"Hey sis," Tanjiro wrote on his phone, a message to someone who'd stopped texting him years ago, before inexpensive smartphones and contact saving were things. Their ways parted early, and so did they, believing they'd always be connected, in silence or not.

"I know you're doing fine, or we'd probably talk a lot more often. Remember I'm always here for you, okay? And I don't care if it's about what you ate for lunch or if you want to vent about your day, or if you're worried we might disagree on something. I just want to hear from you, whenever you have the time." He left two bamboo emojis next to it, with her pink flower and his green leaf.

He posted the message to the wall where he kept scraps of his work, and wondered if she'd ever see it. To his followers, it would just look like fanfiction. Only one person in the world, perhaps, would know the message was meant for the real her, the one who made 'Nezuko,' the character.

They'd lost contact years ago. He didn't know her new number. He wondered if she remembered how to find his.

"Dad," he tried writing, then left the cursor blinking. He erased it.

"Shigeru," he wrote instead. "I'm about to do something stupid. I don't want you to worry or feel like you have to talk me out of it, and I don't want to bother Mom either. I'm going to apply for a job that might turn out to be a little different from what I usually do, and I wanted you to know where I am before I do it."

"If you come looking, don't bring the whole family," he added at the end. "I only want to talk to you, or Hanako, or Nezuko, if you can find her. If Mom came, or Takeo, or heavens, if anyone brought Rokuta, I think there'd be a scene."

"They might have a treatment for that thing that's been bothering me since college, but I'm going to make sure there aren't any side effects before I suggest it for anyone else we know."

"If it works, this could be a real game-changer. I just need to know more about it first."

"Take care, and stay safe. Love, your big brother."

Tanjiro wasn't sure what possessed him to ask for an application. He only knew he wasn't going to run away from what was in front of him.

He considered lying about his last name on the application, but it was common enough these days, and the application needed an ID, and he wasn't about to start asking how to forge one.

If he went missing for too long, the Kamados would come looking, like he would for them. That gave him a potentially dangerous form of confidence already.

It gave him enough confidence to hunt rumors of ghosts and monsters and everything that made his community afraid. It always felt like it was a choice between either him hunting them down, or giving someone who might not understand how it felt to be hunted the chance to take the first shot.

It gave him enough confidence to stand firm and try to make peace with them if he could. It gave him the steady strength to try and acquire any form of help that they needed-they only had to mention it. It gave him the boldness to insist that they promise never to hurt anyone ever again, and to follow some simple rules to make things right if they ever faltered in that promise.

If someone tried to 'disappear' him without understanding what his steady green light meant to a few people who'd placed their trust nowhere else in the world, they'd get one hell of a rude awakening, whether Tanjiro intended that to happen or not.

And if someone came after his family... He was confident that no research firm, no matter how big, would be able to sweep that under the rug.

Tanjiro took a deep breath. He felt alone sometimes, but he knew he never truly was, no matter where he walked.

But it was still tempting to try to lie and disappear just to avoid a conflict like that entirely.

'Father, guide me,' he prayed. 'Help me choose the right thing.'

No words came, intrusively or not. The mural sang behind him, softly.

Tanjiro applied for the job.

Zenitsu found him again the next day, at the same port tavern where he rented his cheap room.

"You have got to move around more if you don't want strangers like me to be able to find you," Zenitsu told him when he approached him during lunch.

Tanjiro shrugged and let his spoon hang from his mouth while he scrolled through his phone, checking for updates. There were supportive comments about the message he left for Nezuko, but nothing from her yet. Shigeru told him to be safe too. Hanako's message chewed him out.

"What if that's not what I want?" Tanjiro suggested. "What if I don't want to make it difficult?"

"Then I'd say get a house, find a girl, settle down. We're getting too old for this nomadic lifestyle," Zenitsu took a chair and flagged down a waitress.

When Zenitsu started flirting with her, Tanjiro shook his head. "Zen, for lunch. She wants to know what you want to eat for-"

"And maybe after, we'll order dessert,"

"He'll have eel, if you've got it," Tanjiro ordered for him. "And coffee. He might still need to sober up," the redhead excused his friend.

The young waitress looked grateful and retreated quickly.

Zenitsu shot him a glare.

Tanjiro didn't bother to return it. He spoke quietly. "You scared her, Zen. The people who do that around here seem like the rough type. I don't think you want to be telling the same bad jokes."

"And how do you know I wasn't being sincere? I do have a new job, you know."

"She's probably just trying to earn enough tips to get out of here. We don't need to make it difficult for her."

