By the time Ryōsuke rushed back to Peach Mountain day and night, dusk had already fallen a few days later.
The familiar air washed over him, and the tension coiled tight in his chest finally loosened a little.
The moment he stepped into the training grounds, a flurry of sharp, rhythmic sounds reached his ears.
At the center of the field, Shōta stood bare-chested, hacking madly at a wooden post.
Each swing carried the roar of wind and thunder, blades falling like rain.
"One hundred ninety-seven! One hundred ninety-eight! One hundred ninety-nine!"
He bellowed as he counted, pouring everything he had into every strike.
Ryōsuke had barely taken a few steps closer when Shōta abruptly stopped. His chest heaved as he gulped in air.
He snatched a towel, wiped his face hard, then snorted through his nose, chin lifting high.
"Hmph! You're back? Don't look so great, do you? Not like me—this mission was clean and easy. Didn't even lose a single hair."
"Mm. Impressive."
Ryōsuke couldn't be bothered to argue. He gave a perfunctory thumbs-up.
All he wanted now was to collapse back in his room and let his faintly aching, useless liver calm down.
"Ryōsuke-ge!"
A clear, bright voice rang out behind him.
Rika ran straight up to him, her big eyes brimming with unfiltered joy.
"You're finally back! Was it fun out there? Did you run into anything interesting? Tell me, tell me!"
She naturally grabbed his sleeve and gave it a gentle tug.
Shōta: (╬▔皿▔)
The veins at Shōta's temples bulged. His fists clenched even tighter.
"Yeah, I'm back."
Ryōsuke ruffled Rika's hair and replied casually, "It was nothing special. Just killed a few demons."
"A few? What kind of demons?" Rika's interest shot up immediately.
Shōta folded his arms at the side and let out a snort.
"Tch! What tough demons could he kill? Probably just the kind that've eaten two or three people at most!"
Ryōsuke yawned, answering without much care.
"Nothing too crazy. One could split its head and body apart and let them run around separately—called a Rokurokubi. Bit annoying to cut down."
"Oh, and another liked to sing in the middle of the night and give seashells to trick young girls. I think his name was Enmu. His Blood Demon Art kept drilling into people's heads—loud as hell."
The expression on Shōta's face froze.
Rokurokubi? Enmu?!
Weren't those the two demons everyone in the Corps had been whispering about lately?!
Shōta opened his mouth, instinctively wanting to call bullshit.
You're kidding me, right?!
But seeing Ryōsuke's utterly indifferent, not worth explaining expression, he swallowed the words back down. His face shifted from pale to red, then back again.
"What kind of nonsense are you spouting now?"
A familiar voice cut in.
Jigoro approached with his cane, eyes flicking over Shōta's stifled expression before settling on Ryōsuke.
"Grandpa!"
"Grandpa!"
Ryōsuke and Rika called out together.
Jigoro pulled a neatly folded letter from his robe. A special flame crest was stamped on the envelope.
He handed it to Ryōsuke, his gaze complicated.
"Take a look. It's from Rengoku Shinjurō—the Flame Hashira."
Ryōsuke raised a brow and unfolded the letter.
The handwriting pressed deep into the paper, overflowing with the Rengoku family's signature boldness. Its core message boiled down to one thing:
Become my tsuguko!
Please become my tsuguko!
Hurry up and become my tsuguko, Ryōsuke-san!!!
Shōta craned his neck to peek—and nearly popped his eyes out.
The Flame Hashira.
A tsuguko.
It was an honor and opportunity most Demon Slayers wouldn't even dare dream of.
And this guy… this guy actually…
"Rengoku-san is certainly enthusiastic."
Ryōsuke skimmed through the letter in seconds, folded it back up, and slipped it into the envelope, his tone calm as still water.
"But I declined."
"What?!"
Shōta screamed as if he'd just heard the most absurd thing in the world.
"You—you refused?! The Flame Hashira's offer to make you his tsuguko?! Are you insane?! Did a demon chew on your brain?!"
He practically wanted to slash Ryōsuke on the spot.
Even Jigoro frowned deeply.
"Why refuse? Shinjurō is the Flame Hashira—exceptionally powerful. His personality is… loud, perhaps, but upright and just. Becoming his tsuguko would be a tremendous opportunity. People would beg for it!"
"I know."
Ryōsuke rubbed his slightly throbbing temples.
I can't exactly say my past life left me psychologically scarred…
"Rengoku-san is a good man, and strong," he said slowly. "But—"
He paused, then looked at Jigoro with a shameless grin.
"First: I can't learn Flame Breathing. It doesn't suit me—forcing it would be pointless."
"Second: his volume and enthusiasm are… a bit much for me."
"And third…"
He deliberately dragged out the words, then chuckled under Jigoro's puzzled gaze.
"I can't bear to leave you, Grandpa. Peach Mountain is great—your guidance, Shōta pushing me, Rika looking after me. Why run off so far?"
The near-pouting tone was devastatingly effective.
The sternness on Jigoro's face melted instantly. His lips twitched upward despite himself—exasperated yet affectionate.
He lightly tapped Ryōsuke with his cane.
"You brat! Always running your mouth!"
The words sounded scolding, but the softness in his voice betrayed him completely.
Rika pressed her lips together, giggling quietly.
Ryōsuke-ge said he doesn't want to leave Peach Mountain!
That means he doesn't want to leave me either!
Jigoro finished laughing, then noticed Ryōsuke's pale complexion. His tone shifted.
"But Ryōsuke… you're not young anymore. Seventeen already. Look at the Master—so young, yet already a father of two."
Ryōsuke's mouth twitched.
That phrasing. That tone.
It's the marriage-pressure combo!!!
Sure enough, Jigoro looked at him eagerly, excitement of an old man sniffing gossip shining in his eyes.
"You've been traveling everywhere on missions, meeting all kinds of people…"
"Have you met a girl you fancy?"
Ryōsuke's mouth twitched again.
Beside them, Rika's ears perked up instantly. Her small hands subconsciously twisted the hem of her clothes as she stole anxious, expectant glances at Ryōsuke.
Even Shōta—still sulking—leaned in to listen.
Gossip was human instinct.
Under Jigoro's probing stare, Ryōsuke's scalp tingled.
He meant to brush it off—but hesitated.
Dodging once led to twice. Twice led to three times.
And if he was being honest…
His mind suddenly drifted to that tatami room in Asakusa.
A woman—elegant and serene. Dark hair like clouds. Gentle as polished jade.
Warmth and resilience shaped by centuries of hardship.
And that fleeting chill at her fingertips when they parted…
Before his brain could filter it, the words slipped out.
"Well… if I had to say, there is someone."
Jigoro's eyes lit up like lanterns.
"Oh? Tell me! Whose girl? Where's she from? What does she do? How old is she?"
Questions came flying like arrows.
Rika's heart sank. Her fingers twisted tighter.
Shōta leaned closer too, grinning.
So you've got a girl outside, huh?
Then you can't go messing with my sister anymore, right~
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