"I'm back."
Yuko tilted her head slightly, speaking with a hint of shyness.
Standing behind the door, Yoriichi smiled. "It's good that you've returned."
"Come inside."
He stepped aside.
"Mm." Yuko replied softly, almost absentmindedly, her head lowered as she walked in.
Yoriichi immediately sensed something off and asked, "What's the matter? Did something go wrong out there?"
Compared to his younger days, the older Yoriichi carried more of the quiet, earthly warmth of an ordinary man.
"No… I just haven't been home in so long. It feels a little strange." Yuko casually made up an excuse.
Yoriichi chuckled. "You? Feeling out of place?"
Yuko pressed her lips together and lifted her head slightly to look at him.
His once fiery-red hair now held many strands of white, and faint wrinkles had formed at the corners of his eyes.
Yoriichi truly had grown old.
Yuko felt her chest tighten. She couldn't bring herself to talk much more with her brother, so she went to sleep early.
By the next morning, when Yoriichi went to Yuko's room, she was already gone.
It was likely the worst decision Yuko had ever made.
Perhaps this time, she would never see Yoriichi again.
In ancient times, reaching the age of fifty was already considered long-lived—every additional year a blessing.
And yet she had left Yoriichi alone in his old age instead of staying by his side.
She had run away.
…
More years passed, slipping by like water.
Yuko drifted aimlessly across the land, half-conscious, half-lost.
When she eventually returned to her hometown, it was almost by accident—her feet had simply carried her there.
How many years had it been?
Ten? Twenty?
Immortality had eroded her sense of time; she could no longer judge its flow accurately.
The city had changed in countless ways. When Yuko nervously stood before that familiar door, her hand hovered in the air, too afraid to knock.
Was Yoriichi… still alive?
Yuko began regretting her escape more than ever.
Perhaps someone else lived here now.
Just as she drew her hand back, the door opened from the inside.
She had sensed no approaching presence.
Startled, Yuko instinctively looked up.
Standing before her was an elderly man with a head full of white hair, his body frail and trembling with age.
Deep wrinkles covered his face, making him look both worn and almost grotesque.
But when Yuko saw the familiar flame-like birthmarks on his cheeks, tears welled in her eyes.
Yoriichi smiled gently. The wrinkles distorted the expression, making it far from graceful—but unmistakably warm.
"Welcome back."
Yuko's lips trembled over and over before she finally managed one broken whisper:
"I'm sorry…"
She shouldn't have left.
…
Inside the house, Yuko bowed her head deeply, unable to face Yoriichi.
Across from her, Yoriichi spoke softly, "Yuko, you've done nothing wrong."
"But I haven't come home for all these years."
"I understand your pain," Yoriichi said with quiet warmth.
Yuko lifted her tear-filled eyes before quickly lowering her head again, embarrassed by the gesture.
Yoriichi suddenly reached into his robes and took out several envelopes, handing them to her.
"What are these?" Yuko asked, puzzled.
"Letters from Sumiyoshi," Yoriichi said with a smile.
With Yuko's encouragement, he and Sumiyoshi had remained in frequent contact since that time.
Yuko opened the first letter. Inside were warm greetings from Sumiyoshi's family addressed to the siblings, along with concern for her well-being.
He had noticed her sudden disappearance on that day.
Sumiyoshi wrote to comfort her.
Most of the remaining letters were similar—greetings, concern, and invitations for the two of them to visit again.
Judging by how yellowed the envelopes were, some had been written many years ago.
Yuko felt both touched and ashamed.
"Birth, aging, illness, and death are the natural order of life," Yoriichi said gently. "We should all face them calmly, shouldn't we?"
"But I…"
"Yuko still has things left unfinished, doesn't she?"
Yuko froze for a moment.
Defeat Muzan?
She nodded firmly.
Yoriichi smiled faintly and—rarely—made a small joke. "Get some rest. Tomorrow morning, I'll be testing your swordsmanship."
"Goodnight."
"…Goodnight," Yuko whispered.
Had she returned only to escort her brother through his final days?
The life within Yoriichi was nearly gone—he was standing at the very edge of his mortal lifespan.
He likely didn't have much time left.
She had come back at a cruelly perfect moment.
Yuko thought bitterly.
But as she fell asleep, in another room, Yoriichi felt something strange rise within him.
Unease?
Or something else?
That unfamiliar sensation drove him to leave the house quietly in the middle of the night, walking alone out of the town.
Only when he reached the outskirts did he finally understand what that strange tugging in his heart had been.
The pull of twins—blood calling to blood.
"This is impossible… Why are you still alive?"
"A swordsman with the Mark is fated to die before twenty-five."
"Why… why are you the only one who lived this long…?"
Kokushibo could not comprehend it.
After more than sixty years, the younger brother who should have died long ago stood before him again—like a nightmare given form.
Tears spilled from Yoriichi's eyes. "How pitiful you are, Brother…"
He pitied him—this being who had once been his own twin and now was nothing more than a withered monster.
Kokushibo's heart, numbed by centuries of demonic existence, rippled once more.
Yet… there was no anger.
Instead, that single word—brother—shook him, stirring an old and fragile sadness.
It was one of the few times he had ever heard emotion in Yoriichi's voice.
But as long as the other man was a demon slayer, Kokushibo had no choice but to cut him down.
Even if he was the brother he had once loved.
Even if now he stood before him frail and barely holding together.
Just as Kokushibo reached for his blade, Yoriichi drew his Nichirin sword first.
The air grew taut and heavy. Yoriichi's presence pressed down on Kokushibo's shoulders like a massive boulder—immense, suffocating.
This frail old man's stance showed not a single opening.
"I'm coming."
As if announcing death itself, Yoriichi burst forward with a speed so overwhelming that Kokushibo had no time to react—
—and in the next instant—
The strongest demon under Muzan, Upper Rank One, was cut across the neck.
Blood sprayed from Kokushibo's throat.
Why…
Why are you always the exception…
A marked swordsman, frail and gaunt to the point of being skin and bone—yet his power and speed were unchanged from his prime.
Memories Kokushibo had long buried resurfaced all at once.
Jealousy, long dormant, burned anew.
I hate you. I want to kill you so badly.
He spun around, face contorted with fury, monstrous in its rage.
But at the same time, he knew—he would not survive the next blow.
Yoriichi's second strike would have taken his head.
A crushing sense of urgency and despair twisted inside Kokushibo, grinding his insides like a vice.
However—
That second strike never fell.
Yoriichi simply stood there.
When his life's final thread ran out, he passed quietly from the world.
---
Currently at chapter 228 for advance chapters
https:// ko-fi.com/rabi08