The morning sun cast a warm glow over the mountain valley, its rays piercing through the thick canopy of trees, creating a dance of light and shadow on the forest floor. The air carried the acrid stench of burned flesh, and the serene atmosphere contrasted with the grotesque sight of Zenko's charred body, her blond hair accentuating the pink, purple, and red marks on her skin. Kaigaku's composed exterior wavered.

After quickly moving Zenko's body away from the sun, Kaigaku tried to refocus on the next steps, struggling to steer his thoughts in the right direction. A while later, after a fast assessment of what he had at his disposal, he released a defeated sigh. Master Kuwajima's house was a few ri away, and the mountain valley they were in didn't provide large leaves or dense plant foliage. To complicate matters, he wasn't even wearing his black haori. So, what could he do to protect his pathetic junior from the sunlight given the circumstances? The only solution was to strip Zenko of her kinagashi to cover her—an act that brought a profound unease, given their history, mutual spite, and his attempts to emotionally distance himself from her.

Despite the urgency, Kaigaku hesitated more than once.

He grumbled under his breath, his face contorted in frustration. "I never signed up for this." he muttered, as he stooped down, his hands moving with a mix of urgency and hesitation, the internal struggle evident in the furrows on his forehead and the sweat on his temples. Each touch, each movement felt like an unwelcome intrusion into his usual detachment. The urgency of the situation clashed with his discomfort, and the weight of tradition seemed to bear down on him with each passing moment. "Put your feelings aside, Inadama. The sun won't wait for your moral crisis," he chided himself, attempting to push through the restlessness and complete the task at hand. The unfamiliarity of the situation left him questioning the changes within himself, a sentiment that only added to his distress.

"Don't you go dying on me after all this trouble, understand, scamp?" Kaigaku grumbled, his tone a blend of irritation and consternation, his turquoise eyes fixed on Zenko.

"Demon slayer Tanjirou Kamado. Nearby. 30 chö." Kaigaku's Kasugai crow's deep tone echoed through the afternoon sky, its large wings casting a shadow over its owner as it followed him from a certain height.

Kaigaku had sent his crow to urgently locate and deliver a message to another member of the Kanoe rank, asking him to meet at some intersection of their paths as quickly as possible. Fortunately, the other young man had just finished visiting the family of a recently deceased Hashira and was heading towards the Butterfly Estate. It seems that the Twelve Kizuki have been moving more frequently and abnormally lately.

The older demon slayer vividly recalls the moment when news reached him about the Flame Hashira's demise at the hands of an Upper Moon Demon, just before his own ascent up the mountain near Master Kuwajima's property. A shiver ran down his spine. Having survived a similar encounter himself, he couldn't shake the haunting realization that luck had favored him and Zenko, pushing the young swordsman to grapple with relief and guilt. Who were they to survive such an encounter when the life of someone much more capable for the Corps had been taken? What could they expect if it happened again?

Kaigaku side-eyed the weight he carried in his hands, while trying to move as quickly as possible through the trees and other places that could provide shade to help reduce direct or indirect daylight.

"Why can't you think before acting? You nearly turned yourself into ashes for what? To play the hero?" Kaigaku sucked through his teeth. The words, laced with frustration, were more for his own reassurance than any expectation that Zenko could hear him. "Make me indebted to you? I didn't need your help." He knew he was lying, he was deeply aware that he was only trying to convince himself, but what was he supposed to do? He couldn't shake the weight of guilt and disquiet that clung to him.

He pressed on relentlessly, determined to reach Tanjirou as quickly as possible. The adrenaline that had initially fueled his journey had already waned, but he refused to give up. He had a small tear in his ankle bone causing a persistent ache, but he managed to breath through the pain. The urgency of the situation kept him going. Silencing the questions that surely plagued his mind, his sole focus was making his worthless junior, - who lay covered in her own kimono, much like a corpse, shielded from any hint of sunlight -, remain alive (however ironic this situation might seem).

An exasperated grunt escaped through his mouth as a small, wooden construction entered his field of vision from a distance.

"Master Kaigaku. Tanjirou Kamado is here."

