After finishing bandaging Zenitsu, Kuwajima once again tried to drive Hiru away, urging him to stop lingering around and get back to work.
Hiru did leave—for a short while. After writing a letter to Ubuyashiki and requesting that craftsmen be dispatched, he returned to Momoyama. The entire round trip took barely an hour.
This time, however, Hiru ran into another Swordsman who was also heading back to Momoyama.
The youth had black hair and blue eyes, features that could be considered fairly handsome. A conspicuous magatama pendant hung at his chest, with a matching bracelet on his wrist.
At first, the two remained on neutral terms. But as Hiru continued walking behind him the whole way, the youth finally snapped upon reaching Momoyama.
"Just how long do you plan to follow me?"
"I'm not following you," Hiru replied calmly. "You just happen to be walking in front of me, and I'm also heading to Momoyama."
"Cut the act!" The youth looked furious. "I've seen plenty of Swordsmen like you—trying to cozy up to former Hashira to get guidance. Get lost!"
"Cozy up?" Hiru let out a short laugh. "In the entire Demon Slayer Corps, aside from my brother, there's no one I need to actively cozy up to."
"Hah. Do you think you're the Lord or something?" The youth placed a hand on his sword hilt, his expression dripping with contempt. "And you're this old and still calling someone 'brother'? Looks like this is as far as you'll ever go. What—are you planning to have your precious 'brother' hold your hand when you die too?"
"Oh my, that actually sounds like a pretty good option," Hiru lifted his chin, a scornful smile spreading across his face. "But you're awfully eager—are you jealous that I have a brother and you don't? Oh dear, who's the one with no one by their side? How truly pitiful—"
A joke. He was someone who could scold Muzan into shutting himself away—why would he be afraid of a brat's provocation?
"What did you just say?!"
"Oh? You're already flustered?"
Hiru propped his chin on his hand.
"Judging by your look, you're a Thunder Breathing swordsman, right? Kuwajima's disciple? Ha~ Jigoro really has it rough, ending up with a disciple like you."
He watched veins bulge at the youth's temple, his smile widening further.
"If you ask me, you'd be more suited to being a merchant than a swordsman. For your age, your strength is questionable, but you're certainly full of schemes. Instead of wasting time fighting for status, you'd be better off thinking about how to improve yourself—before you end up dying in a demon's hands."
"You—"
"Kaigaku."
The youth stiffened at the sound of his name, then turned away, his voice lowering.
"Master."
Kuwajima stood beneath a nearby peach tree, frowning as he looked over.
"Kaigaku, apologize to the Human Hashira."
Hiru watched as the black-haired youth named Kaigaku slowly widened his eyes in disbelief. He couldn't help but chuckle.
"What? Didn't expect that?"
...
Zenitsu had never imagined that one day, he would be struck by lightning.
[Did I do something bad?]
He lay on the bed in a daze, his body still wrapped in bandages.
[I hope Gramps is okay…]
With that thought, Zenitsu closed his eyes and focused on listening.
Ever since he was little, he'd had extremely sharp hearing.
The sounds of breathing, heartbeats, blood flowing through veins—he could hear them all with perfect clarity. If he concentrated, he could even faintly pick up on what someone was thinking in their heart.
But he hated this ability.
After learning about it, his parents had abandoned him. And because of it, he could always tell exactly how the people he met truly felt about him.
Before Gramps took him in, he had been involved with many women.
Beautiful women, cute girls, daughters of large shops, lovely dancers, the proprietors' daughters of teahouses…
But not a single one of them genuinely wanted to be with him. Most of them simply enjoyed ordering him around while he chased after them.
And whenever he brought up the idea of dating with marriage in mind, he could clearly hear the lies behind their words.
"Huh? Isn't that a bit sudden? I'm not really ready for that yet."
—[What an immature man. Still, chasing after me shows he has good taste.]
"Well… I do have some feelings for Zenitsu, but I don't think we're suited for each other."
—[He actually wants to marry me? Doesn't this trash ever look at himself?]
"I'm sorry, Zenitsu, this is just too sudden. Could you give me some time to think?"
—[Ugh, disgusting. If you weren't so generous with money, who'd want to stay with you?]
Every time. Every single time it was like this.
Even when he was tricked and left drowning in debt, he heard it all clearly.
"Hey, Zenitsu, could you give me some money to smooth things over? Once I've taken care of it, I'll leave with you, and then we'll live a good life together."
—[What an easy fool. Just hand over all your savings. I'll pray the debt collectors don't beat you to death.]
And yet, he still chose to believe—because he wanted to believe.
But in the end, every time turned out the same. Every single time…
And then, he met Gramps.
On the surface, Gramps was strict, but he never once gave up on him. The thoughts he held most often were simply hopes that Zenitsu would become a bit stronger-willed. The idea of hating him had never even crossed his mind.
That was why Zenitsu truly wanted to live up to Kuwajima's expectations.
He trained secretly, again and again, pushing himself harder each time, hoping that his efforts would amount to something.
Yet no matter how hard he tried—until his hands were covered in blisters, until his palms could no longer close, until he collapsed unconscious in the wilderness—he still couldn't learn any technique beyond the First Form of Thunder Breathing.
That filled him with overwhelming guilt.
[I must have caused Gramps trouble again this time…]
Zenitsu sat up on the bed and listened carefully to the sounds around him.
The wind passing through leaves. The crawling of insects. Voices speaking…
"Found it. I should apologize to Grandpa…" he muttered as he stood up—only to freeze in the very next moment.
He heard an unfamiliar sound.
It was a violent sound, forcibly suppressed beneath a layer of calm. It was a sound Zenitsu had only ever heard before—from the demon Gramps had deliberately captured to train him.
But this sound was far more intense than anything he'd heard that day.
[Why is there a demon in Momoyama? Why is Gramps's voice so close to it?]
Rarely feeling this panicked, Zenitsu instinctively grabbed the Nichirin Blade by the door and rushed outside.
[I have to find Gramps! If that demon—if that demon—]
But when Zenitsu finally reached the source of the sound, he came to a complete halt.
The demon was standing in the sunlight with a cheerful smile on its face.
And Gramps was actually telling Big Brother to apologize to it.
Wait.
What did Gramps just call him?
Human Hashira?
Wasn't that some extremely ominous, ancient ritual name? Why would he use something like that? Wasn't it taboo?
Zenitsu clutched his Nichirin Blade and stood there, completely stunned.