27 Demon Slayer: Floating Comment

At the Demon Slayer Corps Headquarters, Kagaya Ubuyashiki sat in the front room, silently watching the snow fall in delicate swirls outside the window.

From the inner room, Amane emerged, placing a copper kettle into his hands.

"Are the children asleep?" Kagaya asked, holding the kettle as warmth finally seeped into his chilled fingertips.

"They are," Amane replied gently. "What are you looking at?"

"I'm waiting for Haruto. He said he would come today."

Amane's mind conjured the image of the silver-haired boy with an insatiable appetite and recalled the rare, warm smile that graced her husband's face when they spoke of him.

"In this snow?"

"Yes... It's delayed him a bit."

Just as Kagaya finished speaking, a guard from the front yard announced, "Mr. Takanashi has arrived."

"Please, let him in," Kagaya instructed.

Haruto entered the courtyard, shaking the snow off his straw cloak before stepping inside. The warmth of the brazier-filled room greeted him, though he paused near the entrance to let the chill dissipate from his body before bowing to Amane in greeting. Only then did he settle down beside Kagaya.

Haruto couldn't help but notice how much Kagaya's condition had worsened—the spreading scars on his face were undeniable proof.

"You don't need to look at me like that," Kagaya said with a faint smile. "I'm not so frail just yet."

Haruto gave him a once-over. "For a moment, I thought it had been three or four years since we last met. But it's only been a little over one. You've grown taller in the meantime."

Indeed, Haruto's teenage growth spurt, combined with rigorous training and proper nourishment, had made him broader and more imposing. Seated beside Kagaya, the contrast made the latter seem almost like a younger sibling.

"You, on the other hand, haven't changed much. Still—" Haruto stopped himself mid-sentence, realizing that he should address Kagaya with the respect due to his position. Instead, he pulled out a small bag and handed it to Amane. "This is for the children."

Amane glanced at Kagaya, who nodded before she accepted the gift with a gentle smile.

"Have they been named yet?"

"The elder sister is Hinaki, and the younger one is Kanata," Kagaya said, stretching languidly. "You took your time getting here. I heard your injury healed long ago."

"I went to the Swordsmith Village first," Haruto explained, glancing at him. "What do you think I am, some workaholic who leaps out of bed to report to their boss right after recovery?"

"How is Old Man Gotokawa?" Kagaya asked with a chuckle.

"Still going strong and forging Nichirin swords," Haruto replied with a smirk. "Though he hasn't changed—still nagging about marriage. He threw quite a fit when he heard about Sabito and Makomo being childhood sweethearts."

"But even with the detour, it shouldn't have taken you that long," Kagaya pressed. "Three days at most—"

"I also stopped by the Rengoku household."

The mention of Rengoku brought a shadow to Haruto's face. He recounted how he had visited Kyojuro's father, Shinjuro, only to find the once-proud Flame Hashira a disheveled wreck. Reeking of alcohol, the man seemed worlds apart from the disciplined warrior he used to be.

Shinjuro's bitterness had lessened slightly upon hearing that Haruto had devised a new Breathing Style and defeated Lower Moon Three, but his demeanor remained distant and irritable. It was Kyojuro's younger brother, Senjuro, who had warmly welcomed Haruto.

"Where's your brother?" Haruto had asked Senjuro quietly, noticing Kyojuro's absence.

"On the mountain, training," the boy had replied, his demeanor shy but polite. "He took Father's Flame Breathing manuals with him and got scolded terribly for it..."

Haruto eventually found Kyojuro amidst the snow-covered peaks. Despite his father's harsh words, Kyojuro's fiery determination remained unshaken. The boy's brilliance shone through—he had mastered every form of Flame Breathing simply by studying the manuals, a feat that put most seasoned swordsmen to shame.

"Ah, yes," Kagaya's voice pulled Haruto back to the present. "Shinjuro's resignation letter is still sitting on my desk. I simply cannot accept it. The Corps is in a precarious state—our senior Hashira are aging, and the next generation isn't ready yet. You and Gyomei's emergence couldn't have come at a better time."

"I only defeated a Lower Moon in an unusual state," Haruto said, his brows furrowing. "Please, don't make me say something as embarrassing as 'I'm unworthy of being a Hashira.'"

Kagaya was silent for a moment before standing. "Would you come with me to the back mountain?"

Amane's expression filled with concern. "It's snowing heavily outside."

"Bring me a cloak and an umbrella," Kagaya said, shaking his head as if to dismiss her worry. Left with no choice, Amane fetched a thick, fur-lined cloak.

"I'll hold the umbrella," Haruto offered, taking it and shielding Kagaya from the snow.

What awaited them in the back mountain was a sight both haunting and beautiful—rows upon rows of graves, surrounded by wisteria blossoms that swayed even in the biting cold.

The sheer number of gravestones blurred the line between flowers enveloping the graves or graves overtaking the flowers.

"So many..." Haruto murmured, his voice trailing off.

"And the real number is even greater," Kagaya said softly. "Since I became head of the Corps at four years old, we've lost countless swordsmen. Those whose bodies we could retrieve were claimed by their families, and their clothes were sent here to create cenotaphs."

Kagaya brushed the snow off one of the stones, revealing a name Haruto didn't recognize.

"These graves remind us of the cost of our fight," Kagaya continued. "But they also remind us why we cannot stop."

The snow continued to fall as Kagaya turned to Haruto. "You know of the Ubuyashiki curse, don't you?" He gestured to the scars on his face, smiling faintly. "Without marrying into a priestly family, our descendants die young. Even with a union, no Ubuyashiki has ever lived past thirty."

Kagaya exhaled deeply, as if trying to release a weight pressing on his chest.

"Before our wedding, I asked Amane if she truly wished to marry someone with such a short life. If she didn't, I was prepared to annul the engagement." His voice grew hoarse, and his ever-gentle eyes glistened with unshed tears. "But she told me that my honesty gave her courage. Haruto, do you see? How lucky I am to have her."

Despite Kagaya's attempt at levity, Haruto's brows knitted tighter in concern.

As they finished paying their respects and began the walk back, Kagaya's steps faltered, his fist clenching tightly.

"It's all because of that accursed Muzan Kibutsuji," he muttered, his voice trembling with suppressed anger.

Haruto saw it then—the weight of frustration and regret in Kagaya's eyes. He didn't fear death. But he couldn't accept it.

And Haruto understood.

No one wants to die at thirty.