Tanjirou was both surprised and happy to receive word directly from Kaigaku's peculiar crow. But the request he made conveyed a sense of secrecy, prompting Tanjirou to head towards an abandoned yado [traditional inn] he had passed on the way to the Rengoku estate and was located between Nishizaozan and Tachikawa-gawa.

The red-haired began to wave upon spotting the figure of his fellow rank member. However, his hand stopped mid-air as he better visualized the oversized pack Kaigaku was carrying — the memory of the five bodies of his own family members wrapped in mortuary cloths crippling in his mind.

But really, it was just when the southern wind passed through Kaigaku and came to his nose that he recognized the miasma – the haunting, metallic-sulphuric, earthly smell of burning flesh, demon flesh.

"Kaigaku-san, are you okay? What's going on?!" Tanjirou felt his feet rushing to meet the older one, only to receive a nod from him, signaling them to go to the wooden cabin.

"No time for chit chat. We've got a situation. Get inside, I'll fill you in." Kaigaku tersely responded, his face betraying a mix of exhaustion and seriousness.

The paper door of the yado creaked as it slided open, revealing a dimly lit interior with dusty air that danced in the faint sunlight. Tanjirou and Kaigaku stepped inside, the creaky floorboards protesting beneath their weight as they advanced, the room echoing with the distant sounds of nature. Daylight painted a patchwork of warmth and shadows on the tatami mats, creating a stark contrast to the outside world. In the center of the room, Kaigaku layed Zenko on the floor. As he carefully unwound the protective layers, the true extent of the blond girl's injuries was revealed in the muted light of the cabin.

Tanjirou covered his nose with his hand, his sensitive nostrils burning and triggering a reflexive cough. After a few minutes, he managed to approach, crouching down, guided by a compassionate impulse that transcended the inherent danger she represented. The girl's respiration was shallow and labored. Each inhalation seemed to require a monumental effort, as if the very act of breathing was a struggle against an invisible weight. The red-haired could tell her regeneration skill was slowed down, as the marks still bore recent characteristics. If at any moment in Japan there was a demon with the appearance of utmost fragility, it was her, right now.

"How did it come to this?" Tanjirou asked in a low voice.

Kaigaku averted his eyes. It was his fault. "She went after me, and the sun...you're seeing what happened. The burns are bad; she needs your help."

Despite his attempts at rationalization, the internal struggle persisted for Kaigaku. Logically, he shouldn't feel guilty—he hadn't forced her to go after him, and if anything, he tried to make her stay away. However, this reasoning failed to alleviate the suffocating, heavy sensation that was in his chest.

"I see." Tanjirou mumbled. As his eyes took in the entirety of her form, he felt his cheeks burning up. "And w-w-w-why is she only in her juban?"

"Shut up, it's not like she's showing some skin!" Kaigaku growled, his own face flaring up. In the vast majority of situations, he knew how to behave in social settings, especially when he needed favors from someone, but here was Tanjirou pointing out uncomfortable things he had a hard time coming to terms with himself. "Besides, is this really that important right now?! You think modesty would even matter if she turned to smoke before getting here?! Focus on the task! Duty comes first!"

"Still, it's important to consider people's comfort, Kaigaku-san!" Tanjirou's voice, though soft, carried an earnest plea for understanding. He sighed. "Let's finish this quickly and seek Urokodaki-sama's help. What happened? Is she your—"

"Junior," Kaigaku cut him off, not giving room for the other guy to speculate on wrong things. "We encountered a demon from the Twelve Kizuki. I could see his iris when he came closer: Upper Moon One."

Tanjirou straightened his posture, any trace of casualness disappearing from his red-tinged eyes, his hand traveling to his chin. "I see. But why would a demon of such high rank be acting now?" Tanjirou turned to the older demon slayer. "Has she consumed human flesh, Kaigaku-san?"

Kaigaku crossed his arms. "Not that I know of, but probably no."

"Good." Tanjirou's mind quickly moved to the item Yushirou gave him to gather demon blood. The Upper Moon One would be the demon with most of Kibutsuji's cells, right? "Kaigaku-san, I understand this might seem sudden, but could you leave me alone with your junior?"

