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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Shinobu hoisted herself from the rough, jagged floor and surmounted her corporeal form above this uncomfortable surface.

The stinging sensation of body aches engulfed her legs—pulsating periodically within individual and arbitrary subsections of her thighs, ankles, and knees. She struggled to maintain balance while attempting to be situated in an upright posture. This was all an attestation to the lengthy period she had lulled herself in the form of a reverie.

In other words, she had been sleeping for far too long.

Finally, as her legs became acclimatized to these new strains which Shinobu had wrought upon her body, Shinobu proceeded to scour the vicinage in order to make herself au courant with the present circumstances. Additionally, she sought to pinpoint the exact location of her partner within the plethora of rubble that had encapsulated the physical configurations of this area.

Within the isolated halls of this caliginous crevice, debris and wreckage had disseminated widely throughout the reaches of this expanse—as far as the eye could see. It was a chaotic heap of rocks, metal, and dirt that were scattered and laid amok. Moreover, the copious amount of holes exacted upon the enclosure's walls were indicative of the explosion's intensity and its immediate ramifications on the environment.

The explosion had incurred a great deal of damage to this tunnel; so much so, in fact, that Shinobu herself could not recognize this setting when compared to her memories of its antecedent iteration.

Under normal circumstances, one would panic or be left confounded when confronted with a situation such as this—lost in a strange, dark tunnel that is encased by rubble and other signs of a violent and destructive discharge of some sort.

Shinobu, however, was the Insect Hashira of the Demon Slayer Corps. Years of strenuous, ceaseless training along with indispensable experience in the field had honed her senses and instincts to their zeitgeist—something greatly beneficial for a soldier of any kind. Her cerebral functionalities have been wired so that anxiety or fear would not be the primary response to a dilemma that faces her now.

To put it another way, the appropriate comportment had come to her naturally.

As such, thanks to her excellent intuition and ability to appraise the severity of the contemporary predicament, Shinobu was able to swiftly collect herself—in spite of the whirlwind of emotions that had only recently beleaguered her as she extricated herself from the dream—and calmly assess the state of affairs.

'I have to find Tomioka-san,' Shinobu internally notes her current objective.

'But what happened in the first place?' Shinobu tries her best to recall the sequence of events that constituted the very few seconds that preceded and succeeded the explosion.

'We came across the tripwire, so we tried to undo it, but...' she recollected, 'there was a rat. And it activated the device... and then... Tomioka-san pushed me away from the locus...'

Then, it hit her harder than any uppercut of any force could possibly inflict upon her chin.

'Tomioka-san was caught in the blast... He might be dead...'

The implications of such were enough to completely subvert the deportment and equanimity she had maintained thus far as a means to uphold her compos mentis.

She had lost her composure.

Her breathing had become raspy; every respiration of oxygen proved to be laborious for her lungs and her windpipe. Her throat felt scratchy all of a sudden; it was an indication of both a deficiency in hydration and an absent mind that was too distracted by an abstract notion alone—albeit, a notion that harbors heavy and undesirable prospects if its accuracy is ascertained.

Everything felt heavy. It was as if metal weights had been stationed on her shoulders and her ankles—the former pressing her arms down, while the latter pressing her feet backward. She dared not to move one bit; for, she feared that she might collapse and land on her posterior once again.

Shinobu was nearly hyperventilating before she realized just how inimical her behavior had manifested itself.

'Calm down... Tomioka-san might still be alive. There's no proof that he's dead. Maybe he was also knocked out...' she reassured herself, hoping to find and seize that glimmer of hope that remained in her heart.

She choked back her trepidation and then promptly comported herself; except, this time, she was cognizant of it—in lieu of it happening subconsciously.

'I have to investigate this properly,' she reasserts herself.

Making use of her sore legs, Shinobu ambulated around in search of her fellow Hashira.

"Tomioka-san?" she uttered, aiming for some kind of response—irrespective of whether it's a word or a simple grunt—to be reciprocated.

It was abundantly clear that Giyuu's presence couldn't be detected within the proximity of her visages or ears.

'Maybe he's under these rocks...' Shinobu considers; albeit, a proposition that fostered uneasiness within her. If her comrade was truly enclosed within a foundation of rocks, then there's the very high possibility that she will only find Giyuu's carcass and lifeless soma.

Nevertheless, she withdraws from that perturbed state and then initiates her search—as evinced by how her Hashira inclinations had a tendency to overwhelm and usurp her emotional state within a short period of time.

