Three years later, and the world has begun to change.

Giyuu Tomioka is now fifteen–years old, and a contrite member of the Demon Slayer Corps. Although he has grown in both appearance and character, Giyuu is still very much the same vengeful twelve–year old he was back then, and he has allowed this hate to define him – even if there is no apparent reason, or source for it. Still reeling from the loss of a certain lavender–eyed boy, he has his sights trained on a man whom he wishes to eliminate for the sake of avenging a woman that is now all but a lofty, distant recollection to him.

In the wake of an assignment gone badly wrong, and taking refuge from the oppressive summer in the shade and coolness of a cabin, Giyuu Tomioka makes a pact with himself. Slinging his past over his shoulders, and entrusting his future to the cool lethality of his blade, he begins to embark on the path of blood.

Part 1: Omen
June 1915

Giyuu's POV

"Giyuu, are you sure about this?"

A rhetorical question – he knew I'd made up my mind and that there was no changing it. But I still answered.

"I'm sure, Youma."

A single window allowed some daylight to shed through, illuminating the pitch–black interior of the cabin, and the desk in front of me. I steadied my hand, and pressed down with all my weight. With the other, I began to cut.

Snip, snip, snip.

A glob of sweat trailed down my forehead. My eyes went dry and vision hazy. Down the middle, on the line – just as planned. I straightened up, and allowed myself a bit of satisfaction when seeing it'd been split perfectly into two. But I didn't relax just yet.

"And now, to sew them together."

I lined up the two different halves and started to sew. Pinning the needle to the cloth, I threaded it through – a translucent, colourless fibre following it, that wouldn't be visible once I was done. Gradually and deliberately, I made my way up, until reaching the collar, and tying a knot.

Letting out a sigh of finality and relief, I held up the finished product closer to the light, and took the sight in:

A half-and-half haori.

One side a crimson red, and the other a cubistic yellow–and–green.

Tsutako and Sabito.

Two aspects of my past that I refused to let go.

Two aspects of my past – that I would take into the future.

"You did an uncannily good job. Though, I guess I shouldn't be so surprised."

I shifted my gaze. Youma was leaning against a beam, a genial smile playing across his lips.

"Knitting and sewing – that kind of thing – was one of your sister's hobbies. And I remember you'd always watch her so intently whenever she did it. I guess it just stuck with you; even if you've forgotten, no, had your memories of her taken."

"Oh. Is that so…"

I looked back at the haori.

"So, you're ready to go now?"

Without replying, I made my way to the door and opened it. A powerful wind flooded in, threatening to overtake me, and I was basked in the golden sunlight of summer – but I remained unfazed. I pulled the fluttering haori over my arm, and adjusted it around my shoulders.

It was a perfect fit.

"Let's go."

The city of Hiroshima floated in the heat, and from the vantage point the hill on which the cabin sat upon provided, bore the conscientious serenity of a mirage. We descended towards the ground, wading through fields of corn, edamame, sprawling rice paddies, and towering sunflowers that were characteristic of a quivering Japanese summer landscape sculpting the outskirts of a town.

Being in the country, we had come to encounter the raw and unadulterated nature of it in its entirety. The heat was simmering, and the air awash with the scent of dew and summer flora. The thick humidity was choking and my hair stuck to the back of my neck. But it was pleasant, in a way. A respite, one could say. A respite from the regulations and bustle of the city, and the chaos of my new life in general. My life – as a demon slayer.

In that vein, it was my job as a demon slayer that led me to Hiroshima.

My last assignment had been, quite frankly, a disaster – primarily because I had been tasked with eliminating a demon that was far out of my league, but partly also because I got cocky and didn't try to back out once I'd recognised this fact. I was badly injured during the battle (three broken ribs, several deep lacerations, yada yada), and was saved just in the nick of time by the rising of the sun. You damn bet that hurt my ego like hell, but no less than the wounds did my body; I crawled over to the nearest hospital, and passed out – leaving the rest to God, and the power of modern medicine.

That was three months ago. My thirst for glory had since pacified, and I had been given a new assignment. To quote my Kasugai crow:

"A demon is on the loose! A demon is on the loose!

Seventeen people have gone missing – including five swordsmen we sent. This is most likely the work of a demon.

