclaimed, running out to the field outside the door and reaching his arm up for the crow to perch on. The crow descended, and found a home on the Sound Hashira’s arm.
“Caw! Rengoku Kyojurou is confirmed alive after encountering Upper Moon 2!”
Upper Moon 2?
They all gasped, the initial relief from Mitsuri’s victory immediately washed over by confusion, surprise, relief, and dread.
“He got out alive?” the two hashiras chorused, looking back at their leader in question. “Upper Moon 2?”
To be continued…