Just as Urokodaki Sakonji had said, the summit of Mount Fujikasane turned bitterly cold once night fell.
Fortunately, they had prepared in advance. Soma took out a thick cloak he had readied earlier and gently draped it over Kanao's shoulders, carefully shielding her from the chill.
Makomo tilted her head slightly, watching the way he treated Kanao with such quiet tenderness. Then, as if catching herself, she looked away, hugging her Nichirin Sword close as she raised her gaze to the moon now hanging high in the sky.
Soft moonlight spilled over her figure, casting her in a pale, silvery glow.
Staring out into the endless darkness beyond, her thoughts drifted uncontrollably—to her fellow disciples, to Sabito, to Furukawa Hiroshi, whom she had once fought alongside. Every one of them… had been killed by demons.
They had all been good people.
They should have lived long, peaceful lives.
And yet, they had been brutally slaughtered.
Her gaze shifted again, landing on Soma. She watched as he carefully adjusted Kanao's hood, then glanced at Tanjiro, who stood nearby, alert and vigilant as he scanned their surroundings.
They were all good people.
If demons did not exist, surely they would have lived happy lives.
But now… they were all facing the sa deadly threat.
Unbidden, Soma's earlier words echoed in her mind—
"If I were a demon… would you still treat the sa?"
For a mont, she almost wanted to laugh.
He really did have a strange sense of humor.
Soone like him—a person so kind—how could he possibly compare himself to sothing as cruel, as hateful, as irredeemable as a demon?
The two were fundantally incomparable.
"Grrr…"
From sowhere in the distance ca the low, guttural roar of a demon, faintly accompanied by the sounds of battle.
Night had fallen, and with it, the demons had begun their hunt.
For creatures that had endured a year of starvation, the swordsn who had climbed to the summit for the Final Selection were nothing less than the most exquisite prey.
Makomo tightened her grip on her Nichirin Sword.
Can I really protect the people around ?
Can I do this… the right way?
Or will I end up just like them—like my seniors, like Sabito, like Furukawa Hiroshi—falling to a demon's claws?
No matter what…
She would give it everything she had.
Clenching the hilt of her blade, she turned toward Soma. "Next, we should—"
"How about we have a drink together first?"
Soma lifted a sake flask and took a casual sip.
Makomo's brows drew together at once. "We're about to face demons, and you still want to drink?"
"Killing demons should be an exhilarating experience," Soma said with a light shrug, taking another sip before tossing the flask toward her. "And at a mont like this, with soone as skilled as you by my side, wouldn't it be a sha not to have so good sake to accompany it?"
Makomo caught the flask, montarily stunned.
Drinking at a ti like this… it went completely against her nature. Besides, she had never even tasted alcohol before.
Under normal circumstances, she wouldn't have considered it.
But then a thought crossed her mind—if she failed the selection and died here on Mount Fujikasane, becoming nothing more than food for demons… wouldn't it be a pity if she had never even tried sothing as simple as this?
After a brief hesitation, she raised the flask and took a small sip.
The strong liquor burned as it slid down her throat, the sharp heat making her cough repeatedly. A faint blush spread across her delicate face.
It felt… a little overwhelming.
Seeing her drink, Tanjiro tightened his grip on his axe, looking at her expectantly.
Makomo instinctively moved to pass him the flask, but just as she was about to hand it over, her eyes fell on the mouth of the bottle. A faint trace of moisture lingered there.
For so reason, she suddenly beca acutely aware of it—of the fact that her lips had just touched that spot… and that Soma had drunk from it before her.
Almost reflexively, she pulled the flask back and hung it at her waist instead.
Tanjiro, who had already reached out to take it, froze in place, montarily bewildered.
Makomo's cheeks were still faintly flushed—perhaps from the alcohol—as she spoke softly, "We're about to face demons. Drinking would only get in the way."
Tanjiro couldn't quite process that. You already drank so… so why is it a problem when it's my turn?
At that mont, Soma spoke again.
"Then how about letting have another sip?"
"…No."
Makomo shook her head. Noticing the way he was looking at her, she turned her face aside. "After we pass the Final Selection… I'll have a proper drink with you."
As she spoke, Makomo lifted her gaze to the bright moon overhead, silently finishing the thought she hadn't voiced—if I can survive.
Seeing her firmly refuse him, Soma couldn't help but sigh in mock regret. "Not only are you a strong and beautiful swordswoman, Miss Makomo, but also quite domineering. You won't even let have a drink."
He tilted his head slightly, a teasing smile on his lips. "Just because Miss Makomo is strong and pretty, does that an you get to do whatever you want?"
Makomo's cheeks flushed faintly. She turned her head away, her clear eyes shooting him a glare.
"Talk less."
There was even a trace of pleading in her gaze now.
"…Ha."