Eliminate the target with utmost discreetness and efficiency. Do not disturb public order.

Perform your duty as a Demon Slayer, and head to Hiroshima. Once there, await further orders."

[Of course, my crow didn't relay the message this smoothly. Whatever that old coot said, this was my interpretation.]

In the scope of a Demon Slayer's job, this was pretty standard fare. But I had grown wary after my diminishing failure, and took it upon myself to 'tread with caution', this time – as if I knew what caution meant. But I digress.

…

"See?" Youma said, us having found refuge in the shade of a bamboo forest, "you shouldn't have worn that haori. I guess you were trying to be cool and all – no pun intended – but don't you remember that whatever you feel, I feel? I'm busy dying over here."

"Oh, yeah… that's right," I replied. Ever since Youma had taken on a physical form and rescinded from merely existing in my head, we'd been tied in both mind and body. I tended to forget that often, though.

"It's strange, isn't it? I never thought it would be possible for me to exist outside your dreams," Youma continued, "but now, here I am, existing in this state of offhand physicality. I can walk and talk and stalk. Though, of course, only you can see and hear me – and I can't interact with the environment, either. And, since I still am technically still 'part of you', I can read your thoughts, feel whatever you feel, and so on."

"What're you telling me all this for..? I already know everything."

"No, you don't. I know you forgot – I can read your thoughts, remember? You're lying through your teeth. It's been, I think, a year since I suddenly appeared by your bedside that one morning? I still don't know how, but what matters is that it happened, and that it looks like there is no reverting it. I'd have thought you would've become familiar with my presence at this point, but it looks like not."

"Okay, boomer. Calm down. That's all in the past now."

"Your definition of the past is the immediate ten seconds ago. But whatever. And what's a 'boomer', anyway?"

"An old man. But it's a modern term."

"Uh–huh."

Taking a break from beating along the cobblestone path, we leaned against the bamboo shoots for a while, and observed the rare passerby to pass the time.

I should take this chance to elaborate a bit more on Youma's appearance. He wasn't exactly identical to Douma, as I first perceived; his brows were less bushy, and hair shorter, as well as more ruly; being tied up into a ponytail, allowing some bangs to arch over his head. He had rounder eyes – which were green, of course – and was a bit shorter and slimmer. Of course, he was still a hulk of a man, being quite tall – much taller than me at the time – and muscular. He was decked out in a plain navy–blue jacket, belying a similarly, albeit lighter shade of blue kimono, which sported patterned bronze embroidery, and a white collar. This was tucked into a dark beige hakama, woven into a monochrome tartan pattern, with lines of brown, grey, and cream straddling and scaling it. Overall, he had quite a noble appearance.

There was no–one really of note, save for a few farmers who shot me derisive looks on their way past. They must've thought I was some thug, what with my sword, mismatching haori, and scraggly long hair. At some point, Youma faded out of sight, presumably to explore (which he had a habit of doing), but just as I was about to get going again, though, the most striking man I ever saw in my life strolled into sight, and I was stopped in my tracks.

He had long, lavish white hair, tied up into a bun held in place by an exotic jewel–embedded headband and gold–trimmed lace, with piercing fuchsia eyes and a heap of gold and silver piercings dotting his ears. The man was impossibly tall, and wide, and belying a beige cloak was a skin tight tunic dyed in a psychedelic black–and–white pattern which didn't suit him at all, and that was very hard on the eyes. But this did not detract from the imposing aura he exuded. If I had to describe him in one word, it would be… flamboyant.

Taking note of me, he halted and returned my gaze, looking deeply into my eyes. For a few aching seconds, we were still – just staring; only staring at each other – until all of a sudden, the mailbox next to me became very interesting, and I averted my eyes. But even then, he kept his own on me, trailing down my body. I was instantaneously unnerved. And then, he spoke.

"What're you doing here?"

His voice was fruity, yet had a belying seriousness.

"This is no place for girls. You've heard about the recent disappearances, haven't you?"

What does he mean, 'for girls'?

Is he speaking to me?

"Cat got your tongue? Oh – I get it. You must be scared," he said. I could sense a smile spread over his face. "Well, fret not. I'm here to find and take down whoever's responsible for this."

That sounds real corny.

But could it be..?

