Hachiro was what people meant when they talked about change. Puberty had done a thorough and almost ruthless job on him, the boy I remembered was gone entirely.
His frame was broad now, muscles packed and well defined, arms traced with sharp scars that hadn't been there before. And his smile, the one I remembered coming so easily, looked like he was working to hold it in place.
I stared long enough that it took me a moment to register he had shown up at my newly acquired house.
"You can —"
"Tatsuya!!"
He closed the distance before I could finish the sentence. His arms came around me like a vice, and whatever air I had in my lungs vanished in that moment.
"I've missed you, Tatsuya." He released me and stepped back.
"Missed you too. Why don't you come—"
"Don't worry about that. Oyakata-sama sent for you."
Hayami Ubuyashiki. By all accounts he should still be at the top of the organization, and I had every reason to believe he still had years ahead of him.
"He wants to see me? Right now?"
"That's right. He already sent someone, but I think I may have passed him on the way." Hachiro scratched the back of his head and glanced behind him, presumably looking for said messenger.
"Alright. Give me a moment."
I slipped inside, leaving the door open, dressed quickly, and was back out in five minutes. Hachiro had settled on the veranda, eyes fixed on the compound in silence. I caught a glimpse of his face before he noticed me—the smile was gone, replaced with something vacant. A dead stare, the kind that doesn't come from boredom.
The moment he detected my presence, he was back on his feet and the cheerful expression was in place again, worn like a mask that didn't quite fit. He had his reasons. And I'm not sure prying now might be a good thing.
"Look at you." I fell into step beside him as we set off. "You look like a greek god."
"A greek…god?"
"You look strong. What happened, were you lifting boulders?"
He laughed, short and dry. "Just regular training."
"Regular training."
Genetics could account for some of it, maybe. But not all of it. He didn't want to get into it, and I wasn't going to push.
We crossed paths with the messenger not far down the road. After a quick exchange it became clear he hadn't taken any detours, he'd come straight from the estate. Which meant the only explanation for Hachiro arriving first was that he had run the entire way.
I let that settle for a moment before shifting the conversation.
"Hey—when did you last speak with Nana?"
"Four days ago, maybe. She ruined her katana again and blamed it on her blacksmith, so I connected her with mine. He's making her a new one."
One thing the two sisters have in common.
Hachiro glanced at me. "Why you asking? Haven't you seen her?"
"I have. She just wasn't herself."
"She was sour?"
"Exactly, That's it."
"I don't know, Tatsuya..." Hachiro ran a hand through his hair. "She's really angry with you. I was too, for a while—you were gone on this errand for a long time and didn't say a word to any of us. I assumed it had to be something serious and let it go. Nana didn't get there the same way I did."
"I understand."
"And there's the thing with Mui. Taking her spot that day." He paused. "You haven't heard about that."
"Anything about spots—no."
Hachiro drew a long breath. His smile faded as he spoke, his face settling into something quieter and more honest.
"The day Teacher died—the mission had been assigned to Teacher and Nana. But Mui had done some reconnaissance beforehand, so she knew how dangerous it was. She then insisted on going in Nana's place." He paused. "It was Nana's first mission with Teacher. She'd been looking forward to it. Mui wasn't willing to let her walk into that, not for—I think her words were something like 'a childish dream.'" He gave a short laugh and checked over his shoulder at the messenger trailing a few paces behind us.
"Oyakata-sama, Teacher, everyone—they'd all agreed to let Mui take the spot. But Nana wouldn't accept it."
"Why didn't all three of them go?"
"That was the thing. Nana wanted it to be between her and Teacher. Just the two of them." He was quiet for a beat. "Eventually Mui took matters into her own hands—put Nana to sleep and left for the mission with Teacher. When she came back, she was barely recognizable. Covered in blood. And Teacher… she didn't make it." Hachiro covered his face briefly with one hand. "None of us believed it at first. But the state Mui was in, and then the days passed with no sign of Teacher anywhere—eventually we had no choice but to live with the truth. Nana, though..." He shook his head. "She never forgave Mui for it."
"She wouldn't."
She'd had something precious taken from her. It was only natural.
"So what was this errand that took you years?" he asked.
I could have deflected. I didn't see the point. "I was looking for someone important to me. Someone like a brother."
"Did you find him?"
"Yeah. I did."
By the time we reached the estate, dusk had quietly taken over. The sun had slipped below the horizon, but its last warmth—deep amber and red still bled across the sky, casting the compound in a glow that felt burning red.
Near the gravel path, three figures were seated on their knees, facing the house. They became clearer the closer we got. At the far end, unmistakable in his stillness — Yoriichi. Beside him, Michikatsu. And on Michikatsu's other side, someone I had never seen in person until now. Kenji Rengoku.
The long orange hair, fading to red at the ends. That seemed to be the Rengoku trademark, consistent across every era.
When he noticed us approaching, his expression shifted, something between mild contempt and impatience. He clicked his tongue. "Another brat," he muttered, mostly to himself.
