Never once has it been said that the only demons in the world are in Japan.
And never once has it been said that the only demon slayers in the world are in Japan.
Although the Ubuyashiki leadership would have you believe otherwise…
This here organisation should have won the war against the infidel one-thousand years ago.
17th of April 1916
A telegram from Rome:
'Every demon in Catholic Europe has been eliminated.'
"Our counterparts in Europe have won their war. But look at us. How did we get this way? How did we fall so far?"
Tetsuo Morinaga could not sleep. He levied the weight of his body in the armchair, and occasionally he would allow the arm that held the envelope to slump, then he too would sink into the dimension between dreaming and wakefulness, but this was a falsehood. He could not sleep, and neither would the man next to him.
"It's the bureaucracy," the man replied. He was standing. "The corruption. The complacency. Things like the two-day rule. The election of men like Nen Kusakabe. The veneration of men like Ubuyashiki Kanata. The tolerance of men like Shinjuro Rengoku."
"It was rhetorical. Do not repeat my dirty remarks," Morinaga said. "Though we have met in secret, God is always there. And even God has a loose tongue when it suits him."
"Funny, because you were never religious."
Nevertheless, the man apologised. He was tall, bold, and had an authenticity in his ways that his handsome face would never hide. This made him enemy to many, but because of his relative youth he was fan-favourite of the juniors that had no cause to love the lofty higher-ups who ordered them into the drooling jaws of the adversary. He had just turned twenty-six, and had begun his fourth annual term as a Hashira of the Japanese Demon Slayers. He examined Morinaga's paleness and questioned it.
"It's worry. But it's not because of Miyamoto," Morinaga said. "I worry every day for her, but I know how strong she is. Lower Moon One is no match, and that's not what's keeping me up."
"Then speak," the man said. "Otherwise you'll never be rid of it."
"Someday this world will crumble," Morinaga went on. "And because of the path of fighting that has been chosen for us… we will be the makers of its misery."
"Second thoughts about it?" the man replied. "I used to have them, too."
"And what made them stop?"
"They never did. I just resisted them."
Morinaga affirmed the man, stood up for the first time, and opened the shutter and looked out onto the wide world. His dictation was spirited.
"Soon I'll kill them all, Yoneda. Every one of those monsters. But first comes the monsters of humanity."
18th of April 1916
In another part of Japan.
Giyuu's POV
Now a musical sound came from downstairs. A generic orchestral tune, that rose through the parched surfaces of the tatami mats to become cracked. Before I pinpointed the source, I speculated that I'd left my gramophone on. To listen to my music in the night was a newfound habit and falling asleep to it was common occurrence. When I realised that was not the case I went downstairs and saw it: the future perpetrator of a modern age I would never reach, a radio.
First I noticed the stature of it. Huge, like a stone, but fashioned out of wood and metal mesh and cut into a civilised rectangular shape. Bent over it was Shinobu, fiddling with indistinct knobs and dials that did things like change 'volume' and adjust 'frequency, whatever those meant. Behind her was Kanae, sending out orders. It was set in the dead middle of the lounge and took up an awkward portion of it that negotiated us to sidestep if we were to pass it. Watching over it all was Tsubone. She noticed me, and spoke.
"Morning," Tsubone said, and she pointed to the contraption. "It's one of those talking boxes we keep hearing about. Ray-dee-oh. It sounded interesting, so I ordered one. Just arrived today, but we can't get it to work. And look how un-feng shui this room has become."
…A sign of prosperity, to be able afford anything electrical in those days straight off the payroll. But Hashira were well-paid, and Tsubone made a point of never being stingy with her fortune. She enjoyed the inventive era and was always one to splurge on its coinages.
"This damn–" Shinobu was saying. The sisters hadn't noted me. "How do I change the sound? This music is sickening."
"The manual says… you have to tune to frequencies…?" Kanae replied. She held a newspaper in her hands. "The paper's got a list of frequencies. Go to this one at the top. 94.5. That's the news. Turn that dial. No, the other way."
The sound would gurgle, but the signal held on. This frustrated the sisters immensely, though they persisted.
"We'll let them be for now," Tsubone whispered to me. "I've got business, and I want you to come with."
"What business?"
"A delinquent man named Shinjuro Rengoku needs educating," she said. "And I want you to see the teaching process."
煉獄 槇寿郎
Rengoku Shinjuro
"purgatory, longevity"
The moderate estate of moss-green tiling and grey masonry rose from the parallel floor of the hill we mounted, and we were there: the famed Rengoku property, purportedly hundreds of years old, both in lineage and building.
