During the wait for the pillar meeting to begin, Hiru had Kakushi bring him some wood. He carved a white fox mask for Yoriichi—only half a face, with nothing more than the usual Inari patterns. If anything stood out, it was the pigment he used: that vivid red came from Muzan Kibutsuji.
Moments like this always made Hiru genuinely grateful to Muzan. For years now, aside from that crimson pigment, he hadn't found any other color nearly as satisfying—setting aside the plain ones he made himself.
Thinking that, Hiru even pressed his palms together and offered a devout bow.
[Thank you for your gift, Muzan.]
Yoriichi watched as Hiru solemnly paid homage to the mask, tilting his head in confusion. Before long he simply smiled, shook his head, closed his eyes again, and returned to meditation—reviewing the details of using the Bright Red Nichirin Sword and searching for a way to make its use universal.
Breathing Styles, Slayer Marks, the Transparent World—things others had to train relentlessly to master—came to Yoriichi as naturally as a newborn crying or breathing. They were simply things he had known instinctively as he grew.
And because of that, he never thought himself remarkable.
Even when others told him again and again how exceptional he was.
[I have never saved anyone… I do not deserve to be called outstanding.]
He opened his eyes with a soft sigh, lowered his head, and gently brushed his fingers along the Nichirin Blade resting across his lap.
[I wonder when I'll find my brother… and Muzan. If only…]
"Brother! The mask is done! Try it on! It's not as refined as Urokodaki-san's, but at least it won't block your vision!"
"Alright."
Yoriichi lifted his head. Seeing that Hiru had finally finished his ritual of reverence over the mask, he gave a faint smile.
[Everything that exists leaves a trace. This time, I will end Muzan.]
...
The day of the Hashira Meeting arrived quickly. As the sun began to rise, a Kakushi came to inform them that it was about to begin.
"So early?" Hiru looked up at the thin line of light on the horizon, startled. "I thought it'd at least be mid-morning."
"Because so many new people are joining this year, the Master is quite eager," the Kakushi said with deep reverence. "Please follow me."
Hiru glanced toward Yoriichi. Somehow he had already moved behind him, and when their eyes met, Yoriichi gave a slight nod.
When they reached the meeting place, someone was already waiting under the eaves. The youth wore a light-colored kimono with cherry blossom patterns at the cuffs. He looked only fifteen or sixteen, with smooth, medium-length black hair and a gentle, handsome face—soft and approachable, though slimmer than others his age.
"Hello," the black-haired youth greeted them, his voice so gentle it felt soothing just to hear. "You must be Yoriichi and Hiru? I've heard of you—exceptional swordsmen in this year's trials. The others haven't arrived yet, so you may have to wait a bit."
Yoriichi gave a small nod.
"We greet you, Oyakata-sama."
"I've seen you before," Hiru said, though he was looking more at the shadow behind the youth. "Back on Mount Fujikasane."
The youth smiled. "I remember you too. You were the boy holding the picture book."
Hiru nodded, sniffed lightly at the medicines placed nearby, and spoke flatly.
"These won't save you."
"I know." The youth remained calm. "This is the curse of the Ubuyashiki family. These medicines only prolong life—they cannot cure it. Unless the Demon King, Muzan Kibutsuji, is destroyed, any treatment is meaningless."
"Hunting the Demon King is a long process, but you don't look like you have long left."
"Yes." The youth paused briefly, still smiling gently. "I likely have only a little over ten years. I keep taking these medicines to put the people who care about me at ease."
"Hey, brother," Hiru murmured. "Do you think my medicines could possibly—"
Yoriichi fell silent for a moment.
"Hiru, that's rude."
Hiru: ...
"To see my condition at a glance… Mr. Hiru, you must be very knowledgeable in medicine." The youth smiled, unfazed. "If you have any ideas that might benefit this frail body of mine, please speak freely.
If it lets me cling to life just a little longer—long enough to witness Muzan Kibutsuji's death—I'm willing to try anything."
"I see." Hiru nodded. "Then, if there's a chance later—"
"Greetings, Oyakata-sama! I'm ashamed to have kept you waiting!"
Hiru jolted at the sudden booming voice, whipping around. The moment he saw who it was, his irritation turned instantly to shock.
The newcomer had long yellow hair, the tips marked with red. His eyes were sharp, his features bold—though if anything, he resembled an owl.
[What the hell?!]
Hiru's eyes widened. He instinctively stepped back and hid behind Yoriichi.
Yoriichi had been deep in thought about making the Bright Red Blade more accessible, and hadn't noticed the sudden shouting. But when he saw the growing panic in Hiru's eyes, he turned—and froze as well.
"…Mr. Rengoku?"
"Hmm?" The man looked his way, laughing heartily. "Young man, do you know me?"
Yoriichi shook his head, still stunned.
"No, this should be our first meeting…"
Hiru now noted that though the man had the same hairstyle as Rengoku Tetsushiro, his bone structure—while similar—was different.
Even so, Hiru could hardly believe it.
"The first time I saw him, I thought I'd seen a ghost…"
"Young man, that's rude!" the man roared with laughter. "I'm no ghost! I am Rengoku Shinjuro—the current Flame Hashira!"
"This strange sense of déjà vu…" Hiru muttered under his breath. "The Rengoku family really is something."
Yoriichi nodded in agreement.
"Mr. Rengoku is lively as ever today." Himejima said this while rolling his prayer beads through his fingers. Though sightless, he walked toward them with steady steps. He nodded to Rengoku Shinjuro, then bowed respectfully to the youth. "How is Oyakata-sama feeling?"
The youth smiled. "I'm well. Thank you for your concern, Himejima."
"It is good that the Master is well." Tears streamed from Himejima's pale eyes. "Namu Amida Butsu…"
"Hey, gloomy kid! You can't always be so pessimistic! Didn't you slay one of the Twelve Kizuki? We'll be colleagues now! Hold your head up a little!"
"Namu Amida Butsu… Serving alongside Mr. Rengoku is my honor," Himejima said, bowing his head with palms pressed together, his expression sorrowful as tears continued to flow. "But Mr. Rengoku, I'm not being pessimistic… I'm rejoicing…"