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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Hey guys, I apologize for how little I'm updating. School and other stuff have been keeping me plenty busy, so I'm trying my best to find time to work on this. But otherwise, I don't plan on dropping this story—I intend to see through with this all the way.

This chapter was inspired by the movie "Batman: Gotham Knight". Specifically, the subsection by the same title, "Working Through Pain". Most of the images are credited to this specific source.

Also, thank you all for 1 thousand views! We've reached a major milestone!

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Giyuu

There was soft laughter somewhere in the household, about two successive rooms yonder.

Such aberration from the tranquility that engrossed the vicinity was the primary impetus for my sudden rouse from sleep.

I felt light-headed, my eyelids were pressing down upon me; a motion that was indicative of my lassitude and abrupt awakening from my slumber. I was encased with a multitude of blankets and other means of containing the heat from otherwise eluding me on this cold, numbing winter weather. Even within the confines of my abode, the lack of modern insulation within the structure of my modest residence induced its inhabitants to covet other means of staying warm.

The house wasn't too modest, nor was it too extravagant to espouse a higher social status than my contemporary standing in Japanese society. The lifetime of the building dates back to the latter years of the Meiji Era when my father constructed this domicile to act as the official residence of his future family when he courted my mother. However, as time passed, these dormant halls ultimately came to the legal and hereditary ownership of my sister, Tomioka Tsutako.

My sister was a calm, collected, phlegmatic character whose natural aptitude to maintain equanimity when under extreme circumstances and stress has allowed for her to adapt to the world of finances, housekeeping, and adulthood with ease—despite being at the young age of 17. As such, in the absence of any parental aid or financial pedagogy to amplify her understanding of the subject, her undertaking of the habit of economizing and upholding frugality has permitted appropriations made within the Tomioka household to be well within reach of what is feasible with the given input of revenue. In other words, she is the reason why we're not living on the fringes of extreme poverty.

Even so, with no additional revenue procured due to the unavailability of either parents or a working-age younger brother, my sister's extreme devotion to her parsimonious propensities has subjected her to a life of incessant and prodigious laboring. Meanwhile, I can only stand idly by and watch her toil every day to put a roof over my head, food on my plate, and a school for me to attend. It's frustrating to not have the power to do anything.

Whenever I offered to provide a helping hand or to drop out of school to start working, I would get berated by Nee-san for my lack of concern for education or my future livelihood. Of course, I am concerned about education and my job prospects in the future; but, as of now, Nee-san is more important than any of those. Unfortunately, all of my proposed proffers to abandon schooling in pursuit of a vocation in a specific trade or profession were immediately dismissed. No matter how adamant I am, how ardently I propound my case, Nee-san always repudiates the subject and refuses to acknowledge any chance for it to occur.

Therefore, my status has been left unchanged along with Nee-san's predicament (though she insists that it is hardly a 'problem' for her).

Though, recent developments have proved otherwise...

It was about eight years ago when Nee-san met a young, but ambitious boy by the name of Satō Eito. The two apparently worked in the same artisan workshop and undertook analogous errands within their respective niche. Of course, they became close friends and were frequently in contact with each other. Even I got close to Satō-san due to him regularly visiting the household every week. As anyone could probably guess, this unique synergy between the two then slowly blossomed into requited love.

About a month ago, Satō declared his unfettered love for Nee-san and asked for her hand in marriage. She accepted his proposal. And now, the two are engaged and their wedding is due to occur only a few days from now.

Needless to say, I am obviously happy for her. I wouldn't exactly say that she's been miserable taking care of my parents' legacy and a younger brother (though I do see the latter being more of a burden), but even I can discern her yearning for something more from this monotonous, arduous life. Her desire for something more genuine, something more fulfilling is one I can hardly rebuke or disregard—after all, I play a major role in her general discontent. Being stripped of loving parents and a proper, normal teenage life at an early age, it is only natural for someone like her to crave something that can fill that hole in her heart. And that something is Satō-san himself.

Even so, I feel excluded. Nee-san continuously asseverates that she loves me and that I will never be ostracized no matter—because I'm her dear little brother. Even so, I feel like she's drifting away from me the happier she gets. Satō-san avouches that I will play a substantial role in the family within the near future—because I will be a brother-in-law. Even so, I feel like a protrusive, irritating presence for whom nobody would want to take in. I feel like I won't be a part of Nee-san's life in the coming future...

Does that make me sad? Maybe so. After all, she's really the only one whom I am truly close to; I don't have friends from school, I have no other siblings, and I have no parents.

Am I a mere impediment to Nee-san's happiness? If so, what should I do? Do I even belong in this family?

A plethora of questions amass within my cerebral functionalities as I cogitate throughout these past few days. But, alas, this is the best for her, for Satō-san, and for the legacy of the Tomioka family.

"You awake, Giyuu?" Nee-san calls out as she sets foot into the room.

"Sorta," I groan as I writhed around.

Nee-san smiles as she descends to the floor and situates herself right next to me while sitting seiza-style, "Any homework?"

"No," I replied succinctly.

"How are classes going?" she queries, albeit with a soft and soothing tone.

"Good."

"If anything is bothering you, you can always ask me," she suggests.

"I know..." I replied.

In reality, I never confer with Nee-san when it comes to dilemmas I face at school; I don't want to bother her with my trivial conundrums.

"What do you want to eat for dinner? I'll make anything tonight," Nee-san smiled serenely.

She really is like a mother to me.

"Sal— "

"Salmon Daikon?" Nee-san finished before I could.

I nodded.

"That is your favorite after all," Nee-san expressed with gaiety, "alright, I will get to work then, yes?"

"Ok," I replied.

Nee-san slowly lifted herself and began to make her way toward the adjacent room.

"Where's Satō-san?" I inquired right before she could take her leave.

"Oh, he's in the kitchen," she answered, "actually, he wanted to speak to you for a bit. I'll go get him."

I nodded.

Speak to me? Whatever for?

I was too enticed by reverie to notice the presence of Satō-san himself.

"Giyuu-san," he called out.

I quickly came to my senses, "Satō-san."

"You're still calling me by my last name?" he questions.

"Oh, should I not?" I inquired.

"No, it's fine. But it really is okay to call me on a first-name basis; after all, we are a family now—or, at least, will be soon," he smiles.

"O-oh," I said with some bewilderment, "then, Eito-san."

With a jocund expression, Eito replied, "There ya go! That's how soon-to-be brothers-in-law should address each other—with no formality!"

Satō-san was the perfect fit for Nee-san; he was a good, imperturbable, and respectful man. I couldn't be jealous of him taking my sister away from me even if I tried—he was too benevolent of a man to be scowled at or to be generally condemned.

"Heard Tsutako was making Salmon Daikon for you," he raises.

"Oh yeah, haha... Sorry about that," I let out a small, hesitant laugh.