By then I had already accumulated enough knowledge to know who the Rengoku people were; that through every generation they'd contributed high-quality Hashirato Ubuyashiki's army, so on, so forth, but their feats did not impress me immensely. History was history and I would never idolise someone because of the amount of it they wore on their shoulders. Yet I always had the thought in the deepest labyrinths of e that whoever the Rengoku patriarch was would be a person worthy of my respect. Maybe it was the cool name, or the invisible successes that I always used to hear of, or something deeper, and perhaps many have thought the same of me only to invariably be disappointed. I wouldn't know. I didn't need to know; only that the smashing of the illusion would come soon.
Tsubone went to the door and knocked. Aside from the imposing lion statues and us, there was no-one. A while went by, and when there was no answer Tsubone knocked again. I tried to propose that nobody was home, but she refused: because there "always was." On the third note the shutter finally opened, and a little boy was there.
"Hello, Senjuro," Tsubone said. She had leaned down and was pleasant. "We've come to see your father."
His eyes flicked across us, he stammered something, then: "He's not home." He looked awfully anxious.
"Then your brother, at least," Tsubone reasoned.
"He's not home either."
"Still, may we come inside?"
Senjuro glanced around again. He made a point of standing in the centre of the doorway, but slowly moved back when his conclusion must've been made.
Tsubone thanked him, and we stepped inside. The dark house was permeated with a sour smell, and in the lobby and beyond were numerous lonely tables that held picture frames with no photos in them. It was surreal so that only the automatic tap of a clock in the corner told me that time still passed. As we went by, Senjuro refused to meet my eyes. A pallid child with an incompatibly fierce appearance, he bore the temperance of someone accustomed to being wallflower by choice of others. He went in front of Tsubone and stopped her from going down the parallel hall.
"…He's not here. There's no use going there." He pointed to the other adjacent corridor. "Do you want some tea in the garden, rather?"
"No, Senjuro," Tsubone said quickly. "Stop this now. It'll only pain you more."
Immediately, defeat drew on his face. His head fell further down, and from that limited top-down profile I could regardless discern his anguish. Tsubone embraced Senjuro and handed him some money.
"Have a day at that bookshop you like, or anywhere, but don't stay here. Only come back when you're sure your father's mood has cleared up." And Senjuro would skittle away for parts unknown, and the Rengoku estate would be silent once again.
A whisper of advice from Tsubone, in the hallway:
"Rather, Giyuu, stay in the hall, and listen from there."
"How come?"
"It's human nature. Adults don't like to see themselves be 'belittled' in front of children. A matter of ego, that we're all guilty of."
I found a broad enough cranny to look into the room and not be seen in return, and Tsubone went forth.
To Tsubone's lukewarm greeting, Shinjuro Rengoku, splayed on the floor before his open window, would continue so for seven minutes and thirty seconds until his response came. In an old voice ground by stone:
"Why're you here?"
"You're cruel, Shinjuro, to greet your benevolent senior like that." She said it as lightly as she could. "And who says I have to be here with a reason?"
Shinjuro did not reply, nor turn around for her. Tsubone looked around and tried to hide her tarnishment when she saw the empty bottles by her feet, and she went closer to Shinjuro. I realised that was the start of the smell; the overbearing scent of wine.
"Still, there is a reason…" Tsubone said. "The meeting yesterday. Where were you?"
"I thought I'd been terminated, already," was the reply.
"No, because I advocated for you at the last meeting. I said that they should give you one more chance to appear at the next. But you didn't. Why not?"
Shinjuro rolled around half-way, but his long, violent hair hid the part of his face that faced me. He said that Tsubone knew why, and turned back.
"I do?" She feigned confusion. "But don't you know, too? Or don't you have enough courage to say it out loud?"
This struck something in Shinjuro. He snapped around and wiped the hair out of his face. He had eyes that shone like fire in the patio-light, but not in the beautiful way, and he looked brutal and was unshaven. Tsubone continued.
"Don't you get sick down here in dystopia, Shinjuro? I'm tired of seeing it. Your sons are tired of being pulled into it."
"It's none of your concern, Tsubone," he said. "Now leave." Despite the power he put in his words he would not look into her eyes. Tsubone went closer.
"How long has it been since Ruka died?" she asked, and who was Ruka? She answered herself. "Six years. And six years you've been like this. Wallowing in… this misery, or whatever it's supposed to be after so long. Move on, already."
Tsubone kneeled and then she produced the ultimate inquiry: "Imagine what your sons see when they look at you."
Shinjuro made a defiant expression, and dared Tsubone. "You tell me, then, if you already have such a shit opinion of me."
