After those words left Ruka's lips, Kagerou didn't know what happened next.
He only felt the arms that held him slowly lose their strength, the warmth fading from his chest like the last ember of a dying flame.
Ruka breathed her last while still embracing him.
All Kagerou remembered afterward was the sound of his own crying, raw, broken, echoing through the house.
Perhaps because of that cry, Shinjuro, Kyojuro, and little Senjuro rushed into the room in panic.
And after that… his memory blurred.
He couldn't recall the rest.
Or maybe… he chose not to.
---
Time passed.
A few years slipped by, carrying their grief with them.
It had been difficult, terribly difficult for the Rengoku family.
Life without a mother… without Ruka… felt like a world missing its sun.
In those years, with only men left in the house, they learned many new things.
How to cook, how to mend, how to stay strong when tears came uninvited.
It was hard, but it had to be done.
And that was how the Rengoku family stood after Ruka's passing, not whole, not healed,
but still standing.
Still standing as one family.
--------
"...Kage," Shinjuro called out, dressed in a simple yukata as he sat beside his son on the engawa. "You're going to take the Final Selection tomorrow, right?"
It had been a few years since Ruka passed away, leaving behind three men and a boy without a wife and a mother to hold them together.
For Kagerou, Kyojuro, Senjuro, and Shinjuro, Ruka was more than just the woman of the house, she was their light, the warmth that bound them.
Without her, keeping the family whole felt nothing short of a miracle.
Hearing Shinjuro's question, Kagerou didn't answer immediately. He took a slow drag from his kiseru, eyes half-lidded as he watched Kyojuro play with Senjuro in the yard. Only after exhaling a faint trail of smoke did he respond.
"That's the plan. Why? You gonna stop me, Father?"
"Would you stop if I asked you to?"
"...No"
"I thought so," Shinjuro said, smiling faintly. "I'm not asking you to stop. I know you're strong... stronger than I was at your age. I just want you to be careful. I'm your father. Worrying is normal"
"I'll remember that," Kagerou said softly. "So... any advice?"
"Hm~" Shinjuro hummed, pretending to think. "... Don't exaggerate"
"Ahaha~," Kagerou chuckled, shaking his head. "What kind of advice is that?"
"Just do as I said," Shinjuro said with mock seriousness. "If you use your full power, you'll destroy everyone else's confidence. Don't overdo it"
"Yeah, yeah," Kagerou muttered, puffing again on his pipe. "I'll remember that too, Father"
"You'd better," Shinjuro replied. "But Final Selection at sixteen, huh? Took you long enough. If you'd joined at thirteen, you'd probably be a Hashira by now. Being a Hashira's not bad, you know?"
"Hmph. I don't want to hear that from a Hashira who's been on 'break' for years"
"I have my reasons, you know?" Shinjuro said, ignoring the sarcasm. "After Ruka passed... I just wasn't the same. I didn't get weaker, I just lost the drive. I think I'll appoint Kyojuro as my Tsuguko once he's old enough. I wanted it to be you, but... well, someone has to carry on the legacy, right, Smoker?"
"So you're still planning to retire, huh? And stop calling me that"
"Ahaha~" Shinjuro laughed, then sighed. "Oyakata-sama still hasn't approved my retirement, though. Says it would affect morale if I stepped down. I'm still young, after all-"
"Tch"
"Hey! I can still be considered young!"
"Yeah, yeah"
"Sigh... You used to be cute, you know," Shinjuro muttered, shaking his head. "Whatever. I guess I'll stay on a little longer. Retiring for a reason like this would be absurd anyway"
"It's fine. About Kyojuro... like me, I want him to take the Final Selection when he's sixteen. Don't push him to do it earlier"
"That's three more years. You want me to stay a Hashira that long?"
"What difference does it make? You're not doing anything Hashira-like right now anyway," Kagerou said dryly. "Just train him. And remember... no Final Selection before sixteen"
"Yeah, yeah, I got it," Shinjuro said. Then, after a moment, he added quietly, "... Tell me, Kage... that promise you made with Oyakata-sama years ago, does it have anything to do with my retirement?"
Kagerou stayed silent for a while, the faint crackle of tobacco the only sound between them.
He took another puff, exhaled, and finally said, "That's a secret, you know?"
"...Yeah. Whatever"
And so, father and son sat there on the engawa, doing nothing but sharing idle talk, the kind of small, fragile peace only possible between two men who'd already lost too much.
--------
- The Next Night - Fujikasane Mountain.
Moonlight bathed the long stairway in silver. Wisteria hung heavy from both sides of the path, their soft fragrance drifting through the night air, beautiful, but foreboding.
A single girl ascended the stairs.
From a distance, she seemed almost ethereal, tall for her age, perhaps fourteen, her movements so graceful it was as if she floated rather than walked.
Her dark hair shimmered faintly with violet under the moonlight, flowing down to her lower back, tied with a butterfly-shaped ornament of pale pink and green, a gift from her little sister, who had insisted she wear it for luck.
Two loose strands framed her face, softening her features and drawing the eye to her gaze, large, calm eyes of pink fading into purple. There was warmth in them, yes, but also something unyielding beneath the surface. A kindness tempered by steel.
She wore the standard Demon Slayer trainee uniform, though tailored neatly to her poise, a dark brown jacket, pressed hakama pants, and a haori draped lightly across her shoulders.
The haori was what set her apart: pale green fading to soft pink at the hem, faintly patterned with the shape of butterfly wings. It fluttered gently with each step, alive in the wind.
At her waist rested a practice katana, its hilt wrapped in soft pink cloth that echoed the color of her eyes.
Her white tabi and black zōri were dusted with mountain soil, her steps steady despite the steep incline.
A faint scar lined the edge of her palm, a memory of relentless training, of countless cuts endured in pursuit of perfection.
As she climbed, wisteria petals swirled down around her, drawn to her like moths to light, resting gently on her hair and shoulders.
Under the moonlight, with the scent of wisteria in the air and the butterflies dancing on her haori, she seemed less a girl and more a spirit of the mountain itself, a butterfly born at dusk, walking willingly into the night where demons waited.
She was Kanae Kocho.
---
#A/N: I already wrote this chapter long ago. Around chapter 12, if I remember it correctly. But was it too detailed? Well, I just tried to describe Kanae's beauty as best as I could.