"Don't worry about that, I actually like Salmon Daikon. Though, I wouldn't like it as much as you do, Giyuu-san," he chuckles.

"That's for sure," I laugh along.

"So, how's school going?" he changes the subject.

"Good," I simply reply.

"... You sure about that....?" he asks.

"Yeah?"

"You're not lying to me, are you?" he interrogates.

"No?"

"Giyuu-san, I can spot a liar with my own eyes, believe me," he asserts.

Wait, really? He never said anything about that...

"Well... I mean..." I anxiously said.

"Yes?" he pressed.

I guess I could tell him about this...

I sigh, "I haven't told Nee-san about this, could you keep it a secret?"

"You have my word," he pledges.

"Truth is, I've been doing fine academically. But, contrary to Nee-san's wishes, I've made no friends nor do I ever engage in conversations with other students. School's always been a place where I've felt empty and just lonely... This is partly the reason why I've repeatedly offered to drop out and begin working in the market, but Nee-san just won't allow it," I explain.

"I've always wanted to escape that sullen, morbid place in favor of the comforts of home with Nee-san by my side. But I also know that she's very passionate about me getting a formal education," I finish.

"Ah... I see," Eito acknowledges.

"Yeah..."

"If I'm honest with you, I've never been the sociable type either. When I was in school, I also tended to avoid talking to people throughout the day. Meanwhile, my family was too big and hectic for someone as reserved as me to be noticed. So, I mostly spent my childhood secluded and gone unnoticed by my peers and my own family," he speaks thoroughly in detail.

"How did that change?" I asked.

He smirked, "Never did and probably never will. I only made a few close friends over the years... including the love of my life. Point is, don't be pressured into making friends; take your time, and find the right people. Because, in the end, it will be more genuine and you will find more happiness through that—at least, that's the advice coming from a 21-year-old carpenter."

"I see..." I cognized.

"Hey, I have an idea," Eito said excitedly, "how about we become friends."

I gawk at him, "That sounds stupid."

"Hahaha! Well, you're blunt," he chuckles, "but I'm serious. Since we're going to be family soon, might as well foster a friendship while we're at it."

"You do realize that you—a young adult—are befriending a young teenager."

"So what? Friendship holds no bounds. Besides, I reckoned that you needed a friend; since, you know, you are severely lacking one," he jests.

I sigh once again, and begrudgingly accept his proposition, "Sure, I'll accept it."

"Great!... Before I do that, though, I wanna ask you a favor, one that friends can ask of each other," he stated as the sobriety within the demeanor of his phonetic pattern incrementally became more conspicuous.

"A favor?" I queried.

"Yeah, it's about Tsutako-your sister," he expounded.

"What about her?"

"She's a strong woman, she really is—living a life of hardship and yet keeping her head held high; she's really made outta something, I'll ya that. However, I cannot help but fear for her livelihood. I feel like there's always something that will endanger her. And I don't like it. I want her to be safe and healthy, and I'm sure you do too. But I can't always be there for her...

"So, Giyuu-san, I ask of you: please protect Tsutako at all costs. We both love the same woman, so I plead that you do everything in your power to help me in my efforts to keep her away from the evils of this world. I know that you're still young, but you've got the head of someone older than I am; you're very mature—which is why I can confidently refer to you as the younger brother of Tomioka Tsutako..." he concludes his explanation.

He must really love her, huh?

"Why do you fear for her safety?" I ask as that notion piqued my interest by a wide margin.

"I've lost siblings over the years, and it's been rough on both my family and myself... I don't want anything of that sort from happening..."

Ah, I see now. He's lost loved ones before...

"Don't you worry one bit, Eito-san. I pledge, to the bottom of my heart, that I will uphold this agreement and do everything in the best of my abilities to protect my sister and your fiancée," I vow as I deliver my oath of affirmation.

Eito emits a solemn, reverent smile as he looks down upon me, "Thank you, Giyuu-san. It means the world to me. I'm glad Tsutako has a brother like you, and that I will have a brother-in-law of your sincerity."

I smile, "No problem. And I'm glad that Nee-san is going to marry a man as admirable as you are."

"Haha! Thank you for the compliment, my friend," he winks.

"No problem, buddy," I give a slight nod with a great grin plastered onto my face.

It was the best of times. In a mere few days, everyone—Nee-san, Eito-san, and I—will be undergoing a dramatic change in our lives. I can't help but be hopeful—despite my insecurities—for what is to come.

Oh, for how little I truly knew about the turbulent, unpredicting hand of fate; how it already preordained a dissenting fate for Nee-san, Eito-san, and me...

..

..

..

..

A jabbing, penetrating sensation pressed against the surface of my forehead. However, the numbing effect wasn't produced at a constant rate; it had a pulsating rhythm to it. I carefully open my eyelids to observe the source of this obtrusive, incessant pattern that had beleaguered my forehead. It appears to be drops of water emanating from the tip of the stalactite situated at the roof of the cave.

I made an effort to slowly bestir myself and regain consciousness as a means to become more cognizant of my surroundings. But, alas, I am left disoriented as a testament to my lack of memories of the preceding events.

Where the hell am I? How did I get here? What even happened?

Wait. Where's Kocho-san? She isn't here...

I am left with no answers in the voiceless void of the eternal darkness that had enveloped me and this cavern.

I should get moving.

As I contort my body around as a means to weave myself off the ground, I come to the revelation—as my hands stroke the floor underneath—that the texture of the ground was highly corrosive and prone to drastic reconfigurations to its underlying shape even when the smallest amount of force is exerted unto its surface. In other words, it was saturated with water.

With that one observation, I immediately recollect my thoughts and finally procure the ability to recall the antecedent events that prompted such a tenuous situation and my precarious disposition to be effectuated in the first place.

Shit... There was an explosion... I pushed Kocho-san... Kocho-san...

I gradually came to the realization that Kocho herself was quite close to the blast radius.

"Kocho-san!" I immediately lift myself from the floor.

However, just as I fixated my musculature into an upright stance, a sudden gush of excruciating, unadulterated, and tormenting pain pushed against my left stomach. Within seconds, the unmanageable pain had been exacerbated to a degree in which it suddenly and relentlessly rushed in to beckon the attention of the susceptible and unsuspecting nerves that pervaded throughout my body. 

The immediate and foul throbbing that ensued within my stomach and the intestinal region was unprecedented; no ordinary injury hitherto undertaken could hope to attain the despair and strain that permeated throughout my nervous system as the result of one puncture into a vulnerable expanse of the human anatomy.

This was no ordinary injury; a serrated, metal device had cultivated an incision within the area around the appendix. Specifically, it was a metallic shrapnel—about the length of a household knife—that had penetrated deep through the skin and into the body.

A steady stream of blood was slowly dripping down from the perforation.

