The demon lunged without hesitation, its claws cutting through the air—but Kanao's eyes were sharper than any blade.
She bent her knees and sprang lightly forward, hand brushing the hilt at her waist.
"Flower Breathing, Fifth Form: Peony of Futility."
Her sword moved like falling petals.In an instant, nine consecutive thrusts bloomed from four directions—each one piercing the same precise spot.Petals—no, arcs of steel—floated through the air, scattering like a field of peonies in the wind.
When she landed, her form was still immaculate.Behind her, the demon's body crumbled to dust.
Kanao sheathed her sword in silence, then turned her head slightly—toward a direction where, to ordinary eyes, no one stood.
Ten seconds.Twenty seconds.Thirty seconds passed.
Finally, Chika stepped out from behind a tree.
Kanao wasn't surprised. She had sensed her presence all along. But childhood scars had sealed her tongue; she remained the same quiet, expressionless girl she'd always been.
The two locked eyes. Kanao offered a polite, professional smile—then turned to leave.
Chika hesitated, thinking of saying something, but decided against it.'Now's not the time. A friendly face is enough for now. As for warming up the silent girl's heart… I'll leave that to Tanjiro. It's his future wife anyway.'
Smiling faintly, she turned back.Yet, as she walked away, Kanao glanced once more over her shoulder, whispering words rare even for her.
"Constant Concentration… what an incredible person."
By the time Chika returned to the area she'd started from, Tanjiro was already facing something far worse than a stray demon.
The stench of blood filled the air. A hulking monster crouched before him—muscles bulging, arms grotesquely long, and its skin thick with black calluses.
Chika's breath hitched.The Hand Demon.
The same one that had devoured Sabito and Makomo.
Tanjiro stood protectively in front of another examinee, his sword drawn. His expression was grim, but his determination didn't waver.
"There shouldn't be demons this old here," he muttered. "Most of them only eat two or three people before being captured… but this thing…"
The Hand Demon's voice rumbled low, thick with hatred.
"I survived. I ate every demon that opposed me—fifty, maybe more. And humans? Countless.As for Urokodaki's disciples… fourteen in total, including you."
Tanjiro's grip tightened, rage flashing in his eyes.Fourteen… including Sabito and Makomo.
He lunged forward—
Only for a bright red light to blaze past him.
"Don't just stand there—attack!"
A burning arc split through the darkness, slicing the demon's torso clean in half.
Hinokami Kagura: Dance!
The Hand Demon howled, smoke rising from its scorched flesh. It wasn't a fatal wound—the neck was intact—but the pain alone made it wish for death.
Among the Breathing Styles, each inflicted a distinct kind of agony:
Water Breathing: Gentle yet absolute. Its strikes were clean, merciful—its "Blessed Rain After the Drought" could kill without pain.
Hinokami Kagura: Merciless. Wounds refused to heal, the burn searing deeper with every breath. Even Muzan himself would flinch at its sting.
Chika's eyes glimmered in the firelight.Letting this thing die painlessly would be too kind.
Her sword danced again, crimson flames swirling with every motion.The demon's regenerating arms burst into ash before they could even reach her.
"Damn you! Damn you both!"
It screamed, flailing wildly, hundreds of hands whipping through the air.Tanjiro steadied his breath beside her, his resolve hardening.
He too despised unnecessary cruelty—but facing a monster that had slaughtered so many, even his mercy faltered.
He inhaled sharply, switching from the calm rhythm of Water Breathing to the blazing pulse of Hinokami Kagura.
He leapt—The air flashed with light—And the Hand Demon's head flew from its shoulders.
The body spasmed once, then crumbled into ash.
"Haah…"
Tanjiro exhaled, shifting his breathing back to normal.Beside him, the terrified examinee he had protected stared in disbelief.
"So… so strong…"
He had thought himself capable—after all, no one could even take the Final Selection without slaying at least one demon in training.But that creature—they had felled it as easily as one might crush an insect.
Were they… really just examinees like him?
His legs trembled as he struggled to stand.Chika turned toward him, sheathing her sword, and held out a hand.
"Can you stand?"
"Y-Yes! Of course!"
He pushed himself upright, still shaking, and managed a nervous laugh.
Everyone knew the Demon Slayer Corps had ten ranks—Kinoe, Kinoto, Hinoe, Hinoto, Tsuchinoe, Tsuchinoto, Kanoe, Kanoto, Mizunoe, and Mizunoto.Above them stood a title spoken with awe and fear alike—
The Hashira.
And as the young man looked at the two siblings standing before him, bathed in the soft glow of dying firelight, only one thought filled his mind:
These two… will become Hashira one day.