Chapter 12: The Transparent World × A Father and Son's Night Talk
"Waaah—!"
"What a huge boar!"
"Sumihiko-nii, did you stumble into a whole boar's den?"
"Shut it, Takeo," Nezuko scolded, rolling her eyes. "Father said wild boars are fierce beasts—you're supposed to run when you see one. Right, Sumihiko-nii? This one must have run into a tree and killed itself, right?"
Run into a tree? Roy smirked. He knew boars were fond of rubbing against trunks, but crashing headlong into one? That was new.
Still, he patted Takeo's head with a chuckle. "That's right. My clever Takeo figured it out."
The boy puffed up with pride. "See? I told you!"
His triumph lasted all of two seconds before Nezuko, the family's little general, seized him by the ear and hauled him off.
Mother Kie only shook her head with a smile. She came forward, helping Roy unload the basket from his back. "You're not hurt, are you?"
Roy shook his head, handed her the roe deer, and brushed the snow from his clothes alongside Tanjiro. Then he stepped up onto the veranda.
At one corner, by the warmth of a hearth, sat Tanjuro—bundled in blankets, a kettle of tea steaming on the coals. When he saw Roy, he beckoned him over.
Roy sat down. A cup of hot tea was pressed into his hands.
"You've worked hard, Sumihiko," Tanjuro said gently.
"It wasn't so bad. Tanjiro helped me—didn't take much effort," Roy replied, taking a careful sip. He deliberately gave half the credit to his younger brother.
Tanjiro, still playing with baby Hanako in their grandmother's arms, scratched his head shyly. "I didn't really do anything… Niisan did it all."
The two brothers exchanged a look. Neither mentioned the demon they had encountered in the forest. No sense frightening their siblings.
But Tanjuro was no fool.
He knew his son Tanjiro couldn't lie. Which meant the roe deer, the pheasants, the enormous boar—all of it had indeed come from Roy's hand.
At his age… to take down a beast like that alone…
Tanjuro cast a long, deep look at Roy. The boy sat serenely, sipping tea with one hand while gently tickling Hanako with the other, savoring a rare moment of peace.
It didn't last.
Kie's voice rang from the kitchen: "Sumihiko, Tanjiro—come help me butcher the boar!"
"Coming!" The brothers rose at once, two little shadows—Takeo and Shigeru—trailing after them, squealing about wanting to see the butchering.
Within moments, the main house was empty save for Tanjuro, Nezuko, and their grandmother.
Hanako gurgled, chewing on her fist. Nezuko, patient as ever, gently pulled her hand away again and again.
Tanjuro sat silently by the hearth, warming his hands, gaze drifting out the window to where snowflakes swirled beneath the moon.
Time passed. Moonlight climbed high. The rich scent of roasting meat filled the yard.
That night, the Kamado family feasted.
Bowls clinked, mouths stuffed—no one spared a word until their bellies bulged round as drums. Even Tanjuro, frail as he was, ate a rare second helping.
"Aghh, I'm stuffed! Takeo, rub my tummy!" Shigeru groaned, sprawling on the floor. Takeo, no better, flopped beside him like a stranded fish.
Kie wanted to scold their manners but couldn't bring herself to—she only glared before ordering Roy and Tanjiro to carry the boys to bed.
Nezuko dutifully helped her mother with the dishes.
Roy, with a nod, simply grabbed the boys by the scruff—one in each hand—and hauled them off to the adjoining room.
Soon the house quieted.
Takeo and Shigeru drifted off. Tanjiro, exhausted from the day's trials, rubbed his eyes, mumbled a "Good night, Niisan," and slipped beneath the blankets.
"Pffft—"
The oil lamp was snuffed. Darkness fell.
But Roy did not sleep. He waited.
And soon, he heard it: a soft, familiar cough outside the window.
Tanjuro's shadow stretched faintly across the paper pane. He lingered there, silent, seemingly with no intent to enter. After a while, he turned, ready to leave.
"Father," Roy's quiet voice broke the stillness. "Don't you have anything you wish to ask me?"
A boar that size was not prey for a normal boy. Roy could lie to Tanjiro—say he'd learned hunting skills in a dream. But he doubted he could deceive Tanjuro.
For this man, frail though he looked, was no ordinary woodcutter. He was the only non-swordsman in the Demon Slayer world to awaken the Transparent World.
It was through his teachings that Tanjiro, three years later, would first step into that realm while pursuing Upper Moon Four.
So when Roy spoke, Tanjuro froze. He stood in silence for a long while, then finally smiled.
"No," he said softly.
This time, it was Roy's turn to fall silent.
If before he'd clung to a faint hope—that maybe Tanjuro hadn't noticed anything strange—that hope had just vanished.
He sifted through explanations in his mind, devising plan after plan, only to discard each one.
Roy steeled himself. If he kept hiding, the doubt would only fester. Better to lay it all bare.
"Father, you must be wondering how I was able to hunt a boar on my own. I'll tell you now—"
"I don't want to know."
The calm yet forceful words cut him off like a blade.
Tanjuro repeated, firmer this time:
"I don't want to know."
Silence fell.
Through the paper window, Roy could only make out his father's thin silhouette standing against the wind and snow. The flame-shaped earrings swayed with each gust, fragile, as if they might snap away at any moment.
At last, Tanjuro's voice came again, steady as iron:
"Sumihiko… I know you're my son.
You love your grandmother. You love your mother. You love your brothers and sisters…
That is enough."
He slid the window open, meeting Roy's eyes with a gentle smile.
"As for your secret… tell me only when you wish to. That will be enough for me."
Roy's vision blurred. His throat tightened with words he couldn't force out.
Just then, his mother, Kie, appeared from around the corner.
Normally tender and soft-spoken, she briskly swatted Tanjuro's hand away from the window, seized his ear, and dragged him off like a scolded child.
Through the walls, Roy could faintly hear her voice—sharp with reproach, chiding her husband for "stirring up nonsense and letting the child freeze."
Another gust of cold wind crept in.
Roy shivered, burrowed deeper beneath his blankets, and left only his eyes peeking out as he stared at the dark beams above.
Sometimes… happiness could feel so impossibly perfect, it bordered on unreal.
If I could just lie here until dawn… that would be enough.
At least then, he wouldn't have to wake and face that other family.
The one with wealth and servants by the hundred.
Where a word could send a butler to his death.
Where he was trapped with a cold, distant father, a twisted mother, brothers warped beyond repair, and a grandfather who thought killing was a child's duty.
So why… why was I brought into this world?
And why should I leave this one?
The question echoed in his mind.
Finally, Roy's eyes narrowed. His answer surfaced with clarity:
Of course… it's to become strong. Strong enough to topple that house with a single kick.
To stop being a pawn—and become the true master.
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