"A weak man." She did not hesitate. "A small man who drinks in his room all day and drowns himself in the swamps of the past. Who shuns his children because of his own demons. See yourself, and know that I'm not the only one to have this opinion. Know that your sons are slowly starting to think the same way."
"How far you've come, to tell me what is already obvious," Shinjuro replied. "Fine. I've seen the light now. I'm no longer useless. I'll pick up the sword tomorrow and attend your meeting and suck off Kusakabe or whatever he wants me to do. I'll become the greatest man in the world, for the sake of those children."
Now Tsubone was fuming. She snatched Shinjuro by the collar and pulled him to her height. There was a pause as her internal dial fluctuated between her rationality and her emotion, and the latter won out and she threw him against the parallel wall with power that was surprising from so tiny a body. Shinjuro gathered himself and sat up straight but did not stand.
"This demon-slaying job's a curse," he said. "You know that better than me. But you still bow." He corrected his shirt.
"It's not about that," Tsubone snarled. "You are one of few people in this organisation who has and will ever be blessed with the joy of children. And yet you throw it away. Yes, it's partly true what you said. This life's a curse. A curse you were forced into because of your lineage, but your sons too, remember! And don't lie to yourself by saying that you reject them because you want them in turn to reject the curse that you embody to them, and maybe they would be saved from a demon-slaying death. It's bullshit. They will only work harder, hoping to get some recognition from father dearest. And if they die in this process? They will have died feeling unloved, and you will live on with regret like none before. And if they live? If you continue this way until they become men, then with maturity they will understand the minor circumstances of their father's condition, and wonder why because of such a thing he gave up on raising them. Your wife is dead. So what? Her death pained them far more than you, but you were not there. Move on, before you lose everything."
"…Who am I to care?" Shinjuro gave his final reply, and even to me it was a stupid mentality. "Our powers and paths are decided for us from birth, and they've already reached their limit. If they die, they die."
It dazed Tsubone. Then her neutral expression returned and she was deadly impassive.
"Know, Shinjuro," was her ultimatum, "that your wife in heaven has just heard what you've said, and is barging on the inside of her coffin because you refuse to let her soul rest. But it won't open, because your useless ego weighs down on the lid. Fix things with your sons. I couldn't care less about your being at the meeting."
Tsubone kicked away a bottle, and went to the door. "Fix it now," she imparted, and left. For the rest of the while I stared through the nook Shinjuro did not move from his place against the wall.
Next on dear Tsubone's agenda…
A wordless walk back.
A detour, and halfway there.
Going to Miyamoto's office?
Then:
"Are you angry, Tsubone?" I asked.
"Nah," she said. "Ain't worth it to get emotional over such things."
"But the way you acted…"
"I was faking it. Faking the emotion, to scare Shinjuro. Or, I mean…" She thought about it. "Yes, what I put out there is how I really feel. But Shinjuro's been like this for so long I've lost the ability to get excited. So I have to… 'bring it out', maybe."
"You have history?" I asked.
"With both him and his wife. That's right. I haven't told you about her. That's the Ruka person I kept bringing up. She was my one of greatest friends. Shinjuro, not so much, but he looked… looks up to me. In fact, I was the one to pair the two together." She looked proud saying it. "But now things have collapsed, as you've seen. A truest shame."
We were now standing before a granny flat of sorts, linked to the rest of the world by a single dirt path and part of Miyamoto's small office complex; we were standing before it. There was unintelligible noise coming from the inside, and no sign to designate what. Miyamoto was not back from her mission yet and so I found it strange. I asked where we were, and why we were here.
"The information hub of the demon slayers," Tsubone said. "Where our crows come for our orders, where anything else info and statistic related calls home. And I've been requested here to receive a telegram, all the way from Europe."
Inside, a fleeting mess of Kakushi, birds, and paper. I stepped in and was slapped with a wave of wet heat. It was dark and balmy and suffocating. A man, not much taller than Tsubone, came to her and took off his headdress for respect, then spoke.
"Goo'day, ma'am Tsubone." He bowed. "Nice weather, ain't it?" The temperature sucked the breath out of him, and he spoke in half-words.
"Goto," she replied. "Open a window in here, or something."
He would, but it did not help. No-one but him noticed our swinging by; too absorbed in refilling their pens or writing letters or refilling their pens so that they could go on writing letters, the like. It looked a hellish work environment. Goto handed Tsubone her telegram envelope, left her to read it in the corner, and wiped the oil off his face and came to me.
"New boy. Tomioka? Tomioka Gi…" He gave his hand to me. I took it. "Actually, good timing–"
He hobbled to what was presumably his desk and took a paper and pen.
"How do I spell your name? One u, or two? Or a u with a line on top? I need it for records."
