Night had deepened, and the chill in the forest grew ever more biting.
Under the lead of Giyu Tomioka—who almost never looked back—the group crossed the woods and passed over several ridgelines.
At last, in a broader clearing ahead, several figures dressed in black and masked had already been waiting.
They were the Demon Slayer Corps' logistical unit—Kakushi.
"Lady Kocho. Lord Tomioka." The leader of the Kakushi dropped to one knee, voice respectful. "By the Master's command, we await you here to escort you onward."
Shinobu Kocho smiled and nodded, then turned to the boy behind her and explained in a light, almost cheerful tone, "According to Corps rules, we'll have to trouble you for a moment, Tanjiro-kun."
"To keep the Master's residence from being exposed, any swordsman below Hashira rank must be blindfolded and fitted with earplugs before entering headquarters, and carried there by the Kakushi."
She produced a thick strip of black cloth and flicked it in front of him. "Even though you showed astonishing strength just now, I'm afraid the Corps' rules can't be changed on a whim."
An ordinary boy might have felt uneasy or resisted, given how much it resembled escorting a prisoner.
But Yoriichi merely watched the cumbersome tools in silence, his expression unmoving.
"The Corps' rules…?"
His voice remained gentle and calm, as though he were recalling something far away.
After a moment, he gave a small nod. "I understand."
With that, he stepped forward of his own accord, lowered his head slightly, and cooperated as the tall Kakushi layered restraint after restraint onto him.
That quiet, unhesitating compliance left Shinobu staring for a long beat—she'd had a whole speech prepared, and suddenly had nowhere to put it.
He agreed that easily, without even a single question…?
"Then… please."
The burly Kakushi crouched and let Yoriichi settle onto his back.
"Hold tight, kid—my speed's fast!"
With a low shout, the Kakushi's thigh muscles tensed, and he shot forward like an arrow loosed from a bow.
As an elite Kakushi tasked with transporting Hashira-level personnel, he had absolute confidence in his legwork and his familiarity with the terrain.
Wind slid through the trees; shadows swayed across the ground.
To prevent his route from being memorized, his path became bizarre—veering left and right, even leaping along branches high above the forest floor.
Giyu Tomioka and Shinobu Kocho followed close behind.
And then, after nearly five minutes—
The boy on his back spoke, suddenly.
"Your breathing's getting uneven."
"…Huh?"
The Kakushi jolted, almost losing his footing.
"Your center of gravity is too far forward. It's fast, but on moss this slick, if you have to take a sharp turn, the injury in your ankle will worsen."
"Don't worry about me. This is what I do!"
Being lectured by a kid made the Kakushi bristle. Instead of slowing down, he aimed to pull off a flashy, tight turn around a thick tree ahead.
"Shift two inches left," Yoriichi said.
"What?"
"The moss in front—there's empty space underneath it."
He didn't believe it, but instinct made him force his step slightly left.
The next moment—
Crack.
The patch of ground where he would've planted his foot—something that looked solid—collapsed into a small hole, like a burrow.
Cold sweat soaked his back. He let out a shaky breath.
"Th-thanks…" He swallowed hard.
If that foot had landed, carrying the weight of two people, his ankle would've shattered.
Yoriichi didn't respond, only continued, "Don't take the left route. It's shorter, but it should've rained here last night—the soil there has loosened. The edge could collapse."
"If you can, take the path over the rocks on the right. It'll put less strain on your left knee."
"Left knee…?" The Kakushi blinked.
Yoriichi gave a small nod. "You've had an old meniscus injury, haven't you? When you pushed off just now, your left leg's muscle contraction lagged nearly half a second behind the right. There's also a faint frictional vibration in the joint."
"If rushing makes the injury worse, it's not worth it… Take your time. It's fine."
This time, the Kakushi finally stopped.
Like he'd seen a ghost, he craned his head back and stared at the boy whose face was wrapped so thoroughly it shouldn't have been possible to see anything at all.
"But… you're blindfolded."
He couldn't understand it—yet an inexplicable dread crawled up his spine, as if he'd been completely seen through.
"Yes. I can't see," Yoriichi answered honestly.
In a physical sense, the cloth did block light. But in the Transparent World, light wasn't the only medium.
The tremor of the earth, the flow of the wind— even the breath of grass and trees—everything in the world traced its shape for him.
Hearing, smell, sight—none of it truly mattered to Yoriichi within that realm.
From there, the journey's "tone" changed entirely.
The once-confident elite Kakushi grew meek. Every step, he waited for instructions from the boy on his back.
"Lower the branch on the left."
"Plant your right foot firmly— that stone is loose."
"Thorns ahead. Duck."
Watching this, Shinobu's mouth twitched. The polished smile on her face was starting to crack.
He was blindfolded—and yet he not only read the terrain, he was guiding the Kakushi on how to walk with less effort, how to avoid aggravating old injuries, even without sight…
Was he really going to visit the Demon Slayer Corps?
Why did it feel more like he was conducting an inspection…?
…
After who knew how long, a rich wisteria scent began to spread through the air.
They'd arrived.
The Kakushi's legs gave out. He dropped to his knees and lowered Yoriichi to the ground.
He gulped air—not from exertion, but from the crushing mental pressure of the entire trip.
"Thank you for your hard work," Yoriichi said gently, then slowly untied the black cloth and removed the blindfold.
Light, long absent, flooded his vision—yet his eyes showed no discomfort.
He lifted his head. Beyond layers upon layers of wisteria blossoms, his gaze settled on an austere, timeworn estate ahead.
In that instant, it was as if every sound around him vanished.
The familiar wooden corridors. The familiar layout of the courtyard. Even the placement of the bluish stone in the corner—everything overlapped with a scene from four hundred years ago, as if memory had reached out and pulled the present into alignment.
Back then, the Demon Slayer Corps had not been so large.
Back then, he had stood in a courtyard like this, speaking late into the night with an Ubuyashiki head—frail in body, yet burning with ambition.
Time flowed. Worlds changed.
Those he once knew had long since turned to dust, yet the will that burned here had never gone out.
Yoriichi did not look around like a country boy seeing headquarters for the first time. He did not seem cramped or intimidated by the estate's imposing scale.
He simply stood there, still as a pillar, dark-red eyes carrying a deep, aching nostalgia.
Then, a whisper—so faint it almost vanished into the wind.
"…I'm back."
-------
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