Turquoise eyes glared an emphasized negative its owner didn't need to voice out.

"I-I just need a small sample of her blood! But the being that delivers it to the person conducting this research won't appear if you're with me! I promise I won't do anything else!" Tanjirou held his hands high. If this girl happened to have the same rare condition Nezuko had, then it meant she and Kaigaku were in the same situation as the two Kamado siblings, right? Perhaps it wouldn't hurt for them to know about Lady Tamayo's project.

Kaigaku's eyes narrowed subtly. His gaze bore into Tanjirou with an intensity that could rival the piercing edge of his Nichirin blade.

"Fine. You have three minutes." The black-haired gruffed, exiting the cabin.

"Thank you, Kaigaku-san. I'm sure she would appreciate your willingness to help her." Tanjirou nodded appreciatively, offering understanding eyes in the direction of the already gone demon slayer. Kaigaku smelled of fatigue and remorse.

The funeral procession of Jigorou Kuwajima was a somber affair, marked by an air of melancholy that seemed to permeate the very air. Kaigaku, dressed in the traditional mofuku, bore the responsibility of carrying the urn containing the cremated remain of his former master.

The chants and prayers of the monks guided not only the deceased swordsman's soul but also the black sea of mourners that seemed to absorb and nullify the indirect rays of the sun, as a featureless, ashen sky served as their abode.

The wind howled through the swaying vegetation, the elongated crack of thunder occasionally greeting the arrival of its former cultivator's spirit to the skies, lightning fell on the horizon illuminating the path of the former Roaring Hashira to an eternal life. Not a drop of rain fell that day; only light and sound were allowed to shepherd the humans to Kuwajima's memorial altar. Through the wave of his own silent lament, Kaigaku could hear some of the grievers murmuring about how convenient the setting was.

His eyes made no attempt to scan the faces in the crowd. He recognized almost none of them, having never truly sought to build any bonds with others during his years under the tutelage of his former master. Judging by the diverse styles of kimonos, he deduced that most people were commoners from the nearby village, with a few authoritative figures and some swordsmen, particularly older ones.

They all offered Kaigaku heartfelt condolences, sharing tears and sobs he couldn't produce even if he forced himself to. He gave them back polite thanks, some more dismissive than others. Behind his back, a few people mumbled about his seeming indifference, 'that selfish pupil of Kuwajima! Where was the blond, gentle one?' In this sea of grief, he felt dislocated, detached from reality; he was sure that Zenko would have played a much better role in his place.

Master Kuwajima had no heirs, and there were no records of living relatives, – he only had his two disciples. Being the older and first pupil, he was legally bound to receive his master's property and belongings. He didn't have to ascend to become a Hashira to receive the money and stability he had desired since childhood. If he left the Corps now, he could still live with some comfort. If this is pretty much all he has ever wanted, why did he feel a hollowness within? Why is there a nagging sense of unworthiness?

Because he wasn't a recognized swordsman, because it wasn't the result of his own efforts, because he still wasn't the strongest, maybe if it were more, then there would come a time when all of that would become enough, wouldn't it? He believed that was the only explanation.

"Excuse me, Inadama Kaigaku?" As Kaigaku stood before his former master's memorial stone, an unfamiliar feminine voice broke through the quiet with a discreet tone. Startled, he turned to see a beautiful woman with snow white hair and lavender irises standing there. "Forgive me for interrupting your mourning. Could I have a moment of your attention?"

Her gray kimono was adorned with subtle patterns of floral motifs, its fabric of smooth, high quality. Two girls (twins?) who shared the same features accompanied her, silently. Their overall ensemble exuded an air of elegance and refinement that he wasn't accustomed to.

"I'm not exactly in the mood for idle chat." He answered before he could realize, surprised at how tired his voice sounded to his own ears.

"That's something understandable." She nodded gracefully. "Though, we would appreciate it if you could join us at the Demon Slayer Corps Headquarters at your earliest convenience, Inadama-kun. Oyakata-sama is keen on speaking with you. He wishes to discuss the recent turn of events with your master and his other pupil."

