Chapter 5: The Wind of Hayama
"I'm sorry… please take care of this child!"
"Hey! Who are you? Don't just dump trouble on someone else!"
"Please—his name is Asuka… I'm begging you!"
…What are those voices?
A woman?
Where am I…?
In the haze, Asuka felt his consciousness like thick paste—suspended in darkness, limbs heavy and unresponsive, unable to see anything clearly.
All he could make out was the vague silhouette of a black-haired woman, disheveled and frantic. She shoved him into the arms of an elderly woman, then turned and ran—madly—toward the distance.
"I'm sorry… Asuka… I'm so sorry!!"
After she vanished, a group of swordsmen in black kimono began searching house by house for something. At the leader's command, they finally chased off in the direction the woman had fled.
As they disappeared, Asuka's awareness blurred further—growing heavier, deeper—until it sank completely into darkness.
He didn't know how much time passed.
An instant.
Or an eternity.
Suddenly, a piercing pain tore through him.
Scenes of savage slaughter flashed before his eyes—flickering, shattering—until Asuka jolted awake.
"Old man!"
He shot upright, pain exploding through his body as if it were coming apart.
Gasping violently, Asuka stared around in alarm.
This was a modest Japanese-style room—simple, old-fashioned furnishings. Beneath him was tatami layered with a soft cotton mattress; over him, a thick, warm quilt that carried the faint scent of sun-dried fabric.
The air was filled with a bitter medicinal smell, like dried winter herbs—likely from the low cabinet in the corner, where a bowl of dark, unfinished medicine sat.
Where… is this…?
Panic surged.
Instinctively, Asuka reached for his sword—
only to find empty space.
His heart clenched. He searched frantically, until he finally spotted it in the corner behind him: the battered longsword, standing alone against the wall.
He struggled to get up, trying to pull it into his arms—but the tearing pain throughout his body made his vision jump. Cold sweat beaded across his forehead as the strength he'd just gathered drained away.
He collapsed to the floor, barely managing to prop himself up, inching toward the sword little by little.
The most important lesson Rukongai had taught him was this:
Never trust kindness without reason.
He had believed the lies of those men in black once—traded a few meals for trust—and paid for it with unimaginable torment, only to be cast into this hellish place.
If he hadn't been too weak to resist back then, he would never have allowed the old man to save him either—no matter how genuine the kindness.
This world devours people.
If you don't want to be eaten, you have to grow thorns.
Click.
Before he could reach the sword, the sliding door to the room opened.
"Hey—what are you doing?!"
"I heard a noise and thought something was wrong—don't move! Your injuries are serious!"
A boy wearing a light green kendo uniform—slightly older than Asuka—shouted in surprise. Beside him, a girl with long black hair, carrying a steaming ceramic bowl, hurried over with clear concern in her eyes.
She set the bowl down gently on the tatami and tried to help Asuka up.
"You just stopped bleeding not long ago. Please lie back down!"
Asuka froze.
Not because of her concern—
But because of the boy's uniform.
The color was different, but it looked too much like the black-clad swordsmen who had dragged him away from Rukongai and subjected him to inhuman torture.
Every alarm in his mind went off at once.
"Get away from me!"
He roared, flinging his arm violently. Blood seeped through the bandages on his shoulder.
Gritting his teeth through the pain, Asuka recoiled backward, slamming his back against the wall. His eyes were feral as he glared at the two intruders.
"Who are you?!"
"Where is this place?!"
His hostility was naked and raw—so sharp it felt like if the girl took even one more step, he would fight her to the death.
The boy in the kendo uniform was utterly baffled by the sudden aggression. He stopped in place, exchanging a stunned look with the girl.
"You little—!"
They hadn't expected such resistance to their help. Anger flared in the boy's chest as he opened his mouth to argue—
—but the girl quickly tugged at his sleeve, shaking her head, silently urging him to calm down.
The girl took two steps back, deliberately keeping a safe distance. Her voice was soft and steady.
"Please don't be nervous. We mean you no harm…"
"This is Hayama—a place dedicated to training swordsmen who fight demons. My name is Rika, and that's Kenji."
She gestured toward the wall, where a pattern of wisteria blossoms was painted.
"You were found severely injured and unconscious in the snowy forest by members of the Demon Slayer Corps. They brought you here."
"The Demon Slayer Corps?"
Asuka repeated the unfamiliar name. The wariness in his eyes didn't fade as he kept them fixed on the visibly impatient Kenji.
"What's a demon?"
"What?" Kenji cut in, incredulous. "Weren't you brought here precisely because you killed one?"
"They found human remains at the scene, along with a heavy concentration of demonic aura. Judging by the battle traces, they concluded that you were the one who slew the demon."
Then he added bluntly, "Demons are man-eating monsters. They don't age, they don't die—only sunlight and Nichirin blades can kill them. I've got no idea how you managed it!"
…Monsters.
Now Asuka understood.
That twisted, man-eating thing—
that was what they called a demon.
But when Kenji mentioned another human body…
Asuka's gaze dimmed. The hostility around him loosened slightly.
Noticing the shift in his emotions, Rika let out a quiet sigh and picked up the bowl of medicine again.
"Whatever the case, you need proper treatment and rest right now. Your injuries are extremely severe. The fact that you survived at all is a miracle—you should take better care of yourself…"
She placed the bowl gently in front of Asuka, not forcing it on him.
Asuka stared at her, guarded, making no move to accept it.
The room fell into an awkward silence—until Kenji spoke again, irritation creeping into his voice.
"Hey! I'm talking to you! Rika went through all the trouble of brewing that medicine for you, and you don't even say thank you? Why are you looking at her like she's a thief?!"
"…Let me go."
Asuka didn't know what the truth was.
He only knew he wanted to leave this unfamiliar place—no matter how badly wounded he was.
"You little—!!"
Just then, a low, powerful voice—calm yet commanding—came from the doorway.
"Kenji. What's all this noise?"
All three turned at once.
A tall figure stood outside the room.
He was an older man, around fifty, with a face carved hard and sharp, as though chiseled from stone. His hair was cut short and bristled like steel needles.
He wore a simple dark-green kimono with a dark haori thrown loosely over it. Deep lines framed his mouth, and a scar cut across his brow—marks left by time and battle. His left sleeve hung empty, neatly pinned at his waist.
He did nothing threatening.
Made no aggressive move.
Yet Asuka's entire body prickled.
That feeling again…
An overwhelming pressure. A deep, instinctive unease—
as if the man himself were an unsheathed blade, restrained only by will, capable of unleashing terrifying force at any moment.
The moment Kenji saw him, his earlier anger vanished. He stiffened like a chick grabbed by the neck, face flushing as he immediately bowed his head in reverence.
"Master Arasaki!"
Rika also bowed at once.
"Teacher."
The old man swept his calm, penetrating gaze over the room and instantly understood the situation.
He didn't scold Asuka for his hostility or rudeness. Instead, he simply raised a hand, signaling Kenji and Rika to step outside.
After they left, he entered the room alone, closed the sliding door, and walked slowly over to Asuka.
He sat down cross-legged in front of him.
"…Your name?"