Chapter 17: A Special Exception
The next time Asuka saw Shinsuke was fifteen days later.
The afternoon sun lay lazily across his body, warming him through the coarse, worn clothes he was wearing. The light felt gentle—almost indulgent.
Asuka held his Nichirin blade, stretching with steady, controlled force, carefully testing a body that was still in the process of recovery.
"By the Gods above… you really are made of iron, aren't you, child?"
Aunt Matsumoto sat beneath the eaves, rhythmically grinding herbs with a pestle as she spoke in amazement.
"Back in the day, my old man got gored through the leg by a wild boar and couldn't get out of bed for three months. And you? It's barely been two weeks and you're almost fully recovered!"
Asuka slowly settled his stance and exhaled a long, turbid breath.
Truthfully, he was puzzled as well.
Two weeks was far too fast.
He knew he was tough—his life had proven that much—but not this tough.
Was it because of his nature as a wandering soul…?
Or was it that Asauchi?
Back when he first awakened the Asauchi—and when he wounded Sanemi Shinazugawa—he had already noticed something strange: his spiritual pressure carried a fierce, predatory instinct. It took something from his opponent, siphoning their strength to replenish his own.
Could it be… that it had devoured part of Akatsunuma's power?
Asuka shook his head, shelving the thought for later, and replied calmly,
"It's your medicine, Aunt Matsumoto."
The woman snorted, clearly unimpressed by the flattery, and clicked her tongue as she sized up his solid frame.
"Young people have it easy… but don't you dare use that as an excuse to be reckless. No matter how good your body is, you have to cherish it. Remember that, child."
Just as she finished speaking, hurried footsteps sounded beyond the gate—familiar ones—followed by Rintarō's unmistakably loud voice.
"Aunt Matsumoto! Asuka! We're back!"
Asuka looked up.
Standing at the entrance were Rintarō, Akemi, and—most familiar of all—Shinsuke.
They looked travel-worn. Their Demon Slayer uniforms were speckled with mud and bits of grass, exhaustion written plainly across their faces.
The moment Shinsuke saw Asuka, his eyes lit up. There was a sense of release about him, the relief and excitement of someone who had finally completed an important task.
He led the others over briskly. Rintarō had a large, bulging cloth bundle slung over his shoulder.
"Good afternoon," Asuka greeted them, summoning as much goodwill as he could manage—though it still came out a little stiff.
"Looks like you've recovered well!" Rintarō laughed. "See? I told you resting was the right call!"
"…From Hayama to here, you're a few days late," Asuka noted quietly. "Did you run into trouble?"
Shinsuke scratched the back of his head, his smile carrying a hint of sly pride.
"No trouble, really. Just… took a bit of a detour."
He stepped aside and motioned for Rintarō to come forward.
Carefully, Rintarō lowered the bundle and began unwrapping it layer by layer.
Inside lay a neatly folded, brand-new set of clothing—
A Demon Slayer Corps uniform.
The fabric was deep black, dark as night, yet gleamed with a supple sheen under the sunlight, cool to the touch. On the back of the jacket, the bold white character 滅—Destroy—was embroidered in thick hemp thread.
Along the cuffs and hem, delicate wisteria patterns were woven in using a special stitch, subtle yet powerful.
Beside the uniform rested a single emblem.
A chrysanthemum-shaped badge, cast in brass—heavy in the hand, its edges polished smooth until they caught the light.
"This is…" Asuka froze.
Of course he knew what it was.
It was the very uniform Shinsuke and the others wore.
And yet—
He had never passed the Final Selection.
So why was this here?
According to Shinsuke, the Demon Slayer Corps uniforms were specially made. They offered excellent ventilation, resisted both heat and cold, and could even prevent mid- to low-rank demons from injuring the wearer's body.
"It's for you, Asuka!" Rintarō shouted loudly, flashing him a thumbs-up.
Akemi nodded vigorously beside him. "The Master himself approved it! You can rest easy!"