I pretended not to hear it. Technically, I was supposed to be this man's father. That particular thought required containment. I tucked it away.
"Tatsuya. Good to see you in good health." Yoriichi rose and extended his hand.
"Same to you." His grip was iron. Mine met it in kind.
I moved toward Michikatsu. He watched me approach with a steady, unreadable expression. I matched it.
"You joined the Demon Slayer Corps," I said. "I'll admit, I didn't expect that. Did you turn your back on your people?"
He closed his eyes briefly, as though the question required patience rather than thought. "That's an irrational way of framing it."
"Is there a better one?"
"By joining the Demon Slayers, I serve my people, I protect them from what hunts in the dark. I also serve the world in doing so." There was the faintest trace of a smirk he worked to keep off his face. Beside him, Yoriichi gave a small nod of approval. It had the feeling of a rehearsed answer, something they'd gone over together until it was smooth enough to deploy without hesitation.
I knew how this story ended. I knew exactly what seed was already planted in Michikatsu, jealousy, pride, a quiet hunger that would eventually consume him and fracture everything around him. That was precisely why I was here.
I walked past Kenji without acknowledging his existence and settled beside Hachiro.
After a short wait, two young attendants emerged from the house. They lingered briefly at the long shadows before stepping into the open, voices aligned as they spoke and bowed in unison.
"Oyakata-sama has arrived."
Every person in the compound lowered themselves to one knee, heads bowed, as Hayami stepped out from within—accompanied by a tall, slender figure staying close to his side.
"May your days be long, Oyakata-sama!!" The words rose from the compound like a single voice.
"Thank you, everyone." He came into full view. The scar markings that covered his forehead were impossible to miss, but beneath them was a smile that carried nothing but warmth.
.
"We pray for strength and longer years for you," Kenji added, his eyes fixed on Hayami.
"And I pray for your safety," Hayami returned. He let the moment settle before continuing. "I summoned you all today to hear how the training has been progressing."
Yoriichi stepped forward. "We have maintained a steady pace. Two weeks in, and there has been measurable progress."
"That is good to hear." Hayami paused. "How many are currently under your instruction, Sir Yoriichi?"
"At present— Lord Kenji and Lord Hachiro."
"Only two." Hayami let the words sit for a moment.
"For now, they are the ones showing genuine prospects." Yoriichi paused, glancing briefly toward Michikatsu, then toward me. "I would also like to request the inclusion of Lord Michikatsu and Lord Tatsuya in the training. I have had the opportunity to witness what they are capable of in the field."
"They will be added for sure—that is granted under your recommendation. However, they will need to wait until after the trials have concluded, which should be approximately one week from now." Hayami's tone was composed and final.
"Thank you for your consideration, Oyakata-sama." Yoriichi bowed and stepped back.
"That will be all. You are dismissed."
The group dispersed one by one. Kenji left first, a low, rolling discontent in his manner that seemed directed at no one and everyone simultaneously. The Tsukiguni brothers followed, walking side by side without a word between them. Hachiro and I had nearly joined the procession when Hayami's voice came again.
"Tatsuya—would you stay a moment?"
I glanced at Hachiro. He caught it, nodded, and went on ahead without a word. I approached Hayami and lowered myself to one knee.
He shook his head. No formalities needed. He patted the space beside him, his hand pale as fresh snow, and I stepped up onto the veranda and sat.
"It has been years, Tatsuya. I was beginning to wonder if you had moved on from us."
"That was never my intention."
"Clearly." He nodded. "Yoriichi told me everything you did in the South. I knew it was you the moment I heard it. It's good to have you back."
"It's good to be back." The smile that passed between us settled into quiet laughter.
He turned and signaled one of the attendants. A shogi board arrived shortly. There was a brightness in his expression—calm and eager at once, the way he always looked when he anticipated a good game.
"I hope you haven't forgotten how to play?"
"Try me."
We arranged the pieces and began. The game moved at a comfortable pace, and the conversation moved with it.
"What do you make of Yoriichi's proposal?" he asked, eyes on the board.
"It's an honor. To be recognized by someone of his standing, and to learn from him—I don't take that lightly." I moved a piece and let my thoughts run quietly beneath the surface.
The practical question, though, was harder. The Sun Breathing style was Yoriichi's and Yoriichi's alone—no one had ever learned it, and no one ever would. What anyone else could inherit were the derivatives. The breathing styles that branched from the root. The real question was who would develop which form.
Kenji Rengoku—Flame Breathing, almost certainly. For Michikatsu it was Moon Breathing, the path I already knew he'd walk. But Hachiro? Myself? The historical record had never named the originators of every style, and whatever record had existed, my presence here had already shifted things. I couldn't be certain what I'd changed, and what had already been written.
"I'm glad," Hayami said quietly.
The game continued through the evening, unhurried, the board between us like a shared understanding. By the time it concluded, I had won—as usual.