Chapter 9 - do I believe / Ghosts / -don't tell him-
Content warning: mild torture
Sabito and Makomo weren't the only odd workers around.
Tanjiro saw others in the trees from time to time, doing nothing. He never saw them out in the fields.
Most of the regular workers wore simple clothing that Urokodaki must've picked up from a sale somewhere. They drifted between simple tasks and did them with an unfocused gaze, and then disappeared after dinner into one of several buildings around the farm.
The ones in the trees wore white and black.
But not Sabito and Makomo. They wore the same black pants-strange enough on a farm-but forewent the black overcoat in favor of their own colorful styles.
He never saw them around mealtime, and never figured out what building they lived in.
"Do you believe in ghosts?" Urokodaki asked Tanjiro one day while they were meditating together on the rocks.
It was a cloudy day. Rain threatened off the coast in dark gray rivulets, like the ragged shawl of an unquiet spirit.
"Sort of," Tanjiro told him after a moment. "The disquiet after a loss, certainly. That there's more to life than we can see and hear, sure, probably," he paused. "...More than that is hard to say."
Urokodaki grunted in affirmation. The afternoon buzzed quietly with distant insects during their long silence on the subject. Finally, Urokodaki spoke up. "It's far easier to believe in something that you can see."
Tanjiro nodded. "And hear and touch and-" he stopped. He'd learned as an adult that it was rude to talk about other senses than those. It made people uncomfortable, and that meant he needed to carry silence for them. He just wasn't sure when to stop.
In his meditations, 'silence' was an awkward key for Tanjiro. It was smooth and long and featureless, except for its two collars, one near each end. Unlike his other keys, it never became a blade. It was made of straight, hollow wood and lighter than it looked. Some days it was heavier than it should be.
Today it wasn't so bad, just impossible to speak about.
Urokodaki waited for him to finish, but Tanjiro said nothing. The old man sighed.
"When our experiences differ from others, they can be hard to talk about," said Mr. Urokodaki.
Tanjiro nodded.
-Pressure to fit in. To do what's expected.- the dark voice added calmly in the sunlight. -That's been one of our weak points for some time, hasn't it?-
'Or part of our strength,' Tanjiro added silently.
-But we clearly stand out to him, for some reason.-
Tanjiro tried not to let that make him feel nervous. In his mind, he touched 'silence.' The voice seemed to listen. Together, they listened to Urokodaki instead.
"All experiences differ, when you think about it," Urokodaki said after some time. "It's only the fear of standing out that keeps us from speaking authentically about ours'."
-Or the fear of being punished and cast out for being different.-
"Or being pushed away because we disagree," Tanjiro mused aloud.
"But these differences can be our strength if you think about it." Urokodaki pulled in a long breath. "Sure, there may be some wisdom in agreeing with people sometimes. But standing out can be worthwhile too. It can give you a different perspective, and that can benefit even the most stubborn group."
"Like how you take care of the ones who don't pass their test at Kasane?" Tanjiro asked.
"Simply leaving people to the mercy of the world because of something as ridiculous as a test has never sat well with me," the old man explained. "It's a small mercy that they don't seem to remember it, or this city would have worse problems than some youngsters in need of a place to stay while they recover from their ordeal."
"What happens to them after they do?" Tanjiro asked.
Urokodaki shrugged. "Most just wake up one day with bright eyes and all sorts of questions, like you," Urokodaki smiled. "It takes some longer, and some less time, but I tell them as much of the truth as I can, that they were brought here to recover by someone who found them. Then I give them their wages and affects and send them on their way. A few contact me again sometimes. Most I don't hear from," Urokodaki shook his head, "so I'm not sure. I hope they find a way to live a normal life."
-Like we did?- the dark voice scoffed.
'We did. Mostly.'
-That word's going to get us in trouble one of these days.-
"You're different," Urokodaki said without looking at him.
Tanjiro gulped and glanced at him nervously.
But Urokodaki's eyes were fixed on the far shore, where Sabito and Makomo were skipping stones across the water. "The ones we lose, they can be disquiet, sometimes, can't they?"
Tanjiro followed his gaze, thinking nothing of it. "Sure Sabito and Makomo seem like a handful," he said, trying to bring a smile to his teacher's face instead, to help him focus on the ones that were still here, "but I'm sure they mean well." Tanjiro thought he must be talking about someone else, someone that was no longer present.
Urokodaki blinked and stared at him. "I never told you their names."
