snow, moon, and flower

by nyxomniax

Shinazugawa Sanemi does not believe in fate. People do not ask for the lives they lead; they work, they fight, and they die for their beliefs. For the sake of his family, Sanemi will sin, lie, and kill. For the happiness of those he loves, Sanemi would give his life. [Shinazugawa Sanemi x OC] [Rengoku Kyoujurou x OC]

1. hagakure - hidden in leaves

snow, moon, and flower

Shinazugawa Sanemi does not believe in fate. People do not ask for the lives they lead; they work, they fight, and they die for their beliefs. For the sake of his family, Sanemi will sin, lie, and kill. For the happiness of those he loves, Sanemi would give his life.

A long form series telling the story of Shinazugawa Sanemi, demon slayer and Wind Hashira, and the lives he has touched.

[shinazugawa sanemi x oc] [rengoku kyoujurou x oc]

---

through times of spring (1908)

葉隠; hagakure; hidden in leaves

Kumeno Masachika meets a white-haired boy with sad lavender eyes that tells a story he is all too familiar with.

chapter cw: graphic depictions of violence and corpses, implied/referenced child abuse

---

He hears him before he sees him; the grunts of a boy whose energy is all but spent. The building is in shambles, and the fresh, coppery smell of blood lingers in the air like a sordid perfume. Masachika wrinkles his nose in distaste as he quietly steps through the broken remains of the abandoned home, his right hand hovering carefully over the hilt of his sheathed katana. Echoing through the corridors, he hears the sound of steel upon flesh, again and again and again.

There's a sickening sight awaiting him at the end of the corridor, where the caved in remains of what once was human have been left to rot. The corpse is still fresh, seeping blood that ruins the tatami mats, where exposed muscle and flesh attract dozens of flies. Between carved flesh, Masachika can see the white of bones that makes him feel lightheaded. He forces himself into the room where it lies, and with a feeling of unsettling dread, realises there is more than just one corpse.

Two lie together, arm in arm, flesh so mutilated that he had struggled to tell where their faces were or that there was even more than one - and between them, there is a small ragged bundle of blood and bone that makes Masachika sick with realisation. The continued sound of steel ripping against flesh does little to settle his stomach.

Masachika swallows down the bile that heaves threateningly in his gut. After, he promises them. I will come back after.

Masachika carefully steps through the broken wooden wall at the back of the room that leads behind the ruined home, where he sees for the first time the infamous boy who butchers demons until naught is left but a bloody trail.

He looks young and thin, no older than himself, surely. In the darkness of night, his hair looks like a glossy, rusted mop encrusted with dried blood that makes him look even more dishevelled. His clothes are dark and worn, and Masachika wonders if a lamplight might reveal even more blood. Wrapped in cloth and leathers upon his back and hips, Masachika spies the haphazard collection of a half a dozen makeshift weapons - butcher knives, rusted daggers, garden shears, and what looks to be a broken broom handle sharpened to a point.

But the truly incredulous thing about the sight before him is not the pale, thin boy covered in blood - but rather the demon beside him, hoisted into the air with steel chains, kicking and screaming as, over and over, his flesh is torn from his body by the kitchen cleaver grasped tightly in the white-haired boy's hands. Masachika does not feel sorry for the demon by any means, yet there is something so very visceral about the carnage in front of him that he cannot help but feel uneasy.

"Are you him?" Masachika says as he approaches, unsheathing his sword. "The boy who has been killing demons without a sword?"

The boy whips his head around as Masachika approaches, caught by surprise. His eyes are wide and wild, clear as day even in the darkness of night. Masachika feels his chest tighten at the sight; a boy so young, yet with a broken gaze that speaks more than words can say.

"Who the hell are you?" the boy says gruffly, voice deeper than Masachika expected. "What the hell do you want?"

"I want what you want," Masachika tells him as he eyes the screeching demon suspended above them. "To kill all demons."

Masachika lowers himself into a crouched stance. Blood is dripping ceaselessly from the demon's torn flesh, yet the wounds refuse to regenerate - it makes him wonder how long the boy's been here, hacking and tearing until even an ungodly thing like a demon no longer has the strength to regenerate. Masachika inhales sharply, with purpose, filling his lungs with air tainted by the scent of copper and rot.

"Wind breathing, sixth form," he whispers. The boy's eyes widen as Masachika's stance changes, and he steps back with the cleaver extended, as though prepared to defend himself.

"Black Wind Mountain Mist," he exhales and strides forward, pulling his body into the air in a sharp and swift uppercut. It's over in an instant - one moment, he is crouched, and the next, he lands softly on the grass beside the thudding body of a headless demon.

Masachika turns quickly, eyes never leaving the demon's body until it fully dissipates, leaving nothing behind to allude to its existence beyond the stench of death and the bodies of countless victims. Only when he's sure the demon is gone does he deftly swing his katana - the soaked blood splashes onto the grass. Masachika carefully wipes the blade against the fabric of his pants before he sheathes it once more.

When he looks up, his eyes meet with the pale lavender of the boy's, who stares at him in disbelief, cleaver at his side.

"It's dead?" he asks. Masachika smiles and nods.

"Yes," he says, standing. "Because I beheaded it."

"Demons die…when you behead them?" the purple-eyed boy continues, his voice incredulous.

"Well," Masachika brings a finger up to his chin in thought. "Yes, but only if it's with a nichirin blade."

"Nichirin blade? Your katana? How did you move like that? Wait - how the hell did you get yourself a sword? How do I get one?" he asks suddenly - so suddenly, it takes Masachika more than a moment to process his words. He can't help the laugh that leaves his lips at such enthusiasm.

"It's not something you just…get," Masachika says carefully. "It's something you earn."

"How?" he quips back immediately, catching Masachika off guard once again. "Who are you?"

Masachika can't help but smile, despite the sombre surroundings. Though the boy's eyes are hardened, brows furrowed in anger, and his voice is aggressive and rough, there is still a child-like curiosity and wonderment to him that Masachika did not expect.

From this close, Masachika can see him much clearer. He is not that much shorter than Masachika is, in actuality - and not quite as young as he initially thought from a distance. The boy is marred by an assortment of dozens of scars, with three particularly noticeable ones across the bridge of his nose and on his forehead. His jinbei is tattered, the collar open to reveal two crossed scars across his chest. His hands and face are dirty with sweat, mud, and dried blood, and his knuckles seem both raw and calloused. His hair, Masachika realises, is a pale, ghostly white, which makes the red of blood all the more dazzling in contrast.

"I'm from the Demon Slayer Corps," Masachika tells the boy. "My name is Kumeno Masachika."

The boy looks at Masachika's blade intently, but says nothing.

"How were you intending on killing that demon if you didn't know about beheading?"

"I've killed plenty," he replies sharply, almost defensively. "They burn in sunlight."

"But dawn isn't for hours," Masachika says, surprised.

"I'm persistent," is all he says in return, and it makes Masachika laugh from his belly.

He reminds him of Masane, Masachika thinks - a snarky attitude and a prickly exterior that hides the diligence and perseverance that separates someone who is good from someone who is great.

It makes Masachika's heart sink with an old, familiar heaviness.

"What's your name?" he asks.

"What's it matter?" the boy snaps back.

"So prickly!" Masachika muses, a whine teasing the ends of his voice. "We're on the same side here, aren't we?"

"I'm not on anyone's side," the boy bites back, but Masachika is just as persistent as he is.

The boy begins to collect his various tools that lay scattered in the grass - blood stained steel chains, a dented hatchet, more kitchen knives than one could feasibly carry. Masachika bounds over to him; he senses no true animosity from him despite his spiky exterior. He picks up a dropped pickaxe that has certainly seen more than just the surface of stone and deftly hands it to the boy, who tentatively eyes Masachika's smiling face before he takes it.

"Why are you doing this?" Masachika gestures to him, to the pickaxe, to everything.

The boy is silent, eyes downcast in a flickering moment of pensive thought. In those sad lavender eyes, Masachika sees one thousand hardships and regrets.

"I want to destroy all demons," he says, finally, after what seems like forever. "I'll eradicate every last one of them off the face of the earth."

His reply makes Masachika smile gently, which seems to surprise him.

"Good," Masachika says. "You should come with me, then."

"Why?" he snaps back immediately. "I still don't know who you are."

"Yes, you do!" Masachika chimes in a sing-song voice. He bounds closer still, throwing his arm over the boy's shoulders - an act that is by no means welcome, judging from his yells of protest as he pushes Masachika away from him - but Masachika has always been as persistent as he is optimistic.

"My name is Kumeno Masachika, and I'm a demon slayer," he re-iterates with a smile. "I told you this before - please listen carefully, okay? I'm the one who doesn't know who you are."

"I don't give a shit what your name is!" The boy protests, pushing him again as Masachika persistently swings his arm around him. "Get off me!"

"Oh, come now," Masachika continues. "We should be friends, I think. I would feel much better knowing a competent guy like you was watching my back in the Corps. You want to kill demons, right? You'd have a much easier time if you learned how to do it properly. Don't you want to learn how to use a sword instead of garden shears?"

That catches his attention. He stops struggling against Masachika, begrudgingly letting his arm settle on his shoulder.

"You…" the boy starts, then bites his tongue, as if swallowing pride. Masachika leans forward to peer at his face. As his eyes trail across his face though, Masachika realises that the blood on his clothing is not only that of the demon's.

The left sleeve of his jinbei is torn just below the shoulder seam, and under the dark fabric, Masachika sees that his arm is drenched in blood as a deep cut blossoms against his skin. In the dark of night, he had not distinguished between the dark cloth and bloodied skin - but now, up close, Masachika sees that the boy is deeply wounded, and his skin is not just pale; it is sickly.

"You're hurt," Masachika says in surprise as he pulls the boy closer to examine his shoulder. "Why didn't you say something?"

"I'm fine," the lavender-eyed boy tells Masachika, but when he reaches to pull him aside, the boy hisses in pain. It tells Masachika all he needs to know.

"Come on," Masachika says as he moves him to the edge of the engawa of the destroyed home. He sits him down, gentle enough to not aggravate the wound, but firm enough that the untrained boy is forced to follow his lead.

"One moment," Masachika says as he brings his fingers to his lips and whistles deftly into the night. A few quiet moments pass as Masachika examines the boy's wound. He reaches into his pants pockets to retrieve a small medical kit as the boy watches him in rapt attention. As he twists off the cap of the numbing ointment, Masachika hears the approaching wingbeats of his trusted crow. He reaches out as Yousato alights onto his arm. The boy peers quizzically at their newest arrival.

"Yousato," Masachika says. "Please retrieve the nearest kakushi. The demon has been slain, but I have a civilian boy who requires medical treatment, and there are still three bodies inside the house."

"Of course, master," Yousato replies, her sweet voice clear. "I will return post-haste."

