Because the Demon Slayer Corps' medical facilities were crowded with injured, the Butterfly sisters' original plan—to return as soon as they had finished their treatments—was delayed indefinitely.
Upon learning of their situation through the Kasugai crow, Yōsuke smiled faintly.
"No matter how carefully one arranges life, it can never compare to the arrangements of fate.
After circling around so long, they've still ended up connected to the Demon Slayer Corps. With their kind hearts, Kanae and Shinobu wouldn't be able to leave after seeing so many people in need of healing. In the end, as human demon slayers, they must return to the ranks of their fellow humans."
A year passed. Everywhere Yōsuke traveled, he found terrifying numbers of demons. At night, they ran rampant, slaughtering without restraint, plunging every nearby town into panic and fear.
At that moment, Yōsuke had one demon by the throat, his expression icy cold as he interrogated:
"What order did Kibutsuji Muzan give you, that you act with such arrogance?"
As the demon felt the blood of the Demon King within it gradually being destroyed, its face twisted in terror.
"I—I don't know!"
With a slight squeeze, Yōsuke snapped its neck, eradicating every trace of Muzan's blood within it. The body crumbled into ash.
Yōsuke turned his gaze to another demon beside him. Its desperation to survive drove it to shout frantically:
"We only know that Muzan-sama ordered an all-out assault on the Demon Slayer Corps! Every demon has been mobilized! Beyond that, we truly know nothing!"
The moment it finished speaking, its eyes went dim. Its body collapsed lifeless to the ground, then turned to ash as well.
Yōsuke furrowed his brows, muttering to himself in suspicion:
"Muzan never stirs recklessly… what's gotten into him? Could it be that he's found information about the Blue Spider Lily?"
But almost immediately he shook his head, dismissing the thought.
"If he truly had word of the Blue Spider Lily, his demons wouldn't be scattering to rampage everywhere like this. They would have gathered together under his control instead."
Unable to discern Muzan's intentions, Yōsuke could only let the matter rest for the time being.
Back inside his dwelling, he brewed a pot of tea and watered the flowers Kanae had planted.
Under the moonlit night, he drank alone. Where once there had been voices echoing at his side, now only the cries of insects and grasshoppers remained.
Memories rose unbidden in his mind.
A hundred years ago, during the final battle, in the time after his failed attempt to slay Muzan, Yōsuke had once harbored hatred for the Demon Slayer Corps. He could not understand why, when their goals were the same, they had chosen to obstruct him.
To sacrifice a hundred lives in order to save countless others—such simple arithmetic that even a child could solve.
But in time, Yōsuke came to understand. Though his and the Corps' ultimate goal was the same—Muzan's destruction—their identities were different.
Yōsuke bore the identity of a demon. The Corps bore the identity of humans.
Back then, he had no bond with them. Though Ubuyashiki Kagaya and Tsugikuni Yoriichi had once tied him, tenuously, to the Demon Slayers, that thread was far too fragile. At the slightest touch, it would snap.
As a Demon King who had slain over a hundred humans, Yōsuke had crossed a line the Demon Slayers could never accept.
To them, demons and humans were already two irreconcilable species.
All the more so for demons who had lived by consuming humans. Even if Yōsuke had never eaten a single person, who would believe it?
Later, he encountered Hakuji and Koyuki, Gyūtarō and Ume, the Butterfly sisters Kanae and Shinobu, and finally Tsuyuri Kanao. Remembering the fragments of life he had shared with them, a gentle smile surfaced on his face.
The teacup empty, Yōsuke draped on a haori and vanished into the night.
Tokyo Prefecture, Asakusa.
The era had now entered Taishō. Towns bore a modern air—electric trams running across broad avenues, tall buildings rising high, streetlamps everywhere casting their glow so that even night was bright.
Walking the streets, Yōsuke marveled at how swiftly the times had changed.
Suddenly, a hand clapped onto his shoulder. Turning in puzzlement, Yōsuke found himself staring at a boy in the uniform of the Demon Slayer Corps—deep crimson hair, red eyes, a scar on his left forehead, and earrings hanging from both ears. The boy was staring back at him in fear.
Seeing the youth before him, Yōsuke was equally stunned.
"Kamado… Tanjirō?"
Tanjirō froze in disbelief. He could not fathom why this stranger knew his name.
Before Yōsuke could say more, Tanjirō lowered his gleaming forehead and smashed it hard into Yōsuke's.
Crack!
Forehead to forehead, the two collided. Passersby stopped in confusion, staring at the bizarre sight.
Tanjirō dropped to the ground clutching his head, instinctively muttering, "So hard…"
He quickly scrambled back up, drew the Nichirin blade from his waist, and shouted furiously:
"Kibutsuji Muzan! I'll cut you down here and now!"
Yōsuke couldn't help rolling his eyes.
As expected of this iron-headed brat—resorting to headbutts at the first sign of trouble.
The crowd swelled around them. Even nearby guards hurried over.
"Young man! Put down the sword!"
Tanjirō barked back:
"Don't come closer! This place is dangerous! Evacuate the people at once!"
Yōsuke calmly gripped the blade pointed at him and activated his Blood Demon Art—Five Senses Deprivation.
In an instant, everyone nearby, including Tanjirō, was plunged into darkness. Sight, hearing, smell, taste, and touch—gone.
When Tanjirō's senses returned, he found himself in a shadowy alleyway. The Nichirin blade, once in his hands, was now in Yōsuke's.
Yōsuke studied the hanafuda earrings dangling from Tanjirō's ears, a nostalgic look in his eyes.
"At last… I've met you, Tanjirō."
But Tanjirō ignored him, lunging forward to reclaim his blade. Yōsuke swiftly subdued him, pinning him to the ground, though the boy still struggled fiercely.
"You've mistaken me for someone else. I'm not Kibutsuji Muzan. Calm yourself. Don't you have that unique sense of smell? The one that lets you read a person's emotions?"
Even as he wrestled against Yōsuke's grip, Tanjirō caught the scent upon him—not just the heavy aura of the Demon King, but also something warm, something that brought comfort and peace. Such a scent could never belong to Muzan, nor to any demon who had consumed humans, whose stench was always foul.
Which meant… he had mistaken his target.
Gradually, Tanjirō's struggles stilled. But confusion clouded his face. The Demon King's aura clinging to this man was unmistakable, yet it could not be Muzan.
Looking up at Yōsuke, lost and unsettled, he demanded:
"Who exactly are you?!"
"…Ubuyashiki Yōsuke."
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