The morning air in the courtyard was crisp, scented with the faint perfume of late-blooming peach blossoms. Rengoku Shinjuro sat at the weathered table, his presence like a warm hearth. He hadn't come merely for a social call; he carried a heavy bundle wrapped in indigo cloth—the Nichirin Blade of his late father, a final gift entrusted to Kuwajima Jigoro.
The breakfast spread was humble: steaming bowls of white porridge, pungent pickles, and a mountain of hand-rolled rice balls. Despite the simplicity, the speed at which the food vanished was nothing short of legendary.
"Senior, your appetite is as formidable as ever!" Shinjuro laughed, watching the bowls empty.
"It's this rebellious brat of mine who does the heavy lifting," Jigoro replied with a small smile. He pushed a plate toward Shinjuro. "Eat. Treat this place as your own home. By the way... how is your father? It has been too long since our last drink."
The light in Shinjuro's eyes flickered. His eyebrows drooped, casting a shadow over his normally bright expression. He didn't need to speak; the silence that followed carried the weight of a funeral shroud.
Jigoro's hand paused over his porridge. He let out an imperceptible sigh, a tremor of grief reaching his heart, yet he forced himself to take another bite, feigning a calm he didn't feel. His old friend had reached the finish line first.
"It's my fault," Jigoro whispered, a bitter edge to his voice. "I should have made the journey to see him one last time."
"Senior, please," Shinjuro comforted him, his voice returning to its sun-warmed tone. "Father left with a smile on his face. He told me to live with joy." He reached for his waist, untying a second blade and sliding it across the table toward Jigoro. "This was his personal blade. He was adamant that it go to you."
The somber mood was suddenly shattered by a sleepy, irreverent voice.
"Yo! We have company?"
Touma shuffled out, rubbing the sleep from his golden eyes. He dropped into a seat without ceremony, grabbed a bowl of porridge, and began devouring it with the intensity of a starving wolf.
Thwack!
Jigoro's wooden sword came down on the boy's head. "You brat! Show some respect! Call him Uncle!"
Touma looked up, and the porridge in his mouth nearly became a fountain. He looks exactly like him! The resemblance was uncanny. This was clearly the father of the "Big Brother" Kyojuro he remembered from the stories. While he didn't recall the Rengoku family having ties to Jigoro in the original lore, he shrugged it off. This was a living world, not a script; small deviations were to be expected.
"You eat well, young man!" Shinjuro boomed, his sorrow momentarily forgotten. "A good appetite is a blessing. My own son is about your age; you two should be friends."
Touma's eyes lit up. He reached out and gripped Shinjuro's large, calloused hand with surprising strength. "Uncle, I'd like nothing more!"
"Off the table, you disrespectful monkey!" Jigoro barked, his foot connecting with Touma's backside and sending the boy tumbling into the dirt.
"Old Man! Give me some face in front of the guest!" Touma grumbled, rubbing his rear.
"He's not a guest; his father was my brother-in-arms," Jigoro snorted. Yet, as he watched the boy's antics, the heaviness in his chest lightened. The dead were gone; it was the living who needed his fire now.
By noon, the sun was high. As Shinjuro prepared to depart, a black Kasugai Crow spiraled down from the clouds, its talons clicking as it landed on his shoulder.
"Rengoku! Rengoku!" the crow shrieked in a harsh, human-like rasp. "Hachijo Island! West-northwest! An evil demon is devouring the people! Move! Move!"
"Understood," Shinjuro replied, his expression hardening into that of a Pillar.
Touma, who had been lingering nearby, felt a jolt of recognition. Hachijo Island. That was where the Iguro family lived—the clan that sacrificed their children to a snake demon. If the timeline held, Shinjuro was about to save a boy with mismatched eyes.
"Master," Touma said, his voice unusually steady. "I want to go with him."
Jigoro froze. In twelve years, he had never seen such a look on Touma's face. The boy's golden eyes weren't lazy or mocking; they were filled with a desperate, burning resolve. Jigoro didn't know why Hachijo Island mattered, but he knew a fledgling couldn't stay in the nest forever if it meant to soar.
"Be careful," Jigoro grumbled, turning his back to hide the moisture in his eyes. "Stay close to the Flame Pillar. Don't be reckless. You're talented, but you aren't a Pillar yet."
"Wait—you're actually letting me go?" Touma blinked, stunned.
"Just wait here!" Jigoro vanished into the house, returning moments later with a heavy package and a standard Nichirin Blade. "Rice balls for the road. And money. Don't starve."
Touma took the supplies, a cheeky grin returning to his face. "Master, you're so astute. I knew you'd understand." Before Jigoro could retort, Touma was already a blur of movement heading down the mountain.
"You rebellious brat! Don't you dare not come home!" Jigoro shouted at the receding figure. As Touma disappeared from sight, the Old Man seemed to shrink, his shoulders sagging. "Be safe, my boy."
On the mountain path, a streak of crimson-gold lightning tore through the trees. Shinjuro, moving at the blistering pace of a Pillar, suddenly frowned. I could swear I hear that kid's voice...
"Rengoku! Look behind you!" the crow cawed.
Shinjuro turned. His jaw nearly dropped. A figure enveloped in a crackling aura of Qi was closing the gap at an astonishing speed.
"Genius!" Shinjuro roared with laughter, his cloak billowing in the wind. "Senior Kuwajima has raised a literal genius!"
He slowed down, allowing Touma to catch up. The boy was breathing hard, but his eyes were sharp. "Uncle! Let me join the mission!"
Shinjuro scrutinized him. "Slaying demons isn't a game, Touma. You haven't even seen the Final Selection. People die out here."
Touma looked him straight in the eye, his gaze unwavering. "As long as the demons are purged, this life is a small price to pay. I won't slow you down, Uncle. I need the combat to grow."
Shinjuro felt a surge of heat in his chest. The Demon Slayer Corps has a future, he thought.
"Hahahaha! Fine! But don't expect me to go easy on you! Let's move!"