Disclaimer:

I do not own nor claim all the rights to 鬼滅の刃 | Kimetsu no Yaiba | Demon Slayer; all rights are reserved to its respective creator, Koyoharu Gotōge. This is purely a work of fiction; names, characters, businesses, events, localities, and occurrences are all extrapolated from the author's writings and imagination or utilized in a fictitious manner. As such, any direct or indirect references to actual entities, dead or alive, or events do not, in any shape or form, resemble the opinions of the author.

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"..." = Dialogue

'...' = Internal monologues

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As a heads up, I'm gonna focus on writing shorter chapters from now on.

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Shinobu slowly unsealed her eyelids, bringing the immeasurable, detailed light rays and configurations emitted by the vicinity to her visual spectrum.

She let out a lethargic groan; despite her mental cognizance, her physical being was mired in a state of utter lassitude.

The fatigue bit into her bones as if they were attempting to cajole her to fall back asleep. Her eyes felt unbearably heavy—another physical stimulus aiming to revert the body back to its antecedent state—during those initial seconds of her return to reality.

Shinobu shifted her body around slightly, making note of her surroundings and her current position, orientation, and posture.

She finally mustered the energy to elevate herself whilst straightening her back.

It appears she's perched onto a wooden chair with a large, round table situated right in front of her.

She recognizes that her head was hitherto lying on the table's surface while the forearms were employed as a substitute for pillows.

In other words, she was napping.

Shinobu wearily scanned her surroundings, the soporific nature of her persistent drowsiness still hampering her movements and thought processes.

But, alas, such inconveniences are merely the common symptoms of being suddenly roused from a deep sleep.

Thus, with each passing second, she was becoming more responsive to her environment and able to regain more and more of her consciousness.

The air felt warm and comforting—a likely cause of her slumber—and her irregular sleeping posture did not implicate the body with an iota of aches or sore sensations.

Upon erecting the back into a proper disposition, Shinobu was able to more clearly discern her surroundings.

'Where... am I?' was the first thought that came into mind.

She found herself in a kitchen-like setting. A plethora of items and furniture would corroborate such an observation: A dining table, stove, refrigerator, sink, pantry, and many more furnishings were present to complement this particular room's niche and function.

Shinobu felt wholly confused, 'What am I doing here...?"

She then felt a shuffle underneath her arms—which were still resting on the dining table.

Then, it hit.

By carefully removing her arms from the point of interest, she was able to identify both the object in question and the purpose of her presence within this odd setting.

"Right... I have calculus homework... and three tests tomorrow..." she said begrudgingly.

"And I HAD to fall asleep now," she let out a heavy sigh.

Indeed, her after-school schedule did not offer an inch of breathing space; Shinobu, an honor roll student, was as preoccupied with her studies as ever.

The assiduous high school student then took the opportunity to check the date on the family calendar—which was attached to the refrigerator via magnets.

"December 20, 1966," she read aloud.

She didn't know why, but the date seemed to induce some anxiety within her.

As if she was at the wrong place, at the wrong time.

As if she had experienced this illusion before.

But she paid no heed to that sense of foreboding; after all, she needs to figure out how to evaluate an integral through Riemann Sums while prepping for her Japanese History, Physics, and Literature tests by tomorrow.

Shinobu, like most students, was au courant with how all the teachers were stacking the due dates for every test, homework assignment, and project to the day before Christmas Break—as if a week of torture is stipulated before a prolonged break from school.

The spirit of Christmas certainly wasn't with Shinobu this year.

She could literally feel the stress piling up on her—life isn't easy being a studious high school student.

And yet, she also felt uneasy. Like she was missing something important. Something that she cannot forget under any circumstances.

She tries to take her mind off these foreign notions.

'I wonder where everyone else is?' she wonders, directly referencing the rest of her family.

Then, she remembered: 'Ah... they went Christmas shopping."

*Slide*

As if it were on cue, she heard the front door swing open with the chatter of three voices bringing levity and life to this previously empty household.

"—you had to purchase THAT particular jewelry!" a male voice exclaimed. "Why couldn't you get something a little cheaper??"

"Says the one who wanted to buy a new car! We already bought one 2 years ago!" a feminine cadence retorted.

"Yeah, but that one was ridiculously cheap! It's a piece of junk now," the man complained.

"Oh, so now you're annoyed by cheap stuff??" the woman rebuked.

"Now, now, no need to fight, Otōsan and Okāsan," a more lighthearted phonetic makeup opined.