Tanjiro shrugged, "That's alright, they introduced themselves. For as much as they argue, they seem like good friends."
Then he noticed Urokodaki's stare.
"What?"
"Do you or do you not believe in ghosts, young man?" asked Urokodaki.
"Other people do, so there must be a reason for that."
"It might be time for you to make a decision on the subject," said the old man.
"Can I get a picture of you three together?" Urokodaki asked them innocently enough.
"Sure thing, boss," said Sabito, fresh and still dripping from a swim in the river. Tanjiro shivered when he clapped his soggy arm around his shoulders.
Urokodaki and Makomo laughed. Then the old man took a picture, and a square of film came out of the old camera. It took time, but they watched it develop together.
When he showed Tanjiro the picture, he was flabbergasted. "You jumped," he accused Sabito.
"Yep!" Sabito grinned, fox-like.
"And it's so blurry. I have no idea how you did that. Only the water droplets are in focus. Did you use a filter?"
"A what now?" asked Urokodaki.
Tanjiro rubbed his chin as he regarded Urokodaki's old camera. "Did you take the picture twice? Is that why they're see-through? I don't..."
"Tanjiro. They're ghosts." The old man insisted.
"No. No way. Real ones?" Tanjiro squirmed.
-Less believable than me?-
Tanjiro crossed his arms and simmered quietly. Then he reached out to clasp Sabito on the shoulder. "Sabito is right here. I can reach out and-" his fingers passed right through the peach-haired man's arm, leaving only cold water droplets from the river covering his hand. Tanjiro's eyes widened.
Sabito grinned.
Tanjiro quietly shrieked. His hair stood on end. A chill went down his spine and he prayed none of them could see the fire alight at the back of his neck. Both of his hands leapt to cover it anyway.
Makomo sighed. "I was going to be gentler with him, you know."
"M-Mr. Urokodaki, can you hear them?" Tanjiro stuttered.
"A little," said the old man as he pointed to his hearing aid. "What are they saying?"
"We miss you, you old fart," said Sabito.
"That they miss you," said Tanjiro.
Sabito made a face and blew a raspberry.
"That's not exactly what he said, is it?" Urokodaki raised an eyebrow.
Tanjiro was sweating on the spot. "No- um, I mean- maybe..."
"Was it or was it not, young man?" Urokodaki pressed him.
"He, uh, may have made a rude noise..." Tanjiro twiddled his fingers.
"Of all the things, that's what he's worried about right now." Makomo rolled her eyes, smiling.
-You said it,- the dark voice laughed.
Tanjiro winced and covered his ears, for all the good it would do.
"I'm not going to yell at you, young man," Urokodaki told him, smiling. "I'm glad you can hear them," he guffawed.
The heat licking at his thumbs flickered out as he calmed, and Tanjiro put his arms down. "Why? It's..." he trailed off and sighed heavily. "People get put away for this kind of thing, don't they? Seeing and hearing things that other people don't." At least Tanjiro didn't believe that was the danger with the old man.
Urokodaki showed him the film again. "This is real. You're not crazy."
"The word is, um, neuroatypical," Tanjiro pointed out quietly.
The old man shook his head and showed him the picture again. His tone was fond as he said, "If you're crazy, we all are."
-That sounds a lot more likely.-
Tanjiro pressed his lips together and asked the sky for patience.
Urokodaki gestured with his eyebrows. "So. Ghosts? What do you think?"
Tanjiro made a non-committal noise. "...I did go looking for answers."
"And what did you find?" Urokodaki asked.
"Ghost stories, mostly."
-And psychology. And a little religion. What sounds more likely?-
'Not demons,' Tanjiro thought. 'The world would be overrun if those were real.'
As if out of spite, his right eye flickered for a moment, too bright. Tanjiro winced and closed it.
Urokodaki mistook the gesture for a different kind of discomfort. "You don't need to tell me about it if you don't want to," he insisted.
Tanjiro shook his head. "Mostly I found people, lost and on the edge of their communities, or already pushed out of them. Their reasons varied. Some were just searching for answers, like me."
"There's nothing wrong with that," Urokodaki said supportively.
"It can seem like it when being part of a community means always thinking the same thing and being afraid of anyone who's different. I found a little of that. Most of the ones I found who left communities like that got on fine after," Tanjiro told him.
"Did you?" Urokodaki asked.
Tanjiro thought about it. "In a way," he started, but the dark voice interrupted.