She leaves him just as swiftly, disappearing into the night with speed and purpose. She leaves behind a dumbstruck young boy who, despite destroying demons with what may as well be his bare hands, must think a talking crow is the most outlandish thing in this world.

"What- what-" the boy starts, then hisses as Masachika lathers the ointment onto his wound.

"It's a numbing cream," Masachika explains. "It will only sting a little. I need to stitch up that wound of your's, though. Can I roll up your sleeve?"

"I'm fine," he says.

"No, you're not. This is a deep cut, easily infected. You're no stranger to scars, I can see that, but you'll be risking more than that if you leave it in this state," Masachika says firmly. "Now, please. Can I roll up your sleeve?"

The boy does not reply, turning his head away. When Masachika reaches for his sleeve though, he says nothing and makes no movement, so he takes the silence as permission as he pulls away the fabric. He uncaps his waterskin and pours water over his arm, gentle in his ministrations as he cleans the wound. Masachika threads the needle in his medical kit and begins to stitch together the deep cut that extends across his upper arm.

"You're lucky to be alive," Masachika says as he sutures the wound, carefully remembering Kanae's gentle instructions. "I don't know how you've been doing this with nothing but household knives and hatchets. Most demons would have torn you apart."

"They can't," the boy with lavender eyes says adamantly. "Most of the time they can barely walk straight after the first hit."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know," he shrugs. "Something about my blood. One of them said something about it being sweet. They're like drunk animals."

Masachika hums softly as he finishes another stitch - halfway there. Kanae would surely be done by now, he thinks. It can't be helped. He is not a ward of the Butterfly Estate, after all. His talents lie elsewhere.

"Perhaps you are marechi," Masachika muses. The boy's head snaps over to look at him as he leans forward, to which Masachika only lightly scolds. "Oi, oi, don't move while I'm stitching you up!"

"Marechi," he says. "That's it - that's what they called me. Said I was 'sweet marechi'."

"That would explain how you've gotten this far, I suppose," Masachika muses, finishing another stitch. He suppresses a sigh at his sloppy stitch work - this will likely scar unevenly. "Most people would be dead by now."

"I'm not like most people," the boy whispers. It makes Masachika smile as he completes the final stitch.

"You're just like Masane," he says softly. Masachika cuts the end of the thread as he reaches for the bandages in his pouch. He firmly wraps his arm. "Almost done."

"Masane?" the boy asks as Masachika stands.

"Please, wait here," Masachika says. "I've asked for the kakushi to come to help with the clean up, but the people who lived here…they're still inside. They deserve a proper burial."

There is a pensive silence that falls between them as Masachika looks back into the broken walls of the home the demon had so shamelessly desecrated. The last lives lost to the hands of this demon, but certainly not the first. Could they have lived if he was faster? Would their home still be whole had he arrived a day earlier? Masachika pushes the thought aside with the shake of his head as he steps up the engawa to make his way back inside.

"Wait," the boy stands and calls after him. "I want to help."

There is a part of him that wants to decline the boy - he didn't stitch up that arm only for him to exacerbate the wound with more manual labour.

But there is a look in his eyes that gives Masachika pause. A look that so deeply resembles the old ache that has long plagued his own heart. His face is crestfallen, a gentle juxtaposition against his earlier expressions of aggressive impatience. Behind his furrowed brow and downturned lips, Masachika sees the pain of a boy who knows too intimately what it feels like to bury the bodies of the deceased.

"All right," Masachika replies, voice gentle. "Come on, then."

---

Afterwards, when they've buried the couple and their young child, Masachika kneels and bows his head as he whispers a gentle prayer.

Please, kamigami, he prays fervently. Please let these people find peace in the next life. Let them be reborn in a world that knows no pain.

Masachika lifts his head to see the boy on his knees as well, praying softly beside him.

Yousato returned to him with a small group of three kakushi. It had taken her just shy of an hour, which did not surprise Masachika, considering how deep into the rural woods they were. It was a miracle she was able to find anyone so close at all.

To bury a corpse is a long and arduous process, despite what one may think. Here, in the woods, away from the civilization of a bustling town or village filled with life, there is little ceremony they can afford the dead. No family to notify - no vigil to hold - no wake to prepare - no funeral rites to honour - no cremation to perform. Instead, there is only the heavy burden of knowing that they are the only ones who can honour the lives of those who inhabited this now-empty home.

They dig in silence for the better part of the hour, until a makeshift grave that can peacefully hold three bodies has been carved from the earth. With expert control of his breathing and years of training, Masachika's muscles barely whimper after the deed - but next to him, the white-haired boy with lavender eyes breathes heavily from the strain of heavy labour. Masachika had offered to carry the corpses that remained inside, and while he could see that the boy wanted to do more, he silently relented. It was something, at least, to know that he could understand the limitations of his own body.

He truly is so similar to Masane, Masachika laments.

He is wild and rough, but with fidgety hands that grip and tug at the hem of his jinbei as he navigates through the house, as though he is scared to disrespect its former occupants. His direct questions as the kakushi arrived with Yousato had shown an eager thirst for knowledge and a curiosity that leaked from the cracks of his tough facade. And in his calloused hands that refused to stop digging until the grave was made, Masachika saw a boy whose honest diligence and drive paved the way for miraculous accomplishments.

He cannot help the solemn sigh that leaves his lips.

"Kumeno-san," a kakushi calls to him with a brisk bow. "Are you wounded?"

"No, no. I'm quite alright," Masachika replies. "But that boy-"

"I'm fine," he says curtly as he tightens his hand into a fist and lifts his arm to show them. "It was just this arm."

"You're sure?" Masachika asks.

"Yes," he says simply, and then no more.

"We've buried the victims," Masachika continues to the kakushi, who bows again. "Please clean this home. Perhaps you can find any hints of their family or friends…please, do your best. The boy and I will return to the Spring Estate together."

"Of course, Kumeno-san," the kakushi replies, then disappears back into the house to speak with the others. Masachika spies the incredulous look on the boy's face after the kakushi leaves, but he only smiles in reply.

"Yousato?" he calls. His dutiful companion lands swiftly on his outstretched arm. "Please return to the Spring Estate ahead of me. Tell Akihito-sensei that I'll be bringing a boy with me - if he has yet to return, please let Daichi-san know instead so she might prepare a room."

"Yes, master! I will take my leave now," Yousato bows her sweet head to him, and then she takes wing and disappears into the night.

When she's gone, Masachika turns to his new friend to see his back disappearing into the thicket of trees beyond the boundary of the home.

"Hey!" Masachika calls as he runs after the boy. "Wait for me! You don't even know the way back to the estate!"

"Who the hell said I was going with you?" he grunts as he continues his long strides through the brush. Masachika jogs slightly to keep up.

"Isn't that what we agreed on? You're going to come with me to become a demon slayer!"

"When the hell did I agree to that?" he yells back curtly.

"Don't you want to learn how to wield a sword?" Masachika carries on. "You're not going to accomplish much all on your own!"

"Don't assume," the boy snaps. "You're over-familiar. You don't even know me!"

"I know that you're quite stubborn," Masachika replies with a smile as he falls in line with the boy's footsteps and matches his stride. He is obviously still hurt, but hides his fatigue well as he limps through the forest. The boy only scoffs in reply.

"And I know that you must be quite talented to have survived this long, marechi or not."

He twitches, brows furrowing even more as his pace quickens. Masachika sees the rosy pink glow that flushes to his ears, though, and stifles a laugh.

"You even embarrass easily. You really are just like Masane," Masachika says.

"That's not my name," the boy replies.

"Well, you never told me your actual name."

"Leave me alone."

And he bolts, taking a brisk left turn as he runs from Masachika. Masachika heaves a sigh. So stubborn, he thinks. He breathes deeply, the rejuvenating sensation of fresh air filling his lungs, and breaks into a sprint that easily outmatches the boy's. The look of shock on his face when he turns and sees Masachika barely breaking a sweat beside him is quite funny.

"Why are you following me!?" he shouts, then skids to a halt before bolting the other direction. Masachika easily curves back around to match his pace once more.

"Where are you going?" Masachika whines now, a fake frustration painting his voice. "That's not the way back to the Spring Estate!"

Masachika grabs him by the collar and pulls him to a halt - the boy nearly gags on his jinbei as he stops.

"You're pretty fast for a little kid, you know," Masachika muses. The boy throws a right hook at him, hands balled into a fist. He side steps it easily, leaving the boy staggering.

"I'm not a little kid!" he shouts back. "I'm fourteen!"

"Fourteen?" Masachika muses aloud - only a year younger than him, and… "That's even how old he would be. Are you sure you aren't secretly Masane?"

Masachika leans forward, peering curiously at the white-haired boy as his eyes explore the lines of his face.

"Is it you, Masane?" he says, poking his cheek. "Masane? Masane! Is that you, Masane?"

"Who the fuck is Masane?!" the boy finally snaps. "My name is Sanemi!"

So that's his name. Sanemi. Masachika muses upon each syllable in his head as he repeats the name. Perhaps they even share the same kanji. He brushes away the thought with a smile.

"Sanemi-kun," he says, finally relishing in knowing the lavender-eyed boy's name. "What a nice name. I know you're not actually Masane - I was just kidding."

"Who even is Masane?" Sanemi asks. Masachika can only manage a solemn smile.

"Just someone I knew," he half lies. "But, Sanemi-kun…really, though. What are you planning on doing?"

"I'm going to kill more demons," he says matter-of-factly, as if it were the most obvious answer in the world. Masachika laughs in his face.

"With a garden hatchet?" he asks. "Come on, surely you know that's as good as a death wish."

"It's kept me alive this long," Sanemi argues, and Masachika's smile drops as he grabs the boy by his collar, his grip firm.

"What's kept you alive this long is nothing but sheer, dumb luck."

Sanemi grits his teeth, but argues no further. He must not expect the drop in his tone or the sudden serious expression that clouds Masachika's face. Instead, his lavender gaze meets Masachika's own brown eyes in a sombre moment of contemplation.

"You can't rely on that if you want to destroy demons," Masachika continues, voice low. "You need skill as well."

Sanemi bites his lips as he breaks his eyes away to stare intently at the mulch of the forest floor.

"I have skill," he whispers, almost petulantly.

Masachika releases his collar and pushes him away. In only a moment, the sweet smile returns as he cocks his head to the side.

"All right," he says. "Then prove it!"

"What?" Sanemi snaps his head back, wild white hair whipping as he does, but Masachika has already thrust his sheathed nichirin blade into Sanemi's hands. Masachika spies a broken branch upon the forest floor and picks it up, deftly twirling it in his hands.

"Why don't we have a spar?" Masachika continues. "Prove to me how skilled you are, and once I'm sure you can defend yourself, I'll leave you be."

"You're holding a stick," Sanemi says, confused.

"It's all I need," Masachika reassures him.

Tentatively, Sanemi grips the sheathed blade in his hands. He slowly unsheathes it - just a few inches - and quickly snaps it closed.