Oyakata-sama? He had heard Master Kuwajima talk about him several times. But what would the head of the Demon Slayer Corps want with Kaigaku? It's not like the Upper Moons had never attacked anyone before.

Kaigaku took a moment to gather himself, closing his eyes. He gave the woman a respectful nod. "Understood. I'll make my way to the Headquarters as soon as the mourning season ends." Even though he wasn't one to pay much heed to religious rituals and formalities (why bother at all if, by the way his life unfolded, he was probably some kind of outcast to the gods?), Kaigaku felt an unexpected urge to seclude himself during the seven-day period.

"We appreciate your willingness to cooperate." Despite the formality, there was an underlying warmth in her motherly expression. "We eagerly await your presence. I hope you find solace and answers during this mourning time. Until we meet again."

The white-haired woman bowed, followed by the two other girls. With that, they turned away, leaving Kaigaku to his thoughts as he watched them disappear down the path.

TAISHO WHISPERS AND SECRETS:

"Ah, Kuwajima-sama! What brings you so far south on the island? Did you come to visit some relatives?" As Jigoro Kuwajima walked through the bustling market of the city, one of the fruit vendors called out, greeting him with a happy wave. His stall was adorned with a rainbow of fresh produce, and the aroma of ripe fruits filled the air. The vendor's cheerful demeanor added a lively touch to the market ambiance.

Jigoro reciprocated the greeting with a nod and a small smile, approaching the small stall. He recognized the man as the son of a couple he had saved in one of his missions a long time ago when he was still a Hashira, and the young man was just a child. Since then, every time Jigoro took that route, this same man called him over to chat and share updates.

"I'm on my way to visit an old friend, actually. How is your family? It seems the harvest has been good this year." Jigoro commented, his eyes wandering over the different colors and shapes displayed.

"The same as always. My mother still hasn't overcome my father's passing, but my daughter is already growing so fast! I've told my wife that we need to be careful with those boys in the neighborhood!" The vendor spoke, wearing a stern expression. Jigoro couldn't help but laugh heartily. It was always gratifying to see the people he had helped save living good lives and building their families, especially because he himself didn't have one.

The life of a demon slayer was dangerous and unpredictable, and he didn't want to burden any of the women he had loved with the weight of a possible premature widowhood. Even after retiring as a Hashira, leaving the Demon Slayer Corps proved impossible. He remained always available for anything the organization needed, eventually becoming a cultivator. Unfortunately, finding someone in the new generation with both talent and the endurance to withstand the training to acquire the Thunder Breathing technique proved to be quite challenging.

"Oh, we had a good harvest of pomelos this season. Take some, Kuwajima-dono!" Kuwajima made a thankful gesture, waving his hands in refusal, as the vendor picked three fruits and offered them to him.

"No, no, I can't accept it! Let me at least pay for them."

"Don't worry about it! You know me and my family are gr—"

In a swift and seemingly effortless motion, Jigoro Kuwajima turned on his heels. From seemingly nowhere, he reached out and seized a black-haired young boy who had just passed by him, his strong hand gripping the child's shoulder with an unyielding force. The sudden halt caught the other off guard, turquoise eyes widening in surprise as he found himself ensnared.

Jigoro's haori didn't conceal the wallet that had been skillfully lifted from him seconds ago. The market continued its lively rhythm, unaware of the small drama unfolding within its midst.

"Bold move, kid. Thieving may earn you a quick reward, but it also brings swift consequences. Now, let's settle this properly." Jigoro spoke in a low, authoritative voice.

The young pickpocket quickly wriggled free from the older man's grasp, leaving behind his black haori in the process. Jigoro, undeterred, observed the boy's escape with a measured gaze, his expression revealing little emotion. He was fast and had good reflexes, the former Roaring Hashira had to admit, but he was faster.

