Tomioka Giyu walked along the mountain path, carrying a paper-wrapped bundle still warm in his hands.
Inside were dorayaki, freshly bought from the town below. He had gone out of his way to get them—Tao had said they were delicious before, and Giyu thought Kamado Tanjiro and his younger siblings would probably like them too.
The path was covered in a thin layer of snow, slick beneath his feet, so he slowed his pace. His mind was still replaying Rengoku Shinjuro's words from earlier—that his grasp of Flame Breathing had already reached its foundation, and with another half month of training, he would fully master the basics.
But as Giyu neared the Kamado home, his brow furrowed.
Usually at this time, smoke would rise from the yard, carrying the smell of burning charcoal, and he could hear the laughter of Tanjiro and his younger siblings.
Today, though, it was silent. No smoke, no laughter—only a few sparrows hopping on the low branches near the gate, their chirps faint in the cold stillness.
He pushed open the half-closed wooden door. The charcoal pile still sat by the wall, barely touched, and the empty baskets beside it told their own story.
By the well, a small figure crouched, scrubbing clothes in icy water. The red of his hair glimmered in the pale sunlight—it was Tanjiro.
"Tanjiro," Giyu called.
Tanjiro jerked up in surprise. When he saw Giyu, his eyes lit for a second before dimming again. He stood quickly, water dripping from his hands. "Tomioka-san! What brings you here?"
His voice was hoarse, and there were dark circles under his eyes. It was clear he hadn't slept well. His hands were raw and red from the freezing water, with small cuts along the fingers.
"I came to check on you all."
Giyu stepped closer and handed him the paper bundle.
"I bought some sweets—dorayaki—for you and your brothers and sisters."
Tanjiro looked down at the dorayaki inside the wrapping. He swallowed hard. He'd only ever seen them in town before, never actually tasted one.
But he quickly shook his head and pushed the bundle back toward Giyu. "No, thank you, Tomioka-san. You should eat them yourself. My brothers and sisters…"
"Take it."
Giyu's tone left no room for argument as he pushed the bundle back into Tanjiro's hands.
"I bought them for you."
He paused, studying the boy's reddened hands and tired face before asking quietly,
"What's going on at home? You haven't been making charcoal?"
Tanjiro's shoulders slumped, his voice soft. "Father's been sick lately. He's coughing badly and can't get out of bed. So we can't make charcoal right now.
Mother's been taking care of Father and the little ones, so I've been helping with water, washing, and going to town to buy medicine."
Giyu's heart sank. "Since when?"
"About half a month ago."
Tanjiro tightened his grip on the paper bag until his knuckles turned white.
"At first, it was just an occasional cough. But it got worse and worse. Now he can hardly sit up. Mother's cried in secret a few times. The doctor in town said there's not much he can do—he only gave us something to ease the cough."
From inside the house came the faint sound of children's voices.
Hearing it, Tanjiro hurriedly opened the paper bundle, took out the dorayaki, and ran inside.
Giyu followed him in. Three small children were gathered by the hearth, the youngest clinging to their mother's sleeve. Their eyes lit up the moment they saw what Tanjiro was holding.
"Big brother, what's that?"
The second brother, Kamado Takeo, looked up with wide eyes.
"It's dorayaki. It's sweet and tasty."
Tanjiro divided the sweets among the three of them, one each. His own hands were empty.
Takeo bit into his happily, his face bright with delight. "It's so sweet! Brother, aren't you going to eat one too?"
Tanjiro smiled, gently patting his brother's head. "I'm not hungry. You eat them."
From the doorway, Giyu saw everything clearly—the way Tanjiro had swallowed earlier, the faint longing in his eyes as he watched his siblings eat.
He was only ten years old. At that age, he should've been running and playing, not carrying the weight of a family. And yet, he couldn't even bring himself to eat a single dorayaki.
Something in Giyu's chest twisted painfully.
