[The Butterfly Mansion - Hallway]
Two weeks after waking up and terrorizing the Butterfly Mansion staff, Manjiro Asakura was summoned. The summons didn't come via a crow, but through Kiriya Ubuyashiki (the Master's son) personally bowing at the door.
Manjiro sighed, adjusting his bandages. "I just got comfortable. The pillows here finally have the right fluff."
Shinobu Kocho stood by the door, holding his haori. "Stop complaining. The Master is waiting. And fix your collar, you look like a delinquent."
Manjiro stood up, grabbing his newly smithed Nichirin Katana. It was a unique blade, forged to handle his immense grip strength. The blade was deep black. The tsuba was a quatrefoil shape with a black core and a golden border. The hilt was solid gold with no wrappings, capped with a black kashira.
Engraved on the side was the singular word: "Kira" (Killer/Radiance).
He drew it slightly, checking the edge. "Nice. 'I'll take a potato chip... and eat it!'"
"What are you mumbling?" Shinobu asked.
"Nothing. Just admiring the craftsmanship."
As they walked down the hallway, Manjiro leaned in toward Shinobu.
"Hey, Shinobu-chan. I have a favor. A very specific medical request."
Shinobu looked annoyed instantly, stepping slightly away. "If this is another request for 'medicinal flavored mochi,' I am going to poison you myself."
"No, no. I need you to weave a specialized fabric. Using Wisteria fibers and... Satiporoja Beetle thread."
Shinobu paused, her medical curiosity piqued. "Satiporoja Beetles? Those are native to Southeast Asia. Their thread is incredibly conductive, but brittle and difficult to process. Let me get this straight... you want me to weave bandages out of them?"
Manjiro: "Correct. Lots of them. Enough to wrap my arms and neck twice over."
"Why bandages?" She eyed his current wrappings. "You're healed. If you keep those on, I'm going to think you enjoy the attention."
Manjiro laughed, "What? It's practical and stylish. Plus, if I'm wearing something you made... it kinda feels like you're looking out for me even when you're not around."
Shinobu's face turned bright red. She swatted his arm with a clipboard. "I swear you have your way with words enjoy pushing people just to see how far you can go. Congratulations, you've officially gone too far."
"But you'll do it?"
"...I'll see what I can do."
[The Ubuyashiki Estate]
Amane Ubuyashiki representing the ailing Kagaya sat at the head of the room. Beside her sat the two youngest Ubuyashiki children. To her right, sat The Rumble Hashirab Manjiro Asakura.
The Hashira knelt in a semi-circle. Sanemi Shinazugawa (Wind), Gyomei Himejima (Stone), Kyojuro Rengoku (Flame), Muichiro Tokito (Mist), Mitsuri Kanroji (Love), Obanai Iguro (Serpent), Giyu Tomioka (Water), Shinobu Kocho (Insect) and Tengen Uzui (Sound).
"Thank you all for gathering on such short notice," Amane began, her voice solemn. "We have confirmed information regarding the physical manifestations that appeared on Manjiro-sama, Rengoku-sama, and Sanemi-sama during the recent extermination of the Upper Rank demons."
"Manifestations?" Gyomei rumbled, his hands clasped in prayer. "You mean the markings Manjiro showed us last time?"
"We call it... the Demon Slayer Mark."
Amane proceeded to explain the history, referencing the Sengoku Era swordsmen who nearly defeated Muzan. She confirmed that since Manjiro, Rengoku, and Sanemi had unlocked it, the conditions were spreading.
"That means we Hashira must manifest the mark to stand a chance," Shinobu concluded.
"Agreed!" Rengoku boomed. "We will train until our hearts burn! Please tell the Master to rest assured!"
"What is it?" Mitsuri asked, sensing the heavy atmosphere coming from Amane.
Amane paused, looking down at her hands. "...there is a cost."
Manjiro spoke up for the first time, "The mark isn't a gift but a debt. Power always demands a toll, and the reckless often pays it in full. Those who awaken it rarely see the years they hoped for."
He straightened, his heavy-lidded eyes locking with each of them. "History says those who awaken the mark do not live past the age of twenty-five."
The room went silent. Mitsuri gasped, her hands flying to her chest. Sanemi's eyes widened. Rengoku's smile didn't falter, but his aura stiffened.
"Twenty-five..." Muichiro murmured, looking at his hands.
"But history doesn't decide our current." Manjiro continued, his voice firm. "We don't have a choice. Muzan is coming. If this is what it takes to stand our ground, then I'll take the risk, because losing guarantees nothing but account if we didnt try."
Gyomei wept, tears streaming down his face "... Manjiro is right. We must dedicate our lives to this final act."
Suddenly, Giyu stood up.
"I... am not like the rest of you."