"If the people harassing her are the rough type, don't you think she might want a mighty protector?" Zenitsu flexed his arms, which by all accounts, weren't exactly the noodly biceps of a writer.

"That's a terrible plan. One of them is a butcher, Zen, and the rest work the boats. Any one of them could snap you in two."

"What if I had you to back me up? You seem like you've been in a few fights."

"I'm just used to hard work," Tanjiro answered carefully. There was more he could say, but maybe now wasn't the time. "And violence isn't a smart answer."

"And how would you protect her?"

"I'd find her a different job, in a calmer part of town. Then I'd apply for this one myself, if necessary."

"Boring. No one's going to want to date a hero like that." Zenitsu complained. "I couldn't even write the movie! And besides, you'll have a job-if you just go to your interview on time."

"What?" The spoon dropped from Tanjiro's mouth and splashed into his bowl. He grabbed a napkin to clean it up.

"Smooth," Zenitsu commented.

"I didn't get a text."

"Neither did I. You're supposed to check back in."

"Is that how it works with them?" Tanjiro asked, confused.

"Well, I did that for you. Pushed for you, really. All the way up old snake-eyes' mountain of paperwork. They still don't trust you, by the way, but you're supposed to come back in."

"When?"

"Tonight. At sundown."

"That's..."

"Unusual? Get used to saying that."

"Why?"

Zenitsu sighed. "To see if you have what it takes. No one believes you're a beginner."

"At what?"

"...You'll find out tonight. Just no ghost hunting in the meantime."

Tanjiro shook his head. "I haven't found any more anyway, not yet. Those islands though... you should see the history there."

"Yeah?"

"And apparently, our captain's real name was Jerry. Same last name as those pirate stories. He didn't recognize me when I talked to him. He's trying to do boat tours again already though."

"Did... did you go?"

Tanjiro shook his head. "Still working up the courage. If I saw anyone else get on that boat, I was going to."

"And then you were going to do what, sigh patiently at him until he dies of boredom? All the saints, Tanjiro, would still have more sense than you."

"Thanks, Zenitsu. That. is both supportive. and helpful." Tanjiro said through his teeth, whittling down the sarcasm as far as he could.

"Can you even fight without that... Whatever it was that had a hold over you?"

Tanjiro looked down, then shrugged and stirred his soup. "I could fight before that, a little. If anything, that made it harder. I had to watch my thoughts. My words. Everything I felt like doing. If I didn't, it felt like I could lash out at anyone for the smallest thing." He shook his head. "That didn't make me a better fighter, Zenitsu. I don't know exactly what it made me."

Zenitsu nodded. "Do you think you'd be able to handle something like that again?"

"Why?" 'And why would I want to?' he didn't say.

"Because... you might be good at it," he hesitated, 'and... my seal will probably drop tonight, so you might have to."

"What? Please tell me you're going to actually explain this time."

"I would. I promise I would, if I understood it myself. The best I can tell you is that my seal protects someone for about two nights, or three days. Or, yanno, until you're intimate with someone." he blushed and poked his fingers together.

"Now you're embarrassed about it?"

"Idon'tknowwhyitworksthatway, stopjudging me!" Zenitsu whined into the table.

The waitress chose that moment to drop off his order-and his bill, unsubtly-without so much as asking if it was a good time.

Zenitsu gave Tanjiro a thumbs up as he tried not to sob.

Tanjiro shook his head as he went back to his soup. Some things, he just didn't understand.

But it was good to have some warning, at least.

Strawberry eyes and maroon-red hair captured the light glinting off the white and purple building in the rosy afternoon. For a few more hours, Tanjiro could feel safe. He chose to arrive early for his interview.

There was a young woman at the front desk this time, dressed in the same black-and-white outfit, maybe a dress code or a uniform. She was busy with the desk computer and didn't acknowledge him at first.

When he approached, she told him to sit down and wait. Not wanting to make a fuss, he did.

The mural was brilliant in the afternoon light. Tanjiro took a picture for Hanako. He sent it. That didn't seem to bother the receptionist. Maybe this wasn't some kind of secret, secure location.

When he searched the place on his phone, there was little information. Their page said they were doing some kind of biotech research. Apparently their company was founded early last century, but back then they worked with flowers. Now their name could be found on a list of wealthy donors for blood drives, but nowhere near the top. He wasn't sure what connected the two.

They were responsible for developing a few noteworthy plant species, including a bioluminescent orchid, and wheat that changed color depending on the nutrients in the soil, but Tanjiro was sure that the last product probably made up the bulk of their funding.