Being looked at like that—like a childhood friend from next door—made it impossible for Soma not to laugh.
Makomo felt completely helpless. Watching him laugh so freely, she couldn't help but wonder if he truly understood where they were.
This was Mount Fujikasane.
They were about to face demons.
And yet… he carried himself like this?
But strangely enough, the tension in her chest had already begun to fade. For the first ti in a long while, she felt… lighter.
The burden she had always carried alone, the weight she never spoke of but kept locked deep inside—sohow, in this mont, it didn't feel quite so crushing anymore. Even the faint gloom that had lingered in her eyes seed to dissipate.
"Grrr…"
A demon, having caught the scent of prey, let out a distant roar and charged toward them at alarming speed.
"Be careful."
Makomo spoke softly to Soma as she stepped forward, placing herself at the very front. Her hand rested lightly on the hilt of her Nichirin Sword, her eyes narrowing as she fixed her gaze ahead.
No matter what happened, she would protect them.
Even if she failed in the end… she would fall before they did.
"Grr—ROAR!"
The coarse, savage cries drew closer, accompanied by heavy, thudding footsteps. Soon, a grotesque figure ca into view—a demon with bluish-purple skin and a twisted, monstrous face.
To a creature that had starved on this mountain for an entire year, the sight of so many humans was nothing short of paradise. Its crimson eyes glead with a sickly, almost greenish light.
"S-such… delicious prey… finally… I can feast…"
The demon licked its lips and crouched low like a beast, preparing to pounce.
Makomo studied it carefully, a flicker of confusion passing through her eyes.
It felt… weak.
Far weaker than the demons she had hunted before alongside Furukawa Hiroshi and the others. Compared to those, this one was almost pitifully frail.
Sothing like this…?
How could a demon this weak have killed my seniors?
How could it have killed Sabito?
She couldn't understand it.
Beside her, Tanjiro gripped his axe tightly, his gaze fixed on the demon. There was tension in his posture—this was the first ti he had faced a demon other than Soma.
And compared to Soma…
This creature wasn't even close.
"ROAR!"
With another bellow, the demon kicked off the ground, its body launching forward like a cannonball straight toward Makomo.
Her expression remained calm.
Her hand tightened on the hilt.
As the demon closed in, just monts away from striking, her lips parted in a quiet murmur—
"Water Breathing, First Form: Water Surface Slash."
The blade left its sheath.
Cold steel flashed through the air at incredible speed, slicing forward with such precision that the demon's eyes widened in disbelief as the edge neared its neck.
"May I… be the one to take its head?"
A soft voice spoke from behind her.
It was such a quiet request—so gentle, almost casual.
And yet, despite the life-or-death nature of the mont, despite the absurdity of granting such a request in the middle of battle… for so reason, she found herself unable to refuse.
Almost unconsciously, the blade shifted.
In a motion even she couldn't quite believe, her strike veered off course—cutting through the demon's limbs in an instant instead of its neck.
Thud.
The demon, mid-charge, crashed heavily to the ground, letting out a shrill scream of agony. Its severed limbs writhed nearby, twitching and crawling as if trying to return to its body.
Makomo sheathed her sword and turned back, her small face tense.
"You… what are you trying to do?"
Soma rely shrugged, his expression relaxed. "I just wanted to experience what it feels like… to cut off a demon's head."
"In the middle of a fight, that's not sothing to joke about."
Makomo's small face was tense as she reprimanded him, her tone serious despite her soft voice.
"Then… I sincerely apologize." Soma let out a light chuckle, though there wasn't the slightest hint of remorse on his face.
Makomo turned her head away as if she hadn't seen that expression at all, forcing herself to remain composed. "Just this once," she said firmly. "Next ti, I won't allow it."
Soma didn't respond. Instead, his gaze shifted to the demon lying on the ground, its limbs severed. A normal human would have long since died from such injuries, yet even this weak demon showed no signs of perishing.
Perhaps sensing the imminent threat of death, the demon's hunger for flesh seed to fade. Its attention slowly turned toward Soma, who was now approaching with a Nichirin Sword in hand.
There was sothing familiar about him.
A scent… unmistakably the sa as its own kind.
"…You're a demon too?"
"Yes," Soma answered without hesitation, nodding lightly.
The demon's eyes widened in disbelief. "You're a demon…? Then why isn't she attacking you? Why did she cut off my limbs instead? Why treat like this? I just wanted to eat… just a little flesh…"
Makomo, who had still been annoyed, snapped her head back at those words, her gaze sharpening as it fixed on the demon.
At that mont, Soma stopped walking and glanced back at her.
Makomo frowned, her expression filled with disgust as she looked at the creature before turning back to Soma impatiently. "Why are you hesitating? Just cut off its head already. It mistook you for its kind—I don't want to look at sothing this revolting any longer."