"Hah?!" Sanemi snapped, his vein popping. "What is that supposed to mean, Tomioka? You think you're better than us? Too good to die young?"
"No. I mean... I am unworthy to stand beside you." Giyu turned to leave. "I will not participate in the training."
"YOU BASTARD! GET BACK HERE!"
Sanemi lunged, but suddenly, a heavy pressure.
CLAP
Gyomei Himejima slammed his hands together. A sheer, physical pressure slammed down on the room.
Sanemi was forced back into his seat. Even Giyu stopped, unable to take another step.
However, Manjiro remained sitting comfortably, unaffected by the pressure.
"Scary, scary," Manjiro teased. "The Stone Hashira is truly a monster."
"Sit down," Gyomei ordered. "Let us continue our discussion. I have a proposal for the training regimen."
The meeting concluded an hour later. The Hashira began to discuss the rigorous training plans, The Hell Training, also known as The Hashira Training Arc.
Manjiro stood up quietly, stretching his arms.
"Manjiro? Where are you going?" Shinobu asked. "We need to coordinate the stages."
"I'm sitting this one out," Manjiro waved his hand dismissively. "I have my own training to do. If I stick around here, I'll just end up lazily watching you guys sweat, and that's bad for morale. Besides, I need to get used to my new sword."
No one tried to stop him. He was the strongest.
---
He stepped out onto the engawa, slipping on his sandals. He hadn't made it ten steps toward the gate when he heard rapid, frantic footsteps behind him.
"Manjiro-kun! Wait!"
He didn't need to turn to know who it was.
Mitsuri Kanroji caught up to him, grabbing his wrist.
Her big green eyes were swimming with tears, and her lip was trembling.
"Micchan?" Manjiro tilted his head, feigning ignorance. "The meeting is over. You should go…"
"Twenty-five," she choked out. "You... you're eighteen. That means... only seven years?"
Manjiro sighed, scratching the back of his neck with his free hand. "Yeah. Seven years. Give or take."
"How can you be so calm?!" She burst out, her voice cracking. "Seven years isn't enough! I joined the Corps to find someone... someone stronger than me! Someone who wouldn't look at me like I was a freak because of my hair or my strength!"
She stepped closer, clutching his sleeve with both hands now, shaking him slightly.
"I finally found you!" she sobbed, "You're the only one who treats me like I'm normal! You let me protect you! You're stronger than me! And now... you're telling me I found you just to watch you die?!"
"Mitsuri..."
"It's not fair!" She buried her face in his chest, her shoulders shaking slightly. "I don't want to be alone again! I don't want to be the strong girl who scares everyone away! I want..."
She looked up at him, her eyes pleading. "Do you know why I really joined the Corps? It wasn't just to find a husband."
She sniffled, tightening her grip on his haori. "After that day at the river... after you pulled me out of the sadness and took me to dinner... and then vanished... I couldn't forget you."
"I trained until my hands bled," she confessed, her voice thick with emotion. "I climbed the ranks. I became a Hashira. Just so I could stand on the same stage as you again. I did it all to find you. And now that I have you... the world is trying to take you away!"
She was spiraling, her fear of abandonment overwhelming her.
Manjiro realized words wouldn't work. He reached up, cupping her tear-streaked face with both hands, lifting her head to meet his gaze.
"Mitsuri."
She gasped, looking at him with wide, terrified eyes. "But... the mark..."
He didn't let her finish.
Manjiro leaned down and pressed his lips to hers.
Mitsuri froze. Her brain short-circuited. Her hands, which had been gripping his haori enough to tear it, went slack. The world stopped spinning.
He pulled back just an inch, his forehead resting against hers. Her eyes were still closed, her breathing ragged but slowing.
"Better?" he whispered.
Mitsuri opened her eyes, her face a brilliant shade of crimson, dazed. "I... you..."
"Seven years is a lifetime, Mitsuri," Manjiro said, "I would rather share one lifetime with you than face all the ages of this world alone."
"Manjiro-kun..." Her eyes welled up again.
"I'm not going anywhere yet," he promised, brushing her bangs out of her eyes. "So stop crying. We have to finish what we started. We take down Muzan. And after that... we'll make every day of those seven years count. I promise."
Mitsuri sniffled, a wobbly but radiant smile breaking through. She threw her arms around his neck, burying her face in his shoulder again, but this time in relief. "Okay. Okay... I believe you."
Manjiro wrapped an arm around her waist, holding her close, his expression softening.
From the shadow of the hallway corner, Shinobu Kocho watched.
She had followed them, intending to scold Manjiro for leaving the meeting early. But she stood frozen in the shade, her hand gripping the wooden frame of the wall.
"Ara..." she whispered to herself, her voice barely a breath. "So that is how it is."