It was her mother, Kocho Keiko, her father, Kocho Jiro, and her elder sister, Kocho Kanae.

"Kanae, tell your father that he ought to stop grumbling about expensive jewelry when he himself wants to purchase an overpriced car," Keiko says sternly.

"It's not overpriced! Also, cars will yield higher levels of productivity than some jewelry," Jiro protested.

Kanae merely sighed, "Oh dear..."

Upon hearing the familiar, jocund voices, Shinobu didn't move an inch. She just stood there. Right in front of the refrigerator.

Why was she nervous all of a sudden?

Why is she vacillating?

Why can't she go greet her own family?

Why does it feel like she hasn't seen them for ages? Or that her longing for them is beyond one's comprehension?

A pang of stinging, bitter pain scratches the very core of her heart.

Why does it hurt?

Why can't this feeling of anxiety go away?

Why is she in pain?

She keeps asking herself this. And yet, she had a feeling she already knew the answer to it all.

That subtle, yet omnipresent sense of apprehension and trepidation now seemed to make sense.

The memories from a distant nightmare were but a reality.

In this world, the dreamscapes themselves are the creation of heaven, while the material world is the creation of the mind.

Shards of an unknown past were slowly flowing back to her head like a river meandering through a jagged mountainside.

But all it took was one glance.

One look at the source of the happiness, the joy, and—ultimately—the loss in her life.

One glance, and it all came back to her.

She carefully turned around and ambulated towards the entrance—where her family was scrambling to deliver the bags of shopping goods into the household.

Kanae was the first to notice.

"We're home!" she grinned brightly.

Shinobu, in response, gave a weak, melancholic smile, "Otōsan... Okāsan... Nee-san... welcome back."

She then lets go of her smile.

Kanae frowns, "What's wrong, Shinobu...?"

In a doleful, but concealing expression, Shinobu musters up everything for her eventual response: "I just... had a really sad dream..."

..

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..

..

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..

"Nee-san?" the young boy said innocently.

"Hm?" the elder sister, who was hitherto knitting a scarf, ceases her activities to give full attention to her brother.

"What is Papa like?" he asked, having never met the man in question.

The sister beamed with joy and excitement.

"Come," she gestures for the boy to be seated on her lap—an indication of the elder sister's willingness to share a story of some sort.

The boy complies and is perched onto her lap.

"Your Papa," she begins, "is an extraordinary man. The best Papa that any daughter and son could ask for."

"Wow, really?" The boy was in awe.

The sister smiled, albeit with a hint of subdued sadness, "Yes. He is strict but soft; loyal to his nation but also committed to his family; blunt but genuine; calm but also full of life and love... he loves us more than anything else in the whole wide world..."

The invocation of such memories through those powerful words would, in due time, devolve her bright smile into a plain, contemplative countenance.

The boy took notice of his beloved sister's subtle, yet conspicuous change in mannerisms and facial expression.

"Nee-san...?" he queries.

"Just remember, Giyuu, your father is a good man. And though he might not be here at the moment, he will soon return and we will become a whole family again..." she replies pensively.

The boy simply nodded in acknowledgment, as the riveting image of his emotional sister—a characteristic that was completely unknown to the composed and comported figure—had fully captivated his attention.

Nevertheless, the boy was fascinated by these findings.

Though he has never seen or personally met his father, Tsutako's words were enough for the young boy to look up to him. To acknowledge this familial, yet discreet figure with the utmost respect.

He hopes that one day—when his father truly does come back home—that he will be able to greet him with open arms, that he will be able to share his daily tribulations with the man, that they will be able to have meals like a real family...

That he will have someone to call "Papa".

..

..

Tomioka Isao.

Husband of Tomioka Tsukiko.

Father of Tomioka Tsutako and Tomioka Giyuu.

A high-ranking officer in the Imperial Japanese Navy.

A man who, despite his reticence and reserved nature, is well-renowned for his dedication to his family, community, and country.

A noble man worthy of many titles.

Right before Giyuu was born, Tomioka Isao was called into service to help His Majesty's Government fight a distant war against the Manchus in Korea.

Vowing to return to his family after the war concluded, he reluctantly left his pregnant wife, loving daughter, and unborn son to command a battalion of conscripts in 1894.

Tragedy would concurrently strike the family, however, as Giyuu's birth would directly result in the death of his mother, Tsukiko. Moreover, Isao would never return from the war, remaining missing in action for the next four consecutive years—leaving only Tsutako to care for her baby brother.

That was all Giyuu knew.

At least, that's all his sister told him.