I thought for a moment. "Well, are you an anime watcher or manga reader?"
"Manga."
"And how correct do you need to be?"
"Being correct is subjective."
"Then with two u's," I said. "That's how I'd spell it."
He nodded and wrote it down. He took out a dossier from under his table and transcribed it there. While doing so, he talked to me.
"This record-taking operation's been going on for only five years. Since 'eleven. Started by chairman Morinaga's say. Crazy, huh? I don't know how we managed to keep track before that," he said. "Back in the day it was only the Hashira who had their history written down. Now that the switch has been made… it's so much more work."
"Looks like it, yeah."
"But a few months ago we got a telegram installed. I pushed for it, and the brass finally gave in. It's so cool!" He snickered and pointed. On his desk and rising out of an inordinate velvet box, a hinged bar with a paddle on one end for pressing, and an earphone on a stand. MORSE was embossed all around. A cable ran out of it to disappear beneath the footwork of the workers. I asked where the line went to.
"Rome, London, Kaifeng… think Cape Town and Calcutta, too. We used to have one to Berlin, but the Germans must've cut it."
All around the world, hmm? This would interest Shinobu far more than me, so I opted to bring her here soon, if Tsubone hadn't. Though –
"Why so many?"
"They're where the headquarters of other branches of the demon slayers are," Goto explained. The bubble I had was burst, and it occurred to me that demons, being augments of humanity, would naturally retain our want to travel… or perhaps the want to flee the long nails of persecution. So intuitively they'd drift across the world, and intuitively the men already there would combat them.
"Rome for Catholic Europe, and their colonies or old colonies," Goto went on. "London for Protestant Europe… and the rest of Britain's empire with sub-HQ's in Cape Town and Calcutta. Kaifeng for China. Though, it really is a lot more complicated than that. And it's not good to say they're 'branches of us'. Most arose as separate organisations, who we eventually encountered…"
"Well…" I tried to sort the jargon and the fact. "Which one's the most powerful?"
The Catholics, Goto said, because they had the most people, government and church recognition, and were highly motivated because they'd decreed demons to be the enemies of God.
"And the weakest?" I asked next.
A delay, then:
"…Us."
It was an interesting lecture on our otherworldly counterparts, but it had come to its close. Tsubone was there then. She dangled the open envelope in her fingers and her eyes wore the broadening of shock. She scanned the paper in her hand one more time, and turned it around for us to see:
'Every demon in Catholic Europe has been eliminated.'
"Ma'am Tsubone–" Goto pursued us on the way out. "Should I relay this victory info to anyone else?"
"Well, does anyone besides me already know?" she replied.
Goto dipped his head down. "Only Morinaga, since he's chairman. Actually, only he's supposed to know. But I thought it would be fitting to tell you also."
It was a demonstration of the vast respect the common man held for Tsubone, among many I'd already witnessed in my year-long tenure under her.
"Then don't let this out," Tsubone said. "I know Tetsuo won't. You too, Giyuu."
"How come–"
"There'll be upheaval if this is caught wind of. Our people are already disillusioned. We can't risk it. Don't tell Kanae or Shinobu, neither."
"Upheaval? Disillusioned? Why?" I'd never heard of this. Nevertheless, I would not be answered. Goto handed Tsubone another paper with a big smile and huddled in the corner. She went over it a few, then asked what it was.
"A popularity poll," he explained proudly. "For the Hashira. Revised version." To think of it, I remembered participating in something like that a while ago. Via the crow.
"What? Didn't I tell you to stop this thing?" Tsubone replied. "This serves no purpose other than to spur competition."
"Yes, I know…" Goto murmured. "But I couldn't help it! One last time! No, second last time. I still want to do one more if Miss Miyamoto makes the cut."
Miss Miyamoto. This was an awfully reverent man.
"One last time, you said, last time. Second last time you say this time." Tsubone gave the paper back. "Fine, but don't make the results public."
"An okay requisite." Goto nodded. "But at least does Giyuu want to have a look?"
I said that I did, and took it when Tsubone's refute did not come. When I was finished I gave it back and accompanied Tsubone for the rest of her day.
Favourite Hashira Poll 1916!
by REN GOTO of the KAKUSHI INFORMATION BRANCH
Yoneda Magase
290 votes (37%)
Tsubone Endou
196 votes (25%)
Tetsuo Morinaga
164 votes (21%)
Niten Ittōsai
50 votes (6%)
Gyoumei Himejima
36 votes (4%)
Yokota Ryo
19 votes (3%)
Tomita Jurou
18 votes (3%)
Shinjuro Rengoku
1 vote (~1%)
Voter turnout: 782/784 (excluding Hashira)
That night, at Akuma Ramen, Tetsuo Morinaga again.