"Even it may be a demon, I'm specially trained. So, you can rest easy. But for now, go home. It's time for me – to dance."

That he's another demon slayer?

But…

I swung around, ready to confront him, only to find – that he was gone. In the blink of an eye; gone. Gone with no trace. Gone with the whistling wind weaving through the bamboo.

Youma suddenly appeared by my side, frantic. "What happened? I heard you shout in your thoughts," he said.

Lord, does that sound lame when put into words.

"Youma," I said.

"Mhh-hmm?"

"It appears someone is trying to beat me to the chase."

"Oh," he replied, "another demon slayer, you mean?"

"I don't think he was a demon slayer, per se. He didn't have a katana on him. But he said that he was here to 'take down whoever's responsible for this', and he was under the same impression that a demon was the root cause."

"Oh – I get it. That's strange and all, but what's it to you?"

"Nothing, it's just that…" I trailed off.

"Just that..?"

…

"C'mon, spit it out."

"…If I don't kill another demon soon, I won't get paid."

Indeed, the root cause of ninety–nine percent of all problems in this world was, and still is – money.

Aside from sticking out their necks clean for the guillotine which we shall affectionately label 'demon slaying' on the daily, demon slayers also had another thing to worry about: finances.

In the demon slayer corps, there is a ranking system for swordsmen that goes like this (from lowest to highest):

Mizunoto → Mizunoe → Kanoto → Kanoe → Tsuchinoto → Tsuchinoe → Hinoto → Hinoe → Kinoto → Kinoe → Hashira.

(For reference, I was a Kanoe at the time).

In my time, any swordsmen below the rank of Tsuchinoto were paid in a wage–like fashion; but instead of it being a fixed rate relative to how many hours one works a job, swordsmen were paid for each assignment they complete. Depending on the calibre of demon defeated, payment could vary, but the minimum wage was at least 10 Yen.

A/N: 10 Yen back then is equivalent now to about 24 USD, 2,400 modern–day Yen, or 21 Euros. (Information is correct as of 01/07/20).

That may sound like an absolutely meagre amount – and it really was – but it was enough for a person to just barely get by until the next assignment, of which the intermittent period could last from anywhere between three days and a month, usually a week. But – if you 'failed' a job, you wouldn't get paid. And it was this rule which proved the catalyst for many of my adolescent financial problems.

Since I had flopped my last assignment, I wasn't paid. At all. Of course, this didn't change the fact that I had to go to a hospital to treat my injuries, and pay the horrific amount of subsequent fees. (The demon slayer corps are supposed to take care of your bills in the event of injury, but I didn't know that at the time, and thus didn't lay it off to them. And, back then, there was no butterfly estate to go to.) So, when I was discharged, I was left effectively penniless. A great moolah melancholy, if you will.

So, I did what anyone would, and only could do in my situation; waited in earnest for my next assignment. And when it came, you damn bet I jumped straight on that train bound for Hiroshima – quite literally, since I couldn't afford a ticket.

…

"Oh––"

Youma chuckled, and slapped me on the back. Did I mention how he could do that? It's the same concept as shadow boxing. Since I perceived him as a 'physically existing person', whenever he'd touch me, my body would react accordingly. He poked me, I jerked backwards; he pulled me, I sprung forward. Of course, an observer would just see me being flung around on my own, but Youma and I took great care to prevent that from happening.

"No, I'm being serious. I really can't afford to miss out on another payment. I'm positively broke." I felt tempted to take out my wallet and show him, but then I remembered I didn't have one. Or rather, I didn't need one.

"You worry too much, Giyuu. Worrying will get you nowhere. By the way… was that a pun?"

"…You're steering the topic."

"And what will happen if I stay on it? What am I supposed to do? You're the one with the boots on the ground. If you're really so hard–pressed on what to do, I suggest you ask Urokodaki for a loan again."

I stifled my breath. "You know how he is. And I still haven't finished paying off the last one."

"You don't necessarily have to pay him back. While I understand that you feel obligated to because of your chivalry and bushidō and all that, he was a demon slayer too, once. He should be able to understand your situation," Youma replied, "but yeah, I kind of understand. You didn't exactly end your last visit to him on good terms. And there's the question of your ego, too…"

"…"

"And? What about those rest stations? The ones with the wisteria crests on them? Those that cater specifically to demon slayers? Why not just live off those for now?"

