51 Demon Slayer: Floating Comment

Standing at the entrance of the Butterfly Mansion, Giyu Tomioka let the night wind tug at his black hair. It felt as though every ounce of vitality had been drained from his body, leaving behind an empty shell.

When he had helped the Kakushi carry Sabito into the Butterfly Mansion, all attention had naturally gravitated toward the injured boy.

Now, Giyu stood alone outside, listening to the faint groans of pain through the closed doors.

He backed away into the night, the cold wind drying the blood on his face.

I… I've become such a despicable person.

Above him, the crow landed silently on the eaves. The crow opened its beak as if to speak, but Giyu cut him off with a flat, emotionless voice.

"I don't want to hear it."

The old crow clamped its beak shut, hesitating. What could it say? The bird had just returned from headquarters, bringing what should have been good news.

After all, Giyu had slain a Lower Moon demon—a feat worthy of celebration.

The name Giyu Tomioka, a disciple of Sakonji Urokodaki, a peer of Sabito and Makomo, would now stand among the strongest swordsmen of the Demon Slayer Corps. He was to join the ranks of legends like Haruto of Mount Sagiri.

But was this truly his victory?

No. It felt like a nail driven through his chest—a mark of shame rather than glory.

Closing his eyes, Giyu rested a hand on the hilt of his Nichirin Blade, seeking solace in its cold steel.

Suddenly, the silence shattered.

"Bang!"

The door to the Butterfly Mansion swung open with a loud kick. Haruto stormed out, holding a basin of steaming water and a clean towel.

"Hey." Haruto grabbed Giyu by the shoulder and wrung out the towel. "What's going on in that broody head of yours?"

"Leave me alone—"

Before Giyu could finish, Haruto slapped the alcohol-soaked towel right onto his face.

The sting was immediate. Giyu winced as the alcohol seeped into cuts he hadn't even realized were there, his lips twitching from the pain.

"There. You're starting to look human again." Haruto, unfazed by Giyu's reaction, wiped away the grime and blood. Then, pulling a small jar of ointment from his pocket, he smeared it liberally over the wounds.

Giyu didn't resist, his expression wooden as Haruto worked.

"How's Sabito?" he asked at last, his voice low.

"Badly hurt," Haruto replied, his tone unusually gentle. "But thanks to the quick timing, he's out of danger now. Remember when I fought that Lower Three demon? It's about as bad as that was. He'll need time to recover, though."

Giyu exhaled, some of the tension leaving his shoulders.

"Makomo's on her way here," Haruto added. "I haven't seen her in ages. Let's all grab a meal together once she arrives."

Giyu shook his head. "You go. I don't want to see her."

"Afraid she won't want to see you?" Haruto raised an eyebrow. "Feeling guilty?"

"Yeah."

Haruto sighed, shaking his head. "Makomo wouldn't blame you. You just barely made it out alive yourself. To her, you and Sabito are like brothers. Even if things between them have… changed—like, on the brink of marriage or whatever—none of that erases what you've all shared. You're not some outsider, Giyu. And you're definitely not a criminal."

Giyu's dark blue eyes flickered, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed hard.

"I'm… not like you."

"…What's that supposed to mean?"

Haruto tilted his head, trying to piece together Giyu's cryptic statement.

"Are you saying… I earned my victory, and you didn't?"

Giyu's silence was all the confirmation Haruto needed.

"Bullshit." Haruto's lips twitched, but he bit back harsher words. "Whatever. Go inside. Sabito's probably still asleep, but you should check on him."

Giyu nodded but hesitated. "One more thing… Something strange happened."

...

Mount Kumotori, Tokyo Prefecture

The last place the Lower Four Demon, Mukago, had been seen.

Giyu had told Haruto that before the demon was killed, it had shown no will to fight. Instead, it had acted as though it desperately needed to find something—or someone—before its end.

What could a demon be searching for?

Haruto squinted as he approached the village at the foot of the mountain. After a brief look around, he asked a noodle vendor if anyone lived up in the forested hills.

The man nodded. "Oh, sure. Old Saburou lives near the base."

"And then there's the Kamado family," a passerby added thoughtfully. "They live higher up, closer to the summit. Makes sense—they're charcoal burners, after all."

"Kamado?" Haruto repeated, the name sparking his interest.

"Yeah, poor family," the vendor said. "The father, Tanjurou, passed away recently. Now it's just the widow and the kids trying to make ends meet. The oldest boy's only about ten… tough life up there."

Thanking them, Haruto gripped his sword tightly and quickened his pace.

The ascent to Mount Kumotori was grueling. Snow still clung stubbornly to the ground despite the arrival of spring, turning the trail into a muddy mess.

As Haruto climbed higher, the mist thickened. Nestled within it was a small wooden house, smoke curling up from its chimney.

A group of children huddled around a firepit, their chatter filling the air.

"Charcoal making is so tricky!"

"Just follow Dad's notes!"

"Brother's doing great!"

"Where's Dad, anyway?"

The lively voices fell silent.

The youngest, a toddler with a bowl-cut hairstyle, looked around in confusion. He sat in the arms of a girl in a pink kimono, her gentle smile not quite reaching her eyes.

The eldest, a boy kneeling by the fire, turned and patted his little brother on the head, his own smile calm and kind.

"Are you missing Dad, Shigeru? He's far away now. But whenever you want to talk to him, just call out. No matter where he is, he'll hear you."

The boy, Shigeru, blinked before cupping his tiny hands around his mouth.

"Papa! Papa!"

The other children joined in, their voices echoing through the misty forest.

The wooden door creaked open, and a young woman stepped out, her white haori fluttering.

"Tanjirou?"

"It's fine, Mother." The eldest boy's voice was steady. "Everyone's just thinking about Father."

Haruto watched from the shadows of the trail, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

Kamado… Tanjirou.

For a moment, he saw overlapping images—the warm, smiling boy before him and a vision from his memories: a snowy mountain path, a despairing boy with a bloodied sister on his back.

What happened after this?

Where would these children end up?

His expression darkened, the smile fading as unease settled in his chest. He didn't know. But deep down, he felt it couldn't be anything good.