-Are we really going to tell our boss our life story just because he asked? Not smart, T.-
'Not the whole thing. Not today.'
-You trust this guy way too much.-
'He's been kind to us.'
-Kindness doesn't mean he couldn't hurt us, just that he doesn't want to. We're kind too.-
Tanjiro took a steadying breath.
Urokodaki sensed something in his silence and encouraged him to speak, "Go on, I'm listening."
"I'm alright," Tanjiro began, "I just... don't have a lot to give; not as much as I think it would take to help the situation anyway. Sharing stories is about all I can do on my own. And I've found more ghost stories than... anything else. I just... always thought I saw the people behind the smoke and mirrors when I went looking, whether they wanted to talk or not."
"Other people gasped at the show, while you told them how it's done?" Urokodaki asked.
Tanjiro bobbed his head, both yes and no, "I did a little of that in the beginning, but I stopped when my friends couldn't seem to see the same things. I figured I'd just let them enjoy the mystery. I thought they just needed stronger glasses, but it was awkward to talk about."
-Talking about this. That's something we should stop doing. Especially before we mention- -
"I had a few friends who believed me, but I wasn't sure if they were playing a joke on me or not."
-And we'll be saying no more about them, got it?-
Tanjiro let out a nervous breath.
So did Kokushibo.
But supportive Urokodaki just nodded solemnly. "I believe you," he said.
How could he not? If Sabito and Makomo came through loud and clear in his ears, and his camera could still capture their images...
"Do you see them?" Tanjiro asked.
The old man shook his head. "Only in the wind," he said, "when grass blows across the field, or I find one of Makomo's strings of clover. When they play in the water, they leave ripples. Sometimes the stones move on their own." He looked sad and fond as he told Tanjiro, "They still do chores around the house sometimes, and I know they're always trying to cheer up the people who find themselves here."
"Of course, you old dottard!" sighed Sabito.
"Who else is going to take care of you?" asked Makomo.
Both Urokodaki and Tanjiro smiled, just a little, to hear them.
Urokodaki gave Tanjiro a few chores to do, and Tanjiro asked the two ghosts for details about how to accomplish them. Urokodaki seemed satisfied when he did everything the right way without needing to tell him. More than their conversation, that seemed to convince him that Tanjiro was telling the truth.
Then the old man gave him more strength exercises to perform every day, and Sabito gave him pointers. Tanjiro and Urokodaki switched off watching over each other as they both exercised, and the red-haired man tried not to think too hard about how Urokodaki had probably been relying on ghosts-or no one at all-to spot him for years.
After dinner, they did the dishes together, and Urokodaki broke their silence abruptly. "Tanjiro," he told him, arms deep in the suds inside a giant stewpot, "Spiritual echos-ghosts like Sabito and Makomo-are made when someone like you or me dies and is not at peace."
Tanjiro looked toward Sabito, who was putting away the dishes. He huffed, crossed his arms, and didn't look back at him. When Tanjiro searched for Makomo instead, her eyes were closed. She gave him a quiet nod and said nothing, but handed him another plate from the sink.
The silence stretched between them. Tanjiro dried the plate delicately as he tried to think of what to say.
Urokodaki spared him. "There are those in this world with a... stronger spiritual presence," he explained, though he seemed uncomfortable around the wording. "Who are sensitive to matters of the mind and spirit."
"Who can see ghosts?" Tanjiro asked in the pause.
Urokodaki shrugged, "'Sense' is the more correct term. The strength to see them, I don't encounter it often." His arms worked hard against the dull surface of the stew pot with a scrub pad. The floral scent of soap curled through the room. The scent of metal and dinner did too.
Tanjiro's right eye flickered with his nerves. He swallowed and kept working. Urokodaki was speaking about ghosts, after all. Not the other thing. Maybe he didn't know anything about Tanjiro's other sight.
"I haven't heard of it since Sabito's time, actually," Urokodaki said fondly. "And he could barely see a blur."
Sabito chuckled.
"I had two students who could see, once," he sighed. "One was confident and talented, and the other thought he was anything but. They learned so quickly-like you-that I thought I had barely anything to teach them," then Urokodaki frowned. The pace of his scrubbing slowed. "I think I'll take my time with you," he said.
"Thank you, sir," Tanjiro said slowly. He began to calm down, and so did his eye.
"You skip ahead, just like they did. And Kasane spends a lot of effort looking for people like you. Did you not tell them about what you could see?" Urokodaki asked.