"This is a real katana," he says, as if to himself.

"It is," Masachika confirms. "Go on, draw the blade."

Slowly, with much deliberation, Sanemi does as he is told. He kneels as he places the sheath gently onto the floor, as though it were priceless porcelain that he was holding in his hands. He admires his reflection in the blade as if it were made of gold. When he stands, he grips the blade with both hands as it shudders in the wind with his nervous movements.

"I can't fight you with this," Sanemi says. "I'd kill you."

"No, you won't," Masachika shrugs in reply as he twirls the branch idly in his hands. "I can tell you've never held a sword before. Your stance is completely wrong, and your breathing is awful. An amateur like you couldn't lay a hit on me no matter how hard you tried!"

"What the fuck did you just say?" Sanemi's grip tightens as the corner of his mouth twitches.

Masachika holds back a laugh - he is so very easy to taunt. No matter. Akihito-sensei will beat that out of him first and foremost. A demon slayer does not let his emotions cloud his judgement, after all.

"If I can pin you, I win," Masachika says. "And if I win, you'll come with me to the Spring Estate."

"And if I win, you'll be dead," Sanemi says, frowning. "This is stupid. I'm not going to cut you down with your own sword."

"Oh, don't worry," Masachika says as he smiles simply in reply. "You can't."

Now he's angry, Masachika can tell. Sanemi grits his teeth so hard that he can almost hear them grinding through the silence of the trees. His hands tighten around the tsuka of Masachika's sword as he adjusts his grip. Sanemi lowers himself a fraction closer to the ground, and then –

It's over before it begins. Masachika inhales, exhales, then releases. Sanemi hasn't even taken two steps before Masachika has his back pinned against the mulch of the forest floor, disarmed as his blade twirls in the air and pierces a nearby tree trunk. He has one knee pressed against Sanemi's chest as he points the end of his wooden branch against the boy's chin. He looks as flabbergasted as he does impressed.

When Masachika moves to get off the younger boy, though, he feels something pressed firmly against his side. He glances down to the sight of the wooden handle of a broom digging into his hip. Somehow, in the two heartbeats it took for Masachika to pin Sanemi to the floor, he had let go of the blade with one hand and retrieved his impromptu weapon from the makeshift holster at his hip - and not just any weapon - he had the presence of mind to reach for the bluntest, non-lethal weapon he had in his employ.

Masachika's chest swells with a feeling that can only be described as a sense of respect.

"Very good," Masachika says, standing. He reaches out his hand to the boy on the floor. "Very impressive."

Sanemi takes his hand, and he pulls the boy to his feet.

"You still win," Sanemi admits tersely as he adjusts his clothing. He looks down quietly, as if in thought, then whispers so softly, Masachika can barely hear it.

"You're right," he whispers. "I'm only alive because of dumb luck."

"Why do you want to kill demons, Sanemi?" Masachika asks bluntly.

"Why?" he repeats. "Why not? Who wouldn't?"

"Of course it's easy to say that. If anyone could kill something as inhuman as a demon, then of course they'd want to…but you could leave this all behind and live a comfortable life without the threat of demons clouding your future. So, why do you fight? Why do you want to kill demons?"

"Because…" he trails off as his lavender gaze flickers to the floor. He is silent as he ruminates on Masachika's question. He is quiet for so long, in fact, that Masachika wonders if the boy has fallen asleep standing.

A ray of light pierces through the sky as the horizon fades from deep midnight blue to a sombre purple and fuschia. Sunrise approaches. In the distance, Masachika hears the cries of birds as they awaken from their slumber.

"Because I can," Sanemi answers, finally, looking up to meet Masachika's eyes with a determination that wasn't there before. "For all the people who can't, or couldn't. I want to kill demons so that no one else has to endure what I do."

Masachika smiles. He reaches out and clasps Sanemi's good arm with his hand, a firm grasp of approval as he nods.

"Good," he says. "Then come with me, and join the Demon Slayer Corps. Become a true demon slayer. Return to the Spring Estate with me, and I will introduce you to a cultivator who will teach you to fight and breathe like I do. Fight with me, so others can be spared this burden."

There is a fiery determination in Sanemi's eyes as he nods in reply.

---

Sanemi has never stepped foot into a residence as large or as grand as the Spring Estate. There is something so serene, so beautiful about the estate itself - not the carefully crafted lacquer accessories or the fresh ikebana that welcomes all guests - but rather the building itself that seems to breathe with life that is both refreshing and patronising to the young boy who has lost everything. The entry hall alone is already half the size of his childhood home, where he spent the first twelve years of his short life crammed between six other hungry mouths, with a mother who never slept but also never cried, never tired or complained even when the man who dared to call himself her husband came home, fists clenched tight and knuckles raw and red and bloody and –

He stops his heart rate from increasing with a slow, shuddering breath. The past is in the past. It cannot be helped. There is no use losing himself to painful memories that no longer breathe the way he does.

"Are you okay?"

Masachika sits beside him, knees bent politely in seiza as his legs tuck neatly under his weight atop the zabuton. Compared to him, Masachika looks to be the picture of a refined and polite upper class man, while Sanemi sits in agura and fidgets with the hem of his dirty clothing as he stares at the texture of the tatami floor.

The black haired boy had chatted relentlessly to Sanemi on their journey to the so-called 'Spring Estate'. Kumeno Masachika is as much an annoying nuisance as he is a skilled swordsman, Sanemi has learned. No matter how desperately he tries to ignore him, how many times he brushes him off or pushes him away, Masachika comes back to invade his personal space with a thousand questions that he can't care to answer. With his incessant chattering and his over-familiarity, though, Sanemi never would have guessed that the boy came from such a privileged and refined upbringing.

He doesn't belong here. Everything in this room is placed purposefully, with meaning, and exists in a state of perpetual beauty and elegance that Sanemi disrupts with his very presence. It sickens him, almost; sickens him to despoil a place so beautifully hidden behind flowering plum blossoms and delicate lacquerware.

"I'm fine," he replies, finally, but feels anything but.

Masachika hums lightly beside him. He's contemplating something, Sanemi knows. Masachika is only a year older than him, Sanemi has learned, but he acts like his junior instead, sticking his nose where it does not belong. He's only known the boy for a few short days as they journeyed here, but his mannerisms are loud and easy to read.

He's just like Teiko, Sanemi thinks, always in other people's business, always snooping when she shouldn't, always gossiping and prying and –

His heart rate is increasing again.

This is why he avoids people, why he prefers to be alone. The memories, almost two years old at this point, still feel fresh as yesterday when he's in the presence of others. He hates to remember, hates to feel the numbing sensation that comes as the colour fades from his world again. He can't catch up to his rapid heartbeats though, and his breathing feels shallow and haphazard.

"Breathe in through your nose," Masachika says softly as he places his palm just below Sanemi's rib cage. "Not your upper chest. You want it to circulate through your whole body. Breathe with your diaphragm - this thing, here. Exhale through your mouth."

Usually, he'd swat Masachika's hand away, but the way his mind is scampering through wanton memories that only make his chest ache more leaves him desperate. So he listens instead and does as he's told, breathing in through his nose and letting the air travel to the muscle that Masachika's hand highlights gently.

"Breathe with me, all right?" Masachika tells him. "In…then out. Good. In…out again…in…"

Sanemi does as he's told as his heart rate steadies to a slower rhythm. The older boy is at least aware and polite enough to comment no further when Sanemi has finally calmed his nerves. He can be grateful for some small blessings, at least. The gentle approach of footsteps behind the sliding door of the entryway gets his attention.

"Please excuse me," a delicate, feminine voice calls.

"Daichi-san, please come in," Masachika replies.

The door slides open as Sanemi spies a pretty woman with light, lavender hair and a delicately printed beige kimono bowing politely, her fingers almost touching as her head lowers so very closely to the floor. She places a tray with two glossy cups of steaming tea and a plate of sweets onto the tatami mat and slides it forward before she shifts her weight to enter the room. With another low bow, she picks up the tray and brings it to the two boys.

When he can see her face properly, Sanemi notes that she is very beautiful, with gentle eyes the colour of orchids. She is older than them both, and is well dressed and neatly put together, her appearance as proper as her speech. Her light purple hair is delicately braided and tucked into a low bun, and not a single strand seems out of place as two loose ends frame her face. A fanciful pink kanzashi is pinned to her bun, pale and pretty against her lavender hair.

Sanemi cannot help but feel deeply uncomfortable. Despite her proper dress and manners, and despite the fact that barely a word is exchanged between them, the older woman treats them like household lords, bowing with a deference that would feel patronising if it were not so genuinely accompanied by the grace of the estate. If someone like her would treat him like this, just who is the man who brought him here?

"I pray your mission was successful, Kumeno-sama," she says as she places the tray of sweets and a cup of tea before him. "As requested by Yousato, I have prepared a room for your new friend."

"Thank you, Daichi-san," Masachika says with a polite smile. "And please, you know I prefer it when you call me Masachika."

The woman only smiles politely as she bows, not relenting to his request yet terribly polite in doing so. Then she turns to Sanemi and places the other cup in front of him. Her eyes flicker across his scars in a way that makes him feel self conscious.

"As Kumeno-sama's guest, you are welcome at the Spring Estate for as long as it pleases you, ah…" she trails off as she turns to Masachika. "My apologies, Yousato did not tell me your guest's name…"

"That's all right, Daichi-san," Masachika says with a wave of his hand. "I didn't know his name either when I sent Yousato off. Actually, now that I think of it, I don't think I know your full name…"

Sanemi holds in his sigh, if only because it would be terribly improper of him in front of a woman who is so well spoken and dignified.

"Shinazugawa Sanemi," he says simply. It's only polite to tell her, since she had treated him so kindly.

"Shinazugawa-sama," the woman named Daichi says. "I hope you find the Spring Estate to your liking."

He feels heat rushing to his cheeks and ears at the way she addresses him. No one has ever addressed him like that before. It unsettles him somewhat, and he feels deeply uncomfortable.

"Please," he says hastily, shaking his hands. "Don't call me that. Sanemi is fine."

She smiles at him and bows, that same polite gesture she gave Masachika that tells him she won't be honouring his request.

"Has Akihito-sensei returned from his mission?" Masachika asks.

"Yes, he returned home just yesterday," Daichi explains. "I have explained to him that you have brought –"

"Mother!" a high pitched, child-like voice interrupts them, echoing through the corridors of the estate alongside light and rapid footsteps. "Mother! Mother! Look, mother, look what I found in the –"

A young girl nearly throws open the sliding door to the entrance room. She is only a child, no older than three or four, Sanemi guesses based on her size and the softness of her face. He notes what looks like mud on her cheek. She is in a simple, plain pink yukata that would look much prettier if not for the dirt on her sleeves. She has short black hair that neatly frames her face, and her light, lavender eyes twinkle with surprise when she locks her gaze with his. He wonders for a moment if his scars frighten her.