"You're still here?" I asked. Hashira only convened for the bi-annual meeting and were expected to continue their assignments around the country otherwise, and so it was strange to me.
"Tsubone and I are assigned to different regions… but neighbouring regions. And HQ Hiroshima happens to be in the middle of these. So we're both based here. It's a real privileged life, you agree?"
Morinaga finished his noodles and cleansed his tongue with ginger, then waited for my answer.
"Much better than when I wasn't a Tsuguko," I replied.
It's true, he murmured, and toasted me. There was a coyness in his eyes when he raised his tea.
"The common man, Giyuu, in this demon slaying organisation…" Morinaga went on. "You think they're happy with things? Their wage. Their treatment. Kusakabe. Ubuyashiki. Try to remember if you were happy, back in the day."
"I didn't think much about it… but, I guess… if I was still like that now, I wouldn't be."
"You see?" Morinaga's point had been satisfied. "Implant that thought into 784 of our people out there on the field, and you have a lot of disgruntled grunts. Now… if you numbered among them, would you be in want of a better life?"
"Of course."
"And how would you get that life?"
"I… don't know," I said. "I'd work hard to rank up and get more pay."
"But the pay increases with rank are barely incremental. People all through Mizunoto to Kinoe basically live the same way. So what'll you do?"
"Then I'd…" I felt pathetic saying it. "I'd just suck it up. I didn't join for money, anyway."
"That's the thing!" Morinaga was suddenly fervent. "Most joined for hate of demons, not for money. So they don't care how much they get. They don't care how we treat them. Meaning, we are free to exploit their passion. And we do. It's a fact, Giyuu, and don't tell anyone I've told you this: although the government doesn't recognise us officially, it's only because we pay them to keep it that way. That's where the money for the wages goes."
"What?" It seemed counter-intuitive to me. "Why? Isn't it better if we have their support?"
"Our government's paranoid. They don't like anything other than the army and kenpeitai to run around with weapons. Especially not swords, after the Satsuma Rebellion scare they had. So we pay certain officials to turn a blind eye to our goings. That's the 'bribes' Kusakabe was talking about yesterday. And we have to be discreet about it, for their sake and ours."
"It's that easy?" I said. "Just give them money and they let us off?"
"Not easy, just the befuddling penumbra of human nature. Enough money trumps everything. Though not 'right', it's convenient. To be honest, the government can't be bothered to give a flying shit about demons. They're too small a 'thing'… in the grander scheme of other 'things'… empire, westernisation, power, whatever. That's also why they ignored us for so long. We were a small organisation fighting a small enemy left to our own devices… until the Meiji-era came, and with it a constitution that locks down on 'insurgency', which everyone legally needs to obey. And don't get me started–"
Morinaga flared…
"–on the incompetence of this organisation itself!"
…and calmed. They were ruthless words to come from a Hashira, but not ridiculous, because this was Morinaga. This was Morinaga, and Morinaga could say anything because he was the freest man in the world, besides Giyuu Tomioka and myself.
"Bureaucracy. Corruption. Complacency. Things like the two-day rule. The election of men like Nen Kusakabe. The veneration of men like Ubuyashiki Kanata. The tolerance of men like Shinjuro Rengoku. I know that you know, Giyuu. Goto probably told Tsubone and she probably told you. Our counterparts in Europe have won their war. Even Russia, such a huge place, was eradicated of demons over a hundred years ago. But look at us. We came up with breaths first. We discovered that decapitating them with a Nichirin sword kills them. Possibly, we were the first demon-slaying organisation to come into existence. And yet, here we are!"
He put some money on the table, and made ready to head off.
"You've felt the wrongs for yourself. But I ask you: are you one of the complacent? You said you'd just 'suck things up', but that isn't really true, is it? I sense it innately," Morinaga said. He stood up. "The anger you hold against the world… against the monsters that be, and maybe in the future against the monsters of humanity, which I enforce but do not have. Though it was ripped from you… it'll have to be returned, someday. And that day will be the day of reckoning. Just like that faraway night of Final Selection."
He was dancing mighty close around my predicament with Tsutako, and what did he know about my selection? He was not there. He had no cause to care. Though he was a respectable Hashira, he was a Hashira still, who wore high boots when wading through the bogs of everyman affairs, and gloves whenever his conscience pushed him to interfere. Yet…
"That night three years ago… I was there, Giyuu, at selection as invigilator…"
…by that thought, from the moment I met him I had a small, buzzing instinct that this was not our first union. I'd seen Tetsuo Morinaga somewhere before, and what was it that stuck with me through these years to make the connection? The voice? The stature? The name? His name, his name –
Tetsuo Morinaga.
