Clack— Pak— Clack
In the courtyard, the shishi-odoshi gave a crisp, hollow knock.
Takeo sat on the veranda beside the courtyard, holding a cup of tea that Senjurō had brewed for him. He lifted his head and stared blankly at the clear, cloudless sky.
Two days had passed since the incident with the Dust Demon.
Sakoma Iori's funeral had already been held—alongside the other fallen members of the Demon Slayer Corps.
There was no grand ceremony, no feast—just a simple burial, in the place where all Demon Slayers were laid to rest after death.
That day, Takeo had met the Master of the Demon Slayer Corps. Supported by his wife, the Master had personally attended the funeral.
He seemed to have spoken to Takeo. But Takeo hadn't absorbed a single word.
All he had done was stare at Sakoma Iori's gravestone—calmly, as though looking at the grave of a stranger.
He hadn't reacted at all.He'd even bid farewell to Yoshizuru Asato, who was heading out for the next mission.
But he hadn't gone with him.
Instead, Takeo returned to the Rengoku estate—to do what a successor was supposed to do.
Training.
That was all.
Two days had passed, and even now, Takeo still felt no real sense of Sakoma Iori's death.
It felt like a dream.
Just a moment ago, she had been smiling, laughing, talking with him—and the next, she was lying there, still and lifeless.
Takeo had never experienced something like this before. Not in his past life. Not in this one either—not since losing the memories of who he used to be.
But now, it seemed… he had.
"Does it hurt?"
A bold, booming voice rang out beside him.
Takeo didn't even need to look to know who it was.
"Kyojuro-san," he said softly.
Rengoku Kyojuro stood next to him. Like Takeo, he was staring at the shishi-odoshi in the courtyard.
Then, repeating his question, he asked once more:
"Does it hurt? The death of a comrade?"
"…Kyojuro-san, have you experienced something like this before?"Takeo didn't answer the question. He simply asked in a calm voice.
Kyojuro responded seriously:
"Of course! A comrade you were just laughing with moments ago—suddenly killed by a demon. That kind of thing is common in the Demon Slayer Corps!"
"Then what did you do, Kyojuro-san?"
"Kill demons!" Kyojuro answered without hesitation.
"What we can do is kill demons—to avenge our fallen comrades! What we must do is become stronger—strong enough that we'll never let another comrade die before our eyes again!"
The death of a comrade was always a sorrowful thing—but those who had died could not return.
What the living could do… was carry the will of the dead and keep moving forward.
To slay demons, to eliminate them—To find the source of it all, and cut it down completely. That was the only way to end this chain of tragedy.
Kyojuro too had felt grief, had felt anger when comrades died. But long ago, he had already turned those emotions into fuel for fighting demons.
To grow stronger.
To become even stronger.
To become stronger than anyone else!
Only then could you save more people. Only then could you stop more people from dying.
That was the message Kyojuro wanted to pass on to Takeo.
Takeo remained silent, offering no reply. At some point, Kyojuro had already left. But before he did, he left a small bundle beside Takeo.
Takeo glanced at the bundle lying next to him, reached out, and opened it.
Inside wasn't a sword manual or anything like that. There was only one thing inside.
Food—a rice cracker.
It looked like it had been left out for some time. The surface was slightly damp, and had dried again afterward. It looked… like something that probably shouldn't be eaten anymore.
But staring at the rice cracker, Takeo smiled.
Because it was like he could still hear Sakoma Iori's slightly annoying, slightly bossy voice.
Only now… that voice would never be heard again.
"Loss, huh…"
Takeo suddenly remembered a question Yoshizuru Asato had asked him before they set out to defeat the Dust Demon:
—You've never lost someone important before, have you?
At the time, Takeo hadn't known how to answer.
Even now… he wasn't sure if he could.
Was Sakoma Iori someone important to him?
The honest answer was—no.
To Takeo, Iori was just a friend. Someone he'd met along the way—Someone who had been a little annoying at first, but eventually became tolerable, even easy to talk to.
Someone he could have honest conversations with.
But nothing more.Nothing deeper. He didn't love her, and he didn't believe she loved him.
They couldn't even be called close friends, not really.
Their bond hadn't grown to that point.
And yet, despite that…
Takeo had already gotten used to her being there. And that—was the key to understanding what it meant to lose someone.
Because when you get used to a person, or a thing, being part of your life… when that presence suddenly disappears,
you feel the absence. You feel the imbalance.
That discomfort might fade with time. Or—it might leave a mark that stays with you forever.
Takeo had originally thought Iori would be the former type—the kind of person that, even if they drifted apart, even if they never saw each other again, he would eventually forget.
But now, he realized—
Iori was the latter.
She had, without question, left behind an indelible mark in his heart.
Because this was Takeo's first true loss.
Across both his past life and this one, in two entirely different worlds and all kinds of relationships—she was the first friend whose death he had witnessed with his own eyes.
Until now, Takeo had always thought that death was something distant—something that wouldn't happen to him or those around him. He had never seen it, and so, naturally, he had never truly felt it.
But now, he understood.
Now he understood what death meant. What loss meant.
And… what anger meant.
A soul from a peaceful era had finally come to feel the cruelty of this world. He finally understood—
This wasn't an anime world. This wasn't some fantasy setting.
This was a real world—undeniably real and inescapably harsh.
Everyone in it was a living, breathing person. They had flesh and blood. They could speak, laugh, cry.
They had personalities—some irritating, some endearing—but they were real.They existed in this world.
And anyone who dared to take those lives away—especially demons.Especially the Demon King, Muzan—Was utterly unforgivable.
"Kibutsuji… Muzan…"
Takeo spoke the Demon King's name aloud, his crimson eyes burning like flames.
He didn't know where Kibutsuji Muzan was. But he believed—without a doubt—that one day, he would find him.
And when that day came… he would cut him down.
So that people like Miss Hanako, like Iori-nee…and even Takeo himself…would never have to experience such tragedies again.
So that no one would ever have to fear the night.
That day—might not be so far off.
Takeo thought of this as he picked up the rice cracker beside him and took a bite.
But the moment he bit into it, he laughed.
"Iori-nee, your cooking's gotten worse."
It tasted awful.
Naturally.It was a rice cracker that had been left out for several days, rained on more than once, then dried again before finally being wrapped and brought here.
The salty fragrance that rice crackers were supposed to have was completely gone.All that remained was an indescribable bitterness.
It really didn't taste good.
"Good thing I like eating it." Takeo murmured with a smile, then, one piece after another, he placed the rice crackers into his mouth.
Crunch. Crunch. The sound of chewing echoed quietly.
An unknown, clear liquid fell from above, striking the ground and scattering into droplets.
A moment later, the startled deer sounded again.
Pak—
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