Chapter 58 – How Gentle This World Is
Sabito and Makomo.
That was their names.
Like Giyu Tomioka and Tanjiro Kamado, they were once disciples of Sakonji Urokodaki—the former Water Hashira who lived on Mount Sagiri.
But unlike the other two, Sabito and Makomo were… no longer among the living.
Both had perished during the Final Selection—the brutal trial of life and death that awaited every would-be Demon Slayer.
Before Tanjiro and Giyu, nearly every student trained by Urokodaki had met the same fate. The mountain of Fujikasane had become a graveyard for his pupils.
And now, what stood before Hikaru weren't people… but spirits, lingering souls tethered to the world by a final, unfulfilled purpose.
That's why they were shocked when Hikaru—someone who shouldn't have been able to see them—looked straight at them.
But that was exactly what Hikaru had wanted to confirm.
That in this world… perhaps spirits really did exist.
As a Hashira, he had traveled far and wide across the land, heard tales whispered in sorrow and awe—of souls that lingered, of regrets that bound the dead.
And when he heard the name Mount Sagiri, two names immediately surfaced in his memory.
Sabito. Makomo.
They weren't the stars of the story. They were supporting characters in Tanjiro's journey—ghostly mentors who helped him slice the massive boulder and take his first step toward becoming a Demon Slayer.
They were not the living.
And until now, that was just a theory.
But here, under the pale moonlight and soft mist of Sagiri Mountain, it was no longer a theory.
Because Hikaru could see them.
Which meant—others might be able to see them, too.
That was the power of Mirror Flower, Water Moon.
The gift residing in Hikaru's eyes allowed him to perceive what others couldn't—to see the veil between illusion and reality and pierce through it.
By nature, Mirror Flower, Water Moon symbolized deception and beauty—reflections on water, visions in the fog.
But Hikaru himself was real. And the illusions he saw… weren't lies.
That was the duality of his gift—the ability to see that which teetered between presence and absence.
Spirits, by their very nature, existed on that same line.
So he could see them. Hear them. Sometimes… even touch them.
Without a word, Sabito suddenly leapt down from the top of the massive boulder, landing lightly on the grass. Makomo followed, her form descending like a falling petal beside him.
Both looked serious.
Hikaru turned slightly, meeting their gaze.
"…Who exactly are you?"
Sabito's voice was low, cautious.
Makomo stood close, her eyes filled with quiet wariness.
Even though Urokodaki had already told them who Hikaru was… some doubts couldn't be erased so easily.
It was natural.
If someone appeared out of nowhere and suddenly saw them—spirits—no one would react calmly.
But before Sabito could press further, a sharp sound sliced through the still night.
The fog stirred.
A black crow descended from the sky, its wings flapping noisily as it landed nearby.
Then, the crunch of leaves came from within the forest.
A figure emerged from the darkness—a man of age, but with unshakable strength in his steps. His face was hidden behind a red tengu mask, his tattered haori fluttering in the wind.
Sakonji Urokodaki.
Sabito and Makomo stiffened the moment they saw their teacher.
"…Why did you call me here?"
Urokodaki's voice was low as he fixed his gaze on Hikaru.
"It wasn't me who called you," Hikaru replied, shaking his head slightly.
"But since you're here… take a look for yourself."
The black crow cawed again.
Urokodaki looked puzzled.
Then his eyes met Hikaru's.
And in that moment, the fog seemed to churn faster.
The moonlight trembled behind the clouds.
And Urokodaki… saw something.
He froze.
One second. Two seconds.
Then, his eyes behind the mask slowly widened.
"…What… did you do?"
Sabito took a step forward, voice sharp.
His hand instinctively went to the hilt of his sword.
"Sabito—"
Makomo reached for him, trying to stay calm, though concern flickered in her expression.
Sabito didn't stop.
His eyes blazed with anger, protective instincts kicking in.
But just as he moved again—
"…Sabito. Makomo…"
A voice called out from behind them.
Sabito halted.
Makomo turned slowly, eyes wide.
It was Urokodaki.
"Is it… truly you…?"
His hand trembled. His voice cracked—not from fear, but emotion.
He looked at the two of them. Then past them.
And there, from within the swirling fog—
More students appeared.
Thirteen figures.
Each one wore a fox mask—the same protective charms he had carved with his own hands.
The same masks he had given to every child he had sent to Final Selection.
"…Urokodaki-sensei."
Sabito stepped forward, voice soft.
"Sensei…"
Makomo covered her mouth, tears shimmering in her eyes.
"What… is this…?"
Urokodaki's whisper barely reached the air. His body trembled.
"All of you… all this time…"
But Makomo only smiled gently.
She understood.
It was all thanks to Hikaru.
Without him, this moment would've never happened.
—Mirror Flower, Water Moon.
Using that technique, Hikaru had projected the spiritual forms of Sabito and the others into Urokodaki's perception, bridging the gap between the living and the dead.
Hikaru took two steps back, saying nothing.
He simply stood, quietly allowing them their moment.
Sabito straightened up.
He raised a hand to the fox mask on his face… and slowly took it off.
Beneath it was a young face—firm and warm, with a faint scar near the corner of his mouth.
He smiled.
"Sensei… It's good to see you again."
Around them, the mist began to part.
More and more of Urokodaki's students stepped out from the fog, all in silence.
Urokodaki looked at them.
Students he had trained, watched over, and lost.
Now, they were back…
"Urokodaki-sensei," Makomo said softly, tilting her head.
"…Thank you."
More voices followed.
The same words repeated again and again.
"…Thank you."
Though their faces were hidden behind fox masks, their emotions radiated clearly.
No resentment.
No regrets.
Only—gratitude.
Thank you for training us.
Thank you for protecting us.
Thank you for remembering us.
They had died. That much was true.
But until the very end, they had wielded their blades with resolve.
Their deaths were not his fault.
It had been their choice, as Demon Slayers.
That's why… they didn't blame him.
They just didn't want him to carry that burden of guilt any longer.
They wanted Tanjiro to grow stronger, to cut the boulder, and in doing so—finally dispel the shadow that haunted their teacher's heart.
And now, at last—
They could speak to him directly.
Say what they had always wanted to say…
With their own voices.
— — —
As the final words were spoken, the mist began to swirl once more.
Then, slowly… it faded.
All that remained was the quiet forest, the gentle moonlight, and the giant boulder standing in silence.
The spirits had vanished.
A faint snap echoed as the shimenawa rope around the boulder… quietly unraveled.
Urokodaki stood motionless.
Not a single word escaped his lips.
The red tengu mask still hid his expression.
But he knew.
All his students… had now moved on.
Peacefully. Without regret.
For the souls that lingered in this world weren't bound by vengeance.
They only carried a quiet hope—
That their teacher might one day… find peace.
"…You foolish children…"
His rasping voice trembled, echoing faintly through the clearing.
Hikaru raised his eyes.
And he saw it—just for a moment—across the field.
Sabito, that faint scar on his cheek, bowing slightly with a soft smile.
A wordless thank you.
Not just to Hikaru…
But to the world itself.
Because in this world…
Spirits really do exist.
They may not be seen, or heard, or touched.
They may be illusions, drifting just beyond reach.
But because of them…
People remember who they are—and where they came from.
That, in itself, is the greatest kindness this world can offer.
And what Hikaru did tonight—
Was simply carry that kindness…
To those still living.
For a brief moment, he closed his eyes.
And within his chest, a soft voice echoed—gentle and full of warmth.
"What a gentle world this is…"
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