No one gave Tanjiro an answer—not even Tanjuro himself could.
All he knew was that the Hinokami Kagura had come down from their ancestors; if he wished, he could keep dancing it all night. He didn't understand why. But Roy, watching with Gyo, saw it clearly—
It was Sun Breathing that gave Tanjuro strength, helping him resist the cold and sustain his stamina.
The pity was, Tanjuro didn't know how to truly harness that power—or rather, his frail body simply couldn't bear it. Even if Roy explained the method, the sun's scorching force would overwhelm him and kill him on the spot.
Once… twice… three times… five… six…
Sleeves fluttered, lifting flurries of snow. Tanjiro had fallen behind and plopped down on the ground. In the stormy night, only Tanjuro and Roy kept dancing.
From clumsy and stiff, to barely competent, to smooth and fluid without a hint of rigidity—Roy moved more and more naturally, until he could match Tanjuro's rhythm.
Tanjuro noticed. Surprise gave way to deliberate tests as he picked up the pace, and a smile slowly, almost unconsciously, unfurled at the corner of his mouth…
A thought kept slipping through his mind: If Rōichirō's grandfather could see this, he'd be astonished at the boy's gift for the Hinokami Kagura…
But the forebears were gone; Rōichirō's grandfather would never see it. And Tanjuro already felt it in his bones—before long, he would be going down to join them…
A gust of wind stirred, snapping him from his thoughts. Snow sifted through the mask and melted on his face. Gratified yet wistful, he came back to himself, heart quietly filling with guilt and regret.
His mother was old and couldn't work. He'd come down with consumption years ago and couldn't do heavy labor. In recent years the family had added several children who all needed Kie. From here on, the burden of the household would rest on Roy's shoulders.
As a father, it seemed all he could do now was pray…
Then pray in earnest.
"Fire God above, watch over Rōichirō and the little ones—keep them healthy and safe."
With a sweep of his long sleeves, Tanjuro danced earnestly on, finally stopping after the eighth round. He lifted a corner of the mask marked with the "Flame" character, revealing a pale, sickly face.
Roy—half a beat behind, still wanting more—stopped as well and reached out to steady him back to his seat.
Tanjuro patted his hand and sat against the veranda pillar.
The children swarmed them, squealing and chattering. Some praised how beautiful Tanjuro's dance was; some said Roy was incredible; some teased Tanjiro for being as clumsy as a toad.
Tanjiro didn't get mad. He lunged for Takeo—the worst offender—to tug the cowlick on his head, but Takeo ducked away and hid behind Roy.
"Onii-chan, it's just that Tanjiro's too dumb!" Takeo crowed.
"Say 'Tanjiro-nii.'"
Roy tapped a light "hand-chop" on Takeo's little noggin, gave him a mock glare, and sat to review the movements in his head.
You know your own situation best. What the kids saw was only the surface, not the truth. Roy knew it wasn't that he was smarter than Tanjiro. On the contrary, he just had a head start. First, with Gyo he could analyze Tanjuro's motions far more clearly than Tanjiro could. Second, thanks to the Zoldyck clan's hellish training, his body was far tougher than Tanjiro's—so of course he could imitate faster.
And Tanjiro was fated to learn Sun Breathing. Roy still had to face the most crucial trial of all—bearing the "weight of the sun."
If he could bear it, he'd truly master Sun Breathing. If not, it would all be for nothing.
Steadying himself—neither elated nor dejected—he finished reviewing, then ducked into the kitchen. He came back with two plates of dumplings: white rice wrapped in a vinegar-damp cloth and drizzled with a little sauce—the main course for tonight's full-moon celebration. Kie added bowls of miso soup—there was a small rib in the broth, so simple it left Roy a bit stunned.
Since the day he was born into the Zoldycks, he'd never eaten this simply. Back home it was meat and fish as a matter of course; training meant there were tonics, too. Looking now at Tanjuro's condition, at Kie, Grandma, and the children's faces, Roy finally understood—
In an age prowled by demons, being alive itself was a luxury.
In two years, all these lively faces—save Tanjiro and Nezuko—would be gone.
That was not something Roy was willing to accept.
If you take their kindness, you owe them peace afterward. Since he'd learned Sun Breathing, he owed them something in return—at the very least, to make sure they could eat meat.
With that resolved in his heart, he pressed his palms together as Kie smiled and called them to eat. He picked up his bowl and chopsticks and, under the night sky, dug in with gusto—ending the "battle" in no time.
He helped Kie tidy up, coaxed the little ones to sleep, then pulled off his shoes and socks, found his bedding, lay down, and let the day's fatigue slip away.
It was deep into the night now, the snow making it as bright as day. Roy, Tanjiro, Takeo, and Shigeru slept together on a wide shared futon. With eyes closed, he could still hear Takeo grinding his teeth and Shigeru letting out tiny farts…
The sounds and smells were so real that Roy began to wonder whether, when he woke, he'd truly leave this place and return to the real world.
Beside him, Tanjiro kept flopping like a salted fish, unable to sleep. At last he rolled over, eyes wide and amber-bright, and whispered, "Bro, are you asleep?"
"Bro" was what Tanjiro alone called him; the others—including Nezuko—called him "Onii-chan."
"Sleeping," Roy lied with his eyes shut.
Tanjiro: "…"
"Oh." He yanked the quilt over his face and lay flat.
Roy knew what he wanted to ask. Tanjiro knew Roy didn't want to talk. What Tanjiro didn't know was… Roy simply hadn't thought up a good explanation yet. This was the first time his big-brother Rōichirō self had pushed open the Door of Cognition and stepped into this world, after all.
So, my silly otōto—please give me a little more time. Just a little.
With that thought, Roy's mind quieted, and he drifted off.
Until—
"Woof!"
A familiar bark jolted him awake.
Its owner was the demon hound kept by the Zoldycks, the beast that devoured intruders—and "crows" at dawn—Mike.
Right: 3:50 a.m. Roy was awake.
He sat up, glanced at the pendulum clock in the corner, then at the familiar desk and wardrobe. He knew he had left the Demon Slayer world and returned to the Zoldyck estate.
A moment ago he'd been huddled in a drafty wooden hut against the cold; in a blink he was back in a solemn castle, sweltering in the heat.
Was this 'I' dreaming he was a butterfly, or a butterfly dreaming it was 'I'?
Roy stared into space, sinking into a long, thoughtful silence.