Yuko had once thought she was the protagonist too.
After all, it was common knowledge that transmigrators were the protagonists, right?
But when she had been injured by demons, when her lungs had been so badly damaged that she could only curl up in bed in agony, drenched in sweat and unable to sleep night after night, and when she could never defeat Yoriichi no matter what she did, she understood.
Even if she was the protagonist, she was the protagonist of some tragic drama.
She was not the protagonist.
Yuko understood that fact very clearly.
The superiority she had felt as a transmigrator who knew the plot had long since vanished.
That was why she longed so desperately for this era, why she held such immense expectations for that ray of light destined to appear in the future.
Would she fulfill the unfulfilled wish that Older Brother had failed to achieve?
She herself had no idea how much confidence she truly had in those words.
So when Tanjiro truly appeared before her eyes, Yuko felt, from the bottom of her heart, that the burden on her shoulders had lightened considerably.
Only when a wet streak appeared on her cheek did Yuko unconsciously realize that she was crying.
Were they tears of overwhelming joy?
Perhaps they were.
The figure dancing through the snow like a spirit of flames truly let Yuko glimpse traces of Yoriichi.
She silently watched every Sword Style of Sun Breathing. By the time the Dance of the Fire God ended, dawn was near and the sky was about to brighten.
After Tanjuro finished the Dance of the Fire God, he picked up Tanjiro, who had run out of the house. His wife, Kie Kamado, held the still-young Nezuko in her arms and stood smiling in the