"Argh!!!" I collapsed to the ground and landed on my knees as the unyielding sensation had subdued me entirely.

Goddammit... Kocho-san might be out there somewhere—possibly in great peril—and yet, here I am struggling to even get up. Get up Giyuu, get your useless ass up!

I try once again to ascend in order to surmount myself on the indented floor—as evident by the jagged cluster of rocks and metallic substances that constituted the flooring of this particular cavern.

"Arhhh!!!" I press my arms against the ground, pushing myself upwards in an effort to help facilitate the ultimate goal of a fixed, vertical posture.

The pain was ceaseless, but I pressed on nonetheless.

With every ounce of the energy I exerted unto this simple, yet highly sophisticated movement, the nerves complemented this fundamental correlation with the underlying agony by intensifying the pain.

"ARHHH!!!!" I shouted as I finally pulled myself upwards, positioning myself into a more steady and secure disposition for me to walk somewhat properly.

However, upon taking my first stride across this chamber, I nearly lost my even distribution of weight—which enabled me to remain upright and steady. As a direct consequence of that, I nearly collapsed to the floor once again. Thankfully, I managed to grasp the wall before such inauspicious development could be underway.

Due to this severe handicap, I was induced to rely on the enclosed walls to ameliorate my contemporary predicament. With one hand clenched on the idiosyncratic contour of the stone and metallic walls, and the other covering the wound to prevent any more loss blood of blood, I was subjected to limping as the only means of perambulating through this decrepit grotto as I steadily made my way to another adjoining chamber.

However, the pain was too immense, and I was forced to undertake a temporary halt to my limping—as those irregular movements made the wound more conducive to a crippling affliction in the nervous system. As such,

I recline my back onto the wall as I took a moment to catch my breath.

In that instance, I concurrently chose to inspect the aperture—to appraise its severity.

The object that had maimed my body was indeed deeply entrenched into the skin—and, god forbid, into any vital organs.

I should remove it; I don't want an infection to grow there.

Thus, I carefully situated the fingers of my right hand around the shrapnel that had grazed the skin on the left side of my stomach.

Let's make this one quick...

I cautiously clasp the instrument as I steady myself, with respect to my mental state, as such measures will guarantee to overwhelm me with anguish and torture.

With great speed and efficacy, I pull the shrapnel out of my lower stomach.

"AGGHHH!" I shrieked and writhed around as an insurmountable amount of pain had put me at the mercy of my nerves.

What followed was a cascade of blood that was profusely discharged in the absence of a deterrent—namely, the shrapnel—since the puncture was now conspicuously and completely exposed to the outside world.

I had to act fast to minimize the depletion of a plethora of blood from my systems.

Thankfully, I had some antiseptics at my disposal to produce the expedient effect to which I sought to effectuate—as a decree within the Corps stipulates that every slayer allot the bare minimum when it comes to first-aid medical equipment; which includes antiseptics. But I fear it might not be enough...

However, I cannot leave this wound exposed. Thus, it is within my best interest to apply the necessary medical treatment to help cauterize this potentially mortal laceration.

I pull out a bottle of the denoted medicine from a pouch attached to my belt. With careful precision, I open the bottle cap and ascertain that none of the liquid substance is pouring out. Following that close examination, I am confident enough to initiate this delicate procedure: to simultaneously pour all of the container's content onto the surface of the laceration—so as to both somewhat close up the aperture and prevent a further amalgamation of infections.

I was assiduous in my conduct as I transferred the bottle with my right hand to the section to which I aim to remedy. Finally, I was ready to undergo the proceeding.

Still reeling from the painful experience of my previous medical operation, I didn't waste any time prosecuting a contemporaneous medication.

Therefore, I immediately released all of the alcoholic substances present within the bottle and poured them onto my wound.

*Sizzle*

The result was a stinging feeling that hastily accelerated into an unabated, unconditional, and absolute throbbing of the most immense variation of pain which I've encountered thus far. 

My skin was tattered and dried up as the alcohol soaked up all the liquid content within its makeup. 

My bones felt incredibly weak in response to the sudden surge and a tremendous amount of pain evoked by the receptors within my soma. 

The fizzle of the chemical reaction between my blood and the alcohol was as conspicuous to the ears as it was to the eyes.

"ARRGGHH!!!!!" I desperately tried not to scream in agony—gritting my teeth as hard as I could—but it simply was not feasible to contain and cope with the stinging claws of pure, excruciating pain.

I had the unfortunate task of working through pain...

..

..

..

..

"Arrrghhh!!" Sabito came charging toward me at full speed.

I immediately parried his attack by using the palm of my right hand to push against his chest, whilst I redirect Saito's fist from its trajectory towards me. With those two moves in congruence with each other, I simultaneously punch him in the stomach and dodge his charge—to produce complementary forces of locomotion that will supplement each other concurrently and leave Sabito's physique in a distressed state of having to accrue the full brunt of my projectile. Following that, I utilized my legs to effectively render him immobile; I tripped him.

He came crumbling down to the ground subsequently thereafter.

"Ow..." he groans as he remains lying on the floor.

"Was that all an impromptu movement, or did you have a really stupid plan?" I sarcastically ask him.

"Ha. Ha," he replies placidly.

"In any case, you had way too many blind spots. It's especially true in your abdominal region," I inform him as I readjust my comportment and hold out an olive branch to my fellow peer—offering a hand to help him up.

"Yeah, yeah," he answers in a quite undignified manner as he reluctantly accepts the helping hand.

Located near the summit of the relatively high-altitude Mount Sagiri, students of the esteemed—but stringent—Urokodaki-sensei, were to endure days of non-intermittent, uninterrupted, and consecutive sparring sessions with no clear end in sight. The culmination of intense physical training, a growing number of injuries, nights of restless slumber, and all the while honing one's proficiency in wielding a blade befit for a demon slayer, had clearly made every one of Urokodaki's students—including Sabito, Makomo, and myself—lethargic and eternally discomforted during these torturous two weeks of hell.

These vigorous periods of enhancing the physical condition of our respective anatomy were dubbed—amongst students themselves—as the 'The Devil's Two Weeks.' The goal, essentially, was to increase the physical and mental aptness and to attenuate—or eliminate—the general notion of physical malaise; one that yields from a lack of tolerance in these efforts to be both punctilious and invigorating—with respect to getting the body acclimated to these new, abrupt circumstances.

"No need to be so disrespectful," I jest.

"Who said I was disrespectful?" Sabito counters.

"Now's not the time to argue, guys," Makomo intervenes, while also exuding a calm, but coordinated smile.

A young girl of short stature, Makomo was completely unlike—both in terms of personality and composure—either of us. With her outward pigmentation defined by her pale and pastel skin, Makomo's complexion was quite fair. 

