The moment Yuta stepped past the gates of Mount Fujikasane, the world shifted. The soft perfume of wisteria vanished, replaced by the stench of rot and iron. The forest swallowed him whole—towering trees creaked like watchmen, their shadows stretching long beneath the pale moonlight.
Around him, candidates scattered quickly into the undergrowth, each unwilling to trust another with their life. The sound of their footsteps faded until Yuta was alone, save for the faint flicker of Rika beside him.
"They all ran," Rika whispered, her voice threaded with sadness. "They're scared." (this is because of rika's aura)
Yuta exhaled softly, violet eyes scanning the darkened forest. "Fear isn't weakness. It keeps people alive. But here… fear might eat them before a demon does."
A twig snapped. Instantly, his blade was drawn.
From the brush emerged a demon, hunched and lanky, its limbs stretched grotesquely long. Its mouth split wide with serrated teeth glistening in the moonlight. It hissed, saliva dripping onto the dirt.
Yuta steadied his stance. "So this is how it begins."
The demon lunged. Yuta moved faster—blade flashing as cursed energy surged down its edge. The strike cleaved through the creature's arm in a single motion.
It shrieked, stumbling back, eyes wide. "You—what are you?"
Yuta didn't answer. He pressed forward, movements sharp and precise. The demon had no time to recover before Rika's ethereal form crashed into it, crushing its torso against a tree. With one clean cut, Yuta severed its head.
The body crumpled. Silence returned.
Yuta stood over the remains, breathing steady. There was no satisfaction in the kill—only a cold reminder. Seven nights of this. Seven nights of blood.
"You'll survive," Rika said gently. "You're stronger than all of them."
"Maybe," Yuta murmured, sheathing his blade. "But strength isn't enough. Not here. If I can't understand this world's demons, then I'm just swinging blindly."
He pressed deeper into the forest.
---
Elsewhere, not far away, Tanjiro moved carefully through the underbrush. His heightened sense of smell wrinkled at the foul odor of demons. He gripped his Nichirin blade tightly, his heart pounding not with fear—but with determination.
He thought of Nezuko, waiting for him. Of his family. Of the promise he carried.
From the treetops, a shadow dropped—a demon with jagged horns and eyes that burned red. Tanjiro pivoted, blade flashing in the moonlight.
"Water Breathing… First Form!"
The strike cut clean, the demon's head tumbling across the forest floor. Tanjiro exhaled sharply, sweat glistening on his brow.
"Seven days," he whispered to himself. "No matter what, I'll survive."
His thoughts drifted briefly to the strange boy he'd met at the gate—Okkotsu Yuta. There had been something unusual about him, something that didn't quite fit. Yet his eyes… they hadn't belonged to someone who killed for pride. They had been the eyes of someone who carried a burden far too heavy.
Tanjiro clenched his jaw. "I hope he makes it."
---
Back in the forest, Yuta paused by a stream, kneeling to wash demon blood from his blade. The reflection staring back at him in the rippling water looked older than he felt—tired, but resolute.
Rika floated silently, watching him.
"Seven nights," Yuta whispered. His grip tightened. "If this is the price for acceptance, then I'll endure it. For you. For us."
The forest answered with another distant growl, reminding him that the night was far from over.
And so, separated by fate but bound by determination, both Yuta Okkotsu and Kamado Tanjiro stepped deeper into the trial that would decide their futures.