She used to speak highly of him, almost indoctrinating the young Giyuu to the point where he couldn't even recognize the man upon his return.

Whether she had good reasons to praise the man, Giyuu will never know.

Because the man that did eventually come back from the war was nothing like the visually metaphorical descriptions espoused by his sister.

Instead of a virtuous family man, the young Giyuu instead found a drunk, broken man who couldn't accept the fact that his wife was dead and that he had been dishonored by the loss of his entire battalion to the Qing degenerates.

Instead of a cool-headed and reserved soldier, he witnessed an old bum descend into the depths of alcoholism and misery.

The reputation he had built up was utterly destroyed by the mere image of a bearded, disheveled, and dishonored commander who didn't practice proper Japanese manners and protocols of social formality.

Some even went as far as to suggest that he ought to have died a hero's death in the field of battle rather than coming back like a coward.

Sometimes, even after all these years, Giyuu catches himself thinking the same thing.

Because, regardless of all those downsides, what haunted the young boy the most was how spiteful his father was towards him.

He must have loved his wife dearly because Isao would often verbally abuse his four-year-old son—blaming his very existence for his wife's passing.

Thus, only after a single week of being sojourned at what was his house, Tsutako would angrily evict him from the property and demand that he leave.

From then on, his whereabouts were unknown. He had practically disappeared.

Giyuu always hated the man for that, but he would ponder the implications of this development on his sister—after all, it was she who knew what the "real" Tomioka Isao was like.

He could only guess.

If you had someone you loved dearly turn into a complete shell of themselves, how would you react?

What would you do?

Giyuu could only wonder if those questions would constantly haunt her, much like how the death of their mother left her lonely and without a parental figure for the remainder of her short life.

In the end, she was just lonely. She wanted some love, hoping that her father would be able to give her what was lost all these years.

But, alas, he could do no good to either Giyuu, Tsutako, or himself.

In the end, her grief persisted.

She had to love Giyuu, but longed for someone to love her as well...

Tsutako never spoke of their father again.

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Shinobu

"You forgot something at school?" Okāsan said, surprised.

"Uhm... yeah... Student Council stuff..." I replied sheepishly.

"Aiya..." Okāsan sighed, "you shouldn't be this irresponsible, Shinobu."

"Indeed, you should be more attentive to what's in your school bag," Kanae added with her usual gleeful deportment.

"Yeah, no kidding," I muttered.

"In any case, if you're going back, you'll need to wear a—" Okāsan started.

"Yeah, I know, a jacket," I cut in.

"And a hat, boots, and—" she continued.

"Okāsan—!" I protested with a tinge of diffidence.

"It's very cold outside, and I don't want you out there without some warm garments!" Okāsan declares.

"Fine... I'll wear them," I acquiesced.

"Don't forget a scarf as well!" Kanae interjects with her infinite wisdom.

"Nee-san!" I lash out.

"Yes, wear that as well," Okāsan concurs.

I pinch the bridge of my nose in a motion of frustration, "Hai..."

I gather all of my belongings and begin fastening my snow boots.

"Be sure to be home before seven," Okāsan says as she promptly leaves to confer with Otōsan on some matter in the kitchen.

"Hai," I replied.

With Okāsan gone, Kanae clandestinely inquires about the nature of my sudden trip, "So... why are you REALLY going back?"

"To... get the student council paperwork...?" I instantly realized just how badly I feigned that.

"Oho, you can't fool me like that, Shinobu~" she teases.

I smirk, "Yeah... That's true."

"So, how was shopping?" I ask.

"Is that your way of shifting the topic of discussion?" Kanae insinuates.

"Well... yes," I admit, "but I'm genuinely interested.

Kanae smiles, "Oh, it was hectic. Okāsan and Otōsan were having petty arguments over what to buy and what not to buy, along with 'insightful' discussions over what is expensive and what is not."

"Heh," I chuckle, "that sounds just like them."

"Well of course it does! Those lovebirds just don't know when the right time is to argue or to flirt! One second they're debating Christmas discounts, and the next they share a peck with each other—all cause Otōsan happened to mention their first date!" Kanae exclaims as if those accounts were an anomaly to the highest degree for her.

"Ugh, I hate when they reminisce about the past and then start acting all young and full of energy again," I agreed.

"I know right?!" said Kanae.

A second of silence.

We then started losing our breath from laughter.

"Haha! That happens way too often!" Kanae giggles.

"Haha! Yeah!!" I laugh along.

"What are you girls laughing about?" Otōsan calls from the kitchen.