What that had to do with monsters and a guy who could make an invisible electromagnetic sword spring from his fists was anyone's guess.

But Tanjiro was determined to find out.

"Tanjiro Kamado?" called a man's steady voice.

Tanjiro looked up. "Here," he said.

"Come with me," Mr. Tomioka said, and he led Tanjiro into the complex.

The room was similar this time, but the back wall was covered in mirrors.

This was definitely an interrogation room.

Mr. Tomioka asked a few expected questions, similar to other jobs Tanjiro had applied to, but some were a little off. Before long, they reached a difficult one.

"Imagine yourself on a battlefield. What position would you be in?"

"That depends," Tanjiro answered. "Probably part of the supply chain, unless I'd been drafted. Then somewhere behind the front."

"An unusual answer. So not on the front lines?"

"Past them. I'm not sure why. With a small team, maybe. Or as part of the reserves. A position that changes the flow of battle."

"But you don't imagine yourself on the front lines?"

Tanjiro crossed his arms. "If any conflict gets to the point where there are front lines like on a battlefield, Mr. Tomioka, someone's failed at something. Whether that's information gathering, diplomacy, or conflict resolution, it means something's been so badly mishandled that no side can imagine a peaceful resolution, at least until they've tired of conflict. Is that answer enough?"

Mr. Tomioka frowned. "And if it came down to a fight, between you and someone else, how would you handle that?"

"Are we talking about a disagreement with words, or..."

"A real fight. The kind where people get hurt. Where they die."

Tanjiro raised his eyebrows. This was definitely unusual. And it had to be some kind of test. "I... wouldn't want to. But I can throw a punch at least."

"If you had access to any kind of weapon in the world."

"This is still theoretical, right?"

Mr. Tomioka waited, but didn't answer.

"I... guess I'd try to reason with them first. To talk them down. Violence isn't a good way to solve our problems."

"But if it was right in front of you, what would you do?"

"I... I've gotten involved before, a little." Tanjiro squirmed. "No serious injuries. No deaths. I usually try to stop people, take their weapon away, or at least hold them back. I'll put someone in a hold if I have to, but I've never used a real weapon. I've only improvised. Two nights ago, I used a fishing rod and my bare hands. I know how to shoot but... I'm uncomfortable carrying a weapon around. A heavy flashlight is probably the worst thing I've ever handled."

Mr. Tomioka seemed disappointed. "But if you could choose one."

Tanjiro shrugged, still uncomfortable. He thought of the ring of keys from his meditations. The ones that became blades. The ones he still practiced with daily.

He thought of 'bravery', the sword made of fire. He remembered 'patience' too, the one he must always hold down, and 'silence', the one he must never wield. 'joy' wasn't a blade yet. That one was still just a key.

He thought of his black blade, tied to its sheath with ribbons for as long as peace could reign.

He thought of his brass key too, scoured with fire. It still made him feel dizzy. Something lurched inside of him. He shook his head.

"I don't think what I'd want to do has been invented yet," he swallowed and went to pour water. "Would you like some?" he asked Mr. Tomioka.

The man nodded, and Tanjiro brought back cups for the both of them. They drank together in silence.

"How are you with martial weaponry?" Tomioka asked. "Any military service?"

Tanjiro shrugged. "Not exactly. I've had friends in the service, but I never joined. My family didn't want me to. And-" he stopped, "I had... some people to look out for during the time that I could've. There was no one else. Some were military."

Kokushibou raised an eyebrow, but said nothing to the others. He noted the point briefly and kept reading.

"There are programs for that."

"Not for the people who won't go to programs. Or ask for help. I hear things are a lot better these days, and every one of my friends from that time is back on their feet. That's all that really matters."

"Did they teach you anything?"

"They're not supposed to, are they?" Tanjiro dodged the question, then answered. "No one had to teach me."

The man with six eyes made another brief note.

If he didn't learn what he knew from them, then where did he learn it?

"I paid attention to the rules they were supposed to follow." Tanjiro crossed his arms. "And I nagged them until they did, whether that made me popular or not. They would've only had to trust the wrong person once for a little mistake to turn into a big one. And no one needed that. It was just talk, the way kids do to sound exciting and tough before they learn better. They know better now."

"Your tone changed."

Tanjiro checked the time. The sun shouldn't be down yet, but he'd been indoors for a while. He unhooked his water bottle from his backpack and took a swig of the murky brown liquid just for good measure. "I'm a little nervous," he admitted, his voice sounded mild again.

"Which one is the act?" Mr. Tomioka asked plainly, settling back in his seat.

