"So… so scary… but that sister's really pretty… still scary though!!!"
Zenitsu's trembling fingers touched his own hair as he stared at Chika, who'd just been yanking someone's head by the roots a moment ago. His golden hair stood out brightly under the moonlight—but it wasn't natural.
In this strange, magical world of Demon Slayer, things like that weren't exactly rare.
Zenitsu's hair had turned yellow after being struck by lightning. Yes—literally struck.
Then again, the Demon Slayer Corps had seen worse. One of the strongest Hashira, the Love Hashira herself, had hair that faded from pink to green at the tips because she'd eaten a ridiculous one hundred and seventy sakura mochi a day for eight straight months.
Compared to that, lightning hair seemed perfectly reasonable.
After the commotion settled, the twin attendants stepped forward again and lifted the cloth covering the table behind them.
Beneath it lay a scatter of unevenly shaped stones—dull gray, some smooth, some jagged.
"These are Tamahagane, the ores used to forge the Demon Slayer's weapon—the Nichirin Blade. Choose one. Your blade must be chosen by your own hand."
The twins' calm, monotone voices faded into the silence that followed. No one moved.
Except one.
Without hesitation, Chika stepped forward. Her eyes swept the table briefly before she reached out and picked up one of the slightly larger stones.
"Reason?" she said to no one in particular. "None. They're all the same anyway."
And she wasn't wrong.
The Nichirin Blades took on their properties based on the wielder—not the ore's quality.
In the original story, Tanjiro had used his keen sense of smell to pick one, and everyone assumed he'd gotten some super high-quality piece because he was the main character.
Then it snapped in half almost immediately.
They forged him a new one, and that was that. The so-called "choosing ceremony" was really just for show.
"I'll take this one," Chika said. "Tanjiro, don't overthink it. Just pick one that feels right."
Tanjiro blinked. "But… this is the sword we'll use to fight demons. Shouldn't we think it through?"
"Think what through? Can you see which ore's better?" Chika shot back, unimpressed. "If it breaks, they'll forge another. It's not like the Corps will make us punch demons to death."
The twins quietly nodded, confirming her words.
If a Nichirin Blade broke, the Corps headquarters would have it reforged and replaced. Tamahagane stones didn't vary much in quality; it was the wielder's breathing and skill that decided everything.
Tanjiro nodded in understanding, stepped up, and picked one himself. The rest followed in turn.
Their chosen Tamahagane would be sent to specialized swordsmiths for forging, and the finished blades would be delivered later—service that, Chika admitted, deserved a five-star review.
Meanwhile, far away at Demon Slayer Headquarters, a frail man with a gentle, broken voice—eerily reminiscent of a certain wife-protecting lunatic from another story—sat with a crow perched on his arm.
When he heard how strong this year's recruits were, he smiled faintly.
"The new generation… is strong. The Corps still has a future. May they grow quickly… cough, cough…"
After leaving Mount Fujikasane, Chika and Tanjiro took the same path home.
In the original timeline, Tanjiro had limped his way back with a walking stick, body aching from every step. But this time, he was walking normally, still half-disbelieving that he'd passed the Final Selection.
"What's with that dazed face?" Chika teased. "Maybe Nezuko's already awake, you know~"
"Nezuko… she's awake?!"
"Maybe. Just maybe. But I've got a feeling." Chika tapped her forehead playfully.
She'd told Tanjiro before that, since both she and Nezuko carried traces of the same demonic blood, she could faintly sense her condition.
Tanjiro believed her completely.
At those words, his eyes lit up. Steam puffed from his nostrils like twin jets. "Then let's hurry!"
"Yeah."
The siblings broke into a run down the mountain trail. At first, Chika pulled ahead easily, her speed outpacing Tanjiro's—but as time went on, he caught up and even managed to edge in front.
Her body still tired faster than most; perhaps a price paid for her abnormal strength. In exchange for superior reflexes and power, she fatigued more quickly—an equivalent trade.
But given that her original body had been fragile and untrained, the fact she could now fight and breathe with such control was already miraculous.
Maybe that was her so-called "cheat"—not invincibility, but balance.
And that was enough.
'I don't know if I can ever become someone like Yoriichi,' she thought, breathing steady as she ran, 'but I'll make Muzan remember that color—the red that made him tremble.'
They ran until the moon hung high above, reaching the foot of Mount Sagiri.
"Maybe if we're quick, we'll catch dinner," Chika said, glancing at the night sky.
It was around six in the evening, the faint light of dusk still clinging to the horizon. Passing through a nearby village, their sharp noses picked up the scent of food—grilled fish, soup, rice, the comforting smell of normal life.
Not that they were starving; mostly, they were just tired of the bland rations they'd been eating for days.
Finally, they reached Urokodaki's small cabin on the mountainside. Warm light spilled through the window.
Chika stepped forward and knocked gently. Tanjiro cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted, "Master Urokodaki! It's us—we're back!"
Footsteps scrambled from inside. The door flew open—
—and a small "dumpling" shape launched itself out, arms wrapping tight around Chika.
"Uuuuuhhhh!!!"