"I've exhausted my allowance for those places. I have to complete another job to replenish it." I uttered, sighing.

"Woah," he said, "you're in a rock and a hard place. Why not turn to a life of crime?"

"Perhaps, when I'm feeling naughty. But I'd rather obey the law today."

A protocoled silence ensued, and it was in this that I realised there was no point in hanging around this bamboo forest any longer. Reading my thoughts, Youma opened the conversation once again.

"Why not go down to the sea?"

Indeed – come to think of it, Hiroshima was a coastal city, rather famous for its beaches.

"And do what?" I asked, rather rhetorically.

"Take in the breeze. See the sights. Talk to the people there; gather info on the kidnappings. It is a valuable prospect, no? Especially considering we have all this free time on our hands, and that your… talking crow doesn't seem to be returning anytime soon."

True. When I arrived in Hiroshima two days prior, my Kasugai crow immediately took off, for some reason unbeknownst to me. I assumed he'd just went to receive further orders in order to relay them to me, but, as you can probably infer, that never happened, and I'd been left hanging and restless ever since.

"I guess… that makes sense, yeah."

"Then let's go!"

I reluctantly agreed, and with Youma taking me by the arm, we started our descent.

The slight scent of salt wafted in the air, and the occasional gale of cool wind provided a refreshing contrast from the thick humidity of the inland. We were nearly there.

With little to shield myself from the beating sun, I trudged along the beaten gravel path with my haori over my head. Youma walked beside me, bobbing his head from side to side to the beat of some melody he was whistling. It sounded familiar, for some reason. Coming upon the crest of the cliff, I stopped, and took in the sight:

A landscape bisected in half; one side a panorama of soft rolling hills, green grass, and quaint farmland, and the other a raging body of water shimmering in the sun, crashing into the shore, a rhythmic banter accompanying it, its saturated blue nature expanding into the horizon. We had arrived by the sea – but something else stuck out in the distance.

Straddling the boundary between ocean and land – was an estate. A sprawling, well-kept estate built in the classical architectural style of the home islands; with a high stone foundation giving way to wooden beams and translucent paper walls. Admittedly, in any 'normal' circumstances, it wouldn't have stood out that much – but this was the countryside – the lethargic, sinfully boring Japanese countryside – and the relative extravagance of the estate, coupled with my knowledge that there had been a series of laws enacted recently that prevented people owning large residential properties, made it quite unusual. The maximum was about 220 square metres (2368 square feet), but this estate looked to well surpass that limit.

…

"Well?" Youma said, "you want to go check out that building?"

"What do you mean, 'check it out'?" I asked.

"You're really such an airhead? What we originally came here to do – check if there's people there, and ask them about the recent disappearances."

"Oh, yeah… that." For some reason, I'd forgotten. The heat must've been eating away at my brain.

We slid down the hill towards a road that had been carved into its side; wrapping around its length and weaving into the distance, disappearing at some point amongst the distant, unfathomable horizon. With the sea to our left, and an interminable range of cliffs to our right, we made our way to the estate.

…

Nearly there, Youma, who was walking in front of me, suddenly halted.

"Giyuu? You see that?"

I looked in the direction he was pointing.

"Someone's there," he said.

Indeed – someone was there. Though they were still too far off for me to make out their appearance, it was undoubtedly a person.

I feel the need to point this out because the road we were on was unusually desolate. Normally, in summer, people would've been out and about in droves – especially by the sea. Nobody wanted to stay inside and rot in the humidity.

But then – why? Why was it so quiet? It couldn't have been because it was private property, and people weren't allowed on it – for we were on a road, and also, the aforementioned property size limit – so perhaps it was because of the recent disappearances.

Or rather, killings.

Killings – at the hands of a demon.

…

Already, I was beginning to feel restless.

If only, if only–

"Giyuu."

Youma spoke, setting his hand on my shoulder. I was snapped back into reality, and the anxiety that had begun to set in was swiftly dispelled. I already knew what he meant to convey, even in silence.

We continued on.

Now a bit closer, the features of the person wobbling in the humidity could now by interpreted. And, it was for some inexplicable reason I was taken aback when I saw that…

It was a girl.

