The Flame Hashira… was dead.
Rengoku Shinjuro—a man who had once burned with passion, open-hearted and full of life—had eventually been crushed by his own sense of inadequacy. After the death of his beloved wife, Rengoku Ruka, he had fallen into despair, drowning himself in alcohol, abandoning even the responsibility of guiding his sons, Kyojuro and Senjuro.
A man who had long since forsaken his duty as the Flame Hashira—
Had fallen… on this very night.
At some point, rain had begun to fall.
Drop by drop, it washed over the courtyard, diluting the blood that flowed from Shinjuro's wounds.
Akaza stood amidst the wreckage, unmoving as the rain soaked him. His golden eyes were fixed on the lifeless body lying on the ground.
He couldn't understand it.
He had invited him.
If he had only chosen to become a demon, he could have lived. And yet, even with his final breath, that weary, broken man had refused to accept it.
It made no sense.
His heart had clearly been filled with despair for the future.
He had believed that humans could never defeat demons—yet he still clung to the boundaries of being human.
He could have lived.
He could have grown stronger.
Humans were such fragile beings, and yet…
They persisted.
"Why?" Akaza murmured, staring at the corpse. "If you had become a demon, you wouldn't age. You wouldn't die. You wouldn't tire. You could remain in your prime forever… you could grow stronger. So why cling to the limits of such a weak existence?"
He lifted his gaze to the rain-filled sky.
"You knew continuing to fight me would mean death… and yet you never retreated. Not even once."
For a rare moment, confusion flickered in his eyes.
"You had already abandoned your duty as a Hashira… hadn't you?"
"When I arrived, your fighting spirit was nearly extinguished. So why… why did you persist like that?"
"You had already despaired of humanity's weakness—so why refuse to embrace the strength of a demon?"
Akaza stood there, unable to reconcile it.
He had extended this offer to many humans before. Many had been unwilling at first, but when they were beaten nearly to death, when their fragile human bodies were about to give out, they had ultimately chosen to become demons.
In fact, a large portion of the people he had invited had been quite happy to become demons.
The rain continued to fall. Akaza remained in the courtyard for a long time, until faint, hesitant figures began to appear in the distance. They were clearly terrified of him, yet they didn't dare leave.
He had no interest in such weak humans.
Stepping lightly onto the rain-soaked ground, his figure vanished silently into the night.
Only after he was gone did the Kakushi—those who had been lurking nearby—rush forward. What they found was the body of a Hashira, battered and broken beyond recognition… and a Nichirin Sword, snapped in two.
From the scene alone, they could imagine the ferocity of the battle that had taken place.
But in the end, it was not the outcome they had hoped for.
The Flame Hashira had not slain the demon.
Instead… he had been killed.
Grief filled the eyes of every Kakushi present. They bowed deeply in silence before stepping forward to tend to Shinjuro's remains.
A coffin was brought.
As they looked upon his wounds, tears streamed freely down their faces. Suppressing their sorrow, they carefully arranged his body, placing him gently within, before slowly covering him with a white cloth.
…
News spread quickly.
Rengoku Senjuro rushed to the scene, breathless.
The moment he saw his father lying inside the coffin, he froze, as if struck by lightning.
"Lord Flame Hashira… fell to Upper Rank Three," one of the Kakushi said softly. "He never took a single step back. He fought until his very last breath."
"His figure—brave as a lion—has been etched into the hearts of all of us who witnessed it. He was the pride of the Demon Slayer Corps."
"…Please, accept our condolences."
The Kakushi bowed deeply, recounting everything they had witnessed to Senjuro—the son of the Flame Hashira—describing in detail how Rengoku Shinjuro had fought with unwavering ferocity until his very last breath.
Senjuro felt as though his mind had gone blank.
A crushing wave of grief and pain surged into his chest, tangled with disbelief so strong it left him breathless.
Ever since their mother passed away, his father had fallen into despair, drowning himself in alcohol and long since abandoning his duties as the Flame Hashira. And yet now, he was being told that this same man had stood his ground against a demon, fighting until the very end of his life.
Senjuro couldn't accept it.
He couldn't accept that the father who had once again taken up the mantle of the Flame Hashira had returned—
That the man who had once burned with passion and warmth had come back—
That the father who had patiently guided him and his older brother had returned—
Only to meet his end like this.
At last, the weight became too much to bear.
Tears spilled from Senjuro's eyes without restraint. Just hours ago, his father had been drinking himself into oblivion… and now, in the blink of an eye, everything had changed.
Unable to hold himself together any longer, Senjuro collapsed against the coffin, clutching it tightly as he broke down into uncontrollable sobs.
…
A Kasugai Crow flapped its wings, soaring through the sky with urgent speed.
"The Flame Hashira, Rengoku Shinjuro… has fallen."
The crow's cry echoed through the air.
...
At the Butterfly Mansion, Kanroji Mitsuri froze mid-meal, her hand flying to cover her mouth in shock. For a brief, terrifying moment, she thought the message referred to Rengoku Kyojuro, and her heart nearly shattered on the spot. Only after a second did she realize it was his father—but even then, the sorrow did not lessen.
To her, Kyojuro was like the sun itself—warm, radiant, and unwavering. He was the senior she admired, the one who had accepted her when she had felt insecure and alone. She could hardly imagine the pain he would feel upon hearing of his father's death.
