The morning air was crisp as Tanjiro tied the last knot on the box that would carry Nezuko. The light of dawn cut through the mist on Mount Sagiri, golden and clear. Urokodaki stood a few steps away, his arms crossed beneath his crimson tengu mask. Tanjiro bowed deeply.
"I'm ready to go," he said. "And… there's something I want to say."
Urokodaki tilted his head slightly.
"While I was training, I met two people. Sabito and Makomo. They… taught me things you didn't. Helped me become stronger. I owe them so much."
The old man did not move. But behind the mask, his breath caught.
Sabito… Makomo…
Both names struck him like falling stones. Long buried. Never forgotten.
So it's true, Urokodaki thought, staring at the boy. The dead do speak. The bond of spirits transcends death. Sabito… you haven't left. You were still watching him.
He said nothing of this aloud. Some truths were meant to remain in the silence of the heart.
Instead, he handed Tanjiro a mask of his own—a protective warding mask, carved with red patterns, a charm against evil.
"Wear this," he said. "And remember—once you leave this mountain, you must rely on your own will."
Tanjiro nodded, then turned, carrying the weight of Nezuko, the weight of hope, and the silence of spirits into the distance.
Final Selection was held at the foot of a shadowed mountain, beneath the blooming canopy of wisteria trees that never shed their flowers.
Other boys and girls gathered there, expressions hard, eyes hollow. Some whispered prayers. Some stood in silence.
Before them stood two pale twins dressed in ceremonial robes—small, identical, and expressionless.
"Survive for seven days on this mountain," they said in unison. "That is the condition for passing."
No swords, no assistance. Only instincts and training.
And demons.
So many demons.
Tanjiro stepped through the torii gate into a nightmare.
Within hours, he encountered his first enemy—a horned demon with razor teeth. Its claws lashed out, but Tanjiro remembered every step Sabito had beaten into him. His blade moved in harmony with his breath.
"Water Breathing, First Form: Water Surface Slash!"
Steel met flesh. The demon collapsed in a spray of blood.
The hunt had begun.
Night was a cruel teacher.
Tanjiro fought again and again, each demon more monstrous than the last. The wisteria trees held them inside—but there was no safety, only survival.
But the mountain held something worse.
It moved in the dark like thunder. Its arms were swollen like boulders. Skin bulging with boils, nails like spears. The Hand Demon.
Tanjiro smelled him before he saw him—a stench of rot, blood, and hatred.
"So you're another one of Urokodaki's brats," the demon hissed. "I've eaten every one of his little pets. Thirteen of them. Including a boy with a fox mask… Sabito."
The name hit like a blade to the heart.
Rage flared inside Tanjiro—but he focused it. Sharpened it.
The demon lunged.
Tanjiro moved.
They clashed in a blur of claws and steel. Every strike tested his soul. The Hand Demon was fast—faster than anything he had fought. But Tanjiro's feet moved with memory, his blade singing the song of water.
The demon boasted. Taunted. Spoke of how Sabito died in one slash. How Makomo's bones cracked beneath his fists.
Tanjiro's grip tightened.
He launched forward.
"Water Breathing, Fifth Form: Blessed Rain After the Drought."
The blade slipped through the demon's neck—clean, merciful.
The head rolled. The body fell.
But Tanjiro didn't celebrate. He only whispered, "Rest now."
The demon wept as he faded—not in pain, but in remembrance. He remembered his brother's hand. His mother's warmth.
Even monsters were once human.
Days passed.
Tanjiro survived each night, each encounter.
When the seventh day dawned, he stepped from the forest, bruised, exhausted—but alive.
Only four candidates remained from dozens.
The twins waited silently.
"You have passed Final Selection," they said.
Each survivor was given a uniform, a Kasugai crow, and the option to choose the ore for their personal sword.
Tanjiro chose instinctively—his nose guiding him once more.
The crow cawed loudly on his shoulder. "TANJIRO KAMADO! RETURN TO YOUR MASTER!"
He bowed. Took his sword ore.
And turned toward Mount Sagiri.
Toward home.
Toward Nezuko.