As the black-haired boy dashed through the bustling market, Jigoro followed him into a narrow alley in a slow jog, indicating his desire not to attract unnecessary attention. In the confined space of the alley, Jigoro unleashed his true speed, closing the distance between him and the fleeing thief in the blink of an eye, the air humming with his movement. With calculated precision, Jigoro delivered a kick to the boy's back, a controlled force that sent the young one sprawling towards the alley's wall, the impact echoing through the space.

The boy, now pinned against the surface, struggled to regain his composure. Jigoro, unmoved by the scuffle, stood a few steps away, his gaze unwavering.

"W—? How–? Where did you learn to do that, old fart?!" the boy asked, staring at Jigoro's wooden peg.

"DON'T CALL ME 'OLD FART,' YOU BRAT! DO YOU THINK WHAT YOU DID WAS RIGHT?!" Jigoro shouted at the boy, making him jump in startled surprise.

"D-DON'T SCREAM AT ME!"

"I WILL STOP SCREAMING AT YOU WHEN YOU STOP ACTING LIKE A IDIOT!"

"Kuwajima-dono!" Jigoro could hear the vendor approaching, panting. Minutes passed before the man managed to reach where the other two were, gasping loudly to catch his breath. His eyes focused on the boy. "So... it's you... again..."

The boy averted his eyes.

"Do you know him?" Jigoro asked.

"It's... I think it's 'Kaigaku'... his name." The man straightened up, placing his hand over his chest and pausing for a few seconds to catch his breath. "He hangs around the market. Probably one of mabiki [Infanticide, farmers would often kill their second or third sons because of hunger and poverty, this act persisted in the 19th century and early 20th century.] survivors; parents usually practice this a lot in the mountains nearby. But it's hard to feel sorry for someone who makes a living by stealing."

The boy looked to the ground, his eyes darkening. Jigoro's expression softened slightly as he observed the young man before him.

"You better get out of this town, kid. You'll end up dead if they catch you again. You're still all hurt from the last beating the townsfolk gave you. " The vendor spoke, placing his hand on his waist.

"How old are you?" Jigoro tried.

The boy shook his head, indicating he didn't know. Jigoro sighed. He could understand, being a former commoner himself. Despite the significant reduction in differences between the four classes since the Meiji Era, in the more remote areas of Japan, many commoners still lived without any prospects in life, not even bothering to record surnames, ages or other things that would be considered basic. "Then, Kaigaku, why did you resort to thievery?"

The boy shrugged. "Survival, I guess…"

"Stop lying, kid! There are more decent ways to live, even if you're in this situation," the vendor responded, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You got involved with some mobster, didn't you?"

"I don' – ! Argh! Believe what you want, scumhead! See if I care!" Kaigaku spat.

"Stop! Both of you!" Jigoro barked. This wouldn't get them anywhere. "Kaigaku, you were impressed with what you just saw, weren't you?"

The boy nodded, cautiously. "I've never seen someone so strong and so fast."

"Speed and strength are mere facets of the path. What you saw is the result of years of discipline and dedication." Jigoro crossed his arms, pointing with his chin to the man beside him. "And he is right, there are better paths than the one you chose, kid. Would you choose a different way, a path that demands strength but also offers honor?"

"Wait, you're saying I can become like you?" The boy's eyes glistened.

The older man nodded. "I see potential in you and–"

"W-wait a minute, Kuwajima-dono! Are you sure about that?" The vendor interrupted, turning to the elderly man. "All he knows is to steal! Are you sure you want to take that risk? He's just going to give you trouble!"

"A true swordsman always commits to his word." Jigoro concluded, staring at the boy who was glaring at the other man. "Besides, I'll know if he steals something, from me or anyone else. What do you say, Kaigaku?"

Kaigaku, after a moment of contemplation, met Jigoro's gaze with a determined look. "I know there's more to life than petty theft, old man. I'll give it a shot. No more stealing."

Jigoro's stern demeanor softened for a brief moment, a hint of approval in his eyes. "Remember your words. Strength and honor go hand in hand. It's a promise I expect you to keep, and as long as you do that, you can call me 'master'".

"All right," Kaigaku stood up, with a rare and hopeful gleam in his hardened eyes. "master!"