"Tanjiro, come with me," he said.
Tanjiro blinked, confused, but followed him outside. Giyu reached into his robe and took out a small pouch, handing it to him.
"Take this money. Go to town and buy proper medicine—and some rice and meat. Your father needs nourishment."
"No!"
Tanjiro quickly shook his head, pushing the pouch back toward him.
"Tomioka-san, you already taught me Breathing Techniques. I can't take your money too!"
"Take it."
Giyu's voice was steady, his expression firm.
He hesitated, unsure how to explain it properly. What he really meant was simple—Tanjiro should take the money to buy medicine for Tanjuro and keep the household running. If he refused, Giyu would not leave.
"If you don't take it, I won't go."
Tanjiro looked at him, then at the pouch. After a long pause, he finally accepted it, gripping it tightly in both hands. His eyes turned red. "Thank you, Tomioka-san… When I grow up, I'll definitely pay you back!"
"There's no need." Giyu shook his head. "Take me to see your father."
Tanjiro nodded and led him into the back room.
The air inside carried a faint scent of medicine, and the lighting was dim.
Kamado Tanjuro lay on the bed beneath a thick quilt. His face was pale as paper, lips drained of all color.
When he heard footsteps, his eyes slowly opened. Seeing Giyu, he forced a faint smile.
"Tomioka-san… you came."
His voice was weak and hoarse, his nose clogged. Before he could say more, he was overtaken by a fit of coughing that made his whole body shake.
"Father!" Tanjiro quickly passed him a cup of water, helping him steady his breath.
After a few sips, Tanjuro managed to recover slightly. He looked at Giyu and smiled faintly. "Lately… how's your Breathing practice going? Do you still remember the rhythm of Hinokami Kagura?"
"I remember."
Giyu stepped closer to the bed, his chest tightening at the man's frail appearance.
"I've already mastered the cycle."
"That's good… that's very good."
Tanjuro smiled, his eyes soft and full of relief.
"I knew it—you were born with talent. Hinokami Kagura… it's finally found its purpose."
He paused, then coughed again, harder this time. When he pulled the handkerchief away, a few threads of blood stained the fabric.
Giyu's heart clenched.
He could tell—Tanjuro's body was reaching its limit. It could give out at any moment.
"Tanjuro-san," Giyu said quietly, taking a deep breath before continuing,
"Let me take you to the city hospital. The doctors there are far better than the ones in town. They might be able to help. I'll pay for everything."
Tanjuro waved his hand gently, his expression calm but weary. "No need, Tomioka-san.
I know my own body.
It's an old illness—years of burning charcoal in the mountains. My lungs are too damaged to cure."
He turned his gaze toward Giyu, speaking with quiet seriousness. "The only thing I can't stop worrying about… is them."
He gestured toward the outer room, where the children's laughter still carried faintly through the paper walls.
"Tanjiro's a good boy, but he's still young. After I'm gone, life will be hard for them."
His voice trembled slightly, laced with a plea.
"Tomioka-san, I know it's asking a lot, but…
If they ever struggle, could you help them? Watch over them once in a while?"
He smiled faintly, trying to sound light, though the sorrow in his eyes couldn't be hidden. "You can think of it as… payment for teaching you Hinokami Kagura. How's that?"
Before Giyu could reply, another violent cough shook Tanjuro's thin frame. His eyes watered from the effort.
Tanjiro immediately held him up, his own eyes red but refusing to let tears fall.
Giyu watched silently, his chest tightening with a heavy ache.
He remembered how, in another life, Tanjuro's death left the Kamado family struggling—but they had survived, right up until that night of slaughter.
In this life, Giyu had hoped to change their fate, but he hadn't expected Tanjuro's health to have already deteriorated so badly.
"I promise you."
Giyu's voice was low, firm as steel.
"As long as I'm alive, I won't let them suffer. No matter what happens, I'll help them through it."
