Because the clouds were thin, today's sunlight was considerably weak. It should be okay at this level, right? The moment I tried to step over the threshold, a voice came from behind.
"No. You have to apply the medicine properly."
"Mom, but…."
"No."
Gentle, slender arms pull me back inside without mercy, though I was just one step outside the house. Though her clothes are worn, this woman with an elegant demeanor that wouldn't be doubted even as a young lady of a good family is, to hide nothing, my mother in this life.
Ah, hello. It's me. I died in the Warring States period and was then born in the Edo period, Muzan-kun's friend. Mom said it's the Tokugawa shogunate, so it must be the Edo period now.
"I always tell you. You have weak skin so you must be careful."
"But the medicine smells..."
"That's proof it's effective."
Ignoring her grumbling son's complaints, Mom untied my clothes and slathered medicine with a strange smell all over my upper body. What medicine, you ask? Simply put, sunscreen. Following my previous life in the Warring States period, I'm still a white-haired, red-eyed, pale-skinned person in this life. My constitution where my skin and eyes sting when exposed to sunlight remains the same. Still, thanks to the medicine Mom makes, it's much better than my previous life.
Unable to stand seeing me cause a disaster by exposing my bare skin to sunlight, my mother, who is knowledgeable in medicine and can mix herbs, made this medicine for me. The smell is terrible but the efficacy is amazing. With this applied, sunlight doesn't hurt. Though it still gets tough if exposed for a long time.
"Let's put on one more outer layer over this. Don't roll up the sleeves. Cover your head with a cloth… Ah, and wear Dad's straw hat. It's the biggest so it will protect you from Mr. Sun."
"No~! I don't want Dad's hat, it's full of sweat and oil and old man smell lately!"
"Child, you should call it the smell of labor."
While Mom is a tremendous beauty who suits ivory castles, whispers of rivers, or butterflies playing in flower gardens, Dad is a short, hairy, sweaty-smelling uncle. Truly a beauty and the beast.
For reference, Dad has gone to the village and isn't here now. We live in a solitary house sitting alone on a mountainside. Dad walks a long time from here to the village at the mountain's base to work. Living in the village would be convenient, but my appearance makes it difficult.
"Listen well. Even if a stranger talks to you, you must not follow them. You must not make eye contact either, it will cause a commotion. And if you get hurt, don't push yourself and come right back. Mom will treat you immediately, understand?"
And yet, Mom doesn't resent or belittle my appearance, but treasures me like this. She even makes special medicine for me. Is she an angel? Is my mother in this life a goddess? If I tell Dad, will he request a firm handshake? But it's not wrong, is it?
I don't know my mother from my previous life, and my mother from the life before that passed away before I grew up, so my memory of a mother in my head is faint. Perhaps that's why this person feels even more special.
"Yes~. I'll be careful~"
"Good. …I'm sorry, I wish I could go myself if possible."
Mom slightly lowered her long eyelashes and tightly gripped the outer garment on her shoulder.
"Don't apologize. It's medicine I'll use, so it's fine."
Mom has a weak constitution and often falls ill. She'd collapse from just walking a little on the mountain path. So Mom, with her weak body, can't go to get sunscreen ingredients, and I go instead like this with a basket on my back. The basket Dad usually uses is somewhat big for young me.
Waving my hand at Mom's send-off telling me to be careful, I disappeared into the mountains.
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Moving while finding shade as much as possible, I think.
How should I find Muzan-kun in this life? Like that.
In my previous life, thanks to being coincidentally taken in by demon slayers, I could luckily join in as their comrade chasing Kibutsuji Muzan. But I was killed by a demon before I could even fully utilize that luck.
I'm reflecting that I did a terribly sorry thing to my Master. I got this result after getting cocky going 'I am Michikatsu-san's successor, heh ha~!' and popping champagne. Reflection. Let's go without letting our guard down this life.
If possible, I want to get a job at the Demon Slayer Corps again this time and find Muzan-kun, but where is the Corps headquarters in the first place? Place names have probably changed quite a bit too, so maybe I can't find it? Even if I found it, would they just let me work if I said 'Please let me work here!'? Would worldly affairs resolve that neatly like a Ghibli movie?
I also thought of the method of getting rescued when attacked by a demon like in my previous life and then getting hired, but unlike my previous life where I had no one to rely on, this life I have a lively family. I have a beautiful, knowledgeable mom and a beast-like giant of a dad. Leaving home as a young child while my parents are alive is too unfilial. Can't be helped. That's impossible for me.
First of all, well.
