That Gentleman

"Hey!"

Someone clapped Sanemi Shinazugawa on the shoulder. He whipped his head around, then breathed a sigh of relief and said irritably, "Masachika Kume-"

"Just Masachika." The black-haired boy sat down beside him. "Calling someone by their full name is really rude, you know."

"I don't know what manners are." Sanemi turned away, looking at his scar-covered arm and the chain wrapped around it.

"And soon you won't even get to call me Masachika. You'll have to call me your senior fellow disciple." Masachika Kume smiled and patted his shoulder. "Master has agreed to take you as his student. You can throw away that chain you use to restrain demons, too."

Throw it away.

Sanemi looked at the chain that had accompanied him on his demon hunts ever since he left home, ever since he left Genya, and suddenly felt lost.

After his mother became a demon and crumbled to ashes before his eyes, Sanemi had left home, swearing to destroy every vile demon in the world.

But he knew no Breathing Style, nor did he have a long blade like the one that white-haired swordsman had carried that day, one that could set a demon's body ablaze. All he could do, following the swordsman's brief guidance, was spill his unusual blood to lure demons in, then hang them from trees with his chain until the sun rose.

It was an agonizing way to die, but he no longer had the slightest sympathy for those monsters.

Not long after he began wandering, he met Masachika Kume, a boy with two deep scars beneath his eyes and a smile like a little sun.

It was also from him that Sanemi learned the people hunting demons in the shadows were called the Demon Slayer Corps, and saw that his uniform matched the one the white-haired boy had worn beneath his outer clothes.

Masachika Kume was warm and kind-though Sanemi saw no reason for such qualities to exist.

He recommended Sanemi to his master, giving the lone demon hunter a chance to receive proper training.

But as he prepared to leave for his prospective master's estate, Sanemi inevitably thought again of Genya, whom he had abandoned at home.

How was he doing now? Was he staying with that white-haired swordsman?

He knew his uncle had passed away. Everything he had said had merely been an excuse. He wanted Genya to stay with that powerful swordsman, where he would probably be safe.

So, for once, Sanemi did not argue with Masachika about calling him his senior fellow disciple. Instead, after hesitating again and again, he finally asked, "How many swordsmen are there in the Demon Slayer Corps?"

"Hmm... including the support units, probably a few hundred."

"How many do you know?"

"A few dozen, I guess. People who joined at the same time as me, healers at the Wisteria House, and some of the Kakushi."

Sanemi took a deep breath. "Do you happen to know someone who..."

He described "that gentleman" to Masachika, expecting it to be like finding a needle in a haystack. Yet he had barely mentioned the man's exceptionally striking looks and white hair before Masachika nodded without hesitation. "I know that gentleman."

"...But I haven't really told you anything yet."

"Exceptionally handsome, shoulder-length white hair with pale blue tips, wears a teal haori, and has a white parrot serving as his Kasugai Crow, right?"

Sanemi stared at him and nodded silently.

Masachika smiled brightly. "That's Mr. Haruto. I saw him when I went back to Headquarters a few days ago. He's become the Demon Slayer Corps' newest Hashira. He's incredibly strong."

A Hashira?

Sanemi glanced at him. Masachika had told him that the Hashira were the strongest swordsmen in the Demon Slayer Corps. Among its hundreds of swordsmen, only nine could become Hashira.

That gentleman... was he really that powerful?

Someone capable of killing fifty demons, or one of the Twelve Kizuki-that gentleman could have cut off his mother's head with a single stroke, but he had not.

He had shown the warmth of humanity before a demon's son. Even at the very end, he had placed Sanemi's mother in his hands...

Sanemi turned urgently toward Masachika, blood vessels creeping across the whites of his wide eyes. "He... where does he live? Does he have a little kid with him?"

Masachika did not get angry when Sanemi seized his arm. He merely gestured vaguely in the air. "A little kid with a mohawk? I have heard about him. Mr. Haruto originally intended to make him his Tsuguko, but apparently gave up because the kid couldn't learn a Breathing Style."

I knew it! Sanemi's eyes widened. "Where are they living now?!"

Mount Sagiri.

Sanemi crouched in the grass, watching the people training at the foot of the mountain.

He knew skilled swordsmen had keen senses, so he dared not get too close, keeping as much distance as he could while still keeping them in sight.

The peach-haired boy held a Nichirin Blade, and a Demon Slayer Corps uniform hung drying outside the house. He seemed to be a member of the Corps.

Little Genya stood beside the boy, training with weights. He seemed to be doing well and had grown much taller.

Sanemi felt relieved. He could tell that both boys were fond of Genya. As long as he was alive and had enough to eat, a life like this could be called paradise.

He had only intended to stay a little while, but before he knew it, he had lingered until noon.

That gentleman returned.

That gentleman removed Genya's weights, gave him water to drink, and ruffled his mohawk...

These were things Sanemi should have been doing. Instead, he could only hide wretchedly in the bushes, watching them with a brooding gaze.

That gentleman noticed his gaze-even from this far away!

Sanemi immediately broke into a run, leaving his hiding place, circling the row of wooden houses, and heading down the mountain from the other side.

Was this what it meant to be a Hashira? Even his senses were far beyond an ordinary person's!

Sanemi bounded through the mountain forest. He ran fast, his clothes whipping up fierce gusts like the Wind Breathing he would soon learn.

But that gentleman was faster!

Just as Sanemi was about to reach the downhill path on the other side, a teal figure swept past. Through the fluttering white hair, he caught a familiar look.

It was an utterly baffled expression.

Haruto lightly planted a hand on the ground rushing beneath him, vaulted nimbly into the air, and intercepted Sanemi farther down the path.

His knee rose toward Sanemi's chin. A light bump redirected the silver-haired boy, knocking him to the ground.

Sanemi's head jolted. After hitting the ground, he quickly scrambled back to his feet.

The kick had not been hard, and the fall had not hurt either.

"Sir... Mr. Haruto." He gritted his teeth, but still greeted him earnestly.

Although he had a vicious temper, Sanemi reined it in completely in front of this considerate gentleman.

Haruto folded his arms across his chest, his gaze passing over the jumble of wounds on Sanemi's body, then tilted his head toward the wooden houses. "Want to go see him?"

"No!" Sanemi said at once, then swallowed with difficulty. "Genya... knowing he's doing well is enough. Seeing me would only make him angry... I'd rather not."

Haruto looked at Sanemi in bewilderment. "Angry?"

"Genya must hate me... I left him in our shattered home. The bond between us brothers..." Sanemi took a deep breath, the whites of his eyes threaded with blood. "It's already broken!"

Broken, my ass.

Haruto stared at him expressionlessly. "Do you have a one-track mind or something?"