At the entrance to the Swordsmith Village
Tokito Muichiro tilted his head slightly, those mint-green eyes of his empty and unfocused.
That single question—who are you—still echoed in Inosuke's mind.
Muichiro's voice had been light and drifting, with neither anger nor curiosity in it,
as casual as asking whether the weather was good today.
"Huh?!"
Veins bulged instantly at Inosuke's temple.
Snap!
He flicked open the folding fans in his hands, revealing a handsome face as sea-blue hair fluttered lightly in the wind.
"Look carefully!
Ring any bells yet? Remember who I am now?
Are those eyes of yours just for breathing, huh?!
Seaweed-head!"
"Seaweed… head…"
Muichiro blinked, reaching up to touch his long black hair. His expression remained utterly flat.
"I don't know what you're talking about.
But you're blocking my way to get the key."
Only then did Tanjiro and Zenitsu notice—
Behind Muichiro was a small child wearing a Fire God mask, trembling from head to toe.
Kotetsu.
And behind Kotetsu stood a strange mechanical doll, battered and old, with six arms.
"Give it to me."
Muichiro pointed at the key clutched in Kotetsu's arms, his tone completely matter-of-fact.
"A Hashira's time is valuable.
A training doll that can break doesn't matter—
it should be used by someone with talent.
Don't waste time."
"N-No! This was left behind by our ancestors—!"
Kotetsu was on the verge of tears.
Muichiro couldn't be bothered to argue. He reached out to snatch it by force.
Smack!
A long, pale hand moved even faster than Muichiro's.
Inosuke grabbed Kotetsu by the collar and lifted him behind himself like a chicken.
"Hey, seaweed-head."
Standing in front of Muichiro, Inosuke propped a fan against his chin.
The villainous expression on his face was a hundred times more arrogant than Muichiro's.
"You wanna grab this key?"
He pointed at what Kotetsu was holding and flashed an extremely nasty grin.
"Well, this young master has taken a liking to it too.
"If anyone's robbing someone, it's gonna be me first. Got it?
First come, first served—
even if I technically came later."
Tanjiro: "..."
Zenitsu: "..."
Tanjiro rushed in to stop things from escalating.
"Inosuke-kun! Don't fight a Hashira!
And why are you stealing a kid's stuff?!
And you too, Hashira-san—you can't bully children either!"
Muichiro looked at Inosuke, who had suddenly barged in.
For the first time, a trace of focus appeared in those empty eyes.
"You're in the way."
His hand instinctively rested on the hilt of his sword.
"Move. Otherwise—"
At that moment, Muichiro's nose twitched slightly.
His sharp instincts caught a faint, elusive trace of demonic aura from the wooden box on Tanjiro's back.
"What's that?"
His gaze sharpened. Without any hesitation, he reached straight for the box.
SMACK!!
A loud, crisp slap echoed through the silent forest.
Inosuke backhanded Muichiro's arm away without the slightest courtesy.
"Don't touch my underling, that's rude!"
He flicked his hand dismissively.
"That's my lackey.
If you break it, even selling you wouldn't cover the damages."
Muichiro froze.
He stared at the reddened back of his hand, then at Inosuke.
…That hurt.
But this feeling—
being scolded for being rude, without any mercy, with that sharp, disappointed, almost exasperated tone—
For some reason, a blurry figure flashed deep in Muichiro's mind.
That way of talking…
It kind of sounds like… who?
He tilted his head again, looking at Inosuke.
The cold indifference in his eyes faded a little, replaced by a puzzled look—
like he was observing some rare creature.
"Hey, seaweed-head."
Inosuke sized Muichiro up from head to toe, then nodded in satisfaction.
"You look kind of slow in the head, but that reach just now wasn't bad."
He opened his fan, covering half his face, striking the pose of the Young Master of the Eternal Paradise Cult.
"This young master just happens to be short a fourth lackey.
You've got decent aptitude, so I'll make an exception and hire you.
"From now on, your job is to fan me.
What do you say? Pay's negotiable.
"I'll give you two konpeitō candies a month."
Tanjiro went pale in horror.
"Inosuke-kun! That's a Hashira! The Mist Hashira!
Isn't two candies way too little to hire a Hashira as a lackey?!"
Muichiro:
"…No."
He rejected it cleanly.
"I don't know you. And I'm here to train."
While the three were bickering—
"Caw! Idiots! Idiots!"
Muichiro's long-eyelashed Kasugai Crow seized the chance, swooped down, snatched the key from Kotetsu's hands, and tossed it to Muichiro.
"Ah! The key!"
Kotetsu burst into tears.