This is a situation I don't really want to think about, but during the over hundred years my soul was transported from the Warring States period to the Edo period, isn't Muzan-kun already exterminated?
It's not that Muzan-kun is weak, but I know of the existence of Yoriiichi-san, the Demon Slayer born in the Warring States period, who can only be thought of as a bug intentionally caused by a God who likes cliché fantasy novels. That guy is truly the prince of demon slaying.
If Muzan-kun accidentally encounters Yoriiichi-san, it would be a disaster I couldn't bear to watch. That Yoriiichi kills. He definitely cuts off heads. There are no two letters for 'mercy' in the non-smiling Yoriiichi's Great・Demon Dictionary. He's a man who embodies the forced battle continuation declaration like a game's final boss fight, where no matter how much you try to run, the escape route is blocked and you can't flee. Moreover, it's the type where your turn is consumed by the 'escape' command and you get attacked. Can't be helped.
Didn't you know? You can't escape from Yoriiichi....
That just now wasn't the First Form... it was a normal attack....
Damn, it fits perfectly. The Great Demon King position is Muzan-kun's though.
If he escaped from Yoriiichi-san, then Muzan-kun is the real hero.
Hoping such a situation isn't the case, I devote myself to Breathing training day and night, swinging tree branches. Of course, only secretly when coming to gather herbs like this or when slipping out at night avoiding my parents' eyes. If I did it in front of Mom or Dad, they'd suspect me asking "Where did you learn that?".
Once, I got too absorbed in training and the sun set, and when I hurried back, I got slapped on the cheek by Mom, whose worry had reached its peak, with tears in her eyes, so I'm careful about my return time.
Since I have no Master to show me the way, sometimes my movements feel unstable. What if I develop strange habits? I have no Master to correct me. I want to quickly join the Demon Slayer Corps when I grow up and train again. Michikatsu-san, I wonder if he found another successor besides me. I wonder if the Moon Breathing forms increased. I want to learn new techniques quickly.
Thinking like that, the tree branch I was swinging couldn't withstand it and snapped. It was a pretty good branch. I don't expect a real sword, but I at least want to swing a wooden sword. Being more greedy, I want proper training with a striking post. I have to get stronger. Because that's the fastest way to meet Muzan-kun. But can I really get a job at the Demon Slayer Corps in this life──.
"Wouldn't Muzan-kun come find me instead?"
Throwing the broken remains into the bushes, I slumped my shoulders like that.
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At night, I woke from sleep to the sound of coughing.
It's Mom's cough. She originally coughed often, but lately it's gotten particularly worse.
I stayed still, not even covering myself with the kicked-off futon again. Because I know if she finds out I'm awake, Mom will apologize with a face that looks like she'll cry. I quietly heard Dad comforting Mom, saying the medicine's effect will kick in soon. The sound of clothes rustling continued. Mom must be shaking her head.
"I can tell myself… that there isn't much left now… Ah… I don't want to… I don't want to… I don't want to die yet… I don't want to die yet…"
A hoarse voice from too much coughing was crying.
Surely Mom was shedding sad tears down that neat face.
"If I die, who will make medicine for that child… While you're out working, who will protect that child… He's only six years old… I can't leave him behind… I'm so worried my chest hurts so much…"
The voice getting muffled must be from covering her face while holding back tears. From the trembling sobs, I vividly imagined Mom crying with shaking shoulders, and I wanted to cry too. But if I sniffled, they'd know I'm awake, so I just lay still on the futon with my eyes closed and listened to Mom's voice.
"How many people would accept that hair, those eyes… If I'm not by his side until he finds such a person… At least until that child becomes an adult… I can't die…"
Fall asleep quickly, fall asleep quickly. While letting tears seep into the futon, I tell myself that.
If I keep listening to Mom's voice like this, I'll end up crying out loud too.
When my consciousness grew faint from exhaustion from crying, there was a sign of someone covering me with the futon again. Someone gently stroked my head following my hair. It's not Dad's large, rough hand. That soft, small one was my most beloved Mom's hand.
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"Mom, teach me how to make medicine."
The child who always played outside until evening came back today even though it was still early afternoon.
The basket on his back was filled with twice as many herbs as usual, clearly looking heavy. Even though her son is sturdy, knowing it would be tough for a child's body, she hurriedly took the basket off.
"How to make it? What medicine?"
"The medicine I use."
"I don't mind, but why suddenly?"
"I just felt like learning."
The child stared intently as I put ingredients into the familiar mortar. What to use, what to put in first, how much to grind—he engraved it all into those burning red eyes.