She began to rummage through the debris and the rubble, hoping to find something—a clue, at best, to aid her.

'I have to find him before... before it's too late.'

Shinobu stood alone against the test of time; she knew that, when taking in all possible scenarios wherein Giyuu is alive, the likelihood of a fatal or substantial injury was immense. As a professional in the medical field, Shinobu was well aware of how vulnerable the human physique is to the forces of nature or artificial lacerations. Thus, an explosion of this magnitude can easily terminate a living being depending on its propinquity. And Giyuu, from what she can remember, was terribly close to the site of the outburst.

Given that Giyuu is still alive—the chances of that being not very high in the first place—his injuries could be lethal and possibly incurable. If the latter is true, then there is nothing that Shinobu can do.

But, betting all her chances on there being at least an injury that she can tend to, Shinobu is determined to find Giyuu before a possible wound can potentially end him.

She doesn't want to relent; she wants to believe that he's still alive.

In any case, though, she ought to get him before he dies—assuming he's still alive in the first place.

This concerted effort might all be for naught in the end. It might as well be.

But, she isn't going to give up on him. Not now.

He has to be alive.

She can't lose him.

..

..

..

..

Giyuu

Breathe.

"That's the place where pain works for you," I suggest to Urokodaki-sensei.

Pain has been such an integral part of my life.

My non-existent parents, Nee-san's passing, the betrayal of my oath to her fiancé, Makomo's death, and Sabito's demise.

I live off of that pain, and it's what motivates me to do what I do—to uphold my duties and prerogatives as a slayer and Hashira of the Demon Slayer Corps.

But there's a sense of closure that I will never be able to get, no matter what I do.

It is this desire that drives me forward, motivates me, and makes me ultimately become the incomplete person that I am.

Breathe.

"Pain doesn't work for you; you work through pain," Urokodaki-sensei corrects.

My scars might not be physical, but they're inside my very soul, and they will always be there.

Because it's a part of who I am.

The cold, calculating, reticent, lonely Water Hashira; one who has neither the forethought nor the courage to engage with others or cooperate with his comrades.

A shadow who has neither the ability nor the desire to communicate.

One who rejects everything except his oath to the Corps.

Shrouded in a sea of guilt, hopelessness, and loss, I am forever condemned to a life of torment with no hope of atonement.

The ghosts of my loved ones still haunt me to this day—nightmares are a constant reminder of their existence within the confines of my head.

I am bound by an oath to walk on this path, one that will kill me.

These scars can never heal; they will stay forever.

Breathe.

"The interior pain is something you deny."

No, it's something I manage.

I will never be whole again after what happened, but I'll be the last one to acknowledge that.

Breathe.

"You shouldn't thank me, Tomioka-kun. I failed you," Urokodaki-sensei states plainly, yet melancholically at the same time, "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..."

Ultimately, it was Urokodaki-sensei who realized that I will never get rid of his pain, because the pain is leading me to where I want to be, and both he and everyone else is powerless to stop it.

Breathe.

..

..

I bestirred myself from a nap.

My head felt heavy; an insurmountable pressure was pressing down on my cranial region. I surmise that it's probably the mental stress that is causing this development.

Beyond that, I don't feel discomfort anywhere else. This is despite the puncture that is present on my abdomen.

It's probably the breathing technique.

I've been employing Total Concentration Breathing to control the flow of blood and to properly close up the wound. I suppose that my undertakings have been successful.

I look around.

I was perched on the ground—sitting in an upright pose with my knees touching the ground.

The skeletal remains of unidentified humans continued to be sojourned on the ground—it appears that I unintentionally dropped them earlier as I drifted to sleep.

It's like a scene one would find to be meticulously described in the horror genre of books.

Funny.

These remains, which may have once denoted the corpses of an innocent being, are probably the result of a demon.

'Protect everyone.'

That's easier said than done.

At this point, I've failed to protect anyone.

Like how I failed to save the Kamado family from their fate; I arrived too late to make any meaningful difference.

As a result, Kamado Tanjiro has to devote an entire lifetime fighting demons, while Kamado Nezuko has been deprived of her humanity.

Then again, I've encountered plenty of eerily similar circumstances in the past.

Do I even deserve the title of 'Water Hashira of the Demon Slayer Corps'?

No, I never did.

If I can't defend the innocent and bystanders, then what use am I?

Sabito would've made a better Hashira.

He was a strong, rational, and compassionate figure; all the qualities of a professional slayer. He would've saved them all.

