With a roar, Tanjiro burst into the room, axe raised high, bracing himself for a desperate battle against a demon.
He had expected blood.
He had expected horror.
In his mind, he had already seen it—the cruel slaughter of his mother and sister, their bodies broken, their warmth extinguished. The mere thought had been enough to send his heart into a frenzy. And yet, the moment he crossed the threshold, the scene before him struck him so completely off guard that his mind seemed to stall, unable to process what his eyes were seeing.
His mother stood by the hearth, tending to something warm as the faint, comforting aroma of food drifted through the room. Nezuko knelt quietly on the tatami, safe and unharmed, her posture as gentle as ever. At the head of the room sat a man, composed and unhurried, lifting a teacup to his lips with quiet elegance. Beside him lingered a delicate-looking girl, her presence soft and unobtrusive.
Nothing was broken. Nothing was stained with blood.
Everything was peaceful—so peaceful that it felt unreal.
For a fleeting moment, Tanjiro was pulled backward in time, to days long past. Perhaps it was the exhaustion weighing on his body, or the sheer shock of such a reversal, but the man seated there seemed to blur with another figure in his memory.
His father.
Once, when his father was still alive, their home had been like this. After finishing his work, his father would sit inside, sipping tea in quiet contentment. His mother would move about the house, tending to her tasks, while Nezuko stayed close, her laughter soft and bright. Those had been warm days—days filled with a simple, unspoken happiness.
But this man…
This man was not his father.
He was—
A demon.
The demon lifted his teacup and took a slow sip before nodding toward Tanjiro, as if greeting someone returning from an ordinary day. His voice, when he spoke, was gentle—far too gentle.
"Tanjiro, you're back."
It was as though the raised axe in Tanjiro's hands did not exist at all.
As though he were not facing a human-eating monster, but someone as mild and familiar as his father once had been.
Tanjiro stood frozen, the axe trembling faintly in his grip. After a moment, he lowered it in confusion, his voice faltering.
"You… you…"
He meant to say demon, but the word caught in his throat. Instead, what came out was a strained, uncertain question.
"What are you doing in my house?"
"Just came to take a look," the man replied calmly. Then, with an easy motion, he gestured to the space beside him. "Come, sit."
Tanjiro hesitated, his fingers still wrapped tightly around the handle of his axe.
"What? Do you think holding that will let you kill me?" the demon said lightly, turning the teacup in his hand as he regarded Tanjiro with faint amusement. "Or are you planning to try cutting me down again?"
Something in his tone—neither threatening nor mocking, but strangely casual—eased the tension in Tanjiro's chest.
Almost without thinking, he set the axe aside and stepped forward, lowering himself to sit beside the demon.
The moment he settled, the questions surged back.
"Why did you come here?"
But instead of answering, the demon reached for the teapot and poured a cup of tea, placing it in front of Tanjiro.
"You ran all the way back, didn't you?" he said. "You must be thirsty. Have some."
The simple gesture left Tanjiro utterly at a loss.
He had never imagined a demon like this—never thought he would face one who spoke so gently, who acted with such quiet consideration.
His movements stiff, almost mechanical, he accepted the cup. After a brief hesitation, he lifted it and drank.
"It looks like you've had a hard day," the demon murmured, almost to himself. "With Mr. Tanjuro gone, the whole burden of the family rests on your shoulders now. That's a heavy responsibility… You must be exhausted, Tanjiro."
The words struck deeper than any blade.
Tanjiro pressed his lips together tightly. For days, he had carried everything alone—working, enduring, never once complaining. No matter how bitter the cold or how heavy the load, he had borne it willingly, without a single tear.
But now—
Now, from a stranger.
No—from a demon.
A simple sentence of concern.
And suddenly, something inside him cracked.
The exhaustion, the pressure, the quiet loneliness he had refused to acknowledge—it all surged upward at once, spilling into his chest until it felt too full to contain.
He tilted his head back quickly, refusing to let the tears fall.
The boy's stubborn defiance, so fragile and so transparent, was almost enough to make one smile.