My child is a bit mischievous but mature for his age. Fortunately, he didn't inherit his mother's sickliness, and though his somewhat small stature worries me, he has a healthy body inherited from his father. Not violent, kind-hearted, with clear will of his own, able to think with his own head and act—a proud son.
"Here, try doing it like Mom did."
"Okay."
"Pulling the pestle is unexpectedly hard on the arms, isn't it?"
"Yeah, it's heavier than I thought."
"...The clouds are thick today, so you could go out and play."
"It's fine. I want to make medicine. Mom, what's next?"
But my son's vigor might be him overdoing it to not cause worry since I'm in this state. If that's the case, then I'm pathetic for making such a small child act mature.
The child makes the medicine exactly as I did. Silently grinding herbs while enduring the smell he'd normally complain about, I desperately hold back tears that nearly spill from guilt behind my child's back.
"I'll make the basic ointment."
"Huh? No. If you teach me, I can do it."
"No. It uses fire so it's dangerous for you."
Letting the complaint of "Aww~ I said I can do it!" flow behind me, I put the medicine pot on the fire.
"You mustn't touch fire. I told you if you play with fire, you'll wet the bed at night."
"That's a superstition~? It's fine, my bladder isn't that weak, it's like the Kurobe Dam."
"...…(smirks)"
"Eek scary that meaningful smile is scary don't do it nothing is scarier than a beauty's silent smile Mom do you not know your own face??"
For this eloquent child, smiling silently works best. The son who sensed eeriness in his mother's smile hurriedly withdrew his hand that was about to play with the hearth fire. How fortunate he listens well.
"Well, I know Mom worries because I'm still young. But if you just keep away from dangerous things, when you actually need it, you can't react to danger. …It's not like Mom can stay by my side forever, right?"
A small voice that seems like it might disappear sticks into my back. Ah, as I thought, this child heard last night's conversation.
I wondered when I saw tear stains on his sleeping face. Not enough that my coughing woke him, only sadness deepens at my own inadequacy that gives him such anxiety too.
Trying to turn around and make an excuse telling him not to worry, but I couldn't say anything before the child frowning and looking up at me. Clutching my kimono hem, shoulders trembling, I couldn't possibly tell lies that would only be temporary comfort to the child desperately trying to hold back tears.
If my body had been a little stronger, or if I could have given birth to this child with the same color as other children, would something have been different? If I'm alive, I can be by his side. If he had black hair and black eyes, he could live mixed among people without being hated by anyone.
I can't forget my mother-in-law's face when this child was born. The voice cursing 'Giving birth to such a thing is your fault' revives right in my ear. Only my husband protected me. Everyone pointed fingers. I was even stoned.
Because my child, despised just for being different from others, is so pitiful and I'm so sorry. So I tried to love and cherish this child as much as others would, but with a body suffering from illness, even that didn't go as intended.
This body's weakness, this child's hair and eye color, the weak skin—all of it is my fault. If I, if I had been more proper, this child―――.
"Mom, I'm okay."
What pulled up my heart about to sink into a torrent was a tearful voice.
"I'm much more reliable than Mom thinks. I might make mistakes sometimes, but I'll try not to let my guard down from now on. Dad and I can get along well by ourselves too."
The child who usually smiled brightly like a sunflower or the sun was now making a contorted face.
"Others may look with strange eyes, but I like this hair and these eyes. Mom praised them as pretty so they're my pride. When my skin hurts from touching the sun, it's hard, but since there's medicine Mom made, it's okay. There's not a single thing for Mom to be sorry about."
That wasn't pretending to be strong for me, who aches at the thought of leaving this child behind.
"It'll be lonely if Mom disappears. Really sad. At first I'll just cry thinking of Mom, and even when I grow up I'll cry remembering Mom, but when that happens, I want the Mom I remember to have a smiling face. Not a sorry face, I like a smiling Mom."
The words continuing while holding back tears were terribly clear and forward-looking. Unlike me, suffering and sad, only bowing my head, this child is trying to raise his head. Trying to live on.
"So don't worry. You can rest assured, Mom."
I couldn't help but hug this child shedding tears with an awkward smile. Since I could no longer say 'I'm sorry,' I kept saying 'Thank you.' Over and over again, hugging my son, the two of us cried bitterly.
Now that I've shed all the tears I'll shed in my lifetime, then, when parting with my child, let's fall asleep with a smiling face.
So he won't feel sad when remembering me, let's keep smiling until I die.
I resolved that, but.
But then.
"If you follow me, I'll let you live."
The resolution I made was shaken by that single sentence.