The night wind swept through the empty alleyways, carrying off the last trace of that demon's stench.
Cold seeped into the air—an unmistakable chill that belonged to late night.
At the mouth of the lane, a woman lifted her head, staring hard at the boy ahead.
She wore a purple kimono patterned with camellias. Her jet-black hair was arranged into an immaculate bun—so composed, so elegant that it looked almost out of place against the bloodstained wreckage of the street.
And yet, in her eyes now, there were only two emotions:
Unease—and hope.
Unease, because she feared her guess was wrong, even though four hundred years ago, she had seen with her own eyes swordsmanship so supreme it carved itself into a lifetime's memory.
But… he had been human, after all.
Humans grew old.
Humans died.
Hope, because she could not bring herself to extinguish a single lingering thought.
What if… just what if?
After all—he was the only one in a thousand years who had ever forced Kibutsuji Muzan to the brink.
Faced with Tamayo's trembling question, Yoriichi did not answer at once.
He simply stood there, motionless, dark red eyes reflecting the pale moonlight.
In that moment, his gaze seemed to pass through her flesh and bone, seeing instead the suffering soul within—pain compressed over centuries, all for atonement, all for vengeance.
And the instant he saw it clearly, the calm that never rippled on his face froze—rarely, unmistakably.
Tamayo…
When the name surfaced in his mind, even he felt disbelief.
She was… still alive?
Tamayo was not an old friend with whom he'd shared cups and laughter. She could hardly be called a "companion" in any true sense.
They had only crossed paths once—briefly, yet indelibly—on the night that changed fate itself four centuries ago.
Back then, she had been nothing more than a puppet walking at Muzan's side.
But at the instant Yoriichi cut Muzan into eighteen hundred pieces, he had seen it—
When Muzan detonated himself to escape, even abandoning those beneath him, there was no fear of death in this woman's eyes.
Instead, there had been the fierce brightness of relief.
That night, besides Yoriichi himself, she had been one of the only witnesses who knew the truth of Kibutsuji Muzan's "defeat and humiliation."
And that night… Yoriichi had let her go.
Because in the See-Through World, he had seen the towering hatred in her soul—hatred for Muzan—and a tragic vow: she did not want to eat humans. She wanted only revenge.
He had thought it a small mercy offered in passing, that the poor woman would soon be erased—either by Muzan's reckoning, or by the slow corrosion of time.
But he had never imagined—
She had survived.
For all these long years, she had borne the curse of demons, lingering alone in a world that devoured people, clinging to existence until now.
"Lady Tamayo—stay away from him!"
Yushiro, staring at the boy, felt a fear unlike anything he'd ever known—something instinctive, something primal.
He lunged forward, planting himself between them, baring his teeth as he snarled at Yoriichi.
"You—don't look at Lady Tamayo like that! Sure, you killed those demons, but the danger on you is overwhelming! It's like—like—"
"Like what?" Yoriichi asked softly.
Yushiro choked on the words.
Like what?
Like the sun?
Or… like a calamity?
Yoriichi did not draw his blade. He did not even leak a hint of killing intent.
He only looked at the bristling Yushiro, and in his clear eyes there was the warmth an elder might show a younger one struggling with all his might.
"You protected the one you cherish… very well."
His tone was sincere, almost gentle—like praise offered to a neighbor's child.
"For these hundreds of years, it's been you supporting her, hasn't it? You've done well. You've suffered for it."
"Wha…?"
The twisted hostility on Yushiro's face froze in an instant.
As though all his aggression simply dissolved under that offhand, quiet praise.
For centuries, people had called them monsters. Demon slayers had called them prey. No one had ever affirmed him—never once—never for being what he was.
And yet this boy seemed to see, at a glance, the heart that beat only for Tamayo.
Yushiro opened his mouth; his face flushed crimson. But he could not find a single retort. In the end, he looked away, awkwardly, and stepped aside in silence.
With the obstruction gone, Tamayo finally faced that figure directly.
She walked forward, one step at a time—and with each step, the sealed memories of four hundred years came into sharper focus.
The face was different. The body still looked like a youth.
But that presence… that heat, blazing like fire yet carrying a strange stillness—
It could not be mistaken.
"Sir…" Tamayo's voice shook. Tears trembled in her eyes.
Yoriichi watched her in silence for a long time.
Then, quietly, he said something that seemed utterly out of place.
"I'm sorry."
After a long moment, his voice followed, steady and low.
"If I had been able to strike that final blow… perhaps you wouldn't have had to flee through this endless nightmare in pain until now."
