The three little ones

Rokuya's eyes snapped open, a glimmer of wolfish green flashing through his dark blue eyes.

"Found it!"

Lightning flashed beneath his feet. With a muffled boom, Rokuya stamped a deep crater into the ground where he had stood, turning into a black blur that smashed a passage straight through the thick fog toward the source of the aroma.

Bang!

The dilapidated wooden door was smashed open by brute force.

"Old man! I'm back! Is dinner ready? I'm starv-"

Rokuya broke off abruptly.

The atmosphere inside the cramped wooden cabin froze strangely.

Instead of Sakonji Urokodaki in his Tengu Mask, three little kids sat around the low table.

On the left was a boy with medium-length, flesh-colored hair, sharp eyes, and a prominent scar at the corner of his mouth; on the right was a girl with short black hair and large eyes that held both gentleness and keenness, looking quiet and well-behaved.

Seated in the middle was a boy with spiky black hair and eyes as still and unchanging as stagnant water.

All three turned in unison, staring at Rokuya, who still held his door-kicking pose, and at the heavy katana on his back that radiated an intense, murderous aura.

"You..." Rokuya narrowed his eyes, his fingers instinctively settling on his sword hilt. "Lost kids? Or... did the old man finally sell this dump to pay off his debts?"

"May I ask who you are?" The flesh-haired boy stood first, his right hand resting warily on the wooden sword at his waist. Though tense, he stood ramrod straight, showing an unyielding resilience.

Rokuya was about to speak when the curtain to the inner room lifted, and Sakonji Urokodaki emerged in his Tengu Mask, carrying a large pot of salmon and radish stew that bubbled away.

"You little brat! One trip away, and you've forgotten how to open a door properly?!" Urokodaki scolded irritably, though his voice beneath the Tengu Mask carried a trace of gratification he could not conceal. "You timed your return well. Just in time for dinner."

"Old man, where did these brats come from?" Rokuya strode over without ceremony, plopped himself into the seat of honor, and snatched the ladle from Urokodaki's hand to serve himself a large, brimming bowl.

Urokodaki set down the pot and gestured toward the three children. "During the week after you left for Mount Momoyama, I made several trips down the mountain and brought them back one after another. Like you, they're poor children whose families were destroyed by demons."

At that, the old man's voice grew heavier. "They asked to learn Water Breathing so they could go slay demons."

Chewing his salmon, Rokuya swept his gaze over the three.

The system panel flickered faintly as it scanned their basic information. There was no astonishing talent, only hearts full of hatred and determination.

"Sabito," the flesh-haired boy introduced himself loudly, then pointed to the girl beside him. "This is Makomo."

Makomo bowed slightly, her voice gentle. "It's nice to meet you. Please look after us."

Finally, both of them looked toward the spiky-haired boy in the middle.

The boy stared at the bowl before him, then slowly raised his head and said expressionlessly, "Giyu Tomioka."

"Oh? I'm Takanashi Rokuno. You can call me Senior Rokuya." Rokuya set down his bowl and belched. "Since the old man has taken you all in, I'll have your backs on this mountain from now on."

His fierce protectiveness kicked in the instant he confirmed that the three were his fellow disciples.

Dinner perfectly demonstrated the terrifying capabilities of Rokuya, the "bottomless pit."

"Another bowl!"

"Any rice left? Scrape the pot clean for me."

"Makomo, you're not eating that piece of salmon, right? If not, I'll have it."

In less than an hour, eighteen empty bowls had piled up before Rokuya. Sabito and Makomo stared, dumbstruck, at this man whose stomach seemed connected to another dimension. Even the worldly Urokodaki could not help wiping the cold sweat from his brow.

"Senior Rokuya... how many days has it been since you last ate?" Makomo asked cautiously, pushing her portion of radish over as well.

"I just smashed the bones of some bastard called Kaigaku over at old man Kuwajima's place. Used up a bit too much energy." Rokuya gave an offhand answer, unceremoniously stuffing the radish into his mouth. "Thanks, little Makomo."

Just then, Giyu Tomioka, who had been silently shoveling down his rice, suddenly set down his chopsticks.

He looked at the eighteen bowls before Rokuya, then at his own half-eaten rice, and a trace of inferiority flashed through his eyes. He felt he was too weak, neither as brave as Sabito nor as clever as Makomo. After his older sister died protecting him, he felt that someone as useless as himself did not deserve so much precious food, and that it should be left for strong people who could truly kill demons.

So Giyu stood, carried his half-bowl of rice over, and stopped before Rokuya.

"Senior Rokuya really eats a lot. I'm different from all of you. I'm not hungry, and I... don't deserve to eat the same food as you."

Giyu's voice was flat and uninflected, as though he were stating an objective fact.

Suddenly, everything went quiet.

With a crack, the chopsticks in Sabito's hand snapped in two.

Rokuya froze mid-chew, his eyes slowly widening.

To anyone else, those words were the very height of snide mockery! What did he mean, "I'm different from all of you"? What did he mean, "don't deserve to eat the same food"? Wasn't he simply mocking Rokuya as a glutton while acting too high and mighty to stoop to their level?!

"Giyu!! What the hell are you talking about?!"

Sabito flew into a rage and lunged forward, grabbing Giyu by the collar, his eyes reddening. "Our senior has been out there fighting life-and-death battles! What's wrong with eating a little more? How dare you mock him? Apologize to him right now!"

"I wasn't mocking him." Held by his collar, Giyu remained expressionless, though stubbornness showed in his eyes. "I'm only stating the facts. You're all working hard. I... I shouldn't be here in the first place."

"You bastard!" Sabito raised his fist to strike.

Makomo hurriedly caught Sabito's arm. "Sabito! Giyu might not have meant it that way!"

Thump!

A broad hand caught Sabito's fist firmly.

Rokuya stood, looking down at Giyu, who was still held by the collar, as a dangerous curve lifted the corner of his mouth.

Rokuya felt as though ten thousand alpacas were stampeding through his mind. Was this kid's language system struck by lightning? Such infuriatingly tactless remarks.

"Sabito, let him go," Rokuya said evenly.

"But, Senior, he-"

"I said, let go." Rokuya's voice was not loud, but it carried an unquestionable pressure, the killing intent of someone who had truly spilled blood and slain demons.

Gritting his teeth, Sabito released his grip.

Rokuya bent down until he was looking straight into Giyu's unruffled eyes.

"Kid, you think you're weak and don't deserve to stand with us, so you're trying to give up your food this way, or simply isolate yourself. Is that it?"

Giyu's pupils abruptly contracted, as though he had not expected his deeply hidden inferiority to be exposed in a single sentence.

"Enough of that nonsense. I'll tell you just one thing-" Rokuya snatched the half-bowl of rice from Giyu's hands, tipped it into his mouth along with the remaining broth, and chewed with loud crunches.

"In this world, being weak isn't a sin, but hating yourself because you're weak is asking to die! When a demon bites through your neck, it won't listen to you explain how undeserving you are!"

Rokuya turned, grabbed the heavy katana from the corner, and rested it on his shoulder.

"Starting tomorrow, I'm taking over sword training for all three of you."

The night breeze blew through the doorway, lifting Rokuya's dark blue haori.

"I'll show you what real hell looks like."