The wind whispered through fields of gold.
I stood in a place I didn't recognize, but something about it was… familiar. Trees loomed like silent sentinels, and in the distance, under the shade of a sakura tree just beginning to bloom, stood a man.
He wore simple warrior robes—cream and rust-colored, with a haori draped over his shoulders. His hair was long, black with hints of red under the sunlight, neatly tied back. He stood in stillness, katana unsheathed, the edge gleaming with quiet menace and unmatched beauty.
But it was his presence that rooted me in place.
He wasn't imposing—he didn't need to be. His calm, the weight of his silence, was heavier than any blade. His breathing was so perfectly in sync with nature that even the rustling grass seemed to pause in awe. And on his forehead—a faint red mark, shaped like a flame.
He turned to me. Not hostile. Not smiling either. Just… watching.
A voice that wasn't mine spoke. "I am ready, Yorichi."
I looked down at my own hands. They weren't mine. They were his. Michikatsu's or rather current Upper Moon One.
The swordsman in front of me raised his katana in a smooth, elegant arc. The blade flowed like water, cutting through the air with a rhythm that pulsed like a heartbeat. His movement left afterimages—graceful, impossible, divine.
He turned his head, giving a small nod.
Try.
I mirrored his stance, tried to recall every movement I'd seen, and swung.
It felt wrong. Clumsy. My rhythm stuttered. My footing faltered.
I tried again. And again. Nothing I did came close to that perfect, sun-born elegance.
"I can't…" I heard myself say. "I can't replicate it."
Yoriichi looked at me—not with disappointment, but with quiet understanding.
"It's alright. You must find your own rhythm. This form is not for imitation, but transformation. Use what you can… and make it yours."
Use what you can…
Then a loud, ungodly sound broke through the dream.
Screeching. Whining. Like a pig being strangled by a thunderstorm.
"YOU WANNA GO, MONKEY FACE?!"
"YOUR FACE IS A VIOLATION OF MY PEACE, YOU FUR-BRAINED BUFFOON!!"
The dream shattered like glass.
Blinding sunlight stabbed through the window. My body was screaming—everything hurt. My arms. My ribs. My legs. Wrapped in bandages, aching like I'd been thrown off a cliff.
I was lying in a familiar futon. Warm sheets. Clean room. Medical smell.
The Butterfly Mansion...?
But how?
And then—
"YOU WANNA DIE, BOAR FACE?!"
"BRING IT ON, YELLOW HEAD!"
The migraine hit me first. Then their voices—Zenitsu and Inosuke—screaming like wild animals. I groaned and slowly turned my head.
Zenitsu caught the movement. "Ryo's awake!" he yelled, eyes wide. Before I could say a single word, I shot them both a glare so sharp it probably sliced the oxygen in the room. A death stare, perfected over years of being around annoying people.
They froze.
"...Sorry!" Zenitsu squeaked.
"Later!" Inosuke shouted as both of them bolted out the room like cowards who just saw their lives flash before their eyes.
Peace.
...But something clawed at my chest.
Yuki.
Where was she?
I tried to sit up. My arms buckled. My whole body felt like someone had wrung me out like a soaked towel. Nothing worked. "Tch..." I clenched my teeth. I couldn't move.
Then—soft footsteps.
The door opened.
Yuki stepped in with Shinobu and Aoi behind her.
I felt like I could finally breathe again.
"Ryo," Yuki whispered.
I exhaled. "You're here," I said, my voice rasping. "You're safe."
She nodded and hurried to my side. "When you passed out, Demon Slayer Support Group arrived. I told them I was with you. So... they brought me too."
"Good," I murmured, eyes fluttering shut for a second. "Thank god."
"Enough talking," Aoi interrupted, all business. "You've been in a coma for three days. Your body's dangerously malnourished."
Three days?
What?
Shinobu moved in and gently unwrapped some of my bandages. "Your wounds are closing nicely," she said with a smile. "You'll recover. But take it slow."
They left. Yuki stayed.
She pulled the food tray toward me, and I reached out... only for her to snatch it away.
"I'll feed you," she said with a smirk.
My face flushed. "You don't have to—"
"Shut up," she said gently and spooned a bite to my lips. I ate it, half-embarrassed, half-somehow-happy.
Then it happened.
A loud wail echoed from outside.
I turned to the window—and there he was. Zenitsu. Crying. Blood dripping from his eyes. Jealousy exploding off him in waves.
"What... is wrong with that guy?" Yuki muttered.
I sighed. "He's a dumbass."
Zenitsu noticed me looking. He panicked and vanished.
I looked at Yuki. "If he ever bothers you, just say the word. I'll make sure he regrets it."
She smiled, cheeks pink.
Sometime later, I laid on the bed alone. I closed my eyes, but not to sleep.
I started to go through the whole dream again in my head to make sure that I don't forget it.
That swordsman. That technique. The grace. The rhythm.I tried to remember the movement, the timing. Tried to picture it. I had to try. Even if it wasn't meant for me... maybe I could still adapt something from it.
Night.
A soft knock on the door.
Tanjiro entered.
"Hey," he said, smiling. "Glad you're awake."
"Yeah..." I nodded. "Thanks."
We talked a bit—simple things. Quiet things. But when he sat down beside me, I noticed something.
The scar on his forehead. That shape.
It was the same as the swordsman from my dream.
My mouth opened—but I closed it.
Not now.
Too many thoughts. Too many questions.
He smiled, said goodbye, and left.
A few days passed.
I healed, slowly. Yuki helped. Inosuke kept barging in, challenging me to fights I couldn't accept. I kept threatening to kill him, but it never stopped him. I swear, he's made of stubborn muscle and nothing else.
Yuki became the mansion's new cook. Everyone loved her food. It was really good. Eating food made by Yuki everyday, also she feeds me with her hand. Am I in heaven?
Then a messenger crow comes, not mine. States that the Master wants my mission report. The Master? My stomach flips. I've never met him. Why suddenly the Master of the corps wants my report directly? Well I defeated Two Lower Moons in one night. Maybe that's why, but it wasn't me who killed the demons. Ghost killed the demons.
Now I was stuck.
Ghost asked me not to tell anyone about him.
Do I lie? Say I did it? That'd basically guarantee promotion. I heard that to become a Hashira, A slayer needs to kill 50 demons or 1 member of the Twelve Kizuki.
If I lie, I might get promoted to Hashira Rank. Well I don't care about ranks that much, but it's a good thing to have a higher rank. I killed Two Lower Moons, at least on paper.
And then—another thought. My crow. Did it report what happened? Did it mention Ghost?
I should have forbade him to tell about Ghost to the corps. But does it matter? The crows are trained to be loyal to the corps. I think it would tell the corps everything even if I forbade it to tell anything.
This is such a mess... What should I do?
Just then, my crow finally returned from its errand. I'd sent it to investigate why the letter I wrote to Yuki never reached her. It flapped in, perched on the window frame, and squawked, "Your handwriting's trash! The post office couldn't read it—sent it to the wrong place!"
I stared at it, dumbfounded. Then I laughed—an exhausted, hollow laugh that rattled in my chest. I almost lost her... because I write like a sleep-deprived chicken. Unbelievable.
Snapping out of it, I glanced at the crow. "Did you tell the corps about Ghost?"
"No, not yet. Caw!"
Thank god. "Don't tell anyone about Ghost, got it?" I said quickly.
The crow tilted its head, then bobbed in agreement. "Caw! Got it!"
I exhaled. Nice. That makes things a lot easier. Now I just need to figure out what to report to the corps tomorrow.
To Be Continued...