In years past, Yoriichi Tsugikuni once told the Kamado ancestor, Sumiyoshi: "Those who have mastered their skill… share the same fate / arrive at the same place, even if the era or path differs."
In the original tale, ten days before his death Tanjuro took Tanjiro and Nezuko up the mountain to hunt a bear. Even with the end so near, he could—without releasing a hint of killing intent—easily behead a towering bear, cleaving a neck thick as an old tree, as simply as breathing.
At the time he told Tanjiro, "It's a domain."
What domain?
"When every stray thought in your head is emptied, a transparent world opens before your eyes."
Thus it came to be called the Transparent World.
Roy only arched a brow—unsurprised that Father would call it out. Just as the Demon Slayer Mark "spreads"—once one awakens it, others "resonate" into it—so too when Tanjuro dances with the Transparent World open, his perception and insight leap. It would be strange not to notice something amiss.
"That's not the Transparent World," Roy said, sitting cross-legged. He took the hot tea Tanjuro offered and sipped. "I'm not the same as Father, just as Father isn't the same as Grandfather, and Grandfather not the same as our forebears. Every Kamado generation understands the Fire God Kagura differently."
The sun has a thousand faces: winter's warm sun, summer's blazing disk—capable of scorching earth into drought, yet also of nurturing all life into riotous growth.
Tanjuro poured himself tea, warming his hands on the bowl, mulling Roy's words. After a time he looked at him with quiet pride. "In these months away, you've gained some perspective.
"You're right—people are different. You can't use your own experience to judge another's life."
"Only… Rōichirō, time isn't on your side."
He held up three fingers. "At most three years. You must have felt it earlier—this body will hit its limit."
He spoke like it was the most ordinary matter, smiling as if it barely mattered. "When that day comes, I leave this home to you."
"I won't take it," the boy said at once.
He drained the tea in one go, rose cleanly, and went to bed…
Leaving one line to ride the wind and drift in by the brazier to Tanjuro's ears—
"For Father, three years isn't enough. For me, three years is plenty."
He left decisively—almost ruthlessly. Tanjuro watched him close the door against the storm—glad, and yet with a twist in his heart—and fell into a long silence…
"Jūrō, maybe the boy really can do something…" Kie had just put Hanako down. "Let's trust him—just this once."
Tanjuro smiled bitterly—it wasn't about trust.
"He's stubborn—sure of himself since he was little. Even if you tell him otherwise, he'll do as he thinks best…"
As for stopping him—this frail frame couldn't, even if he tried…
He thought of the twin flames that flared in the boy's eyes earlier—like two suns just rising.
Waaah… The wind and snow blew out the Kamado home's last oil lamp… and not a single one in the Zoldyck Estate, because they run on electricity.
Kukuroo Mountain.
While Roy, through deep sleep, remained in the Demon Slayer World,
in the parallel Hunter World—
since Illumi took Silva's notebook from Roy, he'd holed up in his room, sleepless for nights.
He sat at his desk, staring at himself in the mirror—notes spread open to the page on Ren—key lines circled in red around "Ask The Heart."
It read: "To learn Ren, first ask your heart—dig out your desire, decide what you want most deep inside, then use that as the pattern to build your Ren. That is the path that suits you best…"
So Illumi kept asking: "What is my heart?"
"What, deep down, do I want most?"
"And if… it isn't a thing—then what?"
Two days and nights, just sitting there…
From blank confusion to a first glint in those hollow eyes, to a settled path—at 3:30 a.m., he finally pulled a first-aid kit from the drawer, threaded a suture needle with Nen, squared up to the mirror, and stitched—then…
One needle wasn't enough, then two, then three… after a dozen, a handsome face floated up in the glass:
hard jaw, high bridge, sword-brows with the slightest curl—martial and yet gentle. A mirror of Roy.
"Nii-san…" Illumi stared, dazed.
He pressed his cheek to the glass, propped his chin, and compared again. Those once-dead eyes shone like never before.
"No—it's not perfect yet." After a moment's admiration he wiped the face away; the features rippled and became his own. He thought again—carefully—and stitched on another face:
a sexy goatee, 八-shaped brows, short hair, nose tipped up, a bit of melancholy, glasses nudged up the bridge—then, to the mirror: "Young master."
It was Gotoh—the likeness uncanny.
Only difference: this "Gotoh" seemed to disdain himself. Set in place, he didn't spare a glance—he slipped out the door, rounded the corner, crossed the corridor, climbed through a window, and stepped to Roy's bed.
He watched a while—dropped into Zetsu, smothered his aura—slipped under the covers, face to face, and quietly drew a Nen needle from his coat…
Want… want… want to own him…
Illumi trembled, eyes rolling white. The needle stabbed—
And a split-second later Roy's heel hammered him through the door.
BANG. He tumbled into the hall.
"Do us both a favor and rein in your psychotic need to control…"
The stench carried across worlds. The suns in Roy's eyes flared; he saw through the disguise at once, vaulted from bed, dragged Illumi by the collar to the willow—and thrashed him. Last, he planted him head-down like a scallion, tore his sleep shirt into strips, and trussed him up, swaying from the tree.
The whipping
woke half the house…
Upstairs, Silva tucked Kikyo in, blinked, and was at the window in an instant.
Cold night—Zeno, back from the job as usual, had gone to check on the old man. He stopped mid-hall.
In the dim little room, the cartoons chirped. Maha rocked, tapping the armrest with two fingers, chuckling—
"Brotherly love, filial respect—good… good…"
~~~
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