The night was pitch-black.
A full moon hung high in the sky, its gentle light spilling down and illuminating the man's resolute face—revealing, with stark clarity, the three deep scars carved across it.
He lowered his stance, the moonlight falling across the white haori draped over his back, where the bold black character for "Destroy" stood out sharply.
"Wind Breathing, Fourth Form: Rising Dust Storm."
His voice was low, yet saturated with killing intent as it cut through the stillness of the night.
In the next instant, his body surged forward, swift and powerful, like a sandstorm roaring upward from the earth. His blade flashed, sharp and relentless, sweeping through the air like a gale tearing apart everything in its path—and in one clean motion, it sliced effortlessly through the demon's neck.
As he landed lightly on the ground, the two strands of hair falling over his forehead fluttered in the wind, and his white haori billowed behind him.
He straightened slowly, his gaze fixed on the demon clutching its throat. Its crimson eyes were filled with terror, yet no fear could stop the inevitable as its life slipped away.
Even a near-immortal demon could not escape death once its neck was severed by a Nichirin Sword.
Watching the demon perish, breathing in the foul stench that began to seep into the air, Sanemi Shinazugawa felt the violent agitation in his heart ease—if only slightly.
He lowered his head, staring at the Nichirin sword in his hand.
The sensation of the blade cutting through a demon's neck…
That feeling…
It was intoxicating.
The endless hatred he carried for demons only ever eased in moments like this—when steel bit into flesh and severed a demon's head. Even then, the memories never left him. He could never forget the day his happiness had been torn apart.
His mother had become one of them… a man-eating demon.
Even so, he had believed in her. He had clung to the hope that the mother who had loved her children so dearly could never harm them—even after becoming a demon.
Until…
She killed his younger brother and sister right before his eyes.
In that moment, Sanemi understood.
The instant a person fell into becoming a demon, they were beyond saving.
Even if that person… had once been his beloved mother.
The moment she became a demon, there was no redemption left.
And yet, back then, he had still clung to that foolish hope.
If only he had realized it sooner, his brothers—Hiroshi, Koto, and Shuya—and his sisters, Teiko and Sumi, might still be alive. It was because he had trusted the mother who had fallen into demonhood that his siblings had died. Only when she lunged at his last remaining brother, Genya, did he finally awaken from that delusion.
From the moment the mother who had once cherished her children raised her hand to kill them—
Sanemi had understood.
Once someone became a demon, there was no turning back.
No matter how kind or gentle they had been before, they would become monsters driven to devour humans.
They… they could never be redeemed.
Any human who had become a demon could not be trusted.
To believe in them would only lead to deeper tragedy—to an ending just like his.
The only solution… was to cut off their heads.
Once someone became a demon, they had to be killed.
It didn't matter who they had been before—your mother, your brother, your sister. The moment they became a demon, they had to be slain without hesitation.
And yet, how laughable it was—there were still people who believed in demons, who thought they could resist the urge to devour humans. If that were truly possible… then why had he been forced to kill his own mother?
That was his dear... mother!
His hand gripped the white hilt tightly as he watched the demon's blood drip drop by drop from the blade's tip.
In his mind, the image of his demonized mother refused to fade.
That pain—like descending into hell itself—still lingered, even now.
"Th-thank you… sir."
A timid voice broke through his thoughts.
From the ruins of a shattered house, a child stepped out, clutching a baby in their arms. Their face carried fear, relief… and deep, heartfelt gratitude.
"Thank you, sir… for saving my little brother."
Clutching the infant tightly in his arms, the child bowed deeply to Sanemi Shinazugawa, his voice trembling with gratitude.
Sanemi slowly returned to himself, pulled out of the depths of his memories. His gaze fell upon the child—and then, almost unconsciously, shifted to the baby in his arms.
"This is my little brother," the child said, his voice breaking as tears welled up. "If you hadn't come… he would've been eaten by that demon. I—I'm really… truly grateful."
"Little brother…"
Sanemi murmured the words under his breath, his eyes fixed on the infant.
For a moment, it was as if he were looking back in time—seeing Genya as a newborn.
Genya had been his first younger brother.
On the day he became an older brother, he had reached out hesitantly, his hand trembling as he gently grasped the tiny fingers of the infant. That wrinkled, red little body—like a newborn monkey—hadn't even opened its eyes yet.
And yet, in that moment, he had found himself smiling without realizing it.
A warmth had filled his chest—soft, steady, and unwavering.
From then on, all he had wanted… was to protect his little brother, no matter what.
Later, more siblings were born.
Somewhere along the way, Genya had become his pillar of support. The two of them had made promises together, worked together to support their mother, and stood side by side to protect their younger brothers and sisters.
And yet, to Sanemi, Genya would always remain that smallest, most fragile little brother.
Back then… after he had killed their mother who had turned into a demon, the surviving brother had cried and screamed, calling him a murderer. And after learning the truth… that foolish little brother must have been blaming himself ever since.