"Neither," Tanjiro answered. "I'm a writer, but that doesn't mean I'm acting. It just means I have more than one voice to express things with sometimes. That was the tone I learned to use back then. I was hard on myself." 'You would be too,' he thought, 'if it felt like your mind was tearing at the seams and the people around you wouldn't stop talking about war and violence, and casual hatred, and that was part of what set him off-'

Tanjiro took a drink again. He hoped it wouldn't be a long night.

Mr. Tomioka took notes, but he didn't look disappointed anymore. "Have you ever practiced with melee weaponry?"

Tanjiro nodded. "A little, nothing serious; I played around a little as a kid, and a little more in college. It was for fun, and exercise. Wood and foam." And anything could be a weapon if someone was desperate enough, at least in Tanjiro's hands. But the less he had to do that, the better, he thought.

The man marked something down, then closed the cover sheet on his clipboard and stood. "Come with me."

"Where are we going?"

"The gymnasium, for your test."

"Ah. ...What test?"

Mr. Tomioka hit him with a wooden sword for the umpteenth time, and Tanjiro went down again, but at least he'd gotten his own bokken in the way.

He was sweating profusely and sore in places he didn't know he had, but he still got up.

"Again?" he asked the man, determined to get it this time.

Mr. Tomioka swung, and Tanjiro's blade came from the side to meet him. Years of studying martial arts videos and recreating them in his mind simply didn't compare to practicing the real thing. Their weapons came together with a satisfying rattle at least, but Mr. Tomioka recovered quickly from his wild parry and caught him in the side.

Tanjiro let out some wind and held himself at the point where he grazed him. "Again," he insisted the moment he caught his breath.

"You don't give up, do you?" asked the man, though nothing in his expression gave away his astonishment. He was expecting someone more like Zenitsu-well-trained, specialized talent, but with a terrible attitude. Not...

Tanjiro sucked in a hissing breath and let it out, eyes burning, mouth a determined line. He smiled as he said, "nope!"

If he didn't wear himself out, this guy could be something someday. Tomioka could give him that, at least. There was a spritely stubbornness about him that spoke of a much younger fighter, or at least someone who hadn't let go of his earliest lessons.

Maybe this would be someone worth testing.

Tanjiro surprised him the next time with backstep and a flourish that aimed to use the length of Tomioka's bokken like a lever against his thumb. Unexpectedly, Tomioka dropped it, and a casual flick of Tanjiro's sword came for the man's neck.

An injury to the front of the neck didn't need much force to kill someone, Tomioka knew.

Unthinking, Tomioka closed his hands again and sliced against it with nothing, wildly. Tanjiro thought he smelled rain, and felt a cold spray against his cheek, and then the bokken simply snapped in half. He blinked.

So did Mr. Tomioka.

"I want to learn how to do that," said Tanjiro.

"With time," said the man, and then he lunged.

Tanjiro's heart skipped as he leaned backward. A cool breeze, like the spray of the back end of a motor boat splashed across his face, but as Mr. Tomioka brought the invisible thing down, Tanjiro's reflexes were already carrying him to the side and out of the way.

He spun around the backswing on his toes and aimed one-handed for the top end of Tomioka's elbow, where it would bend and not break if he hit. And he did. Tomioka's arms came up involuntarily, and he let go before he hit himself in the face.

Tanjiro's other fist went for his jaw. He stopped short and just tapped it. "I'm not actually supposed to hit you, right?"

"Do you think your opponent will show mercy in a real fight?" Mr. Tomioka asked, incensed, as he brought his hands together again and went for Tanjiro's gut. Tanjiro was already springing away.

"I thought this was just an interview! What are you doing!?"

"Testing you!" the man spat sternly, and charged.

The man slashed and slashed and didn't let up. It was all Tanjiro could do to deflect, just enough, with what remained of his sword. Inch by inch, he lost both wood and ground, until he found himself backed against the wall.

This situation was uncannily familiar. Tanjiro could only defend as his mind panicked and the memory cascaded before his eyes.

Tanjiro remembered his desperate (mostly fictional) struggle against Rui's writer, someone who simply wouldn't accept a loss of face when he was found in the wrong and chose instead to tyrannize those around him just to prove he was in charge. Rui, who told everyone he met how they would die. Rui, who probably read too much Machiavelli for Tanjiro's tastes. Rui, who performed his cruelties all at once, yes, who planned to swarm over them and drown all other voices out. The threat of him hung like blood on a spider's web, to menace them all with his slightest tremor.

Rui, who seemed to know quite well what playing a demon meant.

