Chapter 64 – One's True Self
It was the seventh day of training.
From the very beginning, Hikaru had made it clear—this entire training would only last seven days.
And now, as the sun dipped below the horizon, the illusion surrounding them began to dissolve. The last rays of twilight vanished from the sky, and instinctively, the five students relaxed their posture. Their bodies loosened up, as if the tension had finally been lifted.
But...
What Hikaru said next sent a shock through every one of them.
Tanjiro narrowed his eyes.
Nezuko looked up in confusion.
Kanao tilted her head, puzzled.
Inosuke gripped his jagged dual swords tightly.
And Zenitsu... was already trembling.
Yeah.
It wasn't over.
"The final stage…"
Hikaru's voice cut through the silence—calm, deep, and absolute.
By then, the sun had fully set.
Darkness crept in slowly. A silver moon glowed behind the thick mist of Mount Sagiri, casting a pale light across the mountain.
The night wind stirred gently, making Hikaru's haori flutter as he stood tall before his five students.
"The final trial," he said, "is to defeat your own self. Only then... will you be considered ready."
Defeat... yourself?
Silence fell over the group like a blanket of snow.
Zenitsu instantly broke down.
"Y-You've gotta be kidding, right?!"
Inosuke snarled, voice sharp with disbelief.
"Bullcrap! How can you even fight yourself?!"
Hikaru didn't answer.
He simply lifted a hand—then stepped back.
The world warped.
In an instant, his figure disappeared into the mist.
—[Mirror Flower, Water Moon] had been activated again.
But this time, it wasn't a full illusion. Not a dream, not a deep trance. Their minds remained alert—but their perceptions were completely shifted.
Tanjiro's eyes widened.
Everyone was gone.
"Nezuko?!"
He shouted instinctively.
But his voice only echoed into emptiness. No reply. No sound.
Only a gray world filled with drifting fog.
Tanjiro began to run.
He sprinted through the haze, pushing himself with everything he had. But no matter how far he moved, the mist never cleared. The world remained hollow, colorless, and cold.
His breath grew heavier.
His legs slowed.
Eventually, he stopped, gasping for air.
"This place… It feels just like before."
He sniffed the air, trying to pick up a scent—anything.
And then—
"Tanjiro…"
A voice echoed softly in front of him.
He turned.
Standing in the distance was a tall, thin man. Long, reddish-brown hair swayed in the breeze. He wore a long, dark green haori. And on his forehead—was a mark identical to Tanjiro's own scar.
His face…
Unmistakable.
"Father…?"
Tanjiro stared in disbelief.
It was Kamado Tanjuro—his late father.
"You've done well, Tanjiro," the man said. "As the eldest son, you've carried more than anyone ever should. I'm proud of you."
His eyes—deep red—shone with warmth. His voice was gentle, calm. Just as Tanjiro remembered.
But...
"Father… Aren't you…?"
Tanjiro's voice trembled.
Then he noticed what was in his father's hands.
A wooden branch—its surface twisted like a sacred relic. The Fire God's ceremonial staff, once used during their family's ritual dance: Hinokami Kagura.
But now…
That branch shimmered.
Glowing faintly red—like it burned with divine fire.
"Come, Tanjiro," his father said. "Defeat me. Only then can you prove your true strength."
His tone was so calm—as if he were offering casual advice, not issuing a challenge.
Tanjiro froze.
"Defeat... you?"
In his memory, his father had always been frail—bedridden through most winters. Even a slight chill would make him cough for days, and their mother often had to care for him.
But that didn't mean he was weak.
No.
Tanjiro still remembered.
One winter night, snow piled high on the mountain, and yet—
His father danced the Hinokami Kagura nonstop from dusk till dawn, with movements as graceful as flowing water.
Even on his final night, Tanjiro witnessed it.
His father had struck down a massive bear with a single swing of an axe—clean and precise.
His father wasn't just strong.
He was immensely strong—in a quiet, overwhelming way.
Even now, after meeting Giyu Tomioka, Urokodaki, or even Hikaru… none of them carried the "scent of strength" like his father had.
"So... this is what Hikaru meant by 'yourself,' huh..."
Tanjiro slowly drew his Nichirin Blade.
And in that moment, he understood.
To win this trial, you had to fight the person you believed you could never defeat.
Climb the tallest peak within your heart.
Break the limits you imposed on yourself.
This was defeating your true self.
But could he really raise his sword... against his father?
Could he swing at someone he respected more than anyone in the world?
Elsewhere—
Inosuke let out a wild roar.
With his boar mask shaking, he charged toward the illusion of Hikaru.
To him, it was simple.
A strong opponent appeared?
Then fight. Beat him. That's all there was to it.
No hesitation.
No thought.
Meanwhile, Kanao stood still.
Before her—stood a mirrored image of herself.
She blinked.
"So… what am I supposed to do now?"
No one answered.
Because this was her fight alone.
Her biggest obstacle wasn't power, speed, or skill.
It was choice.
Kanao had always followed orders.
Always done what others told her.
She didn't act unless commanded.
And now, in a place where she had to choose for herself—
She was lost.
As for Zenitsu…
He was running.
Fast.
Away from his opponent—
Away from everything.
He didn't even know who he was supposed to face. He just didn't want to fight.
But his weakness wasn't a lack of power.
He was strong.
Trained directly by a former Thunder Hashira, he had speed and skill that could rival anyone.
But he never believed in himself.
He was afraid—not of demons, but of himself.
And then, in the middle of it all—
"Um… What about me?"
Nezuko glanced around awkwardly.
Her friends had all vanished into their personal battles.
She raised her hand slowly.
"Do I not get an opponent?"
Hikaru shook his head gently.
"You don't need one."
She blinked.
Confused.
But he wasn't joking.
The others all had flaws.
Tanjiro was too kind—sometimes hesitant.
Inosuke was too reckless—always charging forward without thought.
Kanao lacked will—only acting on command.
Zenitsu was full of fear and doubt.
But Nezuko?
She was kind, but firm.
Compassionate, but never indecisive.
She wasn't perfect—no one was.
But her strength already balanced her weaknesses.
That was enough.
Nezuko simply nodded, then sat cross-legged on the ground, quietly waiting.
Hikaru did the same—taking a seat in silence.
His eyes closed.
He could sense it.
The inner turmoil within each of them.
His black crow turned slowly, observing from his shoulder.
The mountain mist thickened.
Moonlight spilled across the stone where he sat.
And then—
Hikaru slowly drew his Nichirin Blade.
The transparent sword shimmered faintly.
Hairline cracks began to form along the surface, and light—soft, shifting hues—started glowing from within the blade.
Those colors...
Matched the exact pattern of the Demon Slayer Mark etched on his body.
"This Mark…"
He narrowed his eyes.
Then exhaled.
"Almost done..."
"It's all finally coming to an end."
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