The sky over Tokyo was a bruised purple, weeping a fine, cold mist as the Akutsu family stood before a row of fresh mounds.
Takuma stood apart from his parents, his black funeral kimono damp and heavy. He stared at the headstone marking Hiroshi's resting place. In his mind, he could still hear the boy's gap-toothed laugh and the sound of their feet racing toward the school gates. Those memories—once his greatest treasures—now felt like jagged glass twisting in his chest.
The intense emotional pain was physical, a crushing weight on his lungs. But as the grief threatened to break him, it hit a wall of cold, dark energy. The Curse of Hatred fed on that agony, converting his sorrow into a singular, venomous purpose.
I will never forget those smiles, Takuma thought, his knuckles turning white as he clenched his fists. And I will make every one of those monsters scream for stealing them.
Two days later, a private carriage marked with the Akutsu crest arrived at the hidden gates of the Butterfly Mansion.
Takuma stepped out, his face a mask of stoicism. He looked at the serene gardens and the fluttering butterflies, but he saw no beauty in them. To him, this was merely a factory for the tools he needed to dismantle Muzan Kibutsuji.
Shinobu Kocho greeted him with her customary smile, but she didn't begin his training. Instead, she left him in the care of Aoi Kanzaki and immediately departed for the Ubuyashiki Estate.
Kagaya Ubuyashiki sat on the engawa, his blind eyes turned toward the rustling trees. He sensed Shinobu's approach long before she knelt before him.
"Oyakata-sama," Shinobu whispered, her voice uncharacteristically grave. "I have brought the Akutsu heir to the mansion. But there is something you must know."
"Speak, my child," Kagaya replied, his voice like silk.
"The boy... he faced the Progenitor and survived. But it wasn't luck," Shinobu said, her brow furrowing. "When he lunged at Muzan, his eyes changed. They turned a predatory, incandescent red with a black mark spinning in the center. He radiated a malicious energy so potent it felt... ancient. It wasn't a Breathing Style. It was something else entirely."
Kagaya remained silent for a long moment, the wind whistling through the eaves. A faint, knowing smile touched his lips, though it was tinged with sorrow.
"The wheel of fate turns in strange ways," Kagaya murmured. "The boy carries a power that is both a divine gift and a devastating curse. He is a blade forged in grief, Shinobu. We must guide him carefully, for if that hatred consumes him, he may become a disaster greater than the demons themselves."
"What shall we do with him?" Shinobu asked.
"Let him train," Kagaya said firmly. "But tell the Hashira to watch him. He is our ally, but he is a flame that could easily burn down the house he is meant to protect."
******
The Ubuyashiki Estate was silent, save for the rustle of wisteria leaves. In the center of the courtyard, nine of the most powerful swordsmen in Japan—the Hashira—stood in a semi-circle, their eyes fixed on the young boy kneeling before them.
Takuma Akutsu did not look like a "wealthy heir" anymore. His school uniform was replaced by a simple training yukata, and his once-vibrant confidence had hardened into a cold, obsidian stillness. He didn't look at the Hashira; he looked through them, his mind anchored to the memory of the blood-stained school hall.
"Oyakata-sama has arrived," the twins announced in unison.
Kagaya Ubuyashiki stepped onto the engawa, his presence instantly calming the restless energy of the Hashira. Sanemi Shinazugawa, the Wind Hashira, was already seething. He could smell the "malicious energy" Shinobu had described—a scent that wasn't demonic, but wasn't entirely human either.
"My children," Kagaya said softly. "We are here to discuss Takuma Akutsu. He has faced the Progenitor and survived, and in doing so, he has awakened a power we have not seen in a thousand years."
"With all due respect, Master," Sanemi barked, his hand twitching toward his sword. "The boy reeks of something foul. Shinobu says his eyes glowed like a demon's. If he's a monster in disguise, I'll end him here."
"His eyes are a gift of the gods, Sanemi," Kagaya replied firmly. "But they carry a heavy price. Takuma, look at them."
Takuma raised his head. He didn't wait for a trigger. He reached into that cold reservoir of grief, thinking of Hiroshi's last breath, and forced the energy into his eyes. In an instant, his irises bled into an incandescent red, and a single black tomoe began to spin slowly in each eye.
The Hashira gasped. Gyomei Himejima, the Stone Hashira, felt the air grow heavy and cold. Obanai Iguro narrowed his eyes behind his bandages, sensing the sheer pressure radiating from the boy.
"I am not a demon," Takuma said, his voice a flat, dead calm. "But I will use this 'curse' to dismantle every one of them. I don't care if you trust me. I only care if you teach me how to kill."
"Such flamboyant arrogance!" Tengen Uzui remarked, though his expression was serious. "But those eyes... they see things we don't, don't they?"
"They see the truth," Takuma replied.
Sanemi wasn't convinced. He lunged forward with a burst of Wind Breathing speed, his blade stopping mere millimeters from Takuma's throat. Takuma didn't flinch. His Sharingan had tracked the movement perfectly, his mind already calculating the "flaw" in Sanemi's stance.
"You have the eyes of a killer, kid," Sanemi growled, his face inches from Takuma's. "But don't think for a second that makes you one of us. One slip, one sign of that 'hatred' consuming you, and I'll be the one to bury you."
"I look forward to it," Takuma said, his red eyes meeting Sanemi's crazed gaze without a hint of fear.
Kagaya smiled sadly. "It is decided. Takuma will train at the Butterfly Mansion, but he will also receive instruction from each of you. We must see what this crimson eyes is truly capable of."