She possessed tender eyes constituted by a deep cyan hue. The pupils are described to be rectangular—though in a vertical disposition—and white configuration; however, as one approaches the substratum of the pupils, they are noticeably a more pale variation of the turquoise tinge. 

She has black hair that delved down to the area situated around her upper joint of the arms—otherwise known as shoulders. Moreover, strands of her hair—as they closed in on the posterior segments of her cranium—curled up and harbored a more spiky characteristic, while the anterior temples saw short, micro-bangs hurl over her forehead.

Makomo fancied a red yukata complete with a rhythmic pattern of pink and white flower dots. Meanwhile, a dark purple, sleeveless, and plain haori enfolded the yukata and concealed a great portion of the clothing's displayed features. Additionally, a sash was worn and neatly tied around the waist; it was a paler, brown piece of fabric that is customary in all Japanese attire—though the exact color can vary depending on the type of apparel. With regards to footwear, she wore a pair of light-toned brown sandals tied around her ankle down the fibula to her heels—while still exposing the upper exterior of the midfoot and the sides to the elements—and completely enclosing her toes.

Makomo was a relatively quiet girl whose capacity for patience and kindness made her the most likable character out of the three of us. 

Moreover, her innate nature was in complete contrast to the aggressive, haughty personality of Sabito, and the aloof, blunt attributes of yours truly. 

Thus, making for a unique group dynamic that was both rife with contradicting endeavors and with consentient opinions on the manner in which a course of action should be undertaken together—basically, we worked together well, but we did tend to have heated disagreements (though that's mostly relegated to the discourse between me and Sabito).

"Ah... Sorry," Sabito immediately regrets.

"You're quick to apologize," I quip.

"How about I dislocate your jaw," Sabito, irritated, retorts.

"Sabito, don't do anything rash or irresponsible. And Giyuu, stop provoking him," Makomo chastised in a tone that would otherwise be considered cordial under normal circumstances—but this Makomo we're talking about.

Sabito sighed, "You're right. Sorry, Giyuu."

"Likewise," I curtly replied as I nod.

Indeed, she was right; if Urokodaki-sensei were to spot us bantering among ourselves, he would condemn us to punishment even worse than what is already delivered to us. But, thankfully, he temporarily vacated the premises to collect some utensils at the base of the mountain—I have to say, though, he does trust us kids quite a bit.

"Giyuu," Makomo called out.

"Hm?" I answer.

"Would you like to spar with me?" she requests.

"Sure," I reply.

"Wait just a minute! I was going to spar with him!" Sabito vociferates.

"Do you even remember the last few minutes? No thanks," I riposte.

"That doesn't count!" he exclaimed.

"Sabito, I wish I could give you more time for sparring, but you need to complete the training course before nightfall today, and I need to spar with someone by nightfall too. Since Giyuu had completed the course earlier today—as I have also just done—he's the only one who can participate in this bout. So, will you help me?" Makomo, optimizing, and appealing to the pathos and logos facets of her argument to an extensive degree, thoroughly delineates.

Sabito, initially in a state of vacillation, finally gives in, "Fine, if that's what you want, then so be it."

Makomo is quite impressive at persuasion, I must say—especially when it comes to the intransigent Sabito.

Sabito then promptly takes his leave, grumbling as he walks away to partake in the gruesome training course that awaits him at the peak of the mountain.

"He's stubborn," I comment.

"But he's also very hard-working; he's already doing well avoiding traps during the descent down the mountain, I couldn't blame him for wanting to allocate more time for duels," Makomo

"You're defending him?" I question.

"Who wouldn't? He's quite admirable," Makomo defends.

"Admirable? Your opinion of him is quite high," I remark.

"O-oh is that so," she replies.

That was a hint of dither in her voice.

"He also thinks highly of you," I add, hoping to observe what kind of reaction I would get out of her.

"Let's get on fighting, shall we?" Makomo hastily diverts the subject of the conversation as she readied herself in place.

Well, I was hoping to get Sabito some good news. Next time I suppose.

"Okay," I complied as I formulated my stance, "you may begin when ready."

Makomo nodded, then immediately swooped in to land a hit on me.

As she came running towards me, I raised my fists above my chest; anticipating an attack to be concentrated on either my head or chest.

However, utilizing her lack of altitude in terms of natural height, she immediately crouched and exploited my lack of defenses around the legs as soon as she approached the locus of where I was situated. Makomo then went in for a Foot Sweep to throw my fixed posture into disarray.

With one hand pressing against the ground, she lifted both of her legs above the grass—by not much, though, only about a foot or two (0.5 meter) above ground level—and rotated her legs around in a circular motion that was horizontally parallel to the solid surface of the Earth in order to knock out my legs and catch me off-guard.

Fortunately, I managed to somewhat evade the main thrust of her Foot Sweep—before her feet could hit my calves—but I had to break my fighting stances in order to elude her strikes; leaving me somewhat exposed.

Unlike Sabito, Makomo was quick and nimble; having the ability to expeditiously alter her movements—no matter the arrangement they may find themselves in—and quickly adapt to volatile situations that are prone to sudden changes. Thus, this flexibility in her physique and thinking allowed her to almost instantly jump back up to her feet and attempt to land a hit on me.

Meanwhile, due to my lack of stamina and the absence of a precise bearing that is acclimated to a fistfight, I was induced to consistently step backward—I was retreating, one could say.

However, Makomo constantly put pressure on me by remaining within the ambit of my location and launching consecutive, rapid jabs against me—all of which I blocked, but was unable to return the favor due to her sheer speed.

I knew I couldn't keep up the momentum of just falling back; there was a relatively sloped cliff situated on the edge of this particular plateau. While the declivity wasn't particularly jarring, the 10-meter drop (30 ft) still made room for concern.

Thus, as the looming threat of the nearby cliff grew evermore, I had to act fast—or else I will be forced to concede this duel on the account of being practically cornered.

Within that split second, I concocted a plan: first, I would draw Mamoko to the edge of the ridge; then, probably the riskiest portion of my scheme, I will deceive Mamoko into thinking that I was to be on the brink of capitulation, to lower her guard; finally, I would take advantage of her placated temperament by commencing a daring move of some sort—haven't figured out the details yet.

As we edged closer and closer to the precipice of the cliff, I inculcated myself with the contents and execution of this plan. However, just when I was about to embark upon this grandeur stratagem of mine, my foot was the first to yield...

It appears training nonstop for days on end does indeed put a toll on your body. In this particular case, there was an involuntary muscle contraction—or overshortening—of my lower calf; this then caused significant pain and paralysis-like immobility of the affected muscle.

This, of course, meant that I immediately lost my bodily orientation and sense of stability; bringing about the complete obstruction of my contemporary posture and battle stance. It was abundantly clear that I was falling down.

Yet, my body wasn't plunging forward in the direction of my combatant; I was falling back.

I was falling off the cliff.