Shinsuke added, "After returning to Hayama and reporting your situation, I took a handwritten letter from Mr. Arasaki and brought these two along to Fujikasane Mountain. We submitted a full report to the Kakushi in charge of the Final Selection, as well as to the Ubuyashiki estate."
"We reported everything that happened by the stream—especially the fact that you personally slew the demon called Akatsunuma."
He lifted the black uniform with reverence in his tone.
"A demon that had devoured over fifty people and possessed Blood Demon Art—someone like that is far beyond the level of an ordinary trainee. Your strength, your resolve to face it alone, and your determination to honor your promise even while gravely wounded… you don't need the Final Selection to prove anything."
"Asuka—by order of the Master, you've been accepted into the Demon Slayer Corps as a special exception. From today onward, you are a fully recognized demon hunter."
With that, he handed the uniform to Asuka and pinned the emblem onto his chest.
The Master…
Both Shinsuke and Teacher Arasaki had mentioned him many times—a leader of wisdom and compassion.
Asuka hadn't expected such a figure to make an exception for a trainee he had never even met.
What kind of man was he…?
Asuka weighed the uniform in his hands. It felt light, yet carried a heavy responsibility, stirring unfamiliar emotions within him.
Did this mean… he finally belonged somewhere?
Back in Rukongai, he had joined street gangs before—but those places either forced him into acts he despised or crushed him with exploitation just as cruel.
Could the Demon Slayer Corps truly be a place to stand?
"…Thank you."
His voice came out hoarse. He raised his head and looked at Shinsuke, Rintarō, and Akemi—their faces sincere, filled with encouragement.
"Thank you. All of you."
"Hey, what're you thanking us for!" Rintarō laughed, slapping Asuka hard on the shoulder. "We're comrades now! Just make sure you've got our backs when we're cutting down demons!"
"Hey! Rintarō!" Akemi shot him an annoyed glare. "Asuka's still injured!"
"Ah—sorry, sorry!"
The four of them shared a moment of noisy laughter. Afterward, Shinsuke explained that Demon Slayers still needed to personally select the Scarlet Ore used to forge their Nichirin blades. So, troublesome as it was, Asuka would still need to make a trip to Fujikasane Mountain—hopefully before the trial fully concluded—to find steel suited to him.
Asuka nodded and slipped the Demon Slayer uniform over his rough cloth clothes.
Turning around, he bowed deeply toward Aunt Matsumoto, who sat beneath the eaves nodding repeatedly.
"Aunt Matsumoto, I've imposed on you for many days. Thank you for everything."
His sincerity made the woman dab at the corners of her eyes, her expression full of warmth and reluctance.
"Good child… once you wear that uniform, you must be even more careful. And when you can, come visit."
Asuka nodded firmly.
---
Several days later, Hayama—at the mountain gate.
Dusk settled in. The last golden rays of sunset spread across the training grounds, bathing them in a gentle afterglow.
The trainees had long since dispersed. Only Arasaki Tetsushin remained, standing with his back to the gate, wielding a heavy wooden sword with his remaining right arm, breathing steadily as he faced the mountains painted by twilight.
Footsteps stopped at the entrance.
Arasaki did not turn around. His weathered face was half-hidden in shadow as his low, steady voice sounded—emotion unreadable.
"You're late."
"Teacher. I'm back."
Slowly, Arasaki Tetsushin turned around. His deep eyes examined the figure before him inch by inch.
They passed over the brand-new black uniform—the mark of a full-fledged member.
Over the gleaming chrysanthemum crest pinned to his chest.
And finally, they rested on his face—less guarded now, less shadowed by wariness, steadier and more restrained than before.
"Your wounds?"
"Much better. Thanks to Aunt Matsumoto's care."
"…Good. You made it back."
The severity in Arasaki's gaze softened. He stepped forward.
Before Asuka could react, the iron-hard old man pulled him into an embrace with his single arm.
"…You really are," Arasaki muttered quietly, "a troublesome kid."