The train came to a stop.
Urokodaki stepped down, his body feeling even older than before. A Kakushi was already waiting nearby. He boarded a carriage, which took him straight to the Rengoku family estate.
White mourning cloth hung at the entrance.
The once lively Rengoku household had fallen into silence.
The wind was a little cold.
Memories surfaced in Urokodaki's mind—joining the Demon Slayer Corps with Shinjuro, hunting demons side by side. That fiery spirit of his… it felt as if it were still right before his eyes.
"Urokodaki-senpai…"
After hearing that his father's old friend had arrived, Senjuro hurried out to greet him.
Inside the memorial hall, Urokodaki offered incense to Shinjuro.
He stood there quietly, looking at his old friend lying before him, saying nothing.
…
Mount Sagiri.
Makomo stood in a newly opened field, staring blankly ahead.
It was a field meant for flowers.
"What are you thinking about?"
A gentle voice sounded beside her.
Makomo turned her head.
Soma walked over, carrying a jug of sake, a warm smile on his face. Under the sunlight, his smile felt comforting.
"…Nothing." Makomo turned away again, continuing to look at the empty field.
"I heard from Urokodaki-san that Makomo likes flowers the most."
Soma stood beside her, looking at the field with her. Seeds had just been planted—there was not even a hint of green yet.
"Sensei told you that too…?" Her voice sounded low.
"Yeah. He told me a lot about you. After all, he cares about you very much."
The girl lowered her head, her mood growing heavier.
"…You already know, don't you?"
Soma looked at her and sighed softly.
Makomo said nothing.
But she grew even more silent.
"People are like this. There's no way around it. That's why… you have to live well. Live as long as you can."
As he spoke, he poured a cup of sake and handed it to her.
"I told you before—after the Final Selection, we'd drink together."
Makomo turned back, looking at the cup.
She reached out and took it, then lifted her mask, revealing her delicate face.
She pressed her lips together slightly—and drank it all.
There were no snacks, no food to go with it.
Soma and Makomo simply sat on the edge of the field, watching the faint mist in the distance glow under the light of the setting sun.
Makomo wasn't in a good mood.
She didn't hold back as she drank, and her tolerance wasn't strong. Before long, she was already a little drunk.
When she finally fell asleep, Soma carried her back to their home.
Looking at the tears sliding from the corners of her eyes even in her drunken state, Soma understood.
She already knew.
She knew about her master… and she likely understood that Urokodaki would not have much time left.
After laying her on the bed and tucking her in, Soma stepped outside and looked at the now-dark Mount Sagiri.
Because he had brought up the Bright Red Nichirin Sword, the Mark, and the Transparent World…
It led to Urokodaki awakening the Mark.
If he had never mentioned those things, perhaps Urokodaki would not have awakened it.
And maybe Makomo would not be this sad today.
In truth, from the moment he mentioned the Mark, he already knew—
With Urokodaki's personality, he would definitely try it for the sake of the next generation.
He had expected this outcome.
Because of his actions, Makomo was now in pain.
And yet here he was, acting concerned for her.
At this moment, even he felt that his kindness was fake.
…
The Rengoku Estate.
After paying his respects to his old friend, Urokodaki examined Shinjuro's broken Nichirin Sword.
From it, he could still smell the presence of a demon.
He lightly stroked the hilt of his own blade at his waist. His eyes, which had grown cloudy with age, were now incredibly sharp—bright as the reflection of light off a polished blade.
Before leaving, Urokodaki patted Senjuro on the shoulder and stepped out the door.
Walking into the lively town, feeling the warmth and bustle of human life—
A faint smile appeared on his lips.
And in that moment, he inhaled lightly…
The scent of a demon was faint—but not impossible to follow.
It seemed that after killing Shinjuro Rengoku, the demon hadn't even tried to flee. Perhaps, in its eyes, even a Hashira was nothing special—so why bother running?
"Upper Rank Three…"
Urokodaki rested his hand lightly on the hilt of his Nichirin Sword and followed the scent in silence.
He walked past the town and into the wilderness. The demon's scent grew stronger and stronger.
Finally—
He stopped before a cave at the base of a mountain.
Even without entering, he could hear dull, heavy sounds echoing from within—like something repeatedly striking the stone walls.
Urokodaki looked up.
The sun was setting. Night was about to fall.
He lowered his head, took the gourd at his waist, and drank deeply.
In the past, he rarely drank.
But he had picked up the habit from that boy… and gradually grew to like it.
Thinking of him, Urokodaki couldn't help but reflect.
That boy was quite good.
The only thing unsettling about him was how deep his thoughts seemed. On the surface, he appeared gentle—but underneath, he was as cold as ice.
That was what Urokodaki sensed… through his sense of smell.
Taking another drink, he tossed the gourd aside and stepped into the cave.
Aside from the constant dull sounds of impact, everything around him was silent.
The deeper he went, the stronger the demon's scent became.
The deeper he went, the darker it grew—
Until no trace of sunlight remained.
He lit a torch and continued forward.
At last, in the depths of the cave—
He saw it.
A demon, striking the stone wall over and over again.
A demon that seemed to be training itself without rest.
Never tiring.
Always seeking to grow stronger.
The moment he saw it, Urokodaki understood—
Shinjuro had not died in vain.
"Boom!"
Another punch slammed into the stone wall.
Akaza stopped.
He turned his head and looked at Urokodaki.
"I thought you'd try to ambush me," he said casually. "Like that swordsman I killed not long ago."
Urokodaki said nothing.
He slowly drew his Nichirin Sword—
A blade that had not been unsheathed for a long time since his retirement.
"I can feel that you are much stronger than the swordsman I just killed. I like that."
Akaza licked his lips, his eyes shining with excitement.
"I love fighting strong opponents like you. Every time, it makes my blood race."
"But… you're too old."
He tilted his head slightly.
"Why not become a demon? Then we could fight forever. Together, we could reach that highest realm."
"Become a demon, just like me."
Urokodaki leaned down and thrust the torch into the ground beside him. Under the flickering light, the aged eyes beneath the tengu mask were revealed.
At this moment, the fire reflected in them.
The old man's knees bent slightly. He held his blade level with his brow and stood there silently. He looked at the Akaza across from him, his eyes filled with a strange pity.
"Become a demon?"
"I have never once considered becoming such a tragic creature."
"A pitiful and sorrowful being… one that forgets everything from its past—even the things it once wanted to protect."
"A monster that knows only how to grow stronger."
Akaza stood there casually.
He had no interest in such meaningless words—anything that had nothing to do with strength meant nothing to him.
The torch crackled as it burned.
Akaza raised his fists, waiting eagerly for the old man to attack.
In the firelight, Urokodaki continued to look at him with pity.
Then—
He spoke again.
"…Hakuji."
"Do you still remember… a girl named Koyuki?"