"Giyuu!!" Makomo shouted as she tried to get a hold of me, but failed.

It was as if time was slowing down. Each second was as twice as long as it would have otherwise been. The flock of birds flying overhead seemed to be flying at a decelerated pace. Makomo's shouting had become inaudible. Chills went up to my spine, but I surprisingly remained calm with equanimity despite the dire situation that was at hand.

I knew the incline wasn't too bad—and that I would 'only' fall 10 meters down—but I also realized that I was about to go through a world of pain. I knew that the moment I make contact with the begrimed ridge, I'll be rolling down the slope at an accelerated speed incomparable to the like of jogging, running, or swimming. 

I knew that I would be in great discomfort from the instance I touch the ground; uncontrollably going round and round over a copious amount of rigid, piercing, and jaggy rocks that will ultimately seal the fate for my vulnerable skin and bones.

I knew all that. And yet, it didn't surprise nor did it cause emotional distress for me.

I knew that I would be going through hell.

Because I was already living in one.

..

..

..

..

I was slowly clambering, in travail, a string of horizontal pillars composed of wooden planks. The surrounding walls of the shaft were entirely made of concrete and bricks; an indication that I was still trapped in this old sewage system.

Since I remember falling down a borehole of some sort, I came to the obvious conclusion that I ought to climb my way out of this troubling situation in which I find myself. Essentially, I reckoned that retracing my steps somewhat will help me rendezvous with Kocho-san—I didn't know how exactly, but I figured that this will help me.

My wound, unfortunately, was still present and hurting. Thus, making this ascent more treacherous, time-consuming, and risky for my sake. Nevertheless, I must forge on and hope for the best.

So far, I've managed to climb these planks without having to stretch the wound too decisively to cause the abrasion to begin exerting a cataract of blood. Though, with each stroke and each stretch of my arm that sought to grip the next wooden plank, the perforation proved to be—at the very least—quite irritating and provoking my ire.

Even so, I persisted and persevered because I knew that if I failed here, then I will have failed everyone else—including Kocho-san.

My thoughts remain motionless, but the soma continues to restlessly maintain its momentum—a discrepancy that overtly displays the contradictory state of being in which I find myself in.

The air was cool, but also suffocating—probably due to my loss of blood. The ambiance could only be described as being a variation of a 'calm before the storm' aura emitted throughout this wide, vertically-elongated chamber. It was silent enough for there not to be a speck of reverberation, with the exception of my rhythmic, anguished breathing and the echo of the planks creaking, the metal squeaking, and my hand tightly and firmly grasping onto those wooden planks. 

However, the silence was also made in favor of a disquiet atmosphere that beset an unsettling and fearful expression of the circumambient setting.

A prognostication that would ultimately prove fatal.

As I latched onto the next pillar, it instantly exhibited a conspicuously obtrusive and foreboding sound that came into play.

CRACK

There was a fracture in the plank's texture.

No, the plank had collapsed from my sheet weight.

And now, I was falling...

CRACK

CRACK

CRACK

CRACK

As I fell, my feet were smashing through each one of the planks to which I had hitherto used to ascend through this waterhole-like vertical tunnel—essentially destroying any hope of escape through this specific passage.

Due to my current physical limitations and handicap, I was unable to recuperate from this predicament and rectify this mistake.

After falling for god knows how many meters and through how many wooden boards, I finally landed—but it wasn't a pleasant way to alight myself.

BANG

Then, landing on my lateral side, I crashed into a sloped metal pipe—indubitably creating a dent in the pipe itself and invariably damaging the ribs of that particular half of my physique—and rolled downwards in the direction of the incline. 

As I incorrigibly slid down, my body blew through a brick wall into smithereens. Until finally, I landed on the concrete floor.

"ARRGHHH!!!" I yelled out in pain. Obviously, this was not a soft landing for me or my delicate wound.

I quickly inspected the laceration, afraid that I may have incited the wound to open up and release much-needed blood.

But, by some miracle, blood had not been spilled and, therefore, the wound has not permitted exposure of the outside world to the red blood.

However, I can't say much for other portions of my body: gashes, bruises, and other means of damaging my musculature have left me in a state of universal and ubiquitous pain and despair—no longer was it just concentrated in the stomach alone.

Nevertheless, I pressed on and crawled my way up the acclivity—though the excruciating feeling of agony within my physical incarnation severely hampered my turtle-like crawl up the shaft.

I gave groans of misery, but I continued.

I had to continue.

It was my duty.

I had to.

..

..

..

..

I woke up.

I was laying on a futon, in Urokodaki's house?

I tried to lift myself, but pain and discomfort relegated me to the floor.

I tried once again but to no avail.

"Don't try getting up, you'll worsen the injuries," a familiar, hoarse voice called out.

I reorient my head to find Urokodaki-sensei sitting-seiza style—about a meter away from me.

"Urokodaki-sensei," I acknowledged.

Behind the mask which concealed an inscrutable face was the man Urokodaki Sakonji. He donned a tengu mask that covers his entire face while the tincture of his hair is constituted by a silver-like color. As an elderly individual, he has trained countless numbers of students; and therefore, is respected as one of the most well-renowned elderly statesmen within the Demon Slayer Corps.

In every instance to which we can observe him with our eyes, he consistently wears a cloud-patterned jinbei kimono [traditional Japanese clothing worn during the summer] with navy colored pants which are fastened at his shins by white kyahan guards [cloth leggings worn by the samurai class and their retainers in feudal Japan]. He also wears traditional black tabi socks [Japanese socks worn with footwear], that are coupled with a pair of blue straps.

While initial impressions might show a seemingly stern, grouchy old man—especially if you're a student of his—one comes to realize that this isn't the true extent of his unique character. For, he hides an extremely compassionate personality. Though he pushes his students hard, his training ensures that his students are well-prepared for the dangers that will face them once they've been admitted into the Corps. Moreover, he also cares for his students on a personal level; he views them as akin to family.

This was the man for whom was my interlocutor, the man for whom I call 'sensei'.

"What happened, sensei?" I inquired, hoping to jog my memories.

"Your duel with Makomo-chan came to a sudden and abrupt end when you fell off that precipice. Makomo-chan called for Sabito-kun to fetch me while she provided the subsistence level of medical treatment to tend to your wounds before my arrival. Thankfully, neither was the height too great nor did you sustain any long-term injuries. However, I must implore that you remain in bed for the remainder of the week—as evident by your broken bones," Urokodaki explained in meticulous detail.

"Did I injure my back or my legs?" I ask.

"Both," Urokodaki replied bluntly with his stale demeanor.

"Oh."

"I shall leave now," Urokodaki stated as he stood up.

But, while he was beginning to excuse himself, an urgent thought appeared within the depths of my cognitive features.

"Urokodaki-sensei," I call out, "may I ask you a question?"