I look down at the bones once again. They are the representation of my incompetence and my burden; the inability to grant a reprieve to those who need it along with the immeasurable burden to do so.

I have blood on my hands, don't I?

Maybe... Maybe I should shut my eyes once more.

Sleep again.

Sleep forever.

I should capitulate to the unyielding weight of my eyelids and let go of everything.

It's a selfish thing to do.

But, then again, no one will care anyway.

Right?

The world starts to unravel before me. The blackness commences its envelopment of my peripheral vision. Everything is fading away, like a boat sailing beyond the event horizon. I feel as if my soul is leaving the physical incarnation of its being—forever abandoning it to the elements. The pressure within my cranium begins to subside. I feel light-headed and relaxed.

I might as well disappear.

"—ioka-san!"

Huh?

"Tomiok—"

Someone's saying something.

"Tomioka-san!"

I recognize that voice...

Kocho-san?

..

..

..

It was the middle of the night.

The star-lit sky enclosed the Demon Slayer Corps Headquarters under its magnificent and enthralling luminosity as the moon arose in its full glory, while the sun settled into slumber. The aroma of a heavy, dewy scent was inaugurated in light of a deluge of rain from earlier in the day. Miles away, the incandescent street lights were incrementally turned on and the gradual conclusion of the profuse pandemonium prevalent within the confines of the nearby town and its surrounding prefectures could be distinguished from the estate.

The discrepancy between the town—which emitted both the synergy and loud reverberations of a relatively large urban center—and the Corps' headquarters, with their erratic critters along with the incessant croaking present in the contemporary wildlife throughout the surrounding habitat and forest, could be clearly observed.

With the amplification of the summer humidity, a wide array of mosquitoes emerged from their respective dwellings in search of blood——awaiting an opportunity to initiate the extraction and consumption of such material present under the skins of their human targets.

Within the nearby forest, I rest my body against the damp, soggy bark of a tree and on the moist, wet blades of grass attached to the dirt floor.

I sigh.

I lift the scabbard and unsheathe my Nichirin Blade.

My head hurts. It's been like this every day. The compression against my skull is getting worse. Why is that?

Was it because of the recent mission? Probably.

Observing the corpses of an entire family slaughtered by demons was bad enough. But watching a young girl slowly perish in my arms while I try to comfort and reassure her that she's not going to die was the final nail in the coffin.

Her whimpers and cries are still stuck in my head. They've been repeating it over and over. I can't get either the image or the sound out of my thoughts; it's like a broken record is playing in my nightmares over and over—except there are no pleasant songs to listen to, only the agonizing experience of a young child slowly dying of blood loss along with a Hashira unable to do anything for her.

The nightmares are getting worse by the night.

My hands are violently shaking.

Ever since the day of the Final Selection, I've become desensitized. I'm numb in the face of death, benumbed to my own emotions, and unable to comprehend physical discomforts.

And yet, the pain in my head won't yield.

I want it to all end. This nightmare. A world of blood, spittle, and dread. This hellish place.

I don't deserve to live anyway. Everyone else is dead because of me, but I'm still alive.

Why? Why am I still alive? I shouldn't have made it out alive at the cost of family and friends. How come God gave me the benefit of staying on this Earth while he snatches the souls of everyone else?

I once heard that regretful sinners don't go to Hell as punishment, they are left on the Earth to rot and live the rest of their days in misery—bereft of true happiness. They are left to witness their endeavors in full form; how their actions and decisions have destroyed everything they cherished. This only serves to exacerbate their sense of remorse and shame to such a degree that they don't even value their own lives anymore.

I suppose that's what is happening to me as well.

This whole charade is driving me mad. Every day, I live a suffocating lie—a fabrication that I cannot play with anymore. I have to pretend that I'm of a higher rank, that I'm stronger or something... As if I somehow earned all of this.

I hate this.

I have to eliminate it. Get rid of it all.

Despite all this, every fiber of my being is telling me not to do this. Remember, you still have an oath to uphold. You have to fight demons as penance for the mistakes of your past.

But my absent-minded thoughts have compelled me into this decision; one that cannot be reversed. I feel like I'm possessed by some outside force into doing this. However, unlike normal situations wherein the recipient of such directives would attempt to emancipate themselves from this control, I had already acquiesced and remained succumbed to this form of abstract coercion. I have submitted myself to whatever fate this force has delegated to me.

This is not like me. Am I really giving up this early? Will I shamelessly do something this dishonorable?