Tanjuro smiled faintly at those words, his expression softening. He placed a weak hand over Giyu's, his grip light but filled with trust. "Thank you… Tomioka-san."
Sunlight streamed through the window, falling across Tanjuro's pale face and Tanjiro's tear-streaked eyes.
The laughter from the outer room still drifted faintly, but inside, the air was thick with quiet sorrow—like a winter wind seeping into the heart.
Standing by the bedside, Giyu looked at the frail man and his dutiful son, and his resolve grew even stronger.
He would not only protect Kanae, Shinobu, and Kyojuro. He would also protect the Kamado family—keep them from ever reliving that tragedy again.
He would keep his promise and look after them.
And when danger came, he would fight with everything he had—to protect everyone he wanted to protect.
Side Story 1: Tanabata Special
On the morning of the seventh day of the seventh month, the garden of the Butterfly Mansion was filled with the faint fragrance of wisteria.
Kocho Shinobu crouched beside the medicine field, placing the last handful of dried mint leaves into a bamboo basket. Just as her fingertips brushed the basket's edge, she heard light footsteps behind her—steady, calm, and soft like rippling water.
They weren't the bouncing steps of Tanjiro and the others, nor the quiet tiptoeing of Kanao. She didn't have to turn around to know who it was.
"Good morning, Tomioka-san."
Shinobu straightened up and turned, meeting Giyu's eyes.
He wore his usual deep-blue clothes, the hem damp with morning dew. In his hand, he carried a small woven basket covered neatly with white cloth—its contents unknown.
When Shinobu looked at it, he pursed his lips slightly, then lifted the basket forward. "Tanjiro said… today is Tanabata."
Shinobu raised an eyebrow and lifted a corner of the cloth.
Inside were several neatly folded paper kites. The bamboo frames were thin and straight, the white paper decorated with faint blue water patterns—clean and restrained, just like Giyu's Water Breathing.
She couldn't help but smile. "You made these?"
"Yeah."
He nodded, and the tips of his ears turned slightly red.
"Tanjiro said that on Tanabata, people fly kites. There's an open field near the Butterfly Mansion—the wind's steady there."
Shinobu set down her herb basket on the ridge of the field and brushed off the powder on her hands. "That's perfect. I finished preparing the medicine yesterday, so there's nothing urgent today. But before flying kites, we need to do one thing first."
She turned and went back into the Butterfly Mansion. A few moments later, she returned carrying two small bamboo baskets, handing one to Giyu.
Inside were colorful paper strings, pre-cut pieces of paper, and several fine brushes.
"Kanao taught me how to make 'Tanabata ribbons' yesterday," Shinobu said, taking out a sheet of pink paper. "She said if you tie them to the kites, your wishes will come true."
"Want to try?"
Giyu accepted the basket, but paused awkwardly when his fingers brushed the paper, unsure what to do.
Shinobu noticed, hiding her smile as she picked up a blue paper string to demonstrate. "First, fold the string in half, like this. Then make a small knot here, and thread the paper through…"
Her fingers were slender and quick, the movements fluid. In a short while, she had finished a ribbon adorned with small paper flowers.
Giyu watched her hands closely, then carefully picked up a white string from his basket and followed along.
He wasn't fast, occasionally twisting the string the wrong way, and each time, Shinobu would lean closer, gently fixing it with her fingertips.
The morning light fell over them. The shadows of the wisteria swayed across the ground. Giyu's breathing grew just a bit faster, but his movements steadied.
At last, he tied a neat white ribbon—though the final knot was pulled a little too tight.
"Not bad."
Shinobu picked up his ribbon, giving it a small shake and smiling. "Much better than my first try."
Giyu looked at her smiling face, ears turning pink again. "Yours looks better."
They tied their Tanabata ribbons to their kites—Shinobu's pink one on a soft lavender kite, and Giyu's white one on his pale-blue, water-patterned kite.
