Behind the fox mask, Sabito's eyes seemed to carry a gentle smile. His voice was soft. "Long time no see, Giyu. You've already become a Hashira now, haven't you?"
Giyu's throat tightened. It took him a while before he found his voice again. "Sabito… how are you here?"
"Just couldn't rest easy. Came back to take a look."
Sabito lightly twirled the wooden sword in his hand. "Seeing how strong you've become now, both Makomo and I are really happy."
He paused, his tone turning serious. "When you fight demons, don't push yourself too hard. Don't come join us too soon, understand?"
Giyu's eyes grew hot, and he nodded firmly. "I understand."
Then, from the corner of his eye, he noticed another figure beside the boulder—it was Makomo.
She wore a fox mask too, dressed in a pale blue training uniform, holding a small cloth doll in her arms—the same one she always carried back then.
When she saw Giyu looking her way, Makomo smiled and waved lightly. Her movements were as soft as the wind, as if greeting him, or perhaps… saying goodbye.
Sabito stood up, turned his back, and waved toward the forest. "We should go now. Giyu, from now on… live well."
His form gradually became transparent. Makomo followed behind him, waving one last time.
Their figures slowly faded into the pine forest like drifting mist, leaving behind only the silent boulder and a breeze still carrying warmth.
Giyu stood there motionless for a long time. The guilt and regret he had carried for years seemed to be lifted, scattered by the wind until all that remained was lightness.
He whispered softly, "Thank you, Sabito. Makomo…"
With his heart finally at ease, Giyu turned and headed down the mountain, his steps firmer than before. He would not let down the hopes of his old friends. He would live well and protect those he wanted to protect.
When he returned to the base, Tanjiro and Tō had already packed their belongings. Wearing their new fox masks, they stood waiting at the gate.
The moment they saw Giyu, they rushed forward.
"Sensei, when are we leaving?"
Tō's voice was full of excitement.
"Right now."
Giyu picked up his Nichirin Sword. "The Final Selection will be held on Mount Fujikasane. I'll take you to the foot of the mountain."
On the way, Giyu briefly explained what they needed to know for the selection. "Mount Fujikasane is filled with demons—those left behind from past selections that the swordsmen failed to kill. Remember, protect yourselves first, and help others only if you can. But don't force it. The most important thing is to survive the selection."
"We understand!" the two answered in unison.
When they reached the foot of Mount Fujikasane, Giyu stopped and looked at them. "Go on. Just fight as usual. I'll be waiting for you both at the base."
Tanjiro and Tō nodded strongly, put on their fox masks, and ran into the mountain.
Giyu stood at the base, watching until their figures vanished into the forest, then turned and left—he still had patrol duties as a Hashira and couldn't stay long.
Within his patrol area lay a remote village, far from any town, cut off from news and often a place where demons hid.
After half a day of walking, he finally arrived at a place called Ishiiwa Village.
The moment he reached the entrance, Giyu frowned. The village was unusually quiet—no smoke rising, no laughter of children, just a few shabby thatched huts scattered along the path, with hardly any proper wooden houses.
He stepped into the village and sniffed the air carefully. There was no trace of the metallic stench unique to demons—only a damp, moldy smell.
He walked through the whole place, seeing only a few frail villagers crouched inside their huts, eyes dull and lifeless. When they saw him, a stranger in a haori with a sword at his waist, they only glanced at him faintly without much reaction.
Just as Giyu was about to leave, something grabbed his ankle.
He looked down—it was a little girl. She wore a tattered thin robe covered in patches, her bare arms as thin as sticks, her yellowed, gaunt face making her look no more than five or six years old.
"Samurai-sama…"
The little girl's voice was thin and trembling.
"Can you… buy me? I'm really cheap. I'm already ten years old, I can work, wash clothes, cook, and feed pigs…"
Giyu froze—ten years old? The child before him didn't even reach his waist, and she probably didn't weigh more than twenty kilograms. No matter how he looked at her, she didn't seem like a ten-year-old.
He crouched down, took out his money pouch, and handed her everything inside—silver coins, copper coins—all heavy in her small hands.
"Take this money. Buy some food, and some clothes for your family."
The girl stared blankly at the money in her palms, and then suddenly burst into tears. Huge drops fell onto the coins as she sobbed, whispering between gasps, "Thank you… thank you, samurai-sama… thank you…"
Watching her cry until she could barely breathe, Giyu felt a dull ache in his chest.
He said softly, "You don't need to thank me," and was about to stand and leave.
"Sigh…"
A weary sigh came from nearby.
Giyu turned his head. An old man with graying hair stood by the door of a thatched hut, leaning on a wooden cane, looking at him with a complicated expression.
"Young man, you've got a kind heart—but it's wasted here."
His voice was hoarse, filled with quiet resignation.
Giyu frowned. "What do you mean?"
"You give her money, but she won't be able to keep it."
The old man sighed again and pointed toward the far end of the village.
"That child's name is Ki-chan. Her father's a sick man, bedridden all year round. The family survives on whatever wild greens she can gather. She's the lowest of the low in this village—anyone can bully her. The money you just gave her won't last half an hour before the local thugs take it away. And if they find she tried to hide it, they'll probably beat her too."
Giyu's body stiffened. "Why?" he asked, his voice darkening.
"Why? Because of the officials."
Bitterness filled the old man's tone.
"The wood on the mountain belongs to the government and the rich. Any commoner who dares cut it down is thrown in jail. We can't even build wooden houses—just these leaking thatched huts. The taxes get heavier every year, and if we can't pay, they take people instead. Ki-chan's mother was taken like that—dragged away by government men and never came back. Her father got sick after that, and he's been dying slowly ever since."
Giyu fell silent.
He could slay demons and protect people from being devoured, but he couldn't kill the "human demons" inside the government who preyed on the weak.
He could give Ki-chan money, but he couldn't stop others from robbing her or change the poverty that bound this village.
That was the helplessness of humanity—the greed of people and the oppression of power were far more terrifying than any demon.
The old man saw Giyu's silence, shook his head, and slowly turned back toward his hut, tapping his cane on the ground. "You're a good man, young one. But good men can't save us. Unless… unless this world changes."
Giyu watched Ki-chan's small figure disappear into the distance, his heart heavy.
He knew there was nothing he could do now. All he could hope was that once Muzan was defeated, Oyakata-sama, with his sense of justice, might join hands with honest officials to change things—to make sure places like Ishiiwa Village no longer suffered hunger and oppression.
He continued walking toward his next patrol point.
The setting sun fell over him, tinting his deep-blue haori with a faint red glow—but it couldn't lighten the weight in his chest.
The road of slaying demons was far from over, but the road to changing the world seemed even longer.