She looks like Sumi, Sanemi can't help but think, then forces himself to breathe deeply through his nose and out his mouth as Masachika had instructed him earlier.

"Miharu!" Daichi scolds the young girl with the firm voice of a mother. He knows it, because it is so similar to the tone his mother once took with him and his siblings.

"S-sorry, mother, I didn't know we had guests," the girl's gaze is torn from Sanemi, to her mother, then to Masachika. Her expression immediately shifts. "Masa-tan! You're home!"

The girl bounds into the room, a direct contrast from the proper form her mother displays as she tracks dirt across the tatami. She dives into Masachika's arms with a laugh as the dark haired boy catches her, a smile on his face.

"Miharu-chan!" Masachika says. "Come now, you're getting dirt on the tatami."

"Miharu," Daichi's voice is low, calm, and firm. In Masachika's arms, the young girl stops laughing and all but freezes. She slowly forces herself to turn to face her mother.

"I-I'm sorry mother!" she starts. "I got excited, I didn't know Masa-tan was home yet, and…"

"What have you been doing?" Daichi laments as she pulls Miharu to her, carefully looking over her dirt-covered yukata. "You're a mess!"

"I- I was in the gardens, that's all!" Miharu says. Daichi clicks her tongue in annoyance as Masachika can only force a lighthearted laugh. He reaches out to tussle Miharu's hair.

"Come now, Miharu-chan," he chides. "Don't give your mother trouble."

"I'm not trying to give her –"

"Shinazugawa-sama," Daichi suddenly addresses him instead, bowing low. It surprises him so much, he can't help but stare in reply. "My apologies for my daughter's rudeness. She is still young, she is not –"

Another set of footsteps approach as Sanemi hears the gentle call of another feminine voice.

"Please, excuse me," the voice says, and it does not wait for a reply before sliding the door open.

There's another lavender-haired girl kneeling at the precipice of the entry room, just as pretty as the last two who have entered. Sanemi has to stifle his sigh. She bows quickly, excusing herself before she looks up. Her purple eyes match that of Daichi and Miharu, and Sanemi can tell immediately that she is related. She is older than Miharu, but younger than Sanemi - perhaps ten, if he had to guess.

When she spies the scene in front of her, she makes a curious expression, but comments on it no further.

"Masachika-san," she says, nodding to the dark-haired boy before she returns her gaze to Daichi. "Sister. I apologise for…interrupting. Kakutani-sama has summoned Masachika-san and his guest to his quarters. He is ready to speak with you both."

"Thank you, Daiya," Daichi replies after an exasperated sigh. "Would you please escort them to the master's quarters? I'd like to have a word with Miharu."

"Of course, sister," Daiya says with a curt nod.

She stands and bows again, to Masachika and Sanemi this time, then gestures for them to follow. Masachika stands first, and Sanemi wordlessly follows his lead. They leave a distressed looking Miharu with her cross mother, and Sanemi does not miss the sympathetic laugh Masachika gives her as he pats her head.

It only dawns upon Sanemi just how large the estate is as they leave the entry room. They follow the path set by the engawa, passing half a dozen rooms on one side and a small, enclosed garden that the estate frames on the other. Occasionally, as they pass over the wooden floorboards, Sanemi hears the soft chirp of the wood that sounds like an uguisu. The peaceful, echoing sound of a shishi-odoshi rings through the estate as they make their way around a small koi pond that is hidden behind the greenery of the gardens.

"How are you, Daiya-chan?" Masachika asks as they walk.

"I'm well, thank you. The estate was quite peaceful," she replies sweetly, her voice gentle. "How fared your last mission, Masachika-san?"

"It was rather eventful, you could say," he replies as he throws his arms up, hands clasped behind his head. His casual behaviour appals even Sanemi, who is far from polite. "I picked up a stray."

"Oi," Sanemi says with a frown, speaking for the first time in a moment. "Don't say that as if I followed you like a lost dog. You're the one who dragged me here."

"Oh," the young lavender-haired girl stops suddenly, turning to face Sanemi. She bows politely to him. "My apologies, I failed to introduce myself. My name is Doumae Daiya. I am Daichi's younger sister, and I am also a member of the servant household of the Spring Estate."

"Servant household?" Sanemi can't help the incredulous tone of his voice.

It makes sense, he supposes. An estate this large could not feasibly be maintained without the help of live-in servants - but when he agreed to accompany the dark-haired swordsman, he hardly could have imagined finding himself in a place that called for an entire household to maintain its care.

That prickling, disquieting feeling of not belonging returns tenfold. This is the Meiji era, not the Sengoku period, but he'd be forgiven for feeling like he had fallen into the estate of an esteemed samurai's family home. Sanemi does not belong here, and he starts ruminating all the ways he can quickly turn down whatever offer this Demon Slayer Corps has to make for him and leave as soon as possible.

"Sanemi-kun," Masachika snaps his attention back to reality. "Are you listening?"

He doesn't know what he hates more - Shinazugawa-sama, which makes him feel like an out-of-place lord pretending to be something he is not, or Sanemi-kun, which makes him feel like someone's little brother waiting to be coddled.

"You're too over-familiar!" Sanemi snaps again, only stopping himself from swearing since a young girl is in their company. "How many times do I have to say that?"

"Now, now, I was just answering your question," Masachika raises his hands defensively.

"I don't believe he was listening to you, Masachika-san," the young girl named Daiya tells him. "Not many people do when you ramble like that."

"Hey now, hey now!" Masachika whines at Daiya with a defeated expression. "I'm just trying to be helpful! He doesn't know anything about the Corps!"

Daiya's snark catches Sanemi by surprise. He can't suppress the chuckle that leaves his lips.

"Did you just laugh?" Masachika whirls around to him, eyes wide and glossy. "Don't agree with her! Why is everyone so mean to me?"

"Sanemi-san, was it?" Daiya asks over her shoulder as they continue walking through the estate.

Finally, he thinks to himself. A form of address I can accept. Sanemi lets out a soft 'nn' in acknowledgement.

"Please, forgive Masachika-san for his eccentricities," she says with a smile and a polite tone that far exceeds the years of her youth. "He can be a handful sometimes, but I do hope you take care of him. He has a kind heart."

The praise has Masachika beaming ear to ear, his complaints of teasing and bullying suddenly forgotten.

"Oh, Daiya-chan! You're so sweet!" he sings. Daiya smiles at him, clicking her tongue in annoyance, but doesn't push him away.

"My sister Daichi, her daughter Miharu, and myself are part of the Doumae family," Daiya explains as she ignores Masachika's antics. "The Doumae family has been the head of the servant household at the Spring Estate for a very long time. I believe one could trace our ancestry even back to the early Edo era."

"Daiya-chan, Daiya-chan!" Masachika whines. "I just told him this!"

"He wasn't listening to you, I just told you that," she rebuffs him. Sanemi smiles at the way the young girl so effortlessly deflects Masachika's annoying habits.

"The Spring Estate has been the ancestral home of the Kakutani household for centuries. If your goal is to master wind breathing and climb the ranks of the Demon Slayer Corps, then I believe Kakutani-sama would happily help you reach your ambitions, should you prove to be worthy."

"Worthy?" Sanemi asks.

"Yes, worthy," Daiya says. "Master Kakutani does not take in every student who comes to his door."

"Kakutani-sensei is the wind hashira, remember, Sanemi-kun?" Masachika pokes Sanemi's shoulder.

He remembers, though for what that's worth, Sanemi would say…not a lot. Daiya was right - it's hard to listen to Masachika when he rambles the way that he does. During their journey to the estate, Masachika had spoken ceaselessly about the Demon Slayer Corps, their structure, their members, anything and everything he could think of that Sanemi made no real effort to listen or recall. Whatever genuine curiosity Sanemi had for the Corps was lost after the first hour of rambling.

"Right," Sanemi quips as they exit through what looks to be a dining hall at the back of the estate. "Hashira. A very strong demon slayer."

"Not just a very strong demon slayer!" Masachika raises his voice an octave in abject horror at Sanemi's mistake. "The best demon slayers! The hashira are the highest rank you could possibly achieve! They're better than strong, they're masters of the martial arts! There are only eight people who currently hold the rank out of the entire Corps!"

"Right," it's the only reply he can muster with a grunt.

He doesn't particularly care who or what Masachika's teacher is. He's already decided to leave, after all. It was a mistake to come here, to think he could learn anything but how to feel even more uncomfortable in the presence of women and children who were so much more learned and well-mannered than he is.

They exit the back of the dining hall and follow a gravel path to what looks to be a separate house behind the main estate. How big is this fucking place? Sanemi wonders to himself.

"Come on, at least try to pretend to be excited!" Masachika quips. "If you pass Final Selection, Kakutani-sensei might even take you as his tsuguko, just like me!"

Tsuguko - Sanemi vaguely remembers the term. More than a student, tsuguko were akin to successors of the hashira. He recalls a small sample of Masachika's previous ramblings.

"Right, a tsuguko, just like you, because your master just had his other tsuguko exceed expectations of the rank and become a hashira as well, so he'll be very bored and very lonely, and he's sure to welcome the attention of another student to fill his days. Did I get that right?"

It's all but a word-for-word parroting of Masachika's earlier ramblings. In front of them, Daiya makes an affronted noise.

"Is that what you told him?" she asks Masachika with a frown, then drops her voice to a cautious whisper. "Kakutani-sama would not be pleased to know you called him lonely…"

"I didn't mean it like that, Daiya-chan," Masachika hurriedly whispers back with a flinch. "I just meant that he's used to having two tsuguko, and now he only has me. He might want to find another who is worthy to teach."

"I think that is for the master to decide, Masachika-san," Daiya finishes as they stop beside the entry to the second house that hides behind the main estate.

They're still within the high, stone fence that marks the grounds of the estate. This second building, though smaller than the main estate, is not less extravagant in its build or finery. It is still larger than Sanemi's childhood home, and as he peers at the entry, he spies two doors and a wooden beam that seems to imply it is two large rooms resting side by side. If this is the quarters of the master of the estate, then it is a fitting spectacle.

Now that they've stopped and Daiya has turned to face them, Sanemi can actually peer at her features properly. She is certainly Daichi's sister, he thinks, and he'd know it even if she had not told him. Her hair and eyes share the same lavender shade, and while Daichi's hair was tucked neatly into a bun, Daiya's is short and frames her face. She has braided the front of her hair into two plaits that are tucked neatly behind her ears. Her kimono is a pastel pink and decorated with what looks to be the branches and flowers of plum blossoms.

Plum blossoms, he notes. He vaguely recalls the kamon sigil at the front of the estate, decorated along the entrance; while the specifics elude him, the estate was marked by a symbol of a plum blossom. It all makes sense, he suddenly realises, from the blossoms, to the uguisu floorboards, to the aptly named Spring Estate. The poetic nature of it all reminds him once again that he does not belong here.