Urokodaki turned around and faced me with his enigmatic expression in the presence of the mask, "Go ahead."

"Is there..." I started, albeit with hesitation, "is there a way to deal with pain?"

Maybe that wasn't such a good question; it's too general and can't be immediately answered even by the likes of Urokodaki-sensei.

A pause followed my question. In absolute terms, it wasn't particularly a long one; with regards to relative terms, however, it felt like ages before Urokodaki-sensei took the opportunity to answer my silly question.

"Why do you ask?" he queries.

It was, admittedly, a disappointing response when taking the relatively long interlude into account—and that I was supposed to be asking the questions. Regardless of what he said, I duly answered his question.

"I remembered what happened when I fell down that cliff. The landing, the staggering, unmitigated movement down the ridge, and finally when I hit that large boulder. The excruciating pain, the agony, and the fervent desire to end all of this suffering were the only thoughts that engulfed my thought processes. Considering what you've been through over the course of your life, you must've also been through intense physical strain. So, I'm requesting a transfer of knowledge—if it exists in the first place—that if there's a way to subdue, manage, or just control pain in any sense or manner," I expound.

Another long pause.

"You pose an interesting question, Tomioka-kun. But that's not the question you want to ask," Urokodaki begins.

"Huh?" I say, confused.

"If you want to know how to control pain, you need to understand it," he continues.

"What do you mean?" I query.

"Pain, by definition, is literally 'physical suffering or discomfort caused by illness or injury.' Does that sound familiar?"

"Yes, sensei," I answer.

"Such is the result of the stimulation of bodily nerves that signal to your cerebral functions that a tissue has either been legitimately or potentially damaged to whatever degree—that's the medical definition," Urokodaki elucidates.

"Indeed," I reply.

"However, there's also another variation of pain which harbors an ambiguous and ambivalent standing in the medical community: emotional pain. Pain through losing not your body cells, but through dubious mechanisms that exist within the intricacies of the human mind. Hence, why there is no clear impetus for this phenomena, and, therefore, why it is practically ignored in medicine," he inculcated.

"Sensei, with all due respect, I'm not sure what you're trying to get at," I commented.

"Pain is an umbrella term that can denote a number of conditions. If you want to tame this great beast, you need to make a distinction; otherwise, any one of these two variants will become your undoing," he answered.

Although I nodded in confirmation, I still had trouble understanding his rationale. Why should I be aware of this distinction? Shouldn't physical pain suffice? Then again, Urokodaki's way of teaching is inherently unorthodox.

"I'm only interested in the physical aspect, though," I plainly state.

"Understandable, since that alone can be managed by sheer will. Tell me, how might relaying this information be beneficial to you?" he probes.

"Easy. It will be of great use when battling demons; since I won't be severely hindered by the constraints of a sudden involuntary muscular contraction, convulsive movement, or any acute cramps. Why do you ask?" I respond.

"Because pain motivates the individual to withdraw from damaging situations, to protect a damaged body part while it heals, and to avoid similar experiences in the future. It is essentially a reminder to both our mind and spirit that we as human beings are not all-powerful; we have our limitations when it comes to our physical and mental capacity. Of course, we can work to diligently exceed and overcome those limits. However, one cannot ignore that even the wisest, strongest, and most industrious of individuals are always going to have a ceiling on what they can or cannot do, and to what extent they can do it.

"If you cannot first know your limits, then you won't be able to subjugate the very mechanism to which you seek to regulate. And if you are too overconfident in your abilities to modulate pain, then you will only encounter utter failure," Urokodaki concludes.

"So will you train me then, Sensei?" I ask.

"Only if you understand what this entails," he replied.

"What it entails?"

"If you wish to take supplementary lessons on the subject, I consider that you deliberate over this decision since it will be required that you continue attending regular training sessions. I'm not one to warn my students about pushing themselves too hard, but I urge you to contemplate just how appalling and abhorrent your daily schedule will be now," he explains.

I'm already experiencing hell, but there's something even worse. Should I do it? On the other hand, he just gave a lecture about the restraints present within the human body. Am I going to push myself too hard? Or is this what I exactly need in the first place?

I excogitate the implications of this critical decision while trying to discern the undertone of such training.

After a few minutes of pondering, I finally gave my answer: "I'll do it."

..

..

..

..

The eerie setting of this old, obsolescent sewage apparatus was consummated through the presence of decaying infrastructure, appliances that were in a state of abeyance, and the distant but distinct sound of running water that resonated throughout these empty halls and tunnels.

The greenish hue of the sewage water was indicative of the unhygienic nature of this slough—decaying metal barges, abandoned materials, and a myriad of other dilapidated and neglected items had stained the surface appearance of the stream.

I was growing weak and light-headed; symptoms of the depletion of my internal supply of blood. My breathing had become periodic and I wasn't garnering a comfortable amount of oxygen to bestow upon my respiratory system. I was beginning to feel dizzy and had trouble thinking clearly or walking straight—when I already had to limp and stumble around due to my injuries.

I repose my back against the wall once again, de-stressing and rejuvenating my energy somewhat.

I had no clue where I was going, and the likelihood of my premature demise was very real. Therefore, my chances of survival were synchronously low.

But, oddly enough, the impending doom that was awaiting me didn't seem to unnerve me.

Have I accepted my fate? Or am I hopeful?

Two very different interpretations, but they correlate with the same result.

No, it's because of something else entirely.

..

..

..

..

After a few days of being bedridden, Urokodaki-sensei finally sanctioned my release and for me to resume my training.

Albeit, this time, I will be taking auxiliary lessons in conjunction with the compulsory ones. I am anticipating it to be just as brutal as my regular routine.

Normally, the day would last from 6 AM—students wake up at 5 AM—to 6 PM, when physical tutelage under Urokodaki-sensei concludes. From 6 PM to 9 PM—when we are required to retire for the day—we eat dinner and conduct pedagogical training for the enhancement of our intellect and the burgeoning of our knowledge; which typically lasts from 8 to 9 PM. As one can see, we have a very punctual and inelastic daily schedule that everyone is compelled to rigorously adhere to this schedule.

In terms of free time for ourselves, that usually occurs between 6:00 PM—when we complete our daily routine—and 7:30 PM, when we eat; since 8:00 is when we initiate training for the augmentation of our sagacious and intellectual capabilities.

While Sabito and Makomo both immediately collapsed and excused themselves for the remainder of the hour, I utilized this precious leisure time for my supplementary lessons. Although, I do admit that I am completely exhausted and that the notion of sleeping seemed very attractive at that moment.

But, alas, tonight was the first occurrence of this special conclave. I have no time to rest.

"You seem tired," remarked Urokodaki.

"I can manage," I said, still catching my breath.

"You asked for my guidance in ascertaining ways to deal with physical pain, yes?" he asks for clarification.

"Yes, Sensei," I responded.