Yes, I already am. After all, I don't care—and have never really cared—if I die or not. I can easily surrender to my fate.

Both of my hands situate themselves onto the Tsuka (Handle) of the blade, and then I initiate a Reverse grip—the practice of holding a katana with the blade pointing down, along the wielder's arm. I then pivot the katana towards the upper half of my body. With careful precision, I slowly lifted the hilt of the blade so that the Kissaki (Point) of the metal was aiming towards the midpoint of my neck.

Time was moving slowly. Every second was the equivalent of one minute in my little world. I couldn't tell how long I was sitting there in that stance—with my blade centimeters away from the outermost layer of skin on the throat.

Even so, I felt so confident at that point. As if I was prognosticating my own departure from this Earth at the hands of none other than myself. Even I was scared at how phlegmatic I remained at that very moment under those specific circumstances; albeit, such notions were hidden within the walls of my subconsciousness.

I was ready to do it.

"ARG!" someone yelled out in frustration.

I immediately halted my current operation.

Who was that? Why are they here?

The person in question then punched the very same tree I was perched upon. That was enough to startle me and knock me out of my trance.

"Goddamn it!" this feminine voice exclaims, "how am I supposed to get stronger?!"

I linger on in silence.

"Everyone's better than me... And I have the weakest swing strength; I can't even chop off a demon's neck!" she shouts in exasperation.

"Nee-san's already a Hashira... and look where I am..." she said more softly.

Sister? Hashira?

Wait, this might be that one girl from the Butterfly Estate. The younger sister to the Flower Hashira, Kocho Kanae.

Shinobu. That's right. Kocho Shinobu. The passive-aggressive doctor I met the other day.

"Fuck..." she murmured.

With curiosity getting the better of me, I cautiously lowered my Nichirin blade until it was at ground level and then shifted my head so as to observe this particular case of an inferiority complex.

In my attempt to catch a glance at Kocho-san, I moved my line of sight so that I could get a clear view of her. However, as I turned the corner of the tree's trunk to catch a glimpse of Kocho-san, I was only met with her displeased face that exuded a cold, intense stare directed at me.

"Who are you, and what are you doing here!" she asked furiously.

"..."

"Hey wait, I know you... Is that you, Tomioka-san?" she queried.

"Yes." I simply replied.

Speaking in the presence of a Hashira wasn't enough to placate her, though, "What are you doing out here?!"

My response comes in the form of a slow elucidation of my thoughts: "I... sleep... here..."

"No you don't, I know you have a house around here!" she angrily replied.

"Well..." I took a glance at my Nichirin blade, "I was training... with my sword."

"Why would you be training at midnight?" she questioned.

"My sword... was recently repaired... so I have to train," I was giving out an impromptu explanation.

Kocho-san promptly pinched the bridge of her nose and then sighed, "You know that you're a terrible liar, Tomioka-san?"

Huh, that didn't work.

"Interesting..." I said, pondering at the notion of why my explanation didn't suffice.

"Don't tell me you're a stalker," Shinobu, not hiding her disgust, said.

"This all happened by coincidence. In no way, shape, or form do I heavily scrutinize people," I clarified.

"Then what were you doing just now?" she inquired.

I stop.

Even now, I couldn't fathom the true implications of what I was just doing. My mind was so engrossed with Kocho-san that I forgot about the deeds I was close to committing just earlier.

The fact that I was close to impaling myself didn't dawn upon me at the time, but it nearly happened regardless.

"I was sharpening my sword..." I lied once again.

"Tomioka-san, that has got to be the most ridiculous thing I've heard. At least try to put some effort—or, better yet, logic—into your falsehoods," Shinobu sighed.

"Why's that ridiculous? There's always the possibility of one sharpening their sword in a remote location," I counter.

"Well, that's because the likelihood of that is LOW. Besides, this isn't even a 'remote' location—especially in a locality such as the Corps Headquarters. Gosh, you may be more logical than some of the other Hashiras, but you sure are stupid when it comes to social interactions," she thoroughly debunks my entire rationale while hurling another insult toward me.

"I see..." I say.

"So that was a lie, huh?"

"Half-truth. I really do have business with my Nichirin blade here," I extenuated my case.

"And would that be...?"

"That is not relevant to the conversation," I try to dodge the question.

"Is it, now? If you can't give a proper justification, then I will have to stick with the Stalker theory," Shinobu sternly warns.

"That would be unfortunate."

"For you, yes," she corrects.

"..."