Soma turned back to the demon, gripping the blade as he casually traced the edge near its neck, as though considering the best angle to strike.
"Why… why?!" the demon roared, its eyes bulging with fury and confusion. "He's a demon too! Why kill but not him? He's the sa as !"
Its voice grew frantic, almost desperate.
"You should cut off his limbs too! He's a demon just like !"
Makomo's irritation deepened. Watching Soma still idly asuring his strike, she urged again, "Hurry up."
Soma lifted his head and smiled at her, a faint, almost imperceptible crimson glimr flickering deep within his dark eyes.
"I think… what it's saying isn't entirely without reason."
Makomo let out a cold laugh. "Who would believe the words of a demon?"
She didn't notice the aning hidden in his gaze.
Soma turned back to the demon, a gentle, almost friendly smile appearing on his face. "See? Who would believe anything a demon says?"
"You clearly are one! You are a demon!" the creature scread, staring at him in utter disbelief. "Then why—why won't they cut off your head? Why do they accept you? You're the sa as us!"
"…Yes," Soma murmured softly. "I am a demon too."
He seed to sigh, almost faintly.
Then, before the demon's terrified eyes, he raised his blade.
The sword flashed.
In a single, effortless motion, it sliced cleanly through the demon's neck.
Blood sprayed into the air as its head fell to the ground, rolling across the dirt. Even in death, its eyes remained wide open, fixed on Soma, unable to comprehend what had just happened.
We were the sa…
As its head was severed by the Nichirin Sword, its body began to crumble into drifting black ash, dissolving into the air along with a foul, suffocating stench.
And perhaps, in those final monts, fragnts of its human mories returned.
The question of why Soma had not been killed no longer mattered.
What remained instead… was regret.
Pain.
Sorrow for everything it had done after becoming a demon.
A heavy, invisible sadness began to seep into the air.
Makomo stood where she was, unaware of it. She only spared a glance at the fallen head before lifting her guard once more, eyes scanning the darkness for the next threat.
But Soma could feel it.
He quietly watched as the last traces of the demon faded away, the lingering sorrow brushing faintly against his senses.
"So tragic…" he murmured softly. "Truly tragic."
Tanjiro gazed at the fallen demon, a faint, indescribable sensation stirring within him. Drawn by sothing he couldn't quite put into words, he stepped closer.
In that mont, it was as if he could glimpse fragnts of the demon's past—mories of a life once lived as a human, filled with warmth and happiness. Yet after becoming a demon, those very mories had been shattered by its own hands, piece by piece. Only at the brink of death had everything co rushing back, forcing it to confront the weight of what it had done.
Tanjiro's chest tightened.
He walked forward until he stood before the severed head. The demon's eyes were still wide open, frozen in disbelief even in death.
After a brief hesitation, Tanjiro crouched down and gently reached out, closing its eyes with care.
"Rest in peace…" he whispered softly.
A single tear slipped from the corner of the demon's now-closed eye, trailing silently down its face.
Makomo stood nearby, her Nichirin Sword still in hand, watching the scene with a frown of confusion. "They're demons," she said, unable to understand. "Is that really necessary?"
Tanjiro kept his gaze on the demon, now at rest, the tear still glistening faintly. His voice was quiet as he replied, "I just… felt a deep sadness. Maybe…"
"Demons can feel sadness?" Makomo interrupted, her brows knitting together.
She couldn't perceive what Tanjiro could—the sorrow lingering in the air, the quiet grief that seed to seep from the fading remains. All she knew was what demons had done: the countless lives they had taken, the families they had shattered, the futures they had stolen.
Her expression hardened slightly.
Looking at Tanjiro, she spoke with unwavering conviction, "Demons are cruel… disgusting creatures. They deserve to be cast into hell. They shouldn't exist in this world."
Hearing this, Tanjiro instinctively glanced at Soma, a flicker of concern crossing his face.
Beside him, Kanao—who had been quietly following Soma all this ti—slowly lifted her soft, pinkish-purple eyes. Without a word, her gaze settled on Makomo… precisely on her throat, her heart, every vital point on her body.
Silent. Watchful.
Ready.
And yet, Soma himself seed as though he hadn't heard any of it.
He calmly sheathed his Nichirin Sword, a faint sigh escaping his lips.
"Miss Makomo is right," he said lightly. "Demons… truly are creatures that deserve to fall into hell."
As he spoke, he closed his eyes briefly, turning inward.
Within his body, sothing was changing.
Even though the demon he had slain was weak, he could feel his heart beating more forcefully than before. Each pulse sent a stronger surge of blood through his veins, as though sothing within him was awakening—growing.
At the sa ti, his awareness drifted inward, toward the status panel deep within his mind.
It had been a while since he last checked it.
Now, just as he had sensed, it reflected the changes in his body with perfect clarity.
...
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