A lone girl, dressed in an outfit akin to that of a Shrine Maiden's – a red hakama, and a white kimono. She was clutching a broom, aimlessly sweeping the section of the road in front of the estate, her dainty figure wavering in the heat, and bore the forced composure of one unaccustomed to physical labour.

A girl – with black hair, tied neatly into a bun, a butterfly pin resting on its crest. A girl – who looked very familiar, and yet I couldn't pinpoint why, who, or from where.

I approached her from behind, and she muttered something, though not to me. Something along the lines of, "Tsubone's going to kill me," and "if I don't get this done," and I'm not sure what she meant by that.

I called out to her, and she turned around. Profound amethyst eyes stared deeply into my own, and enchanted me. I opened my mouth to speak, but the words died on my lips; failed to take flight.

"Yes?" she asked. Her voice was so infinitely soft, yet had a belying urgency.

"Umm…"

I stammered. Why was I stammering?

"What're you…"

Wait. What am I saying? This isn't coming out right.

"…doing?"

She furrowed her brows, arms akimbo, and eyed me with a hazardous gaze. She seemed slightly annoyed.

"Isn't it obvious? Sweeping in this goddamned heatwave."

Call me crazy, but hearing a fair young maiden utter the word 'goddamned' felt wrong to me. Maybe I'm a nice guy after all.

In any case, she seemed eager to get back to work – or rather, to stop talking to me. So, I mustered myself.

"Have you heard about the recent disappearances?"

The girl's expression didn't change.

"Oh, yeah. That. Yep, I've heard about them. What about it?"

Damn… now what to ask?

"Um… can you tell me what you know about it? I'm… a detective. Sent by the police."

A white lie – one brought on by the spur of the moment, and one that may not have been entirely necessary.

"You? A detective? With your crummy jacket and hobo–esque ponytail? All the way out here in the boondocks? Ahahaha!" And she broke down laughing, inexplicably. Her witch–like cackling continued for a while, and I felt my heart bleed dry. I didn't expect such a sweet looking girl to turn out so… sadistic.

Well, damn. It seems I have overstayed my five–minute welcome.

"Um… sorry, I don't know much, just that it's all people in this area who've disappeared. But there are some people who live further down the road that may be able to tell you more," she explained, wiping tears of laughter from the corners of her eyes, "I really have to get back to this, so if you'll excuse me, detective. Bye–bye!"

Yes, indeed. 'Bye–bye'.

…Shorty.

I was getting riled up for nothing by a girl who barely reached my chest. Danger comes in small packages – I think that was the figure of speech? Danger to one's sanity, rather than danger to one's wellbeing. Though, I guess they are interchangeable.

Hey –come to think of it, she doesn't look all that old.

Roundabout 12–ish, I think?

For real, though – what's she doing out here sweeping?

She couldn't be an employee of whoever lives in this giant estate.

Maybe… she's the maiden of the house? The daughter?

…

Eh, whatever.

It doesn't concern me.

I've gotta get going. That turret clock on the wall tells me… it's half–past–five. The evening is drawing near.

"Alright, thank you… I guess," I muttered.

"Welcome," she replied, returning to her sweeping, and her murmuring. I didn't consciously eavesdrop, but I still picked up a few words like 'waiting' and 'sister' and… 'Kanae'. I halted, for a second.

'Kanae'?

I don't know a word that sounds like that.

Must be a name.

'Kanae'…

It sounds oddly familiar.

I returned to trotting along the road, a bit of gloom hanging over me, but I was too absorbed in thought to notice it much. For some reason, what the girl said had stuck with me. I hadn't gotten far when I stopped in my tracks again, pondering.

'Kanae'…

Oh, yeah.

I think it was the name of that one nice girl I met when I was twelve.

The one… whose family got killed by a demon.

On that fateful night.

Yeah – I could never forget.

…

I think… it was only her parents who died, if I remember correctly.

I wonder where she is now.

No – where they are.

Kanae, along with somebody else, survived.

I think –

I think it was her sister.

Yes – she had a sister.

…

Her sister?

Kanae's sister – what was she called?

The petite girl with amethyst eyes; the one who donned a butterfly–styled hairpin.

The one who I found battered and bruised in that garden.

The one who showed me compassion.