A single sentence—
And it was as though the last barrier in Tamayo's heart shattered completely.
All the poise. All the restraint. All the endurance.
Gone.
"…Hnn…"
Tamayo clapped a hand over her mouth. Her legs gave out, and she sank onto the freezing stone road.
Tears spilled like pearls from a snapped string.
Like a child who had swallowed injustice for centuries and finally found the parent who could understand, she let out a sob she had suppressed for hundreds of years.
It was him.
It really was him.
The god who had once driven Muzan to the edge. The salvation she had believed had vanished forever into the river of time.
…And somehow, impossibly—
He had returned.
"Lady Tamayo?!" Yushiro rushed to her side in panic.
He had never seen Tamayo cry so openly, so undone.
"It's all right, Yushiro… it's all right." Tamayo wept, yet the smile that surfaced on her face was the most unburdened she had worn in centuries.
She bowed deeply toward Yoriichi, pressing her forehead against the icy ground.
"Please, get up," Yoriichi said. His voice had already returned to its usual calm. "As I am now… I am simply the eldest son of the Kamado family—Tanjiro."
When Tamayo had finally steadied her breath, he drew a small bottle from his robes.
Inside was blood he had gathered in passing—blood from Yahaba, not yet fully dispersed.
"This may be rude," Yoriichi said, solemn enough that the air itself seemed to tighten, "but I have a request."
His expression was grave.
"My younger sister has become a demon. But I believe there must be a way—somewhere in this world—to turn her back into a human."
"I know you have been studying demon physiology… seeking a way to break free of Muzan's curse."
"Why… how do you know that?" Tamayo lifted her head without thinking, tear-blurred eyes wide with shock as she stared at him.
For four hundred years, she had lived in hiding. Every experiment, every step of her research, had been conducted under the strictest secrecy.
How could he possibly—
"Because of this child," Yoriichi said evenly, gesturing toward Yushiro with a faint note of approval.
"That man's blood is saturated with violent curses and domination. But this child's body… is clean."
Yushiro blinked, reflexively pressing a hand to his chest.
"His structure is still that of a demon, but the arrangement of his cells has been altered. He wasn't transformed by that man… This is a miracle."
"You created him," Yoriichi continued, eyes returning to Tamayo. "You pulled him out from under that cursed fate."
"And you…" His gaze sharpened with a kind of precise gentleness. "Your stomach and blood vessels have been meticulously modified. To stop yourself from eating humans… you must have cut into yourself many times."
Tamayo listened, stunned into silence.
Every word hit true.
With a single look—just a brief sweep of his eyes—
Her four centuries of exhaustion, her countless desperate experiments, the truth of everything she had sacrificed—was laid bare.
Yet she did not feel fear at being seen through.
If anything, she felt understood.
Safe.
Still… hesitation lingered.
"You said… your sister became a demon, and you want to turn her back into a human?" Tamayo's voice was unsteady.
"…Is that really possible?"
Even she could not claim certainty. In the end, she simply did not have enough material—enough samples—to attempt the full range of experiments.
"If it were anyone else, perhaps it would be impossible," Yoriichi said quietly. "But if it's you—and with my help—it can be done."
He offered the small bottle into Tamayo's hands.
"This blood contains cells heavily saturated with Muzan's essence. From now on, I will bring you the blood of every one of the Twelve Kizuki I slay."
"In exchange, please—develop a medicine that can restore demons to humanity."
He paused. The sharpness in his eyes softened.
"Not only for my sister… but also to end your four hundred years of sorrow."
Tamayo's hands trembled as she accepted the bottle, as though she were holding the most precious thing in the world.
Once more, she bowed deeply—lower than before, with a dignity that felt like an oath. Her voice cracked with emotion, yet it carried a resolve she had never possessed in all these centuries.
"…I will do everything in my power."
…
Not long after—
Yoriichi's figure vanished into the darkness at the mouth of the alley, leaving behind only a calm farewell.
"No need to see me off. Muzan has already noticed this place—move as soon as you can."
"As long as I still hold a blade, he won't have the leisure to turn his attention to you."
Staring at the empty alley, Yushiro helped Tamayo up—his legs still weak—and muttered awkwardly, stubbornly.
"That guy… is he really that strong? Sure, he cut down two demons, but there's still a huge gap between that and the Twelve Kizuki, isn't there?"
Tamayo gently wiped her tears away. She lifted her face to the moon and spoke softly.
"Yushiro."
"…What?"
She turned to him, and on her face was the lightest smile she had worn in hundreds of years.
"The day… is finally going to break."
-------
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