"Kakutani-sama is waiting inside his quarters," Daiya says with a bow. "I will leave you now."

"Thank you, Daiya-chan," Masachika says to the young girl with a smile. "We'll see you at dinner, then."

"Of course," she smiles and excuses herself with another curt nod.

Masachika steps up the stairs ahead of Sanemi, kneeling by the door. He beckons Sanemi to do the same. Sanemi inhales deeply, bracing himself for whatever may happen behind that door, and does as he's asked.

"Please excuse us, sensei," Masachika calls politely.

"You may enter," a deep voice replies. Masachika moves to slide the door open, then ducks his head to bow. Sanemi ducks his head as well, then eagerly peers into the room.

The room itself is simply decorated, which Sanemi had not expected. There is no ikebana, no hanging wall scrolls or couplet paintings; Sanemi knows that there is a very fine line between the aesthetic appeal of minimalism and true, genuine simplicity - but there is something about this room that does not match the grace of the rest of the estate. Something tells him that the room is not bare because it is beautiful, but rather it is simply bare because that is all it needs to be.

The man inside is kneeling atop a zabuton, his posture and poise rigid yet serene. He is much older than they are, and his emerald green eyes seem hardened and distant. The lines on his face tell a hundred more stories than the scars that marr his skin do. His hair, jet black and long, is neatly tied into a ponytail that cascades over his shoulder. He is wearing a uniform very similar to Masachika's - a black, buttoned, high collar shirt with a white frame that matches the black hakama pants he has grown accustomed to seeing Masachika in. A white haori is draped over his shoulders, the ends dyed an emerald green gradient, with fine gold and red detailing that blossoms into a kikkou tortoise shell print.

If Sanemi wanted to know what a Meiji era samurai looked like, he was quite confident that the man in the room whose gaze pierced into his skull like an icy dagger was more than worthy of the title.

He beckons them in. Sanemi can see his calloused hands move in a manner that can only be described as precise and purposeful. Whatever notions he had entertained about running away suddenly fade like a whisper in the wind. This was a man worthy of respect. This was a master who could steel his resolve and hone his skills.

Masachika enters first, and Sanemi quietly and dutifully follows after. They kneel politely in seiza before the man, and Sanemi breathes in and out slowly as he appraises him. Sanemi suddenly wishes he had a change of clothing, his dark tattered jinbei making him feel naked.

"Akihito-sensei, welcome home. I hope your mission went smoothly," Masachika says with another bow. The man nods in reply.

"It was a routine patrol of my region. There were no irregularities," he says. "I see your own mission went well."

"Yes, sensei! It did. The reported demon has been slain. I can't take all the credit, however. Someone did beat me to it…" Masachika turns to Sanemi, who shakes his head in response.

"No," Sanemi says. "I hung it from a tree and waited until sunrise. You're the one who killed it."

"Masachika," Akihito says as he flicks his gaze from Sanemi to Masachika. Sanemi notes the distinct lack of honorifics used. "Who is this boy?"

"He's the one we've been receiving reports on, sensei. The boy who has been killing demons with everything but a nichirin blade."

"And why have you brought him here?" Akihito continues.

Sanemi won't have someone else speak for him.

"Kakutani-sama," Sanemi says, voice clear and firm. He bows deeply, respectfully, so that his head lightly grazes the tatami mat and his hands touch neatly before his head.

"I wish to train under you, as your student," Sanemi says, keeping his head low in deference. "I want to become a demon slayer."

Akihito says nothing, and Sanemi keeps his head bowed in silence as he waits for the master to appraise him. He can hear the man's haori shuffle as he stands and approaches them, the sound of his clothes the only indication he had moved at all. Each gentle footstep barely breathes so much as a sigh against the tatami mat floor. Remembering Masachika's earlier advice, Sanemi steadies his breathing - in through his nose, out through his mouth, deep breath from his diaphragm, not his chest.

"Do you believe he has the aptitude for my ancestral technique, Masachika?" Akihito asks, voice calm and slow.

"I do, sensei," Masachika replies without a second of pause, with a tone of conviction that surprises Sanemi. Akihito hums in thought.

"Raise your head," he tells him. Sanemi dutifully obeys. "What is your name?"

"My name is Shinazugawa Sanemi," he tells the master, who looks down at him from only a few feet away. From this close, Sanemi can see the definition of built, trained muscle beneath his uniform.

"Shinazugawa Sanemi," Akihito stresses each syllable. "Why do you want to become a demon slayer?"

Sanemi closes his eyes, and for once, allows himself to remember.

He remembers the man he called father; the look of his cold, heartless black eyes, the feel of his clenched fists against his ribs, the sound of his voice, cruel and barking words of hatred and loathing.

He remembers his young siblings; the look of their gentle, serene smiles, the feel of their small, soft hands in his own, the sound of their cries that rip through their home and his nightmares.

He remembers his mother; the look of love and adoration she reserved only for him and her children, the feel of her firm and comforting embrace as she ran her fingers through his hair, the sound of her bones crunching on the pavement against his cleaver.

He remembers Genya. He remembers his eyes. He remembers his words. He remembers the pain.

Sanemi looks up at the man named Kakutani Akihito, and he does not look away.

"To protect the people who cannot protect themselves," Sanemi tells him. "To destroy all evil demons."

---

Sanemi has never felt his chest pound, his muscles ache, or his vision blur as intensely as it does now, in the midst of their training, wooden sword in hand as Akihito-sensei beats his muscles into shape with a thousand sword-strokes. Whatever pretences he had about the difficulty or intensity of the wind hashira's training was promptly thrown out the window the second he stepped foot on the training grounds and found himself vastly outmatched by the sheer speed and strength of two highly trained warriors. He is not just a rookie foot soldier playing at war - no, he is a child with a stick in hand who is chest deep in quicksand and sinking fast into hell.

But it's not for naught. Each swing of his sword trains the muscles in his arms to be stronger, each dodge he makes at an incoming strike forces his legs to move faster, and each pounding strike at his chest or back forces him to breathe deeper. He can feel his muscles tightening day by day, and after a week, while he is tired and sore, he is also stronger and better.

He has come to realise that Masachika is as complex an individual as he is annoying and stupid. Akihito-sensei does not train him alone - he trains side by side with the older, dark-haired boy with twinkling brown eyes and a boisterous smile who dutifully executes each form with a precision Sanemi struggles to fathom.

Masachika has two twin scars on his lower right cheek that Sanemi thinks are ill-befitting such a kind personality. It all seems rather unfit, he thinks - Masachika is bright and happy, a walking beam of sunlight who shines laughter wherever he goes - but on the training grounds, in front of their teacher, with sword in hand, Masachika is a trained killer who has seen just as much horror, if not more, than Sanemi has. People like him aren't meant to fight the terrors of the night. It's people like Sanemi - broken, lost, and with nothing to lose - who should bear the burden.

He focuses more on training than he does on talking, but he's pieced together information about the Kakutani family and the estate they reside in. The Kakutani household is one of five so-called "Great Families" in service to the Demon Slayer Corps (he has, admittedly, already forgotten the names of the other four families). The master of the estate and head of the household is his new teacher, Akihito-sensei, and his graduated tsuguko is his heir.

Masachika, Sanemi has learned, actually has no relation to the Kakutani family at all.

"I'm a ward of the estate," the boy had explained to him. "I came here…hmm…three, four…five years ago. I was ten years old, I think. Akihito-sensei saved my life from a demon. He taught me and gave me a reason to fight, to protect others - and then he gave me a home too, when he offered to house me as a ward to his family."

With only minor complaints, Sanemi had begrudgingly accepted the room prepared for him at the Spring Estate. His housing is simple and bare, tucked away in the western wing of the estate, which he has been told is the men's quarters. Aside from Masachika and Akihito, though, Sanemi has not encountered any other men of the family, but he believes they are also demon slayers out on various missions.

"You know, Akihito-sensei's son was supposed to be his heir," Masachika had quietly said one afternoon after a hard training session that made Sanemi question why his new sensei was as diligent as he was. Masachika's whispered tone was deeply sad.

"But then…well…things happen, I suppose. Now his brother's child is the heir, not his…things must be so hard for sensei. He only wants what is best for us. I think he only takes in people he sees great potential in, ones he knows can be pushed harder. That's why I vouched for you, Sanemi-kun! And now that I'm your senpai, I have so much to show you and teach you and–"

Sanemi had stopped listening to Masachika's ramblings at that point.

He ruminated on the sad revelation. It makes sense, he supposes. He who fights demons is driven by the loss caused by demons. Akihito-sensei is very much like Sanemi himself. Sanemi assumes that Akihito's previous tsuguko - his heir who has now become a hashira too - is out on a mission somewhere, and that he will meet him soon enough. It is something that fills him with a slight flicker of anticipation. He has seen first hand the skills of one hashira. He would very much like to marvel at the skill of two.

The respect and deference that Masachika holds for his master is one of his more admirable traits, Sanemi concludes. After a week in training under Akihito-sensei's tutelage, Sanemi comes to understand exactly why everyone holds him in such high prestige.

Kakutani Akihito is somehow ruthless, yet gentle. He is a man of very few words, but he doesn't need many to get his point across. Every action and reaction is made with elegant poise, and driven by purpose. Not a hair is out of place on the man's head, every fold of his uniform and haori seemingly the way it is for the simple reason that it should be. Sanemi respects the man very much indeed.

"Sanemi," his master calls out to him. "I believe that is enough for today."

Akihito does not address his students with honorifics. It's something that Sanemi finds comforting, to be frank, as he's never considered himself particularly worthy of the respect that people like the Doumae girls insist on showing him. From his teacher, though, it feels almost…affectionate, it is own way.

"I can keep going, master. It's barely past noon," Sanemi tries to argue, but Akihito waves his protests away.

"You did well today, Sanemi," Akihito tells him. "But you must also understand when your body needs to rest. Rehabilitation is a type of training all its own."

Sanemi bows his head obediently and relents. "Yes, sensei. You're right."

When he stands and places his wooden training sword on the stand where it belongs, reaching instead for a towel to wipe the sweat from his brow, Masachika bounds to him with energy he must have collected from lazing in the sun.

"You did fantastic, Sanemi-kun!" Masachika sings to him. Sanemi only grunts in reply. "I can't believe you already have the first form of wind breathing down so expertly. You know, most people take months to even learn the correct breathing technique! You completely mastered Total Concentration Breathing in just a few days, though! I'm really impressed. You'll be ready for Final Selection in no time!"

Masachika continues to sing him praises, which Sanemi dismisses with simple grunts. He throws the towel over his head, as if to shield himself from the afternoon sun. He hopes that no one realises it's really to hide the red flush that has creeped up to his ears. Masachika praises him too freely.

"Masachika, Sanemi," Akihito suddenly calls to them as he steps off the training grounds as well. They turn and bow in acknowledgement. "There is another reason I've decided to end our training early today. I'll be leaving the estate tomorrow at dawn, so I have preparations to make. Mitsuki delivered a message from Oyakata-sama just this morning."