"…and when your friend Sabito died…"
'-That's against the rules, Morinaga-san!"
"…I met you, gave you his chequered haori, and set you on your path of misery."
It was a midnight spent under a sky with no stars. In my room I nodded to the soft audio of my gramophone and replayed my last three years of history against the tune of it. I debated Morinaga's presence at my selection, not as vigilante, but as someone who with no cause transferred a trivial garment with an unsightly pattern from one boy to the other for the sake of the latter's sentimentality. Memory is the world's greatest bullshitter, and he had no reason to feed my ceaseless engine of it. He was not so lofty, it started to unravel to me. He was grounded, and kind; in a way he was like pretty Miyamoto. I ought to thank him, I murmured, when I realised I had forgotten to, and I gradually stopped meaning for the reason why he accompanied me so often these past two days. I rolled onto my side and felt the elastic of fatigue pulling my eyes shut, but I wouldn't sleep.
18th of April 1916
Rejoice, for Miyamoto Shō had returned victorious!
She came in the Endou estate gate and was ambushed. Kanae and Shinobu led the headlong race, latched to her, and they were shouting, they were cheering, and there very well may have been tears, too. Tsubone was the relay. She pat Miyamoto's face and gave her a wonderful smile with a few genuine and wise words of graduation. It was more than enough expression for someone so sparing of it as her. Then it was Tetsuo and I. Tetsuo smiled too, but it was leeward and forced out of a tense mouth. Now it may have been because he was not an innately celebratory person, but I knew the real reason was this: his perception of this event was that it was a marking of his daughter's life. The demon slayers were not a high-profile organisation, but that didn't matter to the inhuman enemy who knew us so well. Therefore, the Hashira were prime targets for those looking to climb Muzan's vicious hierarchy… and Miyamoto'd just sealed her trail in becoming one. That was why Tetsuo was anxious so: the curse of vision, and a bit of it rubbed off on me. I must've given her a fist-bump, high-five, or something, but I know that I was worried too. I hid my expression and my janky-ness went unnoticed. Afterwards, when the women had flocked for places unknown, I approached Morinaga. I thanked him for bringing me the haori, and said that he didn't have to, but he waved me off.
"Just thanks is enough," he said. "No need to be too polite… not to me."
"But one more thing," I stopped him. "You keep on saying… you're the 'maker of my misery'. What's that mean?"
"The reason you stand here today," he offered cryptically. Then he was staring longingly. "Tsubone… wouldn't want me to tell you. And I don't blame her. I feel wrong for defying her… but I believe it's right what I defied her to do. You'll see that too, in the future." He slapped my back, and said that was all I needed to know.
After the congratulating, Tsubone, I, and company re-joined the eternal flow of work around the medical faculty, and when I was done I was feeling empathetic enough to give one of the perma-injured a visit.
"The girl who saved you is gonna become Hashira," I told Numachi. We leaned against the same wall. "Miyamoto. You do remember her…?"
"She was here just before you came. But I heard about it before that. Everyone here was talking about her. Maybe they took the chance to let their own spirits be lifted."
"Oh…" I said. "That's right. The other perma-injured. Uh… they must be pretty depressed. Are you… feeling better?"
Because Numachi's heart seemed lighter today, and I also wanted to know in the literal sense. But more than anything, I wanted a pick to snap the ice.
"I guess. I don't… mind the eye so much, but having one arm is pretty…"
"…Pretty shit?" The Tsubone in me was beginning to show, and maybe I thought swearing would make me more approachable.
"Yeah, like that," Numachi said. "When… Miyamoto'd found me I was the only one left in my squad. I'd already lost the arm and eye and the demon was already gone. So there was nothing that could've been done. Now that I'm here… I'm due to be released in a week, actually. But I don't know. I don't want to leave just yet."
"You don't have a place to go?"
"Am an orphan, I think. No family here or anywhere. No house, either." Numachi listed it impassively. "…No money. Guess that's why I became a slayer. Been one for four years now."
I see, I replied, and empathetic had become sympathetic. Like the benevolent junior I am I was overcome with the urge to make him feel better.
"Well, would you…" I thought about it. I saw that same coastal jacaranda I sat under yesterday, then I knew. "…want to have drinks with us, sometime?"
"What?" Numachi's one eye widened. "Who's 'us'?"
"Me, and those two girls with butterfly pins around here. Shinobu and Kanae."
"Them, oh. But why?"
"No reason needed. Just come. They'll treat you better than I ever can."