"No, sir, it didn't come up in the interview. I only got as far as... some sort of martial trial."
"Martial trial?" Urokodaki asked.
"I thought it was about the swords. The invisible ones," Tanjiro told him. "I've only ever held a practice blade, for exercise."
"With enough practice, you'll begin to see those. And with enough luck, you'll never hold a real one. It's something a few of my former students don't understand. I don't train them to become fighters, I train them so they can live, especially if they ever encounter..."
Tanjiro waited, and tried to offer Makomo the plate he finished drying. He nearly dropped it when her hands weren't there, but he managed to awkwardly set it down on the counter instead.
He saw her walk out the front door. Sabito wordlessly went with her.
The redhead shifted over to the sink and began doing the dishes himself.
"Well," said Urokodaki eventually, "with any luck, you'll never encounter one again." The old man smiled and left it there.
-Unlikely. We seem to run into this everywhere we go. It's almost like the damned things are drawn to us.-
'Which is why we're not going home.'
-Couldn't stand to see it if you found out that it runs in the family?-
'We have no idea how this really works, just that staying calm and eating right and getting enough sunlight helps keep whatever happened to us under control, like it has for years.'
-And for everyone else we see with the fangs and claws and eyes, the sunlight thing doesn't work. It's only us.-
'Mr. Urokodaki seems to think we're normal enough, even with some of the weirdness.'
-If you don't think you can take him in a fight, then don't tell him the rest.-
'Why not? He's kind and calm and supportive, and he's doing the best he can for these people. I'm sure he'd try to help us too. What's not to trust?'
-He's connected to Kasane. They have weapons, and they've been notoriously short on answers. Before we know what happens to the people they use their swords on, just trust me for once and don't.-
Tanjiro shook his head and stubbornly roused himself. 'He may have answers, and I need to ask.'
-Tanjiro- -
"Demons." Tanjiro said. "Someone I met called them demons."
Urokodaki nodded slowly. "A common element in stories around the world. Religions too."
"Are they just ghosts?" asked Tanjiro. "Or... people who've gotten too close to an unquiet spirit?"
"Now that's a good question," said Urokodaki. "I can't rightly say what they are, but what they do is a fair bit different from friendly spirits like Makomo. And mostly friendly spirits like Sabito."
"Ah, choke on it!' Sabito complained from somewhere outside. Something hit the house with a thud. The cups jumped and clattered in the cupboards.
"Mostly," Tanjiro chuckled.
Urokodaki did too. "I'm not sure how it happens, but my best guess is that demons are different. There may be a limit to how much suffering someone can go through in life, especially someone who's spiritually sensitive. Perhaps it makes an entirely different sort of spirit when they don't pass on in peace. Perhaps their connection to us is what allows them to possess the living."
"Is that what you were worried about happening to me?"
The old man nodded. "There are usually signs. Disorientation and abdominal pain are usually the first to manifest after a recent encounter with another demon. And it seems to spread to others over time."
-Great.-
"But I've only heard of it spreading through conflict, not simply close quarters, and it can take time to fully manifest. You were a shoo-in for the early symptoms on the docks, and being scouted by Kasane besides, which meant you might have encountered one without me. That's why I was worried about you."
"Are there any... other signs?" Tanjiro asked hesitantly.
"After the disorientation, a victim usually grows aggressive and could kill anyone they meet. It's after they taste blood that they sometimes calm down, but that also seems to be the point of no return, when nothing we know how to do works to cure them anymore."
-Extra great.-
Tanjiro gulped. 'I didn't... did I?'
-I don't remember.-
'Are you lying?'
-Are you?-
"...What happens then?" Tanjiro asked hesitantly.
Urokodaki shook his head. "Before long, we have a new killer on our hands. Sorry if you have a sensitive stomach, but demons kill and eat people. They do it regularly, and they don't stop once they start. Kasane Mountain studies them when they find them, but they have limited capacity. Most end up in a special part of the prison system before long, away from other inmates-if they survive being brought in. They're far more dangerous than regular killers, and people would panic if they knew how many are out there."
"If the government knows, why don't they-"
The old man shook his head harder, "The government can barely handle what they do know, and funding to study this is barely available. That's why it's in the hands of a private company. The situation is far from ideal, and I have all I can handle trying to help the ones who've been exposed and fallen through the cracks."
"So what keeps them in check?" asked Tanjiro.