Ha...
"I never… not once… held that against him."
Sanemi's voice was low, almost lost to the wind.
"…What?" The child looked up at him, confused.
The faint trace of warmth on Sanemi's face vanished in an instant, replaced once more by cold indifference—like ice sealing over a thawing lake.
Without another word, he turned and walked away, his steps quick and unhesitating.
"W-wait, sir! I haven't properly thanked you yet! I don't even know your name—!"
The child ran after him, still clutching the baby, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't catch up. All he could do was watch as that figure disappeared into the night.
Under the pale moonlight, the white haori fluttered, the bold black character for "Destroy" standing out starkly against it.
The wind stirred softly.
A chill crept over the boy, and he instinctively tightened his hold on his baby brother. In his mind lingered the image of that cold, distant man—yet also the fleeting, almost imperceptible gentleness in his eyes when he had looked at the infant.
"…He must have a younger brother too," the child murmured softly.
"And he must love him very much."
No one answered him.
Only the wind moved on, carrying his words into the distance.
…
At some unknown moment, the sun began to rise, and the darkness slowly retreated.
Mist still lingered in the forest, and the birds remained nestled in their nests.
BANG!
A dull, heavy sound shattered the quiet of the woods.
A gunshot rang out.
The bullet tore through the air and slammed into a tree in the distance, shattering it on impact.
Genya Shinazugawa stared blankly at the spot where the tree had been pierced through, his mouth slightly open. The speed of the bullet was so fast it was nearly impossible to react to—and the sheer penetrating power it carried was something even a swordsman who had trained for years could hardly hope to match.
"Firearms… truly are weapons meant for killing humans," Sakonji Urokodaki murmured with a sigh. "With something like this, even an ordinary person could easily defeat a seasoned swordsman."
Standing nearby, Soma shook his head.
"Unfortunately, when it comes to dealing with demons, they still have too many limitations."
Even so, he handed out a Nanbu Type A pistol to Tanjiro, Nezuko, and Makomo. "They may not be ideal against demons, but if used suddenly, they can create an opening—a decisive moment in your favor."
"Train with them properly. Don't worry about ammunition—I've already asked Kiriya to send another batch."
Having just witnessed the destructive power of firearms, the others quickly understood their potential. In close combat, if used at the right moment to strike a demon's vital point, it could expose a weakness in an instant—creating an opportunity to land a fatal blow.
With that in mind, they all began practicing.
After distributing the weapons, Soma walked over to Tanjiro and patted him on the shoulder. "Have you found the opening thread of that rock yet?"
"…Not yet." Tanjiro lowered his head, a trace of shame in his voice. He had tried for a long time the day before, but had achieved nothing.
"It's alright. Take it slow," Soma said encouragingly. "I'm sure you'll get there."
After all, even in the original story, Tanjiro hadn't found the Opening Thread immediately. It took several days before he suddenly caught the scent, eventually splitting the boulder and proving to Urokodaki that he was ready for Final Selection.
"I will! I'll work as hard as I can!" Tanjiro clenched his fists, determination burning in his eyes.
"Good."
Soma nodded, then picked up a firearm himself, loaded it, and fired two shots at a tree ahead.
Bang. Bang.
His aim was steady and precise.
He blew lightly over the barrel, dispersing the thin curl of smoke rising from it. Around him, the sharp cracks of gunfire echoed one after another as the others practiced. Most of them were quick to grasp the basics, though mastering the weapon would still take time.
Only Genya stood out.
His talent with firearms was exceptional—almost uncanny. Even with minimal practice, nearly every shot he fired struck its mark.
He was, quite simply, a natural marksman.
"Your aim is impressive," Soma remarked with a faint smile.
Genya lowered his head slightly, though there was a subtle spark of excitement in his expression.
"Have you decided which weapon you want to use?" Soma asked, looking at him. "A rifle? The Nanbu Type A pistol? Or…"
"Sir, I'd like to use this one."
Genya raised his hand and pointed decisively at one of the firearms.
Following his gaze, Soma saw that it was a double-barreled shotgun—a weapon designed with twin barrels. Its effective range was short, but at close distance, its destructive power was immense.
"It seems you've already figured out how to combine a firearm with your own abilities to hunt demons," Soma said with a quiet chuckle as he handed the shotgun to him.
"…Yes," Genya replied softly. "I have an idea of how I want to fight. I just… don't know if it'll work."
"Perfect timing, then," Soma said. "We've just received word from the Kakushi—there may be a man-eating demon nearby. How about you give it a try?"
At that, Genya tightened his grip on the shotgun, a mix of excitement and nervousness flashing across his face before he lifted his head.
"I'll follow your orders."
"Hunting demons is dangerous," Soma reminded him once more. "You could lose your life at any moment. Are you truly prepared for that?"
"I am."
Genya met his gaze, gripping the shotgun firmly, his eyes steady and resolute.
"I'm prepared to die on this path."