"Oh, it's nothing!" Kanae shouts back.

"Oh cmon, I know it's something—"

"Anata! Why do you want to disrupt their conversation?!" Okāsan chastises.

"What? I just wanna get close with my kids. Isn't that how modern parenting works nowadays?"

We could audibly hear Okāsan slap her forehead in disappointment.

"Well then," I subsequently stood straight, boots strapped, and prepared for the harsh snowy conditions outside, "I'll be off now."

"Be safe out there," said Kanae.

"Yeah..." I replied as I turned around.

"By the way," Kanae added.

"Hm?" I shift my head, viewing her from over my shoulder.

Kanae's countenance evoked a more solemn expression, "Next time you want to say goodbye, you should do it properly."

"Huh?" I acted as if I didn't understand... but I knew perfectly well what she meant.

She opened up her arms, gesturing for me to enclasp her, "Come here."

I resist the urge.

I attempt to ignore the calling.

After all, this is all fake, isn't it?

I've been through this before.

I should know better than anyone else that this is all an illusion that reflects my deepest desires.

It's all a trap, a feigned image to coax one's mind into remaining here for the rest of eternity.

I know all that. I shouldn't risk it.

But... this might be the last time I'll see them...

I know my mission. I know what I have to do.

But, is it really okay for me to get just a minute of this? Just a minute of my life back?

I miss them so much.

And just by looking at their faces, hearing their voices, and speaking with them has made me realize how I really haven't moved on.

I frown, "Nee-san..."

I slowly walk towards her, "I'm sorry."

I hugged her tightly, "I wish I could stay here."

"Yes... but you already have someone waiting for you, don't you?" Kanae whispers.

I smile, "Yeah..."

"And he's precious to you?"

"Of course," my voice cracks.

"Then make him realize that," she gently grasps my shoulders and steadily pulls me away.

It was a tacit understanding between sisters.

She may be just a figment of my imagination. She may as well just be an illusion contrived by the enemy.

She may not be real.

But she's still my older sister.

And she can still read me like an open book.

"Thanks," I nod.

I began to turn back around, but then suddenly halted the execution thereof.

"Shinobu?" Kanae tilted her head in confusion.

Not wanting to regret anything else, I also wanted to properly part ways with my parents.

"Okāsan! Otōsan!" I yell.

"What is it, honey?" Okāsan appears in the main hall adjacent to the main entrance.

Otōsan also concurrently appears, "Something the matter here?"

I momentarily look down, the acidic agony of reminiscence and nostalgia engulfs the inner sanctum of my soul.

It was truly going to be the last time I'll ever see them.

That thought alone invoked fear and despair.

But I have a job to do.

I was able to summon my rejuvenated spirit and conjure up my heart.

I look up again with a wide grin on my face, "I'll be going now."

..

..

The air was bitter cold.

The wind chill was viciously biting the surface of my face.

It was freezing outside.

An unusually cold winter for the likes of Tokyo.

A flurry of snowfall imbued its mark upon the Earth.

The coalesced sparkle of the white, pristine snow made it so that the proximity glittered like pixie dust.

The short days of wintertime were abundantly made clear by the lack of sunlight which exuded a preemptive dimness that obscured the passage of light particles.

It was getting dark.

But I continued my trek through the snow and this quiet corner of Tokyo.

I begin pondering.

This dreamscape is almost perfect.

Yet there are many imperfections.

I am happy here.

Yet I am also sad.

I could stay here forever if I wanted.

But, I cannot do that under any circumstances.

Here, my rage and thirst for revenge are nonexistent.

And yet, it still resides within the depths of my heart.

The people I love are here.

But someone is also waiting outside.

Whichever demon must've practiced this Blood Art must be incredibly powerful beyond any comprehension.

However, no matter how realistic it may all seem, there's always that lingering feeling of its inauthentic essence—it simply cannot replicate reality to the fullest extent.

This is why I need to bring an end to this farce.

I need to return to Tomioka.

The enemy is waiting for me...

..

..

By the time I had reached the school grounds, it was already completely dark outside—excluding the luminescence of the street lamps and the artificial radiance of the city lighting.

Surprisingly, the institution was still open; many clubs and after-school activities remain active during these peculiar hours.

I entered one of the complexes.

..

..

I stood still, facing a door.

I had situated myself right in front of the entrance of a classroom—my classroom.

I gradually raised my hand, reaching for the handle—awaiting the inevitable.

"Kocho-senpai?" a voice timidly called out.