After packing up, they walked down the small path toward the open field. Along the way, several Butterfly Mansion attendants passed by.
Seeing the kites in their hands, the girls smiled. "Shinobu-sama, Tomioka-san—happy Tanabata!"
Shinobu smiled back and replied cheerfully, then glanced sideways at Giyu.
He usually kept quiet and would only nod to greetings, but today, after the attendants spoke, he softly said, "Happy Tanabata." His voice was low, yet clear.
Shinobu's heart skipped unexpectedly, and she quickly looked away toward the grass beside the path.
The open field sat halfway up the mountain, wide and unobstructed, with a clear view of the distant forests and drifting white clouds.
Giyu opened his kite first. The bamboo frame held up the pale white paper, its blue water patterns shimmering faintly in the breeze.
He gripped the spool, stepped back a few paces, and with a light flick of his wrist, the kite soared upward. The white Tanabata ribbon trailed behind like a stream of cloud.
"That's amazing!"
Shinobu's eyes sparkled. She quickly picked up her lavender kite and tried to launch it the same way, but it only rolled along the ground and failed to lift.
She frowned slightly and tried again—but it still dipped downward.
Seeing this, Giyu walked over and took the spool gently from her hands. "You need to let the wind come from the side. Stand here, and when it reaches you, push the kite forward lightly."
He stood beside her, his arm brushing against hers, pointing in the direction of the wind. "See? It's coming now."
Shinobu followed his words. When the breeze brushed past her ear, she gave the kite a small push.
This time, the lavender kite rose into the air, gliding upward until it floated beside Giyu's white one.
The two kites drifted together against the blue sky, their pink and white ribbons twining gently—like two butterflies holding hands.
"It's flying!"
Shinobu laughed softly and turned toward Giyu.
He was watching the sky, sunlight glinting across his face. His lashes cast faint shadows over his eyes, and for once, the distant coldness in his gaze had melted away.
When he noticed her looking, he turned his head. Their eyes met for a brief moment before both looked away, faint smiles still lingering on their lips.
They sat on the grass beneath a large tree, each holding a spool, watching the kites drift above.
The wind carried the scent of grass, earth, and the faint sweetness of wisteria from afar.
After a while, Shinobu seemed to remember something. She reached into her pocket and pulled out two small paper-wrapped parcels, handing one to Giyu. "Here, this is red bean cake I baked yesterday. Try it."
Giyu accepted it, opening the paper to reveal neat squares of red bean cake, each stamped with a small butterfly design.
He picked one up and took a bite. The soft sweetness of red beans spread across his tongue—not too heavy, just right.
"It's good," he said quietly.
His voice was softer than usual when he spoke.
Shinobu took a piece of red bean cake herself and bit into it. "I'm glad you like it. I was worried it might be too sweet."
She looked up at the kites floating in the sky and said quietly, "Back when we were still at the Butterfly Mansion, my sister always celebrated Tanabata with me and the other girls. She used to braid Tanabata ribbons for me… and bake lots of sweets."
Giyu turned his head to watch her profile.
Her voice was light and calm, filled with a touch of nostalgia, and a gentle warmth shone in her eyes.
"Your sister… where is she now?"
Shinobu smiled and turned toward him. "Hmm… she's probably out shopping with Shinazugawa-san right now."
The sun had risen high overhead and was slowly dipping westward.
The kites had floated in the sky for a long while, and the threads were nearly at their full length.
Shinobu stretched and leaned against the tree. "I'm getting a little tired."
Giyu immediately reeled in his line and helped her wind hers back slowly.
When her kite came down, he carefully caught it, making sure the paper didn't get dirty.
"Let's head back," he said. "The Butterfly Mansion's kitchen is probably almost done with dinner."
On the way back, the sunset stretched their shadows long across the path.
Shinobu carried her lavender kite, and Giyu held his white one. Their shadows sometimes overlapped, looking as if they were holding hands.
