Morning light was painting the shoji screen white when Rengoku Kyojuro found himself staring at the bandage on his right hand. It was a cut he'd sustained on a rock edge shortly after defeating the fourth demon last night. Not deep. But he hadn't noticed it during the battle. Aoba had spotted it first. "[gentle]Let me see your hand," said quietly from the corner of the Unebi family's earthen floor, where she'd pulled out the medicine box. Kyojuro obediently extended his right hand. Aoba's fingers touched the edge of the wound. A cloth soaked in disinfectant made contact. It stung. But Kyojuro's awareness was drawn more to the sensation of her fingertips than to the pain itself. Her hands were composed, never hesitant. She folded the bandage with care and precision. The old scar from a sword wound on her left hand—the one Kyojuro had first noticed by moonlight last night—was visible from this angle too. *This person has been carrying wounds like this all along.* When Kyojuro remained silent, Aoba opened her mouth, her gaze still fixed on the wound. "[serious]There are less than ten days left until the Pillar Examination," said. "...Yes," "[serious]The examination is something you must face alone. I will no longer be at your side," She continued while tying off the bandage's edge. Her voice carried the tone of a teacher—emotionless, confirmatory. Yet beneath it, something else seemed to seep through faintly. Instead of thanking her, Kyojuro simply pressed his lips together and nodded. "[serious]So you must learn to stand on your own before then," After Aoba finished tying off the bandage, there was a moment—just a moment—where she seemed reluctant to let go. Two seconds. Three, perhaps. Kyojuro noticed the silence. Her fingertips still rested on the bandage. That was all. Yet something in his chest stirred quietly. *I can't say it.* He'd tried to speak. He didn't even know what he'd meant to say. But Aoba rose smoothly, and the moment vanished. The sound of the medicine box closing echoed softly in the morning stillness. --- That afternoon, the two of them entered the village's back mountain. Beyond Hotarubi Shrine—the small shrine nestled on the hill at the village's western edge—where the undergrowth grew thicker, Aoba came to a halt. "[serious]...Here it is," At the base of a cedar tree lay a small shrine, half-buried in soil. A stone pedestal, the framework of the shrine covered in moss. It was the sort of old shrine one often found in the mountains. But the surroundings were different. The wisteria flowers were completely withered at the roots. Wisteria flowers—said to possess the power to ward off demons, and the reason why the Demon Slayer Corps' safe houses bore the wisteria family crest. Demons cannot approach wisteria. Someone had constructed a barrier around this shrine using that property. "But now," The withered stems lay scattered across the ground. When Kyojuro crouched to examine them, he could see the cut marks. Not gouged by demon claws. Cut with a blade—carefully. Each stem had been harvested from the root, one by one. A sickle, or something similar. Aoba knelt on the ground to inspect it. Her long blue-green hair swayed. Her silver eyes traced the fine details of the earth. "[serious]Charcoal powder has been scattered here. ...In this pattern," Her fingertip traced the ground. Kyojuro leaned in. The charcoal powder had formed a specific pattern, arranged in a circle. Weathered by wind and rain, but clearly drawn by human hands. Unnaturally regular in shape. *I've never seen this pattern before.* At that moment, Aoba's brow twitched slightly. "[serious]...Aoba, do you recognize this pattern?" Aoba paused briefly before shaking her head. "[cold]I do not," The answer was definitive. But that single beat of hesitation before the words came—it lodged itself in a corner of Kyojuro's mind. Aoba didn't pursue the subject further. She stood, shifting her tone. "[serious]Demons cannot do this. They cannot approach wisteria flowers. A human deliberately destroyed this barrier. To lure demons to Hotarubi Village," Kyojuro slowly absorbed those words. A human who manipulates demons. It was a different kind of fear from the demons themselves. Demons hunt. They act on instinct. You cannot understand them, but their form is visible. But if humans were using demons as tools—that malice has no shape. It can hide anywhere. *There might be someone like that within the Demon Slayer Corps.