How long had it been since Aoba stopped moving? Rengoku Kyojuro didn't know. Only the sound of the river water striking the rocks continued. The flow of the Tsugumi River remained unchanged. The sky remained unchanged. Night still covered the world firmly. But inside Rengoku Kyojuro, something had come to a complete standstill. Kneeling on the ground, he held Aoba's hand in both of his. A hand stained with blood. Both her hand and his own were so red he couldn't tell whose blood it was. Still, he couldn't let go. If he released this hand, it would truly be over. That's what he felt. (So cold.) It had been warm just moments ago. The fingertips that had touched his cheek were definitely warm. Now they absorbed the chill of the stone pavement. "…………" No sound came out. Words wouldn't form. Before they could, something kept crumbling deep in his throat. Memories came. Without control. The morning at the training hut on Mizugaki Mountain, Aoba's fingers wrapping bandages. "You must learn to stand on your own"—that voice still echoed in his ears. In the wasteland at dusk, the green arc drawn by Kazuha's breathing technique. The green afterimage burned into the sky, overlapping with his own flames, the moment when two breaths aligned for the first time—that tremor. That night at the inn in Tsukimori Town when Aoba had laughed, rare for her. He couldn't remember what was funny anymore. He only remembered that she was laughing, that alone. (I loved her.) Those words took on a clear form for the first time now. He loved her. From long ago. But he didn't know what to call it. Was it respect for a teacher? Trust in a comrade? Or something else entirely?—He had kept it ambiguous, protected it by leaving it undefined. He didn't need to protect it anymore. There was no need to protect anything now. "[crying]……Aoba-san" His voice came out. The moment he heard that voice, something inside him broke. Rengoku Kyojuro cried out loud. In eighteen years of living, he had never cried like this. Shame and dignity meant nothing. On the banks of the Tsugumi River, in blood and mud, he cried until his voice gave out. All the words he couldn't convey became sound and poured out. The ground trembled. Just once. Heavy. Deep. Rengoku Kyojuro lifted his face. The Upper-Rank demon had returned. All six arms had regenerated. Not a single wound. That massive body slowly approached, treading on the riverbank. The Lower-Rank demons were gone. Only this demon remained. "[sarcastic]Quite the crier, aren't you, boy" A mocking voice. One arm extended—and carelessly trampled Aoba's body. Something burned inside Rengoku Kyojuro. Anger. But his body's limit came faster than his rage. As he tried to stand, the gash on his back screamed in pain. His legs trembled. He tried to focus his breathing. It wouldn't connect. His ragged breathing wouldn't steady. "[angry]……Back off" "Back off, you say?" The Upper-Rank demon laughed low. Six arms spread wide. "[sarcastic]Amusing. A Pillar candidate in such a state" The arms came. He couldn't dodge. Five fingers seized Rengoku Kyojuro's neck and lifted him. His feet left the ground. His airway crushed. He tried to resist by tensing his arms, but couldn't move even a finger's width. "[sarcastic]I'll eat you. Along with the girl, slowly" His vision warped. No oxygen. Fading. Distant. (The Nichirin sword...) He saw it. Rolling on the stone pavement meters away. Unreachable. It couldn't possibly be reached. "[sarcastic]……It was worth gathering at that one's command. To eat two Pillar candidates" Those words reached him through the haze. That one's command. (Who?) An existence that could command demons. Was it Muzan Kibutsuji? Or—was there something inside the Demon Slayer Corps? He tried to form the question. But he couldn't reach the answer. Consciousness grew thinner and thinner. Something surfaced in his mind. Not Aoba's voice. An older memory. A passage from the instruction manual in the Rengoku family storehouse—from when his father was still a Pillar, when Kyojuro had read it. —The Ninth Form is not a technique, but the flame of the soul itself. A realm forever unreachable to those without something to burn— Something to burn. (I have...) Aoba's face appeared. The warmth of fingertips touching his cheek still lingered. "You will definitely become a Pillar"—the weight of those words. Eight months of sweat shed together on Mizugaki Mountain mornings. The regret of failing to protect her. The feelings left unspoken. All of it— Converged at a single point. Something moved from the depths of his body. Every time he'd attempted the Ninth Form before, the flames scattered. They vanished before taking shape. But not now. They didn't vanish. Instead, they spread. From the center of his chest, through his arms, to his fingertips, to the tips of his feet—flames filled him. Heat so intense it seeped beyond his skin. In the Upper-Rank demon's grip, Rengoku Kyojuro's right arm moved. His thumb. His index finger. Peeling them back one by one. Impossible strength. His body was burning. It transformed into power. The Upper-Rank demon cried out for the first time—a voice