"You really don't know how to continue a conversation, do you?" Shinobu groans.

"I wouldn't know," I answered curtly.

"Although, I already knew that from your regular medical appointments," she notes.

Then, something clicked within her, "Speaking about that, where were you?!"

"Me...?"

"Yeah, you! You were supposed to head over to the Butterfly Mansion for a check-up! Since, you know, you had a mission!" she complained.

Ah... Right. That mission.

That's something I would rather not remember right now.

"I apologize for my absence. But, I don't think it was necessary for me to trouble you; I did not suffer any injuries," I explain.

"That's what you said last time when you broke your arm," she replied succinctly.

"Oh... I don't remember."

"Don't give me that nonsense, Tomioka-san," she retorts.

She saw me right through. She might be a genius.

"Well, either way, I legitimately didn't suffer any injuries. There's no need for an examination," I conclude, hoping to bring an end to this debate.

Shinobu then conspicuously exhaled, "Fine. But you're coming tomorrow."

"But—"

"No buts. Tomioka-san, we promised, don't you remember?"

"Yes..." I relent.

"Good. Now, meet me tomorrow at 9:30 AM at the Butterfly Estate, got it?"

"I understand."

"Alright."

She really is one stubborn girl. I sometimes wonder if I'm getting some kind of special treatment here; if I'm the only one she acts harshly towards. Probably not.

In any case, though, she does interest me.

I should observe her more closely. She has the potential to go places.

"Well, it's late. You should return home and stop stalking people," she announces.

"But I wasn't stalk—"

"Get a goodnight's rest, Tomioka-san. I mean it," she says in a stringent attitude.

"Okay," I reply.

She turns around and begins her long trek back to Butterfly mansion.

Then, an idea popped into my head.

"Kocho-san," I called out.

"Hm?" she answers.

"Just remember: Nominations for upper-rank or Hashira candidates are evaluated holistically," I begin.

"Huh?" Shinobu is left confused.

"Strength alone isn't enough to get you promoted. The determining factor is the efficacy of your abilities; whether they are suitable for killing stronger demons or not. Although strength is an easy way to ascertain the eligibility of a candidate, other factors can be at play as well," I expound.

"So you did hear me... say all that," Shinobu, slightly embarrassed, mentions.

"Yes, I did. Which is why I will leave you with this piece of advice," I continue.

Kocho-san's interest in my lecture is piqued.

"Try to find other creative ways or methods that could be used to kill demons efficiently without solely relying on great power. For example, the ability to think clearly and concoct a sound strategy in the midst of battle is a trait that the Corps would greatly appreciate and be willing to reward with promotions," I delineate.

"And how do I figure that out?" Shinobu, fully immersed in the discussion, asks.

"That's for you to figure out. But I suggest that you figure out what your talents—natural or acquired—are and determine a way in which you could conveniently apply them in the field of battle," I conclude.

"Oh, I see..." Shinobu's face, previously full of consternation, is now glimmering with hope and youthful eagerness.

It reminded me of my days with Sabito and Makomo.

"You know, Tomioka-san," she suddenly says.

"Huh?" I return to reality.

"Maybe you aren't so bad after all," she smiles.

It was a radiant expression of goodwill and joy—the likes I have not seen since my time under Urokodaki-sensei. It was full of passion and fervor. It was a sight to look at.

I begin to wonder: When was the last time I smiled? It's been a while, huh.

Maybe, someday, I will be able to smile again—one just like Kocho-san's.

Heh, that's odd. I usually am pessimistic when it comes to the future. I guess her smile has the ability to transfer some of that hopeful aspirations to bystanders.

Maybe... things will get better.

I can only hope.

..

..

..

..

"Ko—" I mustered all the remaining strength I had left into this shout, "Kocho-san!"

"Tomioka-san?! Is that you?!"

The voice was coming from above; in the crevice situated on the ceiling of this borehole.

"Y-Yeah..." I say weakly.

By some miracle, she had found me, and I was awake to return her summons.

"Tomioka-san..." she said, her voice closer now.

I look above to meet her amethyst eyes—they are still alluring and captivating as ever. Those enchanting eyes. I cannot take my eyes away from them.

"You're alive..." Shinobu, still exhausted and respiring from hauling all those rocks and metals, was smiling—one full of relief and jubilation. It was a genuine smile, the same one which I have seldom witnessed ever since she had plastered that fake smile onto her porcelain face following her sister's death.

"Yeah... I am."

Thank you, Kocho-san.

You've saved me more times than you would think.