At the Butterfly Mansion gate, Shinobu suddenly stopped and turned to him. "Tomioka-san."
Giyu paused. "What is it?"
From her pocket, Shinobu pulled out a small charm pouch woven from pink string and handed it to him. "I made this while I was braiding the Tanabata ribbons earlier. It's filled with a little dried wisteria—it has a light scent."
She hesitated a little, then added softly, "It's nothing valuable, so if you don't like it—"
"I like it."
Giyu interrupted gently and took the pouch, holding it carefully in his palm.
It was small and warm against his skin.
He looked up, meeting her gaze. "Thank you."
A faint blush colored Shinobu's cheeks, and she quickly turned away. "Come on, let's go in before dinner's over!"
Giyu watched her back as she walked ahead, his hand tightening slightly around the charm. Slowly, a faint, unmistakable smile curved his lips.
The sunset washed over him, staining his dark-blue haori with a soft orange glow.
The faint fragrance of wisteria from the charm blended with the quiet warmth in his chest.
During dinner, when Tanjiro and the others noticed the charm in his hand, they all crowded around curiously. "Tomioka-san, what's that? It smells so nice!"
Giyu tried to hide it behind his back, but Zenitsu caught sight of it anyway. "Ah! That's from Kocho-san, isn't it? It's beautiful! You're so lucky, Tomioka-san!"
Shinobu, who was serving rice at the time, froze for a second, her face turning redder.
For once, Giyu didn't go quiet. He simply gave a short "Mm," his gaze flicking toward Shinobu—soft, almost gentle.
After dinner, night slowly fell. Lanterns were hung across the Butterfly Mansion's courtyard, their orange glow casting a warm light over the wisteria vines.
Shinobu and Giyu sat on the wooden veranda, looking up at the stars.
The sky was bright tonight—the Milky Way stretched clearly across the heavens like a silver ribbon.
"They say that on Tanabata night, the Cowherd and the Weaver Girl meet across the Milky Way," Shinobu said softly. "It's only a legend, but… it's a beautiful one."
Giyu looked at the stars, then turned toward her.
The lantern light fell across her face, her lashes long, her eyes reflecting the starlight.
"Yeah," he said quietly. "It is beautiful."
Shinobu turned her head, meeting his gaze.
His eyes were bright, like the stars above—or like the calm, clear water of his Breathing Style.
They looked at each other without speaking, both feeling a soft warmth spread through their chests, like being wrapped in gentle water.
After a while, Shinobu stood up. "It's getting late. We should rest."
Giyu rose too. "I'll walk you to your room."
When they reached her door, Shinobu turned to him. "Thank you for today. I had a wonderful time."
"So did I."
He hesitated for a moment, then added, "Next year's Tanabata… we can fly kites together again."
Shinobu's eyes lit up. She nodded eagerly. "Yes! It's a promise!"
"It's a promise."
Her smile deepened, bright and warm.
Shinobu slid open her door, stepped inside, then peeked out again to wave. "Good night, Tomioka-san."
"Good night, Butterfly."
Giyu waited until the door closed before turning to leave.
He walked along the veranda, the small wisteria charm still in his hand. Its faint scent lingered in the air—like sunlight, like starlight, like every moment he had spent with her that day, quiet and full of warmth.
Inside her room, Shinobu leaned against the door, her hand pressed to her chest.
Her heart was still racing, and her cheeks were warm.
She walked to the window and pushed it open, gazing out at the courtyard.
The lanterns still glowed softly. The wisteria vines swayed in the night breeze, filling the air with their light fragrance.
She thought of the day—of the ribbons, the kites, the stars—and couldn't stop smiling.
'Next year's Tanabata… we'll fly kites again.'
Still smiling, Shinobu hung her lavender kite on the wall.
The pink Tanabata ribbon tied to it swayed gently in the night air.
She looked at it, her eyes soft and full of warmth.
This Tanabata had truly been a happy one.