of shock. This demon was shocked. Rengoku Kyojuro fell to the ground. He rolled. He stood. He threw his entire body toward the Nichirin sword. He ran. Three steps. His hand grasped the sword's hilt—burning hot. The blade turned red. From red to white. The Upper-Rank demon raised its arm. "[serious]Flame Breathing—" Not a shout. A suppressed voice. A quiet sound emerging from the depths of lamentation. "[serious]Ninth Form—Rengoku" The blade moved. BOOM!! The impact tore through the air. The heat wave struck the river surface, water spray erupted. A white-hot trajectory burned into the darkness—and the blade bit deep into the Upper-Rank demon's neck. The Upper-Rank demon cried out. A voice he'd never heard before. This demon that had maintained composure all night now screamed in agony. The cross-section of its neck was deeply gouged. Regeneration couldn't keep up. It wouldn't make it— It made it. Barely. Half the neck regenerated, escaping decapitation. The Upper-Rank demon staggered. It retreated for the first time. Six arms moved irregularly, balance lost. The voice of agony continued. "[cold]……You brat" The tone of its voice had changed. The Upper-Rank demon withdrew into the darkness. Not slowly. Quickly. Fleeing. It vanished into the night cedar forest. Its silhouette dissolved into the dark and disappeared from sight. Silence returned. Only the sound of the river remained. Rengoku Kyojuro stood. His knees trembled. His arms trembled. But he stood. The Nichirin sword was in his hand. The blade slowly lost its red tint, returning to the color of steel. He knew he couldn't pursue. His body had long exceeded its limits. One more step and he would collapse. He knew that. (I let it escape.) That fact accumulated quietly. The Upper-Rank demon lived. He hadn't severed its neck. And—that phrase, "that one's command." Its true identity still lay in darkness. Rengoku Kyojuro slowly knelt. He sheathed his sword. The soft click echoed faintly through the night. He moved to Aoba's side. He reached out a trembling hand. The blue-green haori was dyed deep crimson. That color was Aoba herself. Rengoku Kyojuro slowly removed the haori. He held it to his chest. There were no words. His tears had already run dry. He simply held it. The light of dawn began to seep into the edge of the eastern sky. Beyond the ridge of cedars, the world slowly turned white. A newborn morning came to the sky above Hotarubi Village. Rengoku Kyojuro carried Aoba to the Hotarubi Shrine. He laid her gently before the small shrine perched on a hill at the village's western edge. The enshrined deity was Kagutsuchi, the Fire God—a shrine dedicated to the god of flames was the closest place to tonight's battlefield. It didn't feel like coincidence. He picked flowers blooming nearby with both hands. Flowers he didn't know the name of. Small white flowers. He placed them on Aoba's chest. He pressed his palms together. He didn't know how long he remained that way. When the morning sun began to shine, footsteps approached. Two members of the Hidden arrived in the village. The Hidden who provided rear support for the Demon Slayer Corps—specialists in post-combat scene processing and transport. They came with the dawn. Their faces were covered in cloth, their expressions unreadable. "[cold]Aoba-sama's……" One of them stopped mid-sentence. Couldn't continue. Rengoku Kyojuro turned to face them. "[serious]Aoba-senpai fell during combat with the Upper-Rank demon. I was at her side until the end" His voice came out quieter than he expected. "[serious]Check for damage to the villagers. And Aoba-senpai—please" The two Hidden members bowed deeply. Rengoku Kyojuro took paper and brush from his pocket. A simple report. The Upper-Rank demon's characteristics, the course of battle, and—the words he'd heard. He wrote down "that one's command" exactly as spoken. What did those words mean? Someone in the Demon Slayer Corps might know. Or perhaps the Ubuyashiki lord knew. He called for a Kasugai crow. The black bird landed on his shoulder, and he fastened the report to it. "[serious]To the Ubuyashiki estate. Urgent" The Kasugai crow took flight. A black speck disappeared into the morning sky. Rengoku Kyojuro stood before the torii gate of Hotarubi Shrine, Aoba's haori still in his hand. The Upper-Rank demon had escaped. He hadn't severed its neck. The identity of "that one's command" remained unknown. Why eight or more demons had gathered in this village still lay in darkness. Multiple unsolved mysteries carried forward to what came next. And—the Pillar Trial awaited. He draped Aoba's haori over his shoulders. The blue-green fabric swayed in the morning light, caught by the wind. (I will become a Pillar. That is how I inherit your will.) He decided only that. He wouldn't think of anything else. For now, that was enough. Morning mist hung at the entrance to the mountain path leading to Tsukimori Town. Rengoku Kyojuro took one step forward. Aoba's haori swayed on his back. His wounded body screamed in agony. Still, his feet moved forward. The morning sun illuminated Hotarubi Village. The first morning without Aoba.