"No, Giyuu," Numachi said earnestly. "Talking with you's fine. But thank you. You're very kind."
Nevertheless, I insisted Numachi, and gave him my goodbyes for night was beginning to dawn. I left trying to wipe the incumbent blush off my cheeks.
"Where's Numachi from?" Kanae repeated me at supper, at the usual restaurant, at the usual time. Tsubone was busy and Shinobu was sleepy, so tonight it was just us and for some reason I liked it more that way. "Who's Numachi? And why'd you wanna know?"
"That perma-injured guy. With the stubble, and one eye and arm." I was thinking of a more consequential detail, then it came. "The one Miyamoto saved."
"Oh, oh, her! No, him!" Kanae realised and put down her Coke to symbolise it. Now came business. "Well, I don't know. But why do you wanna know?"
"I don't gotta have a reason. I'm just interested."
"And you haven't asked Numachi himself?" Kanae said.
"He doesn't know, too," I replied. "Because he doesn't know, that's why I want to."
"Wow, so you're _ kind of person."
"What does that underline mean?!"
Kanae ignored me. "Still, I don't know." She reclined, and sprung back up with an answer. "Maybe he's Ainu. Those guys we… or this country genoci-ded, up north. You were telling me about how he's an orphan and stuff. Maybe his family… got caught up in it."
"Maybe," I concurred. "But then how doesn't he know where he comes from?"
"Amnesia. It's as common as, uh, rice, nowadays… unfortunately. A few demon hits to the head and it happens." Kanae finished her Coke and we left our empty bowls and our table. "But, Giyuu, you remember what we were talking about before Numachi? You cut me off so rudely. You broke this heart."
"I… don't know," I replied. "Tell me again... I wanna know." Which was a lie, but I wouldn't tell her anything else. Kanae frowned, and tried to sound gloomy, but it was exaggerated.
"Shinobu. Shinobu's not with us today because she's preparing to ask Tsubone about Final Selection," she said. "And we need to go back soon, because she wants us to be there!"
Shikoku, my home island, is a scarcely avowed name in the Japanese demon-slaying contingent. It has a weight that exceeds its three gentle syllables, and apparently for the longest time I was the only one in the corps to not know why; until Tsubone told me that day, in our estate-ly travels.
Twenty years ago, we were routed from it.
From everywhere besides the Fujikasane Mountain outcrop.
Overrun by demons, and kicked out.
Or was it their attacks started showing further organisation…?
Whatever the case, the loss of one of the home islands took a major chip of pride out of the demon slayers. It wasn't as if the entire human population there was wiped out, no, it was still and would never not be a human stronghold, but it resulted in Oyakata-sama's reputation suddenly becoming tarnishable. He was no longer holy man, but now someone who stood on the splitting earth just like the rest of us. The common slayer began to take liberties in their criticism of the then heir Ubuyashiki Kazuya, and there were a few protests tried, too, but all were dealt with by Morinaga's shadowed, iron hand. Though, the sentiment never entirely disappeared.
The 'plan to retake Shikoku' was therefore the idea of subverting this defeat.
And in fulfilling it –
We would restore confidence in Ubuyashiki –
And therefore in the demon slayers –
By both grunt and concerned government man, alike.
Which, Tsubone admitted, we desperately needed.
I began to make the connection with what Morinaga was saying. This organisation was not loved, and it was incompetent in some way, otherwise how else would we have lost Shikoku? But that was the extent of my rebellion. I stuck to my original thought: I joined for revenge, not for the sake of a job, and as long as Nisegami Douma was not in Shikoku I had no need to be there either.
But if Tsubone were to say yes tonight –
Yes to Shinobu's plead for Final Selection –
Then she would be heading there in place of me, to the demented Wisteria grounds.
In theory, I shall add.
Because as 1916 would unfold –
Shikoku would never see Shinobu Kochou.
Shinobu huffed with the adrenaline and it wracked her so that she refused any seat to cool her excited feet, and eventually the anxiety infiltrated Kanae and I and we were rooting for her more furiously than ever before. We didn't hear the door open through our throbbing ears, and suddenly Tsubone had came.
"You're all still awake?" She droned, and wiped her eyes. "What time is it…? Twelve? Oh, I'm going to get a good five hours tonight. Wait. You're up because the ray-dee-oh started working. I know you. Well, how is it?"
Tsubone nearly went past Shinobu to the lounge when she was stopped with a nervous tug-of-the-hand: "No, it's not that."
"Oh…" she replied. "Then don't stay up too late. I had supper already, so I'm going to sleep. Goodnight."
