Morning had come to the Ubuyashiki estate's garden. Wisteria flowers swayed in the breeze. Their sweet fragrance dissolved into the air, and a single white petal fell onto the stone pavement. Kyojuro's eyes followed the petal before returning his gaze to the haori in his hands. Blue-green fabric. Aoba's haori. Yesterday—the day he received his certification as Flame Pillar—he had stood in the Pillar Assembly meeting wearing this very garment. Before the joy of passing the trial could settle, its weight had fallen upon his shoulders. One night had passed since that day. (The Upper Rank demon is still alive.) That fact remained lodged in his chest. The Ninth Form had connected. He had carved away half its neck. But he had failed to finish it. The demon that escaped was somewhere in the darkness of night. Once its wounds healed, it would feed on humans again. "Rengoku Kyojuro." A calm voice reached him from behind. He turned to find Ubuyashiki Kagaya standing on the veranda. The master of the Demon Slayer Corps—his eyes could not see, yet his bearing held quiet dignity. Though his body was ravaged by illness, his spine remained perfectly straight. A soldier's presence lingered nearby, but the master had descended into the garden alone. "May we speak for a moment?" Kyojuro bowed deeply. "[serious]Yes." The two stood side by side beneath the wisteria trellis at the garden's edge. Morning light filtered through the gaps in the lattice, casting thin shadows on the stone pavement. "I have read yesterday's report." Ubuyashiki Kagaya's voice was quiet, his emotions difficult to discern. Yet his words carried undeniable weight. "'We gathered at that one's command'—the Upper Rank demon's statement. It has been decided to treat this as the highest classified secret in the Pillar Assembly." Kyojuro nodded. "[serious]Then there is the possibility of a traitor within the Demon Slayer Corps?" "We are still at the stage of possibility. However—eight or more demons gathered in a small village, and the wisteria barrier was destroyed deliberately. That fact cannot be ignored." The master paused briefly. The wisteria flowers swayed. Their fragrance spread through the morning air. "The Upper Rank demon that escaped is still alive. Once its wounds heal, it will feed on humans again. After it recovers its strength—there is a high possibility that only a Pillar could handle it." "[serious]...I will pursue it." His answer was immediate. "[serious]That is the Flame Pillar's first duty." Ubuyashiki Kagaya's expression softened slightly. His sightless eyes turned toward Kyojuro. "Please pursue it. However—do not bear this burden alone." His words were brief. Yet in that single statement, Kyojuro felt something stir within him. The master continued. "The Flame Pillar is not one who fights in solitude. If you burn yourself out, there will be nothing left to protect." Kyojuro bowed deeply. He searched for words to respond, but found none. Yet he was certain—those words had reached deep into his chest. --- Before leaving the Ubuyashiki estate, Kyojuro stopped at a corner of the garden. It was where the wisteria flowers bloomed most abundantly. The stone at the base was covered in moss, and morning dew glistened upon it. No one was there. Kyojuro held Aoba's haori in both hands and folded it carefully, once. When he had removed it from her body at the riverbank in Hotarubi Village, he had done so while suppressing sobs. His body had trembled. Tears would not stop. That haori had still belonged to Aoba then. Now it was different. (I will inherit it.) He draped the folded haori across his own shoulders once more. The blue-green fabric fell across his back. Its weight had not changed. Only—its meaning had changed. He was formally accepting Aoba's will as his own mission. If he were to give words to his feelings for Aoba— (I loved her.) He called that phrase once, in the silence of his heart. Not aloud. There was no need to speak it now. That emotion had not vanished, but its form had transformed within him—Aoba's existence had become the core of his flame. That was all. Kyojuro turned toward Hotarubi Village—westward—and bowed. Quietly. Deeply. The wisteria flowers swayed. --- He returned to the Rengoku family estate late in the afternoon. As he passed through the gate, sound came from the direction of the dojo. The sound of wooden sword practice—regular, heavy strikes. Kyojuro stopped. The sake flask was not visible on the detached room's veranda. Someone was moving beyond the dojo's sliding door. He