"Do you remember what I said about there being different facets to the general term 'pain'?" he queries.

"Yes, there's both a physical and metaphysical incarnation," I answered.

"And they both complement each other. Hence, I must wonder why you're so fixated on the former and completely neglect the latter," he questions.

"Because..." I say with reluctance, "the latter is something I manage on my own..."

"Do you, now?"  he replies with a hint of skepticism and suspicion—he clearly doubts my word for it.

"I'm only interested in expedient methods of suppressing the physical facet of this condition, since that will help me fight demons," I defend.

"If you insist. But, I must warn you: one mustn't take the abstract manifestation of pain too lightly; for, the susceptibility of your spirit may be the difference between life and death," he forewarns.

"Yes, sensei," I concurred, but didn't pay much heed to it.

"First of all, we understand what it means to 'control' pain. What do you think that entails?" he starts.

"I heard of methods that manipulate and induce the subconscious state of the human mind into doing something; like hypnosis. Is it possible to control it through that?" I ask.

"That's where you are wrong," Urokodaki bluntly states.

"Hypnosis doesn't work?"

"No, it can help, but I was referring to your entire assertion."

"What assertion?" I inquire.

"The notion that pain can be 'controlled,' it's an inherently flawed argument from the start," said Urokodaki.

"How so?"

"Pain cannot be overcome, but it can be put into its place," he expounds.

"That's the place where pain works for you," I interject.

"Pain doesn't work for you; you work through pain," he corrects.

I was perplexed, "And what does that exactly mean?"

"It means that you must adapt both your body and mind to what can only be considered abysmal circumstances. That way, you can attenuate and make ends meet with whatever you may be faced with," he replies.

"So, essentially, I endure a lot of pain to help slowly build up an immunity to it?"

"Indeed. Of course, we won't go overboard with this process during the initial stages," said Urokodaki, "but, as time passes, you will see yourself unable to flinch at even the most extreme forms of pain."

"What will that look like?"

"For example, I will apply pressure to a muscle to such a degree that it won't effectuate long-term damage, but will leave the muscle impaired in the short-term," he explains, "and your task is to suppress any contortions to your muscles or countenance that might otherwise indicate a state of misery."

"We're going to intentionally cause injuries, but just enough to permit a full recovery?"

"That's a portion of it, yes."

Great, training's going to be ten times worse now.

"Additionally, I will show you some breathing techniques that can be used to alleviate the nerves," said Urokodaki.

"Understood," I concurred.

"Good. Let's get started with the breathing techniques."

The initial phases of this exercise, admittedly, were very strenuous. My body would be aching for days on end, with no period for a reprieve because I also had to currently undergo extensive physical training every day in adherence to the mandatory provisions of our daily schedule. Additionally, I would constantly feel nauseous and, at times, begin to feel dizzy to such an extent that I was afraid that I might drop down and lose consciousness right then and there.

To put it simply, it felt like I was being tortured each consecutive day. I've begun to relish and really appreciate how sleeping had a replenishing effect on both my physical and mental state—one could say that my love for sleep during this period is synonymous with the feverish feelings espoused by religious circles.

Meanwhile, Sabito and Makomo have begun to take notice of my deteriorating condition in both the cognizance and corporeal state of being. This is because I've kept my surreptitious training hidden from the likes of them—as I am obliged to do under orders from Urokodaki-sensei; though I'm not sure why he would relay such an order. Therefore, whenever either of them approached me for an answer to their questions, I would merely lie, provide a vague response, or somehow shift the subject of the conversation—I've mostly relied on the first option due to my lack of social skills.

Eventually, though, days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months. Soon enough, despite starting on a bad note without much success, I've been able to accrue more accomplishments with regard to my training. Additionally, I've also been able to optimize my sleeping and daily schedules to increase the overall efficiency of my physical state and mental resilience. Gradually, my trials have overseen an overall increase in accomplishments and positive outcomes.

It was working, my efforts have paid off; I was putting pain into its place.

Subsequently, those same months turned into seasons, and seasons turned into years.

And, before I knew it, the Final Selection exam was only days ahead.

Days before Sabito, Makomo, and I are to be inaugurated as full-fledged demon slayers.

..

..

..

..

My breathing was getting increasingly erratic, and my movements have become extremely sluggish with my cerebral processes depreciating as I incrementally lose compos mentis—a lack of a clear state of mind.

The water level reached up to my kneecaps, so I could clearly observe little droplets of blood marring the contents of the water—like oil in water.

I've lost too much blood. I need to stop walking. I know that. But, if I stop walking now, I fear I may never walk again; that I will never be able to save Kocho-san.

I saw a corner that seemed to scintillate some natural light. My mind immediately raced, I may have found my way out.

"Arrgghh," I push my body to walk a little further—just a little more, and we'll be set free.

I push and trudge on. Ever so slowly, but ever so closer to my destination—to my salvation.

I'm almost there.

I can make it.

I'm going to survive this and save everyone.

I'm going to save everyone.

..

..

..

..

The Final Selection had come to an end.

In a surprising feat of extraordinary luck, over 90% of the participants survived the exam and were bestowed upon the formal ranking and classification of Demon Slayer.

It truly was a joyous occasion in which friends, peers, family, and comrades shook hands, embraced each other, and remained hopeful in this bleak, unforgiving world.

However, my consecration was less than stellar. I was neither jubilant nor was I overly exultant. I refused to partake in the subsequent commemoration.

I could not celebrate because I didn't deserve this title.

All that training, and what for?

I did not smile or display happiness because I failed.

I failed as a demon slayer.

I failed both as a student and as a friend.

I failed my closest comrades; my only friends; my family.

I failed them.

I'm a failure.

..

..

..

..

It was a dead end.

I knew as soon I entered this cavern. The makeup of the cavern was almost exactly like the borehole I tried to climb earlier, to which I fell down, except this chamber harbored no ladders or planks for me to ascend.

The light I observed being emitted from beyond the corner originated from a crevice situated on the ceiling of this borehole.

It was almost as if this particular room was mocking me; the exit was so close, yet so far. 

In my current condition, climbing out of here was unthinkable—not that it was possible in the first place, as evident by the absence of any functional utilities or instruments that I could latch onto for a clamber up this well.

Fuck.

I was too exhausted to even release a hint of rage or fury. I was tired, I greatly coveted sleep. My body practically demanded that I at least lay down and rest

Thus, in light of recent developments, I finally, after hours upon hours of aimlessly walking, perched on some foliage.

I was surprised that organic materials could thrive down here in these despondent halls devoid of hope or clemency.

Then again, Kocho-san and I did encounter a bomb down here...

I wonder if Kocho-san is okay, I hope she is. She wasn't too close to the blast radius and, in addition to that, I pushed her away from the bomb right before it ignited. So, hopefully, she's faring better than I am.