Shinobu didn't let go of her hand. By then Tsubone must have realised what was up, also judging from everyone's poorly concealed pensiveness. She sat down parallel to Shinobu and made us do the same, then spoke.
"You have an asking face," Tsubone said. "Ask now, better than later."
Shinobu fidgeted with her thumbs and shuffled her legs. She froze, and said it:
"Can I go to Final Selection this year?"
By God, I could see Tsubone mouth, and she tried to hide it by looking the other way. Her hands wrung around each other and she pressed her knuckles, then relaxed. She faced Shinobu again and recollected herself.
"…Why do you want to go?" Tsubone asked.
"I feel like it's time," Shinobu replied. "I've gotten much stronger and I'm bigger now and I–"
"But can you cut off a demon's head, yet, Shinobu?" Tsubone said immediately. "That's the only prerequisite I'm giving you. It's the one prerequisite they'll give you. You're not allowed any weapon besides the normal nichirin sword."
"Come on, Tsubone–" Kanae tried.
"No, she must answer for herself. Tell me, Shinobu." Tsubone leaned forward. Shinobu shrunk in the chair.
"I… can't," she finally released.
"So what'll you do when you go to selection?"
"I don't have to fight," Shinobu argued. "I'm fast enough to keep out of their way."
"Run? For a week? In such a small place? No." Tsubone shook her head. "Even if it's a bit possible, I won't let you."
"Why… not?" Her tongue caught on her front teeth.
"You think too little of your life, Shinobu. Put yourself in Kanae's shoes, or Giyuu's…" – Tsubone tried to use me as a vehicle – "…if you died, how would he feel?"
To this I really had nothing to say, and could only nod my head in assent. I'd feel terrible.
"Just because I can't kill them," Shinobu said, "doesn't mean I can't fight them off."
"And if multiple come after you? You can't cut down their numbers. So, what do you do? No, don't answer, because there's nothing you can do. You see it now, Shinobu?"
"No, I don't."
"Then keep thinking that way. But I still won't let you go." Tsubone stood up, and pushed her chair back in. "We're done here. Go to sleep." And Kanae and I were about to heed her when Shinobu too rose. There was an impasse between the two, and for the first time she was looking at Tsubone. Now, a confrontation.
"How come you've always been like this to me?" Shinobu lamented. "How come you've always treated me like this?"
"You're making this into something it's not–"
"Look! You treat Kanae and Giyuu so well!" She pointed to us. "You take her on your missions. You let him accompany you to visit Rengokuor whatever. You take them both to your Hashira meetings. But what about me?"
"Yes, what about you? And I'll tell you now, if you try this guilt-tripping tactic, Shinobu…" Tsubone warned her, and wagged a pointed finger. "You'll get burned."
Then she left no space for rebuttal, because she wasn't done. Tsubone went forward and Shinobu pressed against the wall and she bent over her. But Shinobu didn't shrink. She was scared, but this was also to her, and all of us, the ultimatum: 'if no was said today then there will never be a yes.' We were playing by this logic, and even if not inherently to win, not to lose either. Shinobu knew this too well, and so:
"If I… in the time we have left… cut off a demon's head… would you let me go?"
Not even dumbfounded, perhaps dumb-discovered, Tsubone moved away from the wall.
"In such a short time, it isn't possible," she said.
"Who says? If only you, then I don't believe it." Actually, I would've said it too, but I wasn't going to cause the retreat of Shinobu's only advance. She went on.
"I've gotten close, you know. That dummy you made for me. With the neck the same hardness as a demon's neck… I cut three-fourths through it, yesterday."
"If you're only telling me now," Tsubone replied, "that means it ain't true."
"But it is true. Maybe I'm like that amnesiac patient at work, and that's why I only remember now."
"Three-fourths," Tsubone remarked to herself. "If it's true, then that's really…"
"…An improvement, right?" Shinobu smiled. "Been only a quarter, for so long."
"But it's only twelve days until selection. How do you plan on cutting through the whole neck?"
"I… don't know. I'll train and train. Harder than ever and ever," Shinobu stared off, behind Tsubone, then at her. "It'll hinge on that, yeah. That's my part. But how does that sound to you? So?"
Tsubone fell into the couch with no sound, and she rubbed her eyes and gazed at her feet. In discourse with herself, she must've stayed like this for a few minutes. We waited and shuddered in anticipation, and our heels became stone and we couldn't move. Then she looked up and wiped her face. She brought Shinobu over, and told her alright.
At night, in a blanket of cotton and a Wagner melody, Nisegami Youma.
Kneeling over me, he said this:
"It's the first time I've appeared to you since the 16th, and tomorrow will be the first time I appear to Shinobu Kochou."