Sanemi listens with rapt attention, something that Masachika fails to earn from him. Mitsuki is Akihito's kasugai crow, a dutiful but very old bird who speaks just as little as her master.

Oyakata-sama is the leader of the Demon Slayer Corps. Though he has yet to meet the man, surely someone with such a title who can command such great respect from a man like Akihito is a great and powerful warrior.

"I'll be gone for some time." Akihito continues. "In my absence, Masachika, I would like you to continue training with Sanemi. I've asked Oyakata-sama for permission to have you taken from active mission duty for a short time to facilitate this."

"Oh!" Masachika is positively glowing as he bows. "Yes, that is perfect, thank you Akihito-sensei! I would be honoured to help Sanemi-kun in your stead. I'll send Yousato straight away with a message of gratitude to Oyakata-sama. I pray your mission is swift and all goes smoothly!"

"You should take Sanemi to the Sunrise Estate," Akihito continues, nodding at them. "Have his measurements taken so we can get new clothes tailored for him. This kimono suits you much better than the tattered jinbei you came in, Sanemi, but I feel you will find the Corps' garbs to be much more suitable to your needs. You will not receive your uniform until after Final Selection, but there's other garbs for you to wear."

"Yes, master," Sanemi bows politely. "Of course. Kumeno-san and I will leave post-haste."

He is a different person here, he admits. Kumeno-san is probably the highest form of respect he has paid to his new senpai, but he only ever pays it in Akihito's presence. That is the effect that his master has on him.

"We should get something to eat too," Masachika muses mostly to himself. "I like the udon from one of the market stalls near the estate."

Sanemi only hums in response. They both bow to Akihito as they are dismissed, and while their master returns to his quarters at the back of the estate, they make their way through the dining hall.

"Daichi-san is not preparing food?" Sanemi asks once they enter.

Doumae Daichi is a sweet and kind woman, Sanemi has come to understand, but she is far too polite to a man like him. He wishes she would simply call him by his first name, or at least choose any honorific for him that is not -sama. He learns very quickly, however, that such casual language is not in her vocabulary.

"She probably is," Masachika muses. "But it would be nice to give her a break, don't you think?"

It would be nice, Sanemi agrees.

There are only three girls in the Doumae servant household. Daichi, head of the family at only age twenty-one, serves the Kakutani family diligently alongside her younger sister, Daiya, only nine. Despite being a member of the servant household, Daichi's daughter Miharu is only three years old and very much acts her age with no regard for her station.

That is how children are supposed to act, Sanemi thinks; playing, running, crying in the dirt, wading through the pond waters and hiding within the leaves. Daichi, even with her gentle soul, is a woman of tradition, and she seems appalled by Miharu's behaviour. Sanemi, though he'd never admit it aloud, finds it very endearing.

It's still hard to look at her, but he is getting better. Miharu doesn't really look like Sumi, after all. Aside from the dark colour of their hair, their only shared traits are the fact that, like Miharu, Sumi was also a young girl who loved to run in the wind and play in the dirt.

He misses his little sister like a drowning man misses air, and sometimes, at night, when he allows himself to wallow in the bittersweet shallows of his memory, he wakes up gasping at the sight of Sumi's lifeless eyes staring at him like he was the only hope she had to live. She wasn't wrong, he admits to himself.

"I think a break would be nice," Sanemi finally agrees with Masachika. A rare smile tugs at the corner of his lips.

"Well, let me tell her we're leaving for the Sunrise Estate then, and that she won't have to worry about our afternoon tea," Masachika taps Sanemi's shoulder lightly. "I'll meet you at the front gate."

Sanemi wanders through the estate, his footsteps lightly squeaking against the uguisu floorboards. He's still not used to the sheer size of the place, but after a bath, a change of clothes, and having most of his more trivial concerns knocked out of him during training, Sanemi doesn't feel as bothered by the fact that he does not belong anymore.

At the front of the estate, Sanemi stares at the kamon sigil which represents the Kakutani family. It is a ring made of branches, featuring three flowering plum blossoms and half a dozen buds. The branches encircle the rising sun, a symbol of the dawn, which Sanemi thinks is apt considering the name of the estate.

"Sanemi-kun, I'm here!" Masachika calls in his familiar, sing-song voice. "Sorry I took so long, I sent off Yousato to thank Oyakata-sama. Ready to go?"

Sanemi grunts in reply, nodding curtly as they set off.

He's never been to the Sunrise Estate, though he is vaguely familiar with its importance. Otherwise known simply as 'Headquarters', the Sunrise Estate serves as a base of operations for the Corps.

"How far is it?" Sanemi asks.

"Only an hour's travel," Masachika replies. "We'll be back by nightfall!"

Sanemi only gets two minutes of peaceful silence - three, if he's being generous - before Masachika starts running his mouth again.

"I really think you could take on Final Selection in just a few months' time," he continues the train of thought that Sanemi thought had run dry two days ago. "There are some people who train for years before they can even think about it. Even the heir of the Chrysanthemum Estate hasn't taken Final Selection yet, although, to be honest, he's more than ready, I don't know why his father is holding him back…Oh! But maybe you can go to the same one as him! I think you'd like him, actually, he's a great kid. I don't get to see him very often, not since I passed Final Selection, but the Rengoku household used to visit a lot - I mean, they are one of the five great families and all. But like I was saying, I think you and Kyoujurou…"

Sanemi stops listening as Masachika rambles, only interjecting with a disinterested grunt every few minutes to keep up the paper-thin illusion that he is listening. It's nothing he hasn't heard before, after all. So he walks side by side with the dark-haired boy, silent as always, and lets his mind wander to other places as he admires the spring blossoms that paint the gravel path pink with petals.

"When did you go through Final Selection?" Sanemi asks, finally, after he'd grown bored of counting the trees. "You talk a lot about everything except for you."

"That's not true," Masachika replies with a whine. "I've told you plenty about me!"

"Barely," Sanemi shrugs. "Answer the damn question."

Masachika hums to himself, head cocked to the side and eyes closed as he taps his chin in contemplation. He doesn't say anything while he thinks. He doesn't say anything for a while, really. He doesn't say anything for so long, actually, that Sanemi stops to peer at him. His smiling face has been replaced with a look of deep contemplation and no small hint of sadness.

"Kumeno?"

"Oh," Masachika snaps back to reality, the smile returning. "Sorry. Spaced out a little."

"Right."

Sanemi doesn't comment on his distant stare or his fidgeting hands. He doesn't mention that Masachika's smile doesn't reach his eyes.

"I passed Final Selection three years ago," Masachika finally answers. "I was twelve."

"Twelve?" Sanemi is incredulous.

"Yeah," Masachika muses. "Most demon slayers take it around fourteen or fifteen, but I've been training with Akihito-sensei since I was ten. Some people take it as young as eleven and twelve. It just depends, I guess. The children of the great families tend to take it young."

He knows what Final Selection is by this point - a week-long test of both mental and physical fortitude, where prospective demon slayers are sent to survive with no outside assistance, relying on naught but their own skills. He has been told that there are countless demons wandering the heights of Fujikasane-yama. He cannot imagine sending a child of twelve into such a place.

Although…Sanemi reminds himself that demon slayers are not typical children. He reminds himself that he was not a typical child. After all, he was only twelve when he killed his first demon.

To Sanemi's surprise, they spend the rest of their hour-long walk in silence. While the smile never leaves his face, Masachika's eyes are elsewhere, ruminating on a memory that Sanemi refuses to pry into. He does feel a little bad, though, that his question has brought the dark-haired boy no small amount of discomfort. It takes a lot to shut up Kumeno Masachika.

"Oh!" Masachika breaks the silence and jogs off, leaving Sanemi in a daze. "Urokodaki-san! Urokodaki-san!"

Sanemi breaks into a jog as well to catch up to Masachika, who is waving down a dark haired woman with long hair who walks beside a boy their age. They exit the gates of a well fenced estate.

"Urokodaki-san! How are you? I haven't seen you in so long!" Masachika practically bounces when he reaches the woman. She turns and smiles at him, her grin shining.

"Masachika-kun!" Her voice is clear and joyful. "It's good to see you!"

She is a middle-aged woman with bright, crystal blue eyes and an infectious smile that mirrors Masachika's. Her pale skin is lightly marked with scars, the most notable one cutting across the bridge of her nose like Sanemi's own. Her hair is long and dark, a deep midnight blue that is tied neatly into a high ponytail. On her head is a white fox mask decorated with the bright red and blue markings, secured by a red rope tied with tassels. Sanemi can see shining golden bells hanging from the rope. Her uniform looks just like Masachika's, but her sleeves are short and her hakama flows loosely, with no kyahan to bind them. On her shoulders is a fanciful light blue haori decorated with waves and stark white clouds. Sanemi wonders if she is a kakushi, perhaps.

"Hello Giyuu-kun!" Masachika chirps, peering behind the woman named Urokodaki to the boy behind her.

Sanemi can't really get a clear look at him - the boy is quietly admiring a nearby cherry blossom tree. He can see short, messy black hair tied back in a low ponytail, and what looks to be the same demon slayer uniform the others wear. He, too, wears a simple plain haori that is split down the middle; a deep maroon colour on the left, and a geometric pattern of green, yellow, and orange on the right.

"Hello," the boy named Giyuu says flatly, then starts to walk away.

"Oh, Giyuu-kun! Come back here! Come on!" The elder woman calls as she turns around to wave him down. The boy heaves a sigh, shaking his head as he turns around to rejoin them. The woman sighs and rolls her eyes, turning back to Sanemi and Masachika. "Sorry, Masachika-kun, you know how he is."

"It's all right, I get it," Masachika says. "In fact, I think I should thank Giyuu-kun. It's like he trained me for the moment I'd meet Sanemi-kun!"

Sanemi snorts, something between quizzical and disbelief. He doesn't blame this Giyuu for avoiding Masachika like a plague.

"So who is this, Masachika-kun? Is this the new student Akihito-san has taken in that everyone is buzzing about?" the woman asks.

Sanemi has to work hard to keep the frown from blossoming on his face. How is there gossip that has somehow already spread about him, because how is it that someone an hour away in a different estate already knows about him and his tutelage under Akihito? Who is this woman that she'd know who he is? Sanemi bites his tongue, eager to chastise Masachika later for spreading gossip, and decides to play along politely for now.

"My name is Shinazugawa Sanemi," he says curtly before Masachika can speak for him.

"That's a familiar name - so you are Akihito-san's new student! It's a pleasure to meet you, Sanemi-kun."

Sanemi slips a sigh before he can catch it. He didn't mean to be so rude, but how many people are going to address him like he's a little boy?

"Oh, I'm sorry," the woman says almost immediately, waving and smiling. "How about Sanemi-san. Is that better?"