Kanao wasn't there, and his luck failed him when he rolled randomly for each of his own attacks to see how desperate things would get, just to stall for time and keep the monster's interest. Rui loved to read about others squirming in pain, and the pain of a cinnamon roll like young Tanjiro was simply too delicious. So Tanjiro used that and captured his attention one morning while he was tormenting another, before the hashira could be there to stop him.

Giyu and Tanjiro were supposed to do it together. Giyu was late.

Rui didn't play fair. Rui pressed every advantage with lazy contempt. Rui always said that he won, and everyone who opposed him died horribly, and there was nothing a rankless brat like him could do to change that but struggle and bleed and die.

Or give him Nezuko's name so he could torment her as well.

Tanjiro remembered the way his blade snapped, and he remembered the scraps of story he was saving for a real challenge. More people than him were on that mountain that day, were in the threads that day, and would have kept suffering from Rui's ungentle ministrations if he let up, even as Rui dragged their fight into other rooms and other threads. He couldn't do anything to shut the monster down but keep going and keep up and post first as the monster opened new discussions, and link everything Rui did to his previous atrocities, to give him no room at all to ensnare the others. He wouldn't let the monster play the victim, or go cry 'dead mother' when he was the reason her player had chosen death rather than suffer another night with him.

He was the reason they'd lost another of their number too, someone who didn't give them permission to use her character's name, a girl who didn't know the meaning of torture until that day. After Mt. Natagumo, she was never the same again.

Neither was the boar, whose words flipped between mororse and vicious after, like he had something to prove.

Neither was Nezuko, who grew sarcastic and angry. He was never sure what Rui said to her. She never told him. She only lent him her fire from then on, without asking why, whenever he wanted.

The memory ignited in his mind, and 'bravery' leapt to Tanjiro's fingertips. Smoke singed the edges of the wooden sword, and as Mr. Tomoika slammed him against the bleachers, Tanjiro jumped, kicked back desperately with both feet, and slammed the bokken down.

There was a mighty hiss and an explosion of steam that left both of them gasping.

When it faded, Tanjiro was breathing hard, his stance low and wide, ready-

-Like a cornered animal- sighed a stern voice, unimpressed.

Tanjiro choked. What time was it?

-Miss me?- Another one grinned brightly, shifting through tones as it did.

'Stay out of this,' Tanjiro told the voice, shaking his head.

-It looks like someone's trying to kill us. Again. So I'm going to help,- said the stern, even tone.

'I don't need it. I've got this.'

-It's not entirely your choice, not while something threatens us. The sooner you learn that, the easier this will be.- the voice said sternly again.

'I. Said. NO.'

Something ground together hungrily in Tanjiro's stomach. -The first twinge felt good, before a gnawing feeling settled inside it.- His lower jaw felt heavy, his back stiffened, his right eye blurred.

-This is my body too,- said a deep, even growl.

-And that man could kill us,- a child's voice tried to reason with him.

Tanjiro resisted the honey in their words and stood stiffly, locking his legs in place, but his left arm shook, and his spine tensed. He flashed Mr. Tomioka a warning with his eyes.

Mr. Tomioka, who settled into a stance and prepared to lunge.

"It's just a test! Stop it!" Tanjiro pushed back as he fell to a knee, not realizing he'd growled out loud.

The teeth inside the voice grinned. Tanjiro's jaw moved without his permission, and the left side of his mouth shook into a grin too. -No,- he heard in stereo.

Tanjiro's right eye cracked, and suddenly everything was too bright, except Tomioka's skin, and the reddish wood of the bleachers, and the fire licking his hands where he held a mighty flaming sword. Tomioka's blade was like a flood light through a crystal clear water bottle. While his own...

'bravery' flickered, and fell, and turned ashen gray, and went out as fear hit the pit of Tanjiro's stomach. He remembered the way Zenitsu reacted to seeing him this way. His will wavered.

Would Mr. Tomioka really kill him?

Tanjiro's left arm lurched, and black metal gathered at his fingertips, sharpening them into vicious points. As Tomioka approached, they lunged without his permission. Tanjiro pulled back and stumbled. The awkward strike missed.

Then Tomioka brought his sword of calm, clear water down on the back of Tanjiro's neck. It felt like a bucket of ice water was dumped over his head. The fire in his spine went out with a hiss. He stumbled. The black metal on his hand retreated beneath his skin. The world's colors went back to normal.

"I've seen everything I need to," were the last words Tanjiro heard before he fell unconscious.

Tanjiro woke up in his rented room. An impersonal text on his phone told him that his application had been rejected.

Another told him he had an appointment in five nights, and not to forget.