I think her name was…

Shinobu.

…

..!

"Don't tell me that's..!" I turned around.

It took me far too long to realise what had been right in front of me all along.

"Shinobu!"

At first, there was a pause; a pause in which the world seemed frozen around me, and everything was silent. Before the passage of time continued, and the leaves on the trees once again began to beat to the rhythm of the wind; with it, coming the reply.

"Giyuu?!"

For some reason, perhaps due to sheer, inexplicable emotion, I started to run towards Shinobu, arms stretched out. In a flash, I had crossed the length of the road, and had nearly reached her. But then, I started to think. What was I going to do – hug her? Embrace her? No – that'd be far too intimate. I started to recede my open arms in accordance with this, and slowed down – but by then, it was too late. I couldn't stop my momentum, and before I could catch my balance again, I tripped over my feet, crashed into her, and we were sent tumbling to the floor…

Bash, bash.

"Are you okay, man?"

…Or so I thought.

I pulled my head up from the gritty concrete, brain pounding and vision warping, and was faced with a still–standing, rather bewildered–looking Shinobu. It seemed she had dodged just in the nick of time – to my surprise, since I was sure I'd collided into her. Her hand was extended out to me, brows quirked in surprise, an amused smirk tugging the corners of her lips. Disgruntled, I took her arm, stood up, and dusted myself off.

"Wow, that was quite the fall, huh? Very magnificent–looking."

Thanks for the input.

"Are you… alright?" she inquired, eyeing me up–and–down.

"…Yeah," I replied. It wasn't like I could say no, anyway.

We retreated into the shade of a chestnut tree, and rested against its trunk, not quite looking at each other, but unable to fully look away, either. At first, I was quite happy to see her. It's always pleasant to come face to face with someone or something from your past, who you'd never thought you'd see again. Just the sheer serendipity of such a thing is enough to bring a person shy joy. But soon, the awkwardity and weariness began to set in, and it was at that point in time I realised – that I had no idea what to say to Shinobu. And it seemed like neither did she, to me, judging from her silence, and shuffling. Our previously lively conversation – had grinded to a halt.

But I was determined to continue it. Even though I was utter trash at communicating with anyone other than Youma. (His words, by the way).

"You've… become older."

"Yeah. I'm twelve now. And you?"

Shinobu eagerly caught on to the conversation, much to my relief.

"Fifteen," I continued, "umm… you've changed quite a lot." I didn't know what else to say, but I still regret saying that nonetheless.

"You too." She replied. "You've become… quite tall."

"Who are you staying with these…" I trailed off, fearing that might've been too sensitive a topic. "I mean, what've you been up to these days?"

She beamed. "I'm training to become a demon slayer!"

Now that took me by surprise…

"A demon slayer? Really?"

…But I guess, considering her circumstances, the death of her parents, and everything else, it shouldn't have. Perhaps my astonishment was due to her not looking anything like a demon slayer – or at least, the general image of one. Burly, crass, rough around the edges, not very talkative… broke; she appeared, and was far from any of these perceptions, much unlike me, who could've been labeled the very embodiment of these stereotypes, minus the rough around the edges part.

"Hey, why don't you come inside? We can catch up there. Have a meal, too. I'm hungry. Are you hungry?" she blabbered, waving her head from side to side, not quite able to keep still, as all children are.

No, no.

That –is far too close for comfort.

I was about to promptly refuse, because I was an edgy fifteen–year–old who was very distrusting of people, for no particular reason – but then my stomach growled and rumbled, and the stark remembrance came over me: I hadn't eaten since last night; courtesy of my forgetfulness, frugalness, and finances. I looked over at Youma, and he eyed me back with an affirmative gaze. Go for it. It won't hurt. It's Shinobu. You know her.

Sighing, I took her up on her offer, and she led me into the estate.

In order to escape the beating sun, yet not to relegate ourselves to the humidity and stuffiness of the indoors, we had taken refuge on a balcony that hovered above the landscape, isolated from anything else, and the view it provided was unparalleled; painting–like, so still and so surreal in this stillness that it took my breath away. I looked over at Shinobu. She was splayed across the marble, back leaning against a beam, fanning herself off with her hands, looking sapped as can be and utterly relieved to be out of the heat. Perhaps a bit of that alleviation rubbed off on me, because for the first time in days I felt the hard line on my shoulders soften, and the throbbing in my stomach calm.