"That's a damn good question," said Urokodaki. "Kasane Mountain seems to believe... mostly, people like us do." The old man picked up the massive stewpot to empty it outside, leaving Tanjiro alone in the kitchen.
Tanjiro frowned at the dishes and put them down. The symptoms Urokodaki described... matched.
Just... he'd never killed anyone, right?
It felt like the dark voice yawned inside his head, and he caught a sense of fangs and the color red. Pressure pulsed beneath his teeth with the thought of it. Nervously, he pushed his tongue along their ridge to check them. His incisors were just a little too sharp. Tanjiro leaned heavily against the sink with his eyes closed, trying not to shiver. What if Urokodaki had seen?
The truth was, he did calm down all those years ago, after a span of time that he spent disoriented when he thought someone must have put something in his drink. It was a span of time that everyone but him could remember clearly. That was clearly when the trouble started.
Tanjiro's constant concentration waned with his rising self-doubt and the terrible thought that he might have hurt someone during all the time in his life that he couldn't remember, especially then.
All those years ago, when he and his closest friend-...
-Blood and 8 and a ritual to set our friend free- -
'No.'
He shook his head and blocked out the memory, but he wasn't smiling anymore.
As the light of his steady optimism faded, worse feelings returned.
Even now, he knew the hunger. Even now, some buried part of him knew what for. His mind's eye too-readily supplied the impulse, the images, -what he thought he could do- so easily, to the vulnerable people on Urokodaki's farm-
His eye cracked in the afternoon light, and he saw short, pointed claws slide out from the fingernails on his left hand. They easily rent the dish rag, leaving five more holes in the tattered thing. A calming breath came out unsteadily, and he bit his lower lip with short fangs. The bite was gentle enough not to draw blood.
Tanjiro had many years of practice. It wasn't like that in the beginning.
In the beginning, Tanjiro was only vaguely aware of tight bonds around his wrists: cuffs around his hands and cloth ties around his ankles. He was tied to a familiar bed, a friend's. The comfort of recognition was vague and unspecific. His thoughts were frayed, wordless impulses. Consciousness came and went in slivers at a time.
His body struggled and heaved and shook, and squirmed involuntarily away from the window when it brightened. Someone had drawn a circle of red wax on the floor, and candle smoke overpowered the room long after the candles had burned down.
They weren't scented at least. One less torment, that singular mercy.
Everything was too bright, even without the light on. His skin crawled with every sensation. It felt like his blood was on fire, and later, he wondered if he'd been drugged. The room spun, and when he tried to call for help, nothing came from his lips but guttural, haunting cries.
He was left there for days. It felt like claws grew in on both hands, and he left deep gouges in the bed frame as he struggled. Pain pulsed through his everything, and awkward new fangs left lacerations in his lips. He drank his own blood greedily, sucking at the painful wounds. His stomach curled with hunger like he'd never felt before, even after skipping a few meals as a child. His own blood did nothing to fill it, only fed the rising craving that made him want to claw at his own throat.
It should have faded as he was forced to fast, but it didn't. Instead, it thrummed through him, gripped him like a living thing, and pulled all of his senses toward the quiet footsteps in the next room. When someone finally opened the door, his spine lurched without his permission, he lunged without thinking, and saliva dripped from his mouth. The bonds held him, and Tanjiro's teeth snapped together desperately as he struggled to free himself. All rational thought was gone. Tanjiro didn't know if it took days or weeks, but his mind was broken. He could barely remember doing it.
Someone-Tanjiro couldn't remember their face-spoke with a quiet, uncertain tremor, the acrid spark of fear coloring in their scent as they tried to soothe him, "Shhh-hh-h-hhhhh, steady, Tanjiro, steady. I know what you're going through, and it's alright. You can handle this. They said you'd be able to handle this." Tanjiro could barely see through the gray haze. He only knew something he desperately wanted was near, and his mouth ached to clamp down on the warm, pale red shape in front of him.
Strength coiled through his spine and the bedframe creaked. His jaw shivered with unmet need, and in the dark room, his slitted eyes only saw the red blush of skin in front of him. He swallowed, his chest heaved, but slowly his struggles became steady pressure against the bonds that held him. Slowly, he stilled and waited for the shape to come near.
"Hold just like that, and say, 'ah,'" they said. Five fingers curled around a fork speared with blurry, pale yellow nuggets. Five fingers drew near, like little fat sausages, waiting to be picked off of their utensil.