* The moment that thought surfaced, his stomach went cold. Kyojuro's expression didn't change. But the way he saw the world shifted, as if a layer had been peeled back. That afternoon, Unebi Shige added one more detail. Three days ago—slightly before the demon attacks began in the village—a strange traveling man had passed through. Thin build, worn traveling clothes, his face indistinct. But the old woman said she'd seen him heading toward Hotarubi Shrine. When Aoba finished listening, she nodded quietly. But she didn't pursue an investigation into the man. Night was coming. The priority was preparing for tonight's battle. --- As evening fell and the sun began to sink toward the western mountains. Aoba spoke. "[gentle]Would you accompany me? There's something I want to show you," It was an unusual way of speaking. Not the tone of a teacher showing something to a student, but something more personal. Kyojuro nodded silently. He was led to an open wasteland on the village's northern outskirts. Low grass spread across it, and the ridge of cedars was visible in the distance. The orange of sunset was beginning to paint half the sky, and a warm wind blew. Aoba stopped in the middle of the wasteland without a word. She drew her Nichirin sword. "[serious]Wind Breathing, First Form through Sixth Form. I will demonstrate them for you," In the next instant, Aoba moved. First Form. Wind blades wrapped around the blade, carving an arc in a single slash. Grass fell, and the sound of air being cut filled the space. Second Form. The slash ran vertically, and the grass on the ground parted as if a line had been drawn. Third Form—Verdant Spiral. Aoba's body rotated. Consecutive spinning slashes layered arcs, and a green afterimage burned into the twilight sky. For half a second, Aoba's body appeared at the center of a ring of light. The word beautiful surfaced in Kyojuro's mind, and he consciously pushed it down. Fourth and Fifth Forms followed. As the wind's trajectory grew larger, the air in the wasteland began to move. Grass swayed in unison. The chaotic wind brushed against Kyojuro's cheek. Sixth Form. The moment the final strike was unleashed, Kyojuro's body moved. Before conscious thought, Flame Breathing activated. He drew in a breath of total concentration and assumed his stance. His body had read the rhythm of Aoba's wind blades. At first, they were slightly out of sync. Aoba entered the Sixth Form a second time. Kyojuro matched it with Flame Breathing. The discord narrowed. A third time. In that instant—their breaths aligned. Wind blade and flame crossed the same trajectory. The air shuddered with a heavy sound. The grass in the wasteland flattened all at once. A current mixing wind and heat created a vortex that briefly enveloped the space around them both, then scattered. Silence. Aoba sheathed her sword. Kyojuro slowly returned his blade to its scabbard. "[serious]...This is it," Her voice was calm, but carried certainty. "[serious]When your flame and my wind align, we can stand against upper-rank demons. Today's coordination is the answer," Kyojuro looked at the disturbed grass. The traces where their two breaths had passed. There was a sense of fulfillment. He'd never felt his breath align with another person so clearly before. But beneath that fulfillment lay another emotion. A premonition that this would not continue forever—quiet and certain, residing in the depths of his chest. *Aoba said that after the examination, she would no longer be at my side.* He didn't voice it. In the deepening twilight of the wasteland, the two of them stood facing the same direction for a while. --- Night fell. Kyojuro and Aoba took up their watch positions. Aoba stood at a point on the Unebi house's veranda where she could see the entire village, while Kyojuro watched the road at the village's northern edge. Only the sound of night wind rustling through grass could be heard. The first change was subtle. Four demon presences. The same level as last night—that's what Kyojuro thought for only the first few minutes before the presences continued to multiply. Five. Seven. *Something's wrong.* Eight. Ten. Last night's demons had been lower-rank. They'd moved chaotically. But tonight's presences—each one moved with coordination. They were surrounding the village, maintaining intervals, gradually closing the distance. Twelve. Fifteen. *How could this many appear in a single night?* Aoba left the veranda and walked toward Kyojuro. Her expression told him immediately. Not her usual composure, but tension drawn taut beneath her skin. "[serious]I know the number. That's not the problem," Her voice was low. Aoba's gaze turned toward the village's south, toward the Tsugumi River. Kyojuro sharpened his senses too. Beyond the fifteen presences, there was something else. Different in quality. Different in weight. More overwhelming than all fifteen combined. Not the presence of a beast. Close to the presence of a storm. And it was slowly approaching from the night-shrouded south. Aoba's left hand touched the hilt of her Nichirin sword. Her fingers tensed—a habit that appeared during combat. "[cold]...It comes," Her voice was quiet. Not a command, not a shout. Simply stating fact. But Kyojuro understood. When Aoba spoke in that voice—it was real. "[serious]An upper-rank demon," A scream erupted from the village's northern edge. A high-pitched cry. A child, perhaps, or a woman—just one scream. But in the moment that single cry tore through the night's silence, Kyojuro's entire body shifted into combat readiness. He drew his Nichirin sword. The blade gleamed red. In the village's darkness, multiple shadows began to move.