Chapter 22 – Responsible
This wasn't just a story.
This was the real world.
Ever since Hikaru mastered Void Breathing, he had come to accept one truth—this world couldn't be shaped or guided by narrative logic alone.
No, things didn't always fall into place the way they did in stories.
But even so… standing here now, facing what he could only call the "main plot," hesitation still crept into his chest.
He wasn't a hero.
But…
If he stood by and let innocent people be slaughtered without lifting a finger—he wouldn't even deserve to be called human.
He wasn't doing this out of kindness.
He just couldn't stomach that kind of scene.
Because people—real people—had feelings.
He couldn't throw his life away for strangers. He wouldn't go that far.
But…
"…At the very least, I can try."
Lowering his gaze, he looked down at the wisteria flower pendant hanging at his hip—a symbol of honor worn by all Hashira.
He smiled faintly.
Right now, he was one of them. A Hashira of the Demon Slayer Corps.
And he hated those who clung to their titles but ran from the responsibilities that came with them.
So if he'd accepted this role… he had to bear the weight that followed.
That was what it meant to be responsible.
Of course, if all paths were blocked—if survival was truly impossible—he wouldn't hesitate to retreat.
That was exactly why he hadn't called Giyu Tomioka.
Whether they fought together or apart, the result wouldn't change. And moving alone gave him more flexibility—for both offense and escape.
He had already steeled his heart.
Above him, the sky was a thick blanket of gray.
Dim light dripped through the clouds, barely touching the ground.
Hikaru's gaze fell on a frozen river not far ahead.
He drew his Nichirin Blade, its steel humming softly in the cold, and began to move.
He had made all the preparations.
Even his escape route was mapped out.
The snow had stopped falling, but the world around him remained cold and dead.
In that silence, Hikaru melted into the shadows like a ghost. Silent. Invisible.
He ran.
Faster than any human should have been capable of.
Weaving through the forest, he took a route that avoided Giyu's path entirely.
In the distance, a soft lantern glow flickered.
A house stood nestled against the mountainside.
A small bell hung above the door, swaying gently in the breeze, its chime delicate—clear as a whisper that resonated in his chest.
Hikaru stopped.
He stood hidden among the snow-covered trees, watching the house.
"…Right on time."
From inside, the sounds of children's laughter and crying drifted into the cold air.
A tired mother cradled a small child. Nearby, another bounced around the room, energetic and full of life.
"Mom, when's Nii-chan coming back?"
"I'm not sure… but it should be soon."
The child's voice was light and innocent.
And the mother's reply was warm. Full of love.
A small paper lantern swayed near the wall, its candlelight dancing across the wooden beams.
Though electricity existed in this era, remote homes like this still relied on firelight to brighten the night.
And that little flame—flickering in a world so dark—felt warm. Real.
This home wasn't fiction.
It was alive.
Breathing.
Hikaru exhaled quietly.
Then got to work.
By the frozen river, he chipped away at the surface, carving out slabs of ice—smooth, flat, and mirror-like.
Using his Craftsmanship (F) skill, he reinforced them, shaping the surfaces with precision.
One by one, he arranged the slabs around the house, each angled perfectly toward the sky.
They were mirrors.
And they were traps.
He never once believed he could defeat Kibutsuji Muzan outright. Not with his current strength.
But Hikaru knew better than anyone what kind of creature Muzan truly was.
His arrogance. His vanity. His blind spots.
And most of all—his one, irrefutable weakness.
Even behind thick clouds, sunlight still touched the world.
Faint.
But real.
And Hikaru intended to use every drop of it.
With the clarity of Void Breathing, his focus was unshakable. His movements clean. Controlled. Flawless.
He finished his adjustments swiftly, then buried himself beneath a mound of snow nearby, his breathing shallow and silent.
He waited.
Moments passed.
Then—jingle.
The small bell swayed.
Footsteps crunched softly in the snow. Light. Controlled. But each step carried purpose.
Hikaru stopped breathing.
The figure drew closer.
A shadow emerged through the mist.
Clad in all black, with long flowing hair that danced in the wind. Skin pale as a corpse. Eyes gleaming red—hungry, wild.
He had caught the scent.
And he knew exactly who was inside that house.
"That scent… kill them. Kill them all."
Bloodlust curled across his lips.
He stepped forward.
And knocked.
Hikaru didn't move.
He knew exactly who now stood at that door.
There was no doubt—Kibutsuji Muzan.
Even though his expression was soft, his posture calm, the breath flowing from him was all wrong. Even with Total Concentration Breathing: Constant, Hikaru could feel it.
That wasn't human breath.
It was the breath of a predator hiding its fangs.
That's why he couldn't act recklessly.
He had to be patient… until the perfect moment.
Because if brute strength couldn't win this fight—then cunning would have to do.
Just as planned.
Knock knock knock.
Another soft tap on the door.
From within, a woman's voice answered, innocent and unsuspecting.
"Who is it?"
"A traveler… caught in the snow."
Muzan's voice was warm. Even soothing.
He smiled, gentle and polite.
"If it wouldn't trouble you… may I ask for a little warm water? Just something to thaw my hands."
His words were gracious. His tone refined.
Nothing about him sounded dangerous.
"Ah… of course. Please come in. Don't be shy."
The woman—Kamado Tanjiro's mother—showed not the slightest trace of suspicion.
She opened the door with full sincerity.
"Come in, sir."
She was kind. Pure-hearted.
Her husband, Hikaru knew, had already passed—lost to illness the winter before.
All that remained was a mother… and her children.
Hikaru narrowed his eyes.
His fingers brushed against the hilt of his blade.
Tension coiled through his body.
He matched his breathing to the wind, syncing every part of himself with the environment.
Void Breathing.
To vanish into the world. To become one with the shadows.
The mother stepped aside, opening the door further.
But Muzan didn't enter.
Instead, he looked inside carefully and asked with a gentle smile:
"Your husband… where is he?"
"…Ah…"
She hesitated.
Then quietly answered.
"My husband… passed away. He got sick last winter…"
Her head lowered slightly.
Her voice trembled with grief.
"…I see. That is… truly unfortunate."
Muzan's voice remained soft. His smile, comforting.
But behind that smile—behind those kind eyes—
He grinned wide.
An inhuman grin. Hungry and wicked.
One no one else could see.
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