Tanjiro's teeth clicked around the fork for them, and they pulled back until the only thing Tanjiro could reach were the nuggets, which turned out to be noodles. Drenched in a thin sauce, they somehow smelled just food-like enough. Tanjiro snapped at every bite. The noodles were undercooked and crunchy, but some primal part of him couldn't leave a single drop of sauce on the fork. He struggled for it, pined for it, shook for it, and slowly began to relax as he was fed. The pain began to ebb away. His thoughts returned, just a little. The shape before him was still a pale red blur.
"That's it. They told me just what to do to fix things. They told me how to make sure you were ready, to make sure he claimed you, not me. And he told me exactly what recipe to cook for your first meal. You like simple foods, don't you?" they said with a grin in their voice. "Can you hear me, Tanjiro?"
Barely aware of his surroundings, Tanjiro nodded. He licked his lips and tasted iron, faintly.
"Good. Now, I won't feed you again until you learn some manners. Snap at my fingers again, and you'll skip a meal, understood?"
"Sh..." Tanjiro struggled to speak around the fangs. "Shtop thish..."
The shape leaned close and cupped an ear, "Words! And in record time too. Good! It looks like you can understand me." A smile broke out across the shape's face like a blurry crescent moon.
"Sh-" Frustration welled up more powerfully than it ever had, and he found himself growling. He hit the air violently and the chains around his wrists clattered metallically. He wanted to tear the man apart for the insult and-
Tanjiro sucked in three ragged, desperate gasps as he struggled for his senses. He'd never felt like that about anyone before in his life. Tears gathered in his wild, kind eyes. "No!" he rasped, and pulled himself away.
The shape broke out into high-pitched, satisfied laughter. "I think you'll find my friend a much more difficult challenge than me, Muzan!"
Then the shape left Tanjiro alone with nothing but the awful hunger and the screaming inside his mind.
Tanjiro clicked his teeth together and hissed, trying to pull away from the memory. The memories made him remember the feelings, which made him feel the urges, which reminded him viscerally just how much of his daily life was about steady self-control. His skin grew hot and his spine creaked as fangs swelled beneath his lips before he could successfully calm himself.
It took so very little fear, and such a small lapse of control to send him spiraling again, but he caught himself and stood still.
He had to believe that Mr. Urokodaki-or someone would stop him if he ever lost control of this, even briefly.
In and out, Tanjiro breathed, trying to forget the urgent feelings, and trying to forget the rising fear that came with believing he was working for a former killer-and surrounded by spirits that might catch him and tell his host exactly what affliction Tanjiro was living with if he let these symptoms show.
If Sabito could see ghosts, could he see what Tanjiro was? Or what he held in check?
Every day, all that mattered was blending in. Blending in and not giving in. On good days, he could even convince himself that he was almost normal.
So many people had words for experiences like this. Most called something like his experience demonic, or some form of possession. Science called it something different, but Tanjiro was no doctor, and he couldn't afford one anyway. All he had was what little he could put together, and whatever willpower he had to throw at the problem.
And a handful of people, like Urokodaki, who believed in him.
Tanjiro untangled the dishrag from his clawed hand and wiped the water off on a nearby towel, careful not to leave runs in the fabric.
Urokodaki had closed out his account at the inn days ago and brought Tanjiro's backpack with him to the farm. Tanjiro's steps toward his room and his supplements were light and quick. He undid the zipper with his normal hand and searched for them furtively.
Down they went when he found them, without water. They always made these symptoms go away.
Always.
Urokodaki called his name from the kitchen when he came back inside and found him missing. "Tanjiro?"
Tanjiro swallowed again, nervously. Any time now.
When he heard the older man's footsteps head deeper into the house, toward his room, the redhead took his backpack and walked quickly over to the bathroom.
Urokodaki left him alone and went back to the kitchen.
Compassion and pride kept the old man in check. They kept him from throwing the consequences of his actions to the rest of the world to carry for him. And they kept him from turning aside people in need.
The ire of men like him kept the wild demon population from having free reign, at least within their reach. If half of Urokodaki's students were like him, wherever a demon dared to show itself, the people under their care would be safe. They'd be held in check as well.
So what kept the dark voice in check, Tanjiro wondered?
Still breathing stiffly, he contemplated his reflection. Red hair, one red eye, and a mouth filled with four pointed fangs stared back at him. The fangs shrank slowly as he watched. The eye quivered and returned to normal too.
What was it exactly that let him keep himself in check?