Her correction surprises him, and he does feel a flush of embarrassment at his cheeks. He didn't mean to sound so rude that a stranger he'd only just met would feel compelled to apologise. He's so flabbergasted, he is lost for words. How does one recover from a social misstep like this? Maybe he should have declined accompanying Masachika to the Sunrise Estate.

"Maybe I'm teasing your friend too much, Masachika-kun," the woman says with a slight giggle. Sanemi's face flushes a deeper red.

"It's fine!" he half yells abruptly, then wants to slap his forehead almost immediately. He has the social grace of a pig, he thinks, which makes him even more red. To his horror, the woman only giggles more.

"Very well, then. Sanemi-san it is! I didn't think Akihito-san would seek out another student so soon. Are you planning on taking on Final Selection?" the woman asks him.

Sanemi only nods in reply with a rough grunt, too mortified to try and speak. He does, at the very least, appreciate that she has chosen to stick with -san instead of -kun.

"Well, I wish you all the best. Perhaps we will see each other again, then! Oh, how silly of me, we didn't introduce ourselves. Giyuu-kun, would you like to go first?"

The boy named Giyuu, whose dour face seems utterly disinterested in the exchange, looks over Sanemi before giving him a simple wave as a greeting. Sanemi decides immediately that he doesn't like his attitude. Next to him, the woman sighs.

"His name is Tomioka Giyuu, and do forgive him. He's not very talkative," she says. After Masachika, Sanemi had expected to welcome a quiet personality, but it seems he's just as annoyed with Giyuu as he is with Masachika.

"My name is Urokodaki Ritsunoko," the woman says with a smile, bowing to him. "I'm a demon slayer as well, so I'm sure we will meet again. I'm the water hashira, and Giyuu is my tsuguko. If you pass Final Selection, Akihito-san may make you his tsuguko as well. I'll be very eager to see how you perform, Sanemi-san!"

With that, she waves her goodbyes, bowing politely to the both. Masachika very joyfully bids her farewell as Sanemi stares, dumbfounded, at their fading figures.

"She's a hashira?" Sanemi asks incredulously.

He had expected the woman to be a kakushi, or maybe a demon slayer at most, but to know that a pleasant and polite woman held the same prestige and very likely the same deadly concentration and strength as his new master gave him pause. It also made him terribly sad as well. What could she have experienced in her life that drove her to the Corps?

"Well, yes," Masachika says, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "I told you all the hashiras' names. Don't you ever listen to me?"

Saneni rolls his eyes and groans. Is Masachika really expecting him to remember every single thing he says? Masachika sighs and throws an arm around Sanemi's shoulders.

"Sanemi-kun, please! You must learn to listen to your senpai!" he whines as Sanemi yells at him, desperate to get away from the clingy boy. "One day, I'm going to say something very important, and you'll be all the worse off for not paying attention!"

He harrasses him for a good five minutes by the gates of the estate. Sanemi knows they've arrived - he knows this is the Sunrise Estate - but Masachika won't let sleeping dogs lie, and harrasses him endlessly about the importance of respecting one's elders. He refuses to let Sanemi step foot into the Demon Slayer Corps' Headquarters until he's satisfied Sanemi's learned his lesson.

"All right!" Sanemi shouts. "All right! I get it! Get off me!"

When he's finally pried the dark-haired boy off his shoulders, Masachika decides it's time for them to make their way through the gates of headquarters.

It is as large and well decorated as Sanemi expected, matching the Spring Estate in terms of grandeur and elegance. What he doesn't expect, however, is just how busy it is. At the Spring Estate, Sanemi could count the occupants present on two hands. Here, though, there are more moving bodies than he can keep track of - at least a dozen in the training grounds to the left of the entrance - another dozen who wear masks that Sanemi assumes marks them as kakushi, like the ones he saw when he met Masachika - and when he's lead through the winding dirt path and inside the actual estate itself, he spies another group of demon slayers bustling in and out of the rooms.

"Busy, isn't it?" Masachika muses.

"Yeah," is the only reply Sanemi can think of. He gets the feeling that the Demon Slayer Corps is much larger than he originally thought. "You said there were more estates like this?"

Masachika nods as he starts to explain again. That he doesn't complain about Sanemi's lack of listening skills at least tells Sanemi that this is a subject they haven't covered in great detail.

"Yeah. This is the Sunrise Estate, but most people just call it headquarters. The five great families own many estates though, and the Corps will move between them for discretion's sake. We're not officially recognised or financially backed by the government, so we can't stay in one place for too long."

"How many estates does the Kakutani family own?" Sanemi asks.

"That's…" Masachika starts and stops. "Only one. The Spring Estate is probably the largest, though."

There's something else he's not saying, but Sanemi isn't in search of more excuses for Masachika to ramble. He also understands when not to pry.

Masachika flags a passing Corps member, talks to them about a tailor or something, and soon they are ushered into a plain and quiet room as they wait for whoever is on seamstress duties to arrive. Sanemi takes a seat on a corner stool as Masachika wanders through the room, peeking into books on shelves, flicking through open documents, and prying his nose into every nook and cranny he can find like a bored child.

Unlike the other rooms, this one is not a traditional style room. It looks quite western in structure, which Sanemi decides he does not like. He's only ever known the simple, traditional style home, lined with tatami mats and zabuton.

"You don't like a lot of things, huh?" Masachika asks suddenly.

"What?" Sanemi snaps his head up, brow quirked.

"You were just thinking about how much you didn't like this room," Masachika isn't even looking at him, he's flicking through some foreign book, as if he can read the words.

"And what the hell makes you think that?" Sanemi sneers out loud. Get out of my head, he thinks to himself.

"Your breathing shifts whenever you get uncomfortable, Sanemi-kun," Masachika shrugs and snaps the book closed, as if he's realised that, oh yeah, he doesn't know how to read English. He puts it back and reaches for another one. Sanemi sputters in reply.

"Stop assuming things about me!" he shouts. "And stop being so familiar!"

Masachika just chuckles to himself, which honestly makes Sanemi even more annoyed, because it implies he knows exactly what he's doing and he's doing it on purpose.

There's a sudden knock at the door, a loud call of 'Excuse me!', and the door swings open, nearly slamming against the wall. Under the now-open door frame is a boy who looks as though he plucked the sun from the sky and decided to wear it like a hat.

"Masachika-san!" the boy shouts with a smile as he enters. Sanemi, who mistakenly decided to sit by the door, feels his ears ringing.

"Oh!" Masachika slaps his second book close and returns it to the shelf, then runs to embrace the boy who is wearing the sun on his head. "Kyoujurou-kun!"

The boy who has walked in is about their age, Sanemi assumes. He is shorter than Masachika, and like the dark-haired boy he has come to grow so very tired of, he has an air of positivity about him and a boisterous nature that Sanemi can already see and hear from only three exchanged words.

"What brings you to the Sunrise Estate, Masachika-san?" the boy's voice booms.

It's just a question, Sanemi thinks. It doesn't need to be shouted.

"I'm here with a friend, actually," Masachika says as he gestures to Sanemi.

The boy whips his head around to face Sanemi, and immediately closes the gap between them. Sanemi has to lean back slightly when the boy bows to him, because he's decided to invade his personal space just as freely as Masachika does.

"Hello!" he shouts. "It is a pleasure to meet you! My name is Rengoku Kyoujurou!"

Oh my god, Sanemi thinks to himself as his eyes flicker from Masachika to Kyoujurou. They've fucking multipled. The name Rengoku rings a bell, but Sanemi is half-tempted to stand up and walk out the door.

"Back up, kid," Sanemi says with a frown. "Doesn't anyone here know a thing about personal space?"

"My apologies!" Kyoujurou says, and he backs up, leaving a full stride between himself and Sanemi. "Is that better?"

Why can't it always be that easy? Sanemi doesn't have any words for the boy. He stares at him incredulously, and takes a brief moment to appraise him.

He has bright, piercing, owl-like eyes the colour of the sunrise. It matches his hair, which is long and wild and golden, dipped in vivid red like the rays of the sun. He has it tied back in a ponytail, but it does little to tame it. His black, bushy eyebrows are forked and do quite a bit to enhance his heart-shaped face. He has a strong, athletic frame, and Sanemi can see the definition of muscle on his arms. He doesn't wear the same uniform as the other demon slayers, though. Instead, he wears a traditional navy kimono, his sleeves rolled up and secured with a white tasuki cord. Matching navy hakama pants pillow out from his waist.

"What is your name, my friend?" Kyoujurou shouts when Sanemi does not reply. He wants to say 'I'm not your friend', but can't find the words for it. At least he respected Sanemi's wishes when he told him to back away. Sanemi decides to humour him.

"Sanemi," he says. "Shinazugawa Sanemi."

"Oh!" Kyoujurou says in realisation, his eyebrows almost fluttering up into his hairline. "You are Kakutani-sama's newest student! What a pleasure to meet the newest ward of the Spring Estate!"

"I–" Sanemi shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut as he feels a migraine building. "The newest what?"

"Kyoujurou-kun, I think you're mistaken!" Masachika interrupts the golden-haired boy. "Sanemi-kun is Akihito-sensei's newest student, but he's not been taken in as a ward to the estate yet."

Yet? Sanemi thinks. He doesn't have the energy to argue. Instead, he rubs his temples with his fingers and groans.

"Are you feeling quite alright, Shinazugawa-san?" Kyoujurou asks him loudly. "Do you have a headache?"

Yes, he thinks to himself. And your shouting doesn't help.

"I'm fine," he says instead. "Don't worry about it."

"What are you doing here, Kyoujurou-kun?" Masachika asks the boy.

"My father sent me here to have my measurements taken!" Kyoujurou explains. "I seem to have outgrown my last set of garbs!"

"Well, you are a growing boy."

"Indeed! Father will be sending me to Final Selection in two month's time! He believes I can have my uniform crafted now in preparation for my return!"

"You're a demon slayer too?" Sanemi asks, and it earns him a terribly exacerbated groan from Masachika.

"Sanemi-kun!" he whines. "I swear! I've told you this three times already! Don't you remember anything I told you about the Rengoku household?"

"No," Sanemi lies and shrugs. Masachika buries his face into his hands and groans in frustration. It's just amusing enough to make Sanemi smile.

"You're doing this on purpose!" Masachika says when he catches sight of Sanemi's smile. "Why does everyone love teasing me like this?!"

"You bring it on yourself," Sanemi shrugs. "Sorry, kid - Rengoku–"

"Please! Just call me Kyoujurou!"

"Right. Kyoujurou…san," it's a bit odd to call him by his first name only, so Sanemi throws an honorific at the end as an afterthought. "Sorry, Kumeno prattles off like an old man sometimes. You're…a demon slayer too?"

"In training!" Kyoujurou corrects him. "My family, the Rengoku household, are the ancestral cultivators of flame breathing, much like how the Kakutani family are the ancestral cultivators of wind breathing! I hope to become a demon slayer to make my father proud, so that I might too become a great hashira like him!"