I turn to my left, only to find Tsuyuri Kanao—my kouhai—looking at me worryingly.

"Ah, Kanao," I said, somewhat relieved by this interruption.

"Pardon my intrusion, but what are you doing here so late?" she questions.

"Oh, it's nothing," I reassured, "I just forgot to pick up something."

She doesn't look convinced.

My sullen attitude and irregular mannerisms certainly aren't helping in that regard.

"Will you be ok?" She expounds upon her concerns.

"Yes, I will... Thank you," I answered.

Kanao reciprocates with a puzzled look, "Thank... me...?"

"Yes," I pat her on the head, "thank you for asking. It means a lot."

Though she might not outwardly express it, I can tell she's grateful for this exchange of words.

"Then, I apologize for bothering you. I shall leave now," she bows.

"No worries. Just get home safe," I wave goodbye.

"Hai, sayonara," she bids farewell.

I continued to wave and watch her stroll to the end of the hallway until she turned a corner and left in perpetuity.

I exhale in relief.

That conversation definitely brought some much-needed levity.

I smile.

She's the same as always.

In a world where tragedies might've not befallen her kin and livelihood, maybe this is what she would've been like.

Strong, independent-minded, and caring of others.

Not that she lacked any of those attributes in the first place, but more in the sense that she had the self-confidence to implement those specific characteristics.

I turn to face the door once again.

Taking a deep breath, I invigorate myself and solidify my mental fortitude.

I slowly unlatch the door and swing it open.

I step in.

..

..

It was an empty classroom.

No desks or chairs. Only the unused chalkboard and the teacher's desk to the corner.

It was eerily quiet. Only the occasion breeze and gushes of wind crashing against the glass window could be discerned by the human ear.

The absence of any natural or artificial light occluded any opportunities for visual examination within this caliginous, shadowy environment.

But my instincts also caught wind of something else.

A sinister atmosphere of tense hostility had manifested itself. An evil presence was concealing its physical appearance.

"Come out, I know you're there," I demand.

"Interesting..." a feminine but also menacing voice replied. "You were able to find me."

"This isn't the first time I've encountered your spell. I was able to trace the source of blood lust all the way here—directly to you," I answered.

The feminine phonetic constitution of this particular demon had its own set of features.

Based on the volume and tone of her comments, she gave the impression of being able to maintain composure while simultaneously exuding an aura of fear and blood lust.

However, while she exhibited a sense of equanimity, she also emanated a hint of dither and uneasiness that seemed to be indicative of her inherent nature—whatever that may be.

"That is indeed true. But what amazes me is how you were able to escape the Blood Demon Art the first time I used it against you. Nobody escapes my dreamscapes, and yet you did. Tell me, how is that possible?"

"Enough of this chit-chat," I riposte sternly, "tell me where Tomioka Giyuu is."

"You don't seem to understand. I am the one in control here. You are the one at a disadvantage; you have no right to make such outlandish demands," the demon aggressively repudiates.

Suddenly, the mute, black colors of the shadow—ones that derive their source from the intersection of artificial light and the glass window medium that is thence emanated as a colorless being—begin to move, as if they are being manipulated.

The string of shadows then 'amalgamates' to form the outlines of a crepuscular figure.

The demon has decided to reveal itself.

She was accoutered in a black kimono fastened with a dark red obi sash. Her ominous countenance and the red pupils in her eyes seemed to exude malicious intent.

Moreover, her skin was pale. Deathly pale beyond comprehension. She gave the appearance of a ghost, but also of a living and breathing creature hungry for maiming prey.

Her hair was of a pure black hue with a Taregami coiffure—unbound, straight, and extremely long hair whose elongated complexion stretched all the way to her waist.

I was a little perturbed by her contradicting and intimidating mien.

I've dealt with an innumerable amount of demons in my life, and they've all had idiosyncratic appearances that sought to amplify their menacing looks.

But, by obtaining an appearance that was so alien or attempting to blend in with humans by means of obtaining one that is similar to a humanoid figure, I wasn't so frightened of them.

This demon, however, is a different story.

She looks human.

But it is for that exact reason that she is also terrifying.

A human body sullied by the sinister hand of a demonic spirit.

It looks natural and human-like, and yet it concurrently looks all unnatural and disfigured.

Nothing can be worse than that.

I steady my guard and glared intensely at her, "Who are you."

Her red pupils ominously turned to greet my eyes.

Eventually, after a few seconds of what felt like her staring down at my soul, she finally spoke: "I am the Demon of Grief, Kanashimi."