And up here – we talked. We talked and talked until the broad daylight melted into a wine–coloured glimmer that enveloped the sky, and until even that faded and dissipated into an all–swallowing, moonlit darkness. We conversed so earnestly, in fact, that I completely forgot my hunger, and Shinobu, her fatigue. Even though, looking back, it was quite a one–sided conversation, of which I offered little to – and indeed I do feel a bit guilty for that – it didn't seem so in that present; in that moment; at that time; in our youthful vitality.

I told her everything that happened to me those past three years, and she did the same. I learned that she was saved by a man named Himejima, her encounter with the leader of the Demon Slayer Corps, Ubuyashiki Kagaya, the meeting of her mentor; the Water Hashira Tsubone Endou, and how she'd been training under her ever since, waiting for a chance to enter final selection.

"But Tsubone won't let me," she smiled, sadly. "She says… she says that I'm too weak. That I haven't become strong enough."

Tsubone Endou… from what Shinobu told me, she seemed like quite the harsh character. Stern, flinty, austere, distant, sublime – but not entirely without compassion, she was quick to point out. From her body language, and the slight sparkles in her eyes, though, I could tell Shinobu still deeply admired the woman, and saw her as a bit of an idol.

"But – I guess her standards are high just because she's so strong herself."

I took another sip of my tea – Chinese jasmine tea, that Shinobu had recommended. It had grown cold.

"But where are they now?" I asked, "Kanae and Tsubone – you live with them, right? In this… huge house. But they're not here."

"Oh, that? They're on an assignment right now. Since Kanae has already passed final selection, she sometimes accompanies Tsubone on jobs. To hone her skills, apparently."

"So… they leave you here completely alone? How often do they go on assignments?"

"Once every week or so. They usually only take one to two days to complete, though, so I don't get too lonely. But…"

"Hmm?"

"This time, I'm a bit worried. They've been gone for four days now."

Is that so?

How irresponsible.

"You shouldn't be. Tsubone's a Hashira, right? I'm sure they're fine."

"Heh–heh! I guess you're right," Shinobu replied, lighting up. "By the way, what are you doing in Hiroshima? Are you here to kill some demon?"

"Yeah, I'm supposed to be here for an assignment. I was told I'd be given the details once I'd arrived, but… there's been nothing."

"Oh? But your crow over there looks like he wants to say something."

My crow?

Oh, don't tell me..!

Indeed, there he was, perched atop the railings, looking so princely and so dignified and so lax it struck a nerve within me I never knew I had. So now he comes back!

I was absolutely ready to come down on him with all force for leaving me hanging those past few days – but I was interrupted by the announcement of something I'd been waiting for far too long:

"Attention! Attention! Giyuu Tomioka!

Head to Nagarekawa–cho in Hiroshima proper.

Once there, scout out the demon. It is currently posing as a member of staff in the Devils & Saints brothel located in the district.

Rendezvous with any other demon slayers in the area…

…and eliminate it!"

I felt the adrenaline course over me, an arc channel through my lungs, and a torrent of energy gallop under my skin.

Finally!

I jumped from my seat, gripped my sword, and slipped into my haori. It was time to go – or so I thought.

"Shinobu, I have to leave now."

"Alright, I'll go get my stuff."

"Yep."

Wait, what?

I turned around – but Shinobu was already gone. Coming from the interior of the house, I heard the clashing and clanging of metal, the zips and shuffles of fabrics and clothes, and frantic, light footsteps that scaled up and across the floors and the steps and the rooms repeatedly, until she burst once again onto the open air of the balcony, dressed in demon slayer fatigues and gripping a disproportionately long katana – panting, but allowing a malevolent smirk to creep over her face. I sensed where this was going, and immediately took action.

"No. I refuse."

She looked taken aback.

"But I can fight–"

"There's nothing to prove that."

"How about when I dodged you when you fell–"

"Is knowing how to dodge going to help you kill?"

Youma, who was leaning on the wall opposite us, eyed me with a wary gaze. Don't be so harsh on her.

I looked back at Shinobu; she bore an expression of bashful disillusionment. She pulled and twisted at her fingers, and couldn't quite look me in the eyes.