Muichiro caught it expressionlessly and inserted it into the mechanism.
"As expected, taking it by force is faster."
Click—clack—click—
The mechanical doll known as Yoriichi Type Zero began to move.
Though one arm was missing from years of disrepair, the remaining six arms swung with movements that still carried a faint echo of Tsugikuni Yoriichi's former brilliance.
"Oh?"
Inosuke's attention was instantly drawn.
He leaned in to watch for a moment.
The doll was fast, its swordsmanship sharp and precise.
But—
Inosuke smacked his lips, interest draining from his eyes almost immediately.
"Tch, that's it?"
He yawned, waving his fan lazily.
"Way too worn out. Too slow.
"Compared to Basketball Uncle Akaza's punches,
this thing's slower than my dad spanking me when I was little."
"Let's go, Gonpachiro, Wenyi."
He turned around and left, without even a second glance.
"This young master's going to find the blacksmith.
We wouldn't want this junk even if you gave it to us."
Tanjiro didn't leave right away.
He crouched down and gently patted Kotetsu's head as the boy cried.
"It's okay. If you keep trying, it can definitely be fixed.
"And… helping others isn't a waste of time.
It always comes back to you in the end."
Muichiro, just about to start training, froze mid-motion.
"…Helping others is helping yourself."
That sentence felt familiar too.
But he still couldn't remember who had said it.
He turned to look at Tanjiro's warm back, then at Inosuke—
sharp-tongued, yet someone who hadn't actually taken the key.
Muichiro tilted his head once more.
"These people… are strange.
"But… somehow, not unpleasant."
Deep within the Swordsmith Village, in front of a workshop marked No Entry
"III—NO—SU—KE!!!"
A furious roar shook the sky.
Wearing a Fire God mask, Haganezuka Hotaru charged out wielding two kitchen knives like a madman.
"You bastard! You actually dared to come back!!
"Why would the Master assign this task to me?!
"Every sword!
Every single one!
Forged by Tekkanomori!!
"You chipped them all!!
"Do you have a problem with his blades or what?!
I'll kill you!!"
"A-Ah! Calm down, Haganezuka-san!"
Tanjiro desperately wrapped his arms around Haganezuka's waist.
"Hmph."
Inosuke didn't run. Instead, he elegantly sat down on a tree stump and crossed his legs.
"That's because the previous swords were too weak.
They simply couldn't withstand this young master's power."
He pulled out a crudely drawn design sketch and slapped it onto the table.
No one could really tell what it was—
it looked more like two fire pokers than swords.
"Listen carefully, Big-Eyed Mask."
Inosuke pointed at the sketch, multicolored eyes gleaming with wisdom.
"This time, I'm ordering a custom job."
"I want twin blades."
He raised his left hand, frost swirling faintly around his fingertips.
"The blade for my left hand must withstand extreme cold conduction.
When I swing it, I want it to freeze the moisture in the air."
Then he raised his right hand.
"The right-hand blade should be extremely hot—like the sun.
The sharper the better. The faster the better."
"And!"
Inosuke stood up, drawing an exaggerated arc in the air.
"The design has to be cool! Flashy!
Low-key luxury—my style!
"But the edge cannot be smooth."
He flashed his signature little tiger fangs.
"Make it serrated.
"Not random chips—
I want reverse serrations as precise as lotus petals layered together,
or like shark teeth.
"That's the kind of blade worthy of this young master!"
Haganezuka had been waving his knives wildly, but gradually slowed.
Behind the Fire God mask, his eyes were locked onto the incomprehensible design sketch.
As a top-tier swordsmith—
He understood.
This wasn't just a sword.
It was a challenge.
To fuse extreme cold and extreme heat, two utterly opposing properties,
into a single pair of blades—
While retaining the destructive serrated structure.
"Ha… ha…"
Haganezuka's body began to tremble—not with rage, but excitement.
"Interesting… you little brat!"
He suddenly threw the knives away, snatched up the sketch, and stared at it like a lover.
"Ice and fire twin blades, huh?"
"I'LL TAKE IT!!"
He roared, nearly giving Zenitsu a heart attack.
"But!"
Haganezuka jabbed a finger at Inosuke's nose.
"If you dare break them again this time, I really will kill you!
Even if I have to chase you into hell!!"
"Deal."
Inosuke snapped open his fan, hiding the smug curve of his lips.
Just then, his nose suddenly felt itchy.
"Achoo!"
"What's wrong, Inosuke-kun? Did you catch a cold?" Tanjiro asked worriedly.
"No."
Inosuke rubbed his nose and snorted.
"Probably someone's thinking about me."
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