As I lay my hands down on the lush, green verdure, I noticed something off.

Huh? Why does it feel like there's something firm and compact below the lush?

Curious, I swing my right hand swiftly in a right-left motion to uncover this puzzling revelation.

To my horror, I found something that could infuriate even my sleep-deprived, battered, and mentally exhausted mind and body.

It was the remains of a human skull.

..

..

..

..

With the conclusion of the Final Selection, I was now a Demon Slayer. However, I was ordered to return to Urokodaki-sensei's abode.

For almost the entirety of the walk from Fujikasane Mountain to my sensei's residence, I was lamenting; lamenting the fact that I have failed Urokodaki-sensei. That I have to face him in disgrace and inform him that two of his beloved students are dead because of me.

Should I apologize for my negligence? Should I genuflect in front of him and beg for forgiveness?

Either way, it won't change the fact that Sabito and Makomo are gone. They are forever no more; slaughtered by the hands of a demon... and my cowardice.

I now have more blood on my hands.

Years ago, I promised someone that I would protect the one that he and I hold dear to our hearts... only for me utterly fail in upholding that very promise.

And now, I have made the same mistake.

Once a failure, always a failure.

..

..

As soon as I could spot the structure in the distance, I could feel my stomach turn. I felt uneasy, I felt sick to the core: the murderer gives his condolences to the victims' family; such an abhorrent and sick notion is what I perceived to be so in this situation.

I wanted to run away, run away from all of my troubles, all of my sins, and all of my regrets. But I kept walking towards the house. I know that running away won't solve anything nor will it bring solace to my soul—albeit, nothing at this point can bring solace.

But I must at least face my regrets head-on. I have to at least inform Urokodaki-sensei.

I was getting closer and closer. My mind was racing faster and faster. My heartbeat was beating more and more.

I can't do this... NO, I have to do this!

I want to run away... COWARD, you ran away long enough!

I don't want to face him... Then you're better off dead, mongrel.

The sheer level of oscillation in my head was so immense that I didn't take notice of Urokodaki-sensei's presence.

I stopped.

I lifted my head to find Urokodaki-sensei in his usual attire standing right in front of me.

I have to tell him. I have to say something.

Nothing.

Come on! I need to tell him! I need to tell him that I killed his students! I need to tell him that I failed, that I'm a coward, that he should've never saved me from those demons!

That I'm better off DEAD!

Nothing. I couldn't say anything.

Not a damn word... FUCK, GODDAMMIT! WHY AM I COWERING RIGHT NOW! I HATE THIS! I HATE THIS SITUATION! I HATE THAT FUCKING DEMON! I WANT TO TORTURE THAT FUCKING THING INTO PIECES! I HATE THAT I RAN AWAY! I HATE THAT MY FRIENDS DIED! I HATE THAT I DID NOTHING! I HATE THAT I'M A FUCKING COWARD!

I HATE MYSELF!!!

A hug.

Urokodaki-sensei was embracing me into his arms.

Why... Why is he hugging me... He should be apoplectic, he should be boiling with rage... But, instead, he's hugging me... Why...

"Thank you, Tomioka-kun," Urokodaki said, in the most solemn, poignant, and mournful manner to which an honorable man like him can exude.

It was as if he could read my thoughts; he knew that Sabito and Makomo were dead, he knew that I was fighting an internal, never-ending war with myself... And yet, he still embraces me as his student... 

An outpour of regret, sadness, and sorrow could be discerned from his mien. It was almost as if... as if he was glad to see me alive and well...

One can only suspect that this isn't the first time he has lost young students.

He was both elated to see that one of his three students survived, but also melancholic to know that the two others had passed...

I didn't reciprocate his gesture or his words of gratitude.

But it felt like a huge weight had been lifted from my shoulders. For once in this long week, I felt relieved. I felt calm and cooled down.

I was relieved.

..

..

With my remaining day under the apprenticeship of Urokodaki-sensei nearing its end, I readied myself in anticipation of my formal induction into the Demon Slayer Corps. Clothed in the immaculate, standard-issued Corps uniform, I had conjured up the customary image of a slayer within this sacrosanct organization.

Moreover, I had already acquired my Nichirin Blade from the swordsmith Haganezuka Hotaru—who arrived to both deliver the blade and to cause a ruckus.

I collected all of my belongings—not that I had much in the first place—and packed all of the essential and auxiliary items that I will be needing when traversing the landscape.

At long last, it was time for me to take my leave indefinitely from this place that I called home for these past few years.

However, I wasn't about to get sentimental about any of this; I must now do my utmost to uphold and commit everything in enforcing and executing the duties which denote a Demon Slayer of the Corps.

In the days since my return from Fujikasane Mountain, I had made a vow that I am determined to ordain as the defining principle of both my obligations as a slayer and my obligations as a human being.

From the deaths of my sister, parents, and two very close friends, I have verified that the only way to atone for my sins is to diligently and prodigiously fight for the safety and well-being of any innocent life who might otherwise fall prey to the evil and malignant forces of this world.

It was, invariably, my duty to protect everyone that I can and will protect.

As I approached the shoji screen door, to finally excuse myself in perpetuity, I stopped right before I was about to open the door.

"Urokodaki-sensei," I turned around and formally bowed to the man in front of me.

"Tomioka-kun," Urokodaki returned the gesture.

"I want to thank you for everything, and for all of your diligent efforts in raising, educating, and pushing me. Again, thank you," I maintained my respectful bow.

Urokodaki-sensei, on the other hand, remained silent. He lingered on in that state of silence until finally, he spoke.

"You shouldn't thank me, Tomioka-kun. I failed you," he states, "you came asking for help in dealing with your pain, but your pain is beyond my abilities—perhaps yours as well. For your pain is leading you down a path you desire... A path that will only burden you both psychologically and spiritually..."

..

..

..

..

There were bones everywhere. Human bones.

After the first discovery, I scanned the area for more; only to find—to my terror—a multitude of other bones. Skull, spinal cord, chest, and wrist bones were among the many that were present in this sinister environment.

I desperately collected all of them, like some greedy madman trying to accumulate his remaining gold coins. It had become an obsession for me; I grabbed as much as I could. But there were too many.

Soon enough, I was holding enough remains on my arms to cause some of the bones to fall down from my grasp.

The sheer amount of remains overwhelmed me. 

I felt utterly sick to the stomach. 

It was a graveyard here. These were all victims... Victims of a demon... A demon I haven't even slain yet...

All the lives I couldn't save.

What am I doing...

Is this the true burden of my fidelity to my oath, my obligation, and my duty? Are these lives all at the fault of my hands? If so, then I have truly failed everyone once again.

"Nee-san... Satō-san... Sabito... Makomo...... Kocho-san..." I whispered with a somber tone-one that echoed throughout these halls.

"I'm sorry..."