...
Elsewhere, the Serpent Hashira, Iguro Obanai, was on his way to his next mission when he heard the crow's message. He came to an abrupt halt.
"I don't believe it…"
Memories surfaced unbidden in his mind—the first time he had met Shinjuro. Back then, he had been chased by a grotesque demon, half-woman, half-serpent. It was Rengoku Shinjuro who had appeared and saved him. It was Shinjuro who had taken him to find his only surviving relative—his cousin—who, instead of welcoming him, lashed out in grief and anger, blaming him for their family's destruction and even beating him.
It had been Shinjuro who stepped in and stopped her.
And later, it was under Shinjuro's guidance that Obanai had joined the Demon Slayer Corps.
...
Not far away, the Wind Hashira, Shinazugawa Sanemi, had just finished slaying a demon when he heard the crow's cry overhead. He glanced up briefly as it passed, its voice sharp and mournful.
He said nothing.
He simply continued walking.
Yet his hand had unconsciously come to rest on the hilt of his Nichirin Sword, and an intense, suffocating killing intent radiated from him.
...
In a quiet forest, Tokito Muichiro walked aimlessly beneath the trees. Hearing the crow's message, he lifted his head slightly, confusion flickering in his eyes.
Shinjuro… who was that?
He couldn't remember.
And yet, somewhere deep within him, a faint, indistinct sadness stirred.
...
Meanwhile, the Stone Hashira, Himejima Gyomei, had just crushed a demon's head with a single blow when the news reached his ears.
"Shinjuro… has fallen."
His hands slowly came together in prayer.
Tears streamed down from his sightless eyes.
He had known Shinjuro in both his extremes—he had seen the man when he burned with passion like raging fire, and he had also seen him at his lowest, so lost in despair that he no longer even attended the Hashira meetings.
They had all thought that Shinjuro had abandoned his duty as a Hashira—that, having come to fear the overwhelming power of demons, his spirit had withered away, leaving him to drift toward an unremarkable end.
But none of them had expected that, in the end… he would still uphold that duty.
...
The Sound Hashira, Uzui Tengen, had been at home, laughing and chatting with his three wives. When the news reached him, his smile faded, and he lowered his head in silence.
As a former shinobi, he had once assessed Shinjuro's strength. Even in his decline—drowned in alcohol, lost in apathy—he had still been a Hashira. And yet, even such a man had fallen to a demon. That realization drove home a harsh truth: the demons Uzui had faced until now were not the strongest ones. There existed far more terrifying foes… ones he had yet to encounter.
"Was it… an Upper Rank demon?" he murmured quietly.
Silence followed.
Even now, he had yet to kill a single Upper Rank.
...
Far away, the ailing Master of the Demon Slayer Corps, Ubuyashiki Kagaya, paused as the Kasugai crow's message reached him. He slowly lifted his head, his usually serene and unshaken expression showing a rare flicker of emotion.
Shinjuro was someone he remembered well.
Back when Kagaya had only just taken on the role of Master, it had been that fiery man who guided him, who illuminated his path like a blazing torch. Though Shinjuro had later fallen into despair—abandoning his duties and sinking into ruin—Kagaya had never once blamed him.
He had believed that Shinjuro, having stepped away from demon slaying, might eventually return to an ordinary life. Perhaps he would remain troubled, perhaps even continue drinking away his days—but at least he would be free from the blood-soaked path of hunting demons.
And yet…
The next time he heard of him, it was like this.
Every day, reports of fallen swordsmen echoed in his ears. Death was a constant companion in this war—and now, even a Hashira had joined the list.
Even the strongest could not escape death on this path.
"Born in the flames… and true to one's origin."
…
Tokyo.
Rengoku Kyojuro, who had been investigating a demon that used firearms, suddenly stopped and looked up. His fiery eyes followed the Kasugai crow as it flapped away into the distance, carrying with it the news of his father's death.
His hand rose unconsciously to his chest.
His heart twisted in pain, as though flames were burning within him—searing, relentless.
"L-Lord Rengoku…"
One of the swordsmen beside him looked up, eyes brimming with tears, concern written plainly across his face.
"I… am fine."
Kyojuro lifted his head high.
Only by doing so could he keep the tears from falling.
All these years, he had worked tirelessly, pushing forward step by step. With every bit of progress, a single thought had lingered in his heart:
Would Father be proud of me?
Would Father finally acknowledge me?
Even after becoming the Flame Hashira, his father had shown no joy, no approval—treating it as though it meant nothing at all. Though Kyojuro maintained his usual warmth and enthusiasm on the surface, deep down, he had always carried a quiet sense of loss.
And yet, he never let that dim his spirit.
Even knowing how lonely the path could be, he continued forward, his passion burning just as brightly as ever.
He had always believed that one day… his father would truly recognize him.
But now—
That day would never come.
"My lord… perhaps we should rest for a while," one of the swordsmen suggested gently.
"There's no need," Kyojuro replied, turning back to them with the same radiant smile as always, bright as flame. "My father has shown me the path—born in the flames, and faithful to one's origin. I will not betray that."
"Let's continue the investigation."
He laughed, his voice as hearty and unwavering as ever.
But when he lowered his head for just a brief moment, a single thought echoed silently within him—
Upper Rank Three…