"…What exactly do you want?"
It took him a long moment to steady himself before he spoke again. And when he did, the sharp hostility that had filled his voice before had faded, softened without him even realizing it.
"That can wait," Soma said with a slight shake of his head.
His gaze shifted toward the woman standing by the hearth—Kamado Kie—who had been glancing over with barely concealed worry. Smiling gently, he asked, "Lady Kie, is the meal ready?"
"Y-yes… it's ready."
Her reply came hurriedly, her voice tinged with unease.
"Then I'll trouble you to bring some over first."
"Ah… yes."
Flustered, she quickly ladled a portion of chicken from the small pot and hurried across the room, presenting the bowl with both hands in a gesture of careful respect.
Soma accepted it, only to pass it along to Tanjiro.
"You must be starving by now. Eat first."
Tanjiro stared at the bowl, clearly caught off guard. Never, not even in his most far-fetched imaginings, had he considered that a demon would hand him food—much less something as warm and fragrant as this.
If the demon had smashed the bowl to the ground, or hurled it at his head, he might have found that easier to accept. That, at least, would have aligned with everything he believed demons to be.
But this… this quiet kindness left him utterly unprepared.
As Soma nudged the bowl a little closer, Tanjiro seemed to snap back to himself. He accepted it cautiously, though he made no move to eat.
"Lady Kie, please bring out the rest of the dishes," Soma continued, turning his attention elsewhere. "Nezuko, go call your younger siblings. Everyone should come and eat together."
There was something almost natural in the way he spoke—so natural that, before anyone could question it, they simply obeyed.
Perhaps it was the succession of calm instructions, or perhaps it was the strange steadiness in his tone, but without realizing it, the household had begun to move at his direction.
Soon, Kie returned with the rest of the meal, carefully arranging the dishes. Nezuko followed, ushering in her younger brothers and sisters, their faces still pale with lingering fear.
It was as though this demon had, somehow, taken the seat at the center of the home.
The children knew what he was—knew he was a demon—and yet, as they stepped inside, their unease wavered. The rich aroma of food filled the air, warm and inviting, and their eyes drifted instinctively toward the dishes laid out before them.
For a family that struggled daily just to get by, a meal with chicken was something that belonged to distant memory. Unconsciously, they swallowed, their throats tightening with both hunger and anticipation.
Even so, they remained well-mannered, the result of Kie's careful upbringing. Despite their fear, despite their longing, they did not reach out recklessly.
"Go on," Soma said softly. "Eat."
The children hesitated, glancing toward their mother.
Kie, in turn, lifted her eyes nervously toward the demon. When she saw him nod—still wearing that same gentle expression—something in her finally eased. She quickly motioned for the children to sit.
"Come, all of you. Eat while it's hot."
Soma himself only picked up a single piece—a chicken drumstick—which he placed into Kanao's bowl before asking, almost casually, "Is there any sake?"
"Yes—yes, there is."
Kie rose at once, as though the question alone carried weight. "I'll… I'll go get it right away."
Before long, she returned with a small jug. It was nothing particularly fine, but Soma didn't seem to mind. He poured himself a cup, unhurried and at ease.
Noticing that everyone was still watching him, he gave a faint, reassuring smile.
"Eat."
Only then did the family begin to eat.
At first, their movements were cautious, but gradually, as they saw their mother, Nezuko, and Tanjiro all seated together—and the demon showing no sign of hostility—the tension began to dissolve.
Hanako, Takeo, and Shigeru soon ate with quiet delight. It had been so long since they had tasted meat, and the simple joy of it showed in every bite.
Tanjiro held his bowl in both hands, watching them.
Watching his siblings eat with such innocent happiness.
Watching his family gathered together like this.
For a moment, his thoughts drifted, and his vision blurred—not from tears, but from something deeper, something more elusive.
It had been so long… so very long… since they had all sat together like this, sharing a proper meal.
And now, once again, they were gathered, smiling, eating together as a family.
Only…
There was one difference.
Among them sat a demon.
And yet…
Perhaps…
He was not quite as frightening as he ought to be.