"Oh… okay. Nothing to prove that, you say."

I felt a terrible guilt come over me, and averted my own gaze, too. But perhaps I never should have – because as soon as I did, I felt my feet sweep from under me, the weight of my body shift downwards, and short, slim arms restrain me by the neck, driving me into the marble floor, a crash, a snap, and a cry accompanying it.

I tried to get back up, but the cool lethality of a blade pressed to my throat stopped me. Shinobu was there, pinning me down with her bodyweight, holding a knife to my neck, almost caressing me.

If I were being honest – truly, truly honest – it would've been easy for me to escape Shinobu's clinch. Her whole torso open for me to strike, and she'd only managed to restrain a single arm. Her grip was shaky, and weak, and she was holding the knife the wrong way round – but it was the sheer determination in her eyes, and the granite–like expression on her face, that kept me down.

"And what are you going to do with that?" I asked.

"Slit your throat."

"Oh?"

I shot a glimpse at Youma, in the background. "Giyuu", he said, since only I could hear him, "I don't think there'd be any harm in letting her accompany us."

...Since when did he cross over to the other side of the fence?

"I'm not letting you escape until you agree to let me come with you," Shinobu said, firmly, "this is proof enough that I can fight, right?"

"You just contradicted yourself. I thought you were going to kill me?"

"Don't talk to me like I'm a child!"

"Uh–huh… If you want to go on a mission so badly, why not accompany Tsubone next time she swings around?"

"Tsubone won't let me. I'm still too young."

"You contradicted yourself, again."

Youma stood up from the wall, and leaned next to me, opposite the side Shinobu pinned. "Think about it," he said, "her form's not too bad. And she should be at least moderately trained in demon slaying, considering she's been under tutelage for three years by now."

I gazed at him. "But," I protested, in my thoughts, since Youma could read them, "she'd only get in the way."

"No. That isn't what you really think, isn't it?"

I didn't reply, and turned back to Shinobu.

"Why do you want to go?" I asked.

Shinobu hesitated. "I guess… just for the fun of it."

Just… for fun?

You'd put your life on the line just for the fun of it?

This isn't a game, and yet…

A silence. And then, I began to laugh. I laughed because I was at my wit's end and I had nothing left to say to her, and frankly, in front of someone so insistent, I had to run out of ways to decline eventually, and that time was now.

"What're you laughing for? I'll kill you!"

"No, no, save your energy."

"Huh – you mean?"

I nodded.

"Woah–" she muttered, tone rising in excitement, throwing the knife aside, "you're serious?"

"Mhh–hmm."

Another pause, in which perhaps she registered my words – and then, she beamed with such obvious pleasure, and wide–eyed, childish naivety, that I felt my heart skip a beat. For some reason, I was starstruck. I looked over at Youma, and he was smiling, too.

Perhaps taking her with me – wouldn't be so bad, after all.

"But before that…" I started.

Shinobu snapped to attention.

"…Please get off me."

A/N

New beginnings, small beginnings. In which our sorry fifteen-year-old hero Giyuu Tomioka is growing more alike to the detached twenty-one year old we all know and love, yet still maintains some humour and amiability. On another note...

According to KNY, younger Shinobu is bratty, brash, and in no way bashful - but younger Shinobu here is sweet, just a sliver hard-headed, and a bit shy. But consider this: in the flashbacks shown in the manga and anime (adopting Kanao, Kanae's death), Shinobu was 14, supposedly. Shinobu here is 12. Two years is a long time in which a person can change, and, perhaps in this case, in which an author can stuff character development. This A/N is just for those who think Shinobu is OOC here, but don't worry - she'll be back in character, soon enough.

Also, notice how similar 12-year-old Shinobu is to a certain someone from the present day, whom Giyuu is very close to. Just pointing that out as food for thought.

And another thing; looking back, by gosh are my starting chapters terrible. I'd like to think that, throughout the course of writing this fanfiction up until this point, starting from September of 2019, that I've improved my writing, if a bit. That's one of the reasons why I write fanfic in the first place; and I'm sure it's the same case for many other authors. So, I'm going back and rewriting them - at least until chapter four, or five (which I consider bearable to read, and is, up until that point, where the most retcon is found).