Bits and pieces come back to him - he was listening a little bit, after all. The Chrysanthemum Estate houses the Rengoku household. They're one of the great families as well, he recalls. He had missed the fact that there was a Rengoku hashira, however, in hindsight, he was told the great families were in service to the Demon Slayer Corps for centuries. He supposes that most of the hashira are made from the five families.

And flame breathing…Sanemi knew there were other martial techniques like wind breathing. He'd be interested to see how flame breathing compares.

"Sanemi-kun, Kyoujurou-kun is the one I mentioned on the way to the estate…" Masachika adds with a whiny tone of voice. "You might get sent to the same Final Selection as him."

"Hmm? What's this?" Kyoujurou crosses his arms and turns to Masachika. "But I thought he only began his training a week ago?"

Kumeno, are you sending pages of your journal into the wind with Yousato? Sanemi thinks. How does everyone know so much about him already?

"He's very good, Kyoujurou-kun," Masachika explains. "He's already got an almost perfect understanding of Total Concentration Breathing, and he's practically mastered the first form already…People have gone to Final Selection with less skill than Sanemi-kun. He'll be ready for it in two months. I'll make sure of that!"

"How wonderful!" Kyoujurou's eyes are beaming, his smile wide from ear to ear as he turns back to Sanemi. "Then you must be a truly talented swordsman! Of course, it makes sense! Only someone truly great could earn such high praise from Masachika-san and be chosen as a student by Kakutani-sama!"

Sanemi feels the blood rushing to his cheeks and his ears again. It is…odd, to receive such open, honest, and…forward praise. He admits to himself that he does not dislike it, however.

"You and I are sure to be great friends!" Kyoujurou proclaims. "Let's work hard together, and do our best to make it to Final Selection in two months' time!"

"Kyoujurou," Masachika sighs. "Don't talk like you shouldn't have gone a year ago. You should have gone in the autumn, with Giyuu-kun, but –"

Masachika clamps his mouth shut, eyes wide. Sanemi feels…unsettled. Something in the air shifts, but he's not sure what. A long, uncomfortable silence stretches ever onwards, enveloping them all.

"I'm sorry, Kyoujurou-kun," Masachika whispers. "I spoke before I thought. I didn't mean…"

For the first time since he's walked into the room, Kyoujurou has lost his wide grin. There is a sad, pensive expression on his face, but it disappears in the same moment, replaced with a solemn, gentle smile.

"It's all right," Kyoujurou says, not shouts, patting Masachika's shoulder. "I know."

"Still," Masachika murmurs, eyes downcast. "I'm sorry."

Sanemi counts the scratches and lines on the back of the door, focusing his mind on anywhere but the conversation at hand. He can tell that, whatever happened last year, was a sombre affair that he has no business to intrude upon.

Secrets, lies, and broken things. Those are three constants in Sanemi's short life. It doesn't need to be malicious, does not need to be intentional; but he knows that everyone's pasts are shrouded in these three things. He thought he had left behind the secrets and the lies when he left home two years ago, but he was a fool to think that he could escape them. Such was the way of human nature. Where people go, so too do the skeletons in their closet follow.

Sanemi has no interest in digging through other's skeletons.

"Shinazugawa-san? Rengoku-san?" a voice calls from the still-open doorway. Sanemi tears his eyes away from the painted wood to see a man in the kakushi uniform and mask addressing them. He stands and nods in acknowledgement, and Kyoujurou steps forward beside him.

"Excellent, I'm here to take your measurements. Please bear with me a moment while I do."

Sanemi moves as directed, eager to get the entire affair over with and return to the Spring Estate so he might make his way back to the training grounds for an extra round with his wooden blade. He's starting to feel restless, and he wants to escape the suffocating atmosphere of new faces and more secrets.

Chest first, then waist and hips. Neck, then shoulders - raise your arms, please, then arms out in front, please. He didn't think the simple act of taking measurements could be so complex. After ten minutes of scribbling and double-checking the numbers though, the kakushi is done, and he repeats the process for Kyoujurou.

"Any requests for your garbs?" the kakushi asks when he's finished with Kyoujurou.

"Oh, yes!" At some point during the process, Kyoujurou's sombre expression had been replaced by his usual shining beam, and the volume of his voice returned to maximum. "I'm quite partial to the red flaming kyahan my father sports! A little on the nose, but it's quite fitting, wouldn't you say?"

From the far corner of the room, Masachika laughs. At some point he nestled himself into an armchair, one leg crossed over the other with his chin resting on his palm as he watched the kakushi work.

"How very apt!" he says.

"Anything for you, Shinazugawa-san?" the kakushi asks.

Sanemi doesn't know shit about tailoring. What's there to request? A uniform is pretty standard - isn't that the point? He has no preference on colour, cut, or whatever else people busy themselves over when it comes to clothing. He must make a face though, because Masachika laughs again.

"Maybe loosen up the neckline," Masachika suggests as he gestures to Sanemi. "As you can see, he's a bit of a show off."

"What was that?!" Sanemi growls as he whips his head around.

Yes, he prefers an open collar. Yes, he likes his chest bare. Yes, his kimono is open even now, because he hates how unbearingly stuffy it can be. But he's certainly not a show off.

Kyoujurou and Masachika share a laugh that even the kakushi joins in on, and Sanemi cannot help the creeping pink flush that colours his cheeks.

"Duly noted, Kumeno-san," the kakushi says, scribbling on his notepad. With a quick bow and a few more shared pleasantries, the kakushi bids them farewell and scampers away.

"Is that it?" Sanemi asks no one in particular. He didn't really know what he expected, but they had walked for an hour to get here.

"That's it!" Masachika confirms. "Honestly, I think Akihito-sensei mostly suggested this so that I could take you to headquarters. It's good to get an understanding of the way the Corps works, after all."

That makes sense, he supposes. If that's what the master intended, then Sanemi has no complaints for his direction.

"Let's get some food! I mentioned that nice udon place that's not far from here, so why don't we head over?" Masachika claps his hands as if all is decided, then turns to Kyoujurou. "Kyoujurou-kun! Please join us for lunch!"

Oh no, Sanemi thinks. Please, no.

"I'm going back to the Spring Estate," Sanemi says and makes his way to the door.

"But Sanemi-kun!" Masachika yells and bounds towards him, "Didn't we decide to give Daichi-san a break from cooking?"

He stops in his tracks and frowns. They did agree on that.

"Then I won't–"

"You can't say you won't eat. Didn't you promise Akihito-sensei that you would rest your body? Remember, rehabilitation is a type of training in and of itself!"

Fuck, is all that Sanemi can think.

"Masachika-san, Shinazugawa-san, I would be delighted to join you both for lunch! Shall we head off now, then?"

That's how he ends up wedged between two overactive puppies at the udon stall in the markets by the Sunrise Estate. To his left, a golden dog with a loud bark and bright eyes, and to his right, a yappering little thing that won't get off him. He doesn't know why he's in the middle if they're really just talking to each other. By the end of it, his left ear is ringing, because Kyoujurou feels the need to declare how good the food is with every bite at the top of his lungs. Sanemi thanks his lucky stars that at least the udon is as delicious as they claimed.

"It's so good to share a meal with you again, Kyoujurou-kun," Masachika says with a stretch. His hands fall to his belly as he rubs his stomach, looking quite satisfied with the meal.

"It truly is! I apologise that I have been unable to visit you at the Spring Estate more often!" Kyoujurou replies as he slurps his broth.

Masachika shrugs.

"The past few years have been…well, you know. It's nice to catch up when we can."

Kyoujurou puts down his empty bowl and nods pensively. Once more, his voice drops to a regular volume, but there's no sadness this time like there was before.

"It truly is. When Yoake returns, won't you all come to the Chrysanthemum Estate for a meal? You as well, Shinazugawa-san. We would be honoured to host you. I believe it will also be good for father to see you all in good health."

"That does sound nice," Masachika says with a distant smile. "Akihito-sensei is going away on another mission soon, though I can't see Yoake turning down the offer. I'll bring it up some time."

"Most wonderful!" Kyoujurou is shouting again. Sanemi sighs and finishes his broth.

"We should head off. Nightfall isn't for a few hours, but Daichi-san always fusses about us being out," Masachika muses as he drops a few coins on the countertop as payment.

Masachika had kindly offered to pay for Sanemi and Kyoujurou as well. Despite how Sanemi feels about the dark-haired boy, he knows better than to expect his next meal to be handed to him - so he makes a mental note to thank the older boy. Food should not be a privilege, but that is not the world they live in.

"Understandably so," Kyoujurou replies softly. "I should get back to the Chrysanthemum Estate as well. I worry, sometimes…leaving him for too long."

They all stand and ready themselves to leave. Masachika and Kyoujurou embrace, but Sanemi simply nods to the golden-haired boy in farewell.

"I'll send Yousato once we decide on a date," Masachika promises.

"I look forward to it!" Kyoujurou replies.

Masachika waves, and Sanemi turns to leave with him when he feels a hand on his shoulder. He turns around, brows furrowed in confusion, when Kyoujurou reaches out his hand towards Sanemi.

"Shinazugawa-san," Kyoujurou says. He's not shouting, but the smile on his face never leaves. "Thank you for joining the Demon Slayer Corps. It is people like you, who are willing to give their all in the fight against demons, that keeps hope alive in the hearts of the people. I would be honoured to meet you at the summit of Fujikasane-yama. Let's both train hard to achieve greatness."

Something flutters inside Sanemi's chest. He admits that Kyoujurou has a charismatic air about him that is difficult to dislike. He is loud, yes, but he is genuine and kind. He is good, Sanemi thinks.

Sanemi closes the distance between them and takes Kyoujurou's hand with his own, shaking it firmly.

"All right," Sanemi says. "I'll meet you at the top."

---

AUTHOR'S NOTES

This is being cross-posted on AO3 as well under the same pseudonym.

Please note that each chapter title is not a direct translation of the original Japanese phrase. Some of them are, but most of them merely encapsulate the spirit of the original word.

I have a tumblr for this story under the blog name 'snowmoonandflower' - you can visit it after each chapter for story notes, translations for Japanese words and phrases, and other relevant information.

Secondary pairings (untagged as they are not the focus, so I did not want them to appear in anyone's searches):

Senjurou x OC, Genya x Nezuko, Obanai x Mitsuri, Masachika x Kanae, Tanjirou x Kanao, Zenitsu x OC, Giyu x Shinobu

Content warnings and tags:

Eventual Romance, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Friends to Lovers, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Character Study, Found Family, Exploring Trauma and Depression, Loads and Loads of Characters, Expansion of Lore, Canon Divergent, Canon-Typical Violence, Period Typical Attitudes, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Graphic Depictions of Gore and Violence, Anyone Can Die, Alternate Character Name Spellings (Waapuro Spelling), A Lot of Original Characters