carefully opened the door. Maki Juro was alone. Black hair streaked with gray, a deep scar across his right cheek. The man who had once served as Flame Pillar—Kyojuro had thought him lost to drink. Yet today, Maki Juro stood in the center of the dojo with a wooden sword in hand. There was no smell of alcohol. He was repeating the First Form of Flame Breathing, "Unknowing Fire," without a blade. A form confirmation without a sword. Yet each strike carried weight. The movements of his active years remained carved into this body—that much was clear. Maki Juro had noticed Kyojuro's arrival. But he did not turn around. He continued his form and spoke briefly. "[cold]...Now that you have become a Pillar, I cannot keep hoarding this dojo any longer." That was all. Not a rebuke. Not an apology. Simply—a statement that he was yielding this place. Kyojuro could say nothing. Maki Juro's gaze turned toward Kyojuro's shoulders for just a moment. He saw the blue-green haori. He said nothing. In that silence lay something that could not be put into words—was it mourning for Aoba, or understanding of what his son now carried? Kyojuro could not know. But after that gaze withdrew, Maki Juro's form seemed to shift, ever so slightly. Kyojuro bowed deeply. Maki Juro did not turn around. He continued his form. The long distance that had existed between them for years narrowed by one more step—without words. --- Evening came. Trays of food were arranged in the family dining hall. Kyojuro stopped at the entrance. Three bowls. One for Kyojuro. One for Maki Juro. And—one more. Mizuho sat across from him, hands pressed together in gratitude. Her silver hair caught the light of the lamp, gleaming softly. Her amber eyes gazed at Kyojuro quietly. She said nothing. She offered no explanation. Only—her gaze indicated: please, sit. Who the third bowl was for—there was no need to ask. It was for Aoba. Mizuho had met Aoba only once. Yet seeing her brother return covered in wounds, wearing that blue-green haori, she understood everything. That understanding was woven into tonight's third bowl. She had welcomed Aoba's existence into the Rengoku family's memory—that simple act, and something far greater. Kyojuro took his seat. He pressed his hands together. Toward all three bowls. In the quiet atmosphere of the evening meal, something struck gently at Kyojuro's chest. He had thought his tears were spent. Yet the back of his eyes grew warm. The final warmth of words left unspoken—seemed at last to settle at this table. A single tear fell. He wiped it away quickly. No voice. No sobs. Maki Juro said nothing. Mizuho said nothing. The three of them pressed their hands together in silence. --- Night fell. Kyojuro spread a scroll in his room. The scroll Maki Juro had given him yesterday—a detailed description of the Ninth Form of Flame Breathing, "Inferno." Fine brushstrokes covered the yellowed paper. Content thought lost in the storehouse was here. As Kyojuro read further, his hand stopped at one passage. —The Ninth Form is a realm reached only by those who have lost what they must burn. Those without loss cannot harbor this flame.— (Those who have lost what they must burn.) Kyojuro stared at those characters. The riverbank in Hotarubi Village. Both hands cradling Aoba's hand. Her body growing cold. That night, the Ninth Form had moved for the first time. —Then does this flame stand upon the foundation of losing Aoba? There was no answer to that question. He could not find one. Yet he could move forward while holding that question. Kyojuro decided this. A sound of wings came from outside. A black shadow landed on the window. A Kasugai crow—the bird that carried the Demon Slayer Corps' messages. He took the small paper tied to its leg and read the brief report written there. Forty kilometers north of Hotarubi Village, in the mountains. A settlement where people had vanished. The shadow spotted had many arms—. Kyojuro closed the scroll. He quietly gripped the hilt of his Nichirin sword. The blade that had turned from red to white—that color he had first seen that night returned to his mind. (I let it escape. But next time, I will finish it.) The last words Aoba had spoken echoed in his ears. You will surely become a Pillar. He had fulfilled that promise. Next was—to avenge Aoba. To uncover the identity of whoever destroyed the village's barrier. To expose the existence behind the words "that one's command." The flame had not gone out. Tonight, the Flame Pillar Rengoku Kyojuro's first pursuit would begin.