Final Selection

Late at night.

Rokuya sat on the roof, gazing at the moon. On his system panel, his Gratitude Points had trickled up a little over the past few days from coaching the three of them. It was not much, but it was better than nothing.

"Does it hurt?"

A hoarse voice came from behind him. Urokodaki had climbed onto the roof at some point, carrying a bottle of medicine for his injuries.

"Tch. With that little strength of yours, old man, you could barely scratch an itch." Rokuya curled his lip, but obediently turned around to let Urokodaki apply the medicine to his back.

As the cool ointment spread over his bruises, Rokuya sighed in comfort.

"You've changed it... beyond recognition." After a long silence, Urokodaki suddenly spoke.

"I knew it. An old stick-in-the-mud like you would never accept-"

"But it's very effective."

Rokuya froze and turned to look at Urokodaki.

The Tengu Mask looked somewhat forlorn in the moonlight. A trace of weariness and sorrow that the old man could not conceal tinged his voice. "Rokuya... I've taught many students in my life. They were all outstanding, all kind. But... after they went to Mount Fujikasane, none of them ever came back."

"Countless times, I've woken in the night from dreams of them being torn apart by demons. Sometimes I wonder whether the Water Breathing I teach is too gentle for this cruel world."

Urokodaki patted Rokuya's shoulder heavily.

"What you've taught them may be extreme, and it may lack all elegance... but it truly has greatly improved their chances of surviving."

"You little brat... you always act as though no rules apply to you, but really, you care about their lives more than anyone, don't you?"

Rokuya fell silent.

He was not from this world. Now that he had come here, now that he already considered these kids his own...

"You talk too much, old man."

Rokuya turned his head away, hiding the softness in his eyes, and snorted. "Not even the King of Hell can take anyone under my protection."

"Conceited brat." Urokodaki chuckled as he scolded him.

Time flew by.

Another half month passed.

The morning mist still hung thick over Mount Sagiri.

Rokuya stood at the entrance to the mountain path. His close-fitting black clothes had faded from washing, but he exuded an intense, deadly air. White cloth strips wrapped the scabbard of the heavy katana on his back, leaving only its cold hilt exposed.

Today was the day he would leave for Mount Fujikasane to take part in the Demon Slayer Corps' Final Selection.

Because Rokuya had the strongest foundations and had already completed his Thunder Breathing training under Kuwajima before coming here, he would be taking the selection several years before Sabito and the other two.

"Senior... be careful." Makomo's eyes were a little red. Her small hands clutched an Omamori. "I got this at the shrine at the foot of the mountain yesterday."

Rokuya smiled and ruffled Makomo's short hair. "Don't worry. When I come back, I'll bring you some roast wild boar, Mount Fujikasane's specialty."

Sabito stepped forward and punched Rokuya hard in the chest. "Don't die! You still owe me the rest of our duel!"

"With that half-baked windmill of yours? Keep practicing." Rokuya raised an eyebrow mockingly.

Last was Giyu, who stood to one side, as expressionless as ever.

Giyu looked at Rokuya and struggled for a long while before finally squeezing out a sentence. "Senior, if you die, could you... leave your sword to me?"

Silence fell once again.

Sabito sucked in a sharp breath, and Makomo covered her forehead.

A vein bulged on Rokuya's forehead as he said through gritted teeth, "Giyu Tomioka... when I come back alive, I swear I'll sew that damned mouth of yours shut!"

"All right, enough fooling around."

Sakonji Urokodaki walked out of the house, holding a wooden box.

He approached Rokuya and opened the box. A hand-carved fox mask lay quietly inside. Two sharp cloud patterns had been painted in red at the corners of its eyes, giving it an untamed, fierce air that suited Rokuya perfectly.

"This is a Warding Mask." Urokodaki picked up the mask and solemnly handed it to Rokuya. "I've placed a spell on it. It will protect you from calamity in my place."

Looking at the mask, Rokuya felt his heart tremble slightly.

Rokuya did not know that, in the original story, this mask had all but become a death warrant for Urokodaki's students. The Hand Demon lurking on Mount Fujikasane had identified Urokodaki's students by their masks, then brutally killed them.

But was Urokodaki to blame? No. The old man only wanted to protect his children.

Rokuya took the mask and put it straight onto his face.

The cool wood pressed against his cheeks. Through the fox mask's eyes, Rokuya looked at Urokodaki.

"Old man, that spell of yours had better work."

Beneath the mask, Rokuya's voice was low and firm. "I won't just come back alive. From now on, every evil demon that has ever stained its hands with Mount Sagiri's blood..."

"I'll hack them all to pieces. Every last one!"

Shing-!

Rokuya abruptly drew his katana halfway from its sheath, its blade flashing like lightning in the mist.

"I'm off!"

He spun around, his dark blue haori snapping in the wind, and waved with his back to them.

"Sabito, Makomo, and Giyu, who can't even string a sentence together! Stay home and practice the One-Sword Style I taught you! If any of you dares slack off, I'll break your legs when I get back!"

The boy strode into the dense mist, his figure gradually blurring until only his outrageously arrogant words echoed through the mountain woods.

Urokodaki stood where he was, palms pressed together in silent prayer.

"Make sure you come back alive... Rokuya."

The mist churned.

At that moment, Rokuya did not know that hundreds of miles away, on Mount Fujikasane, seven days of hellish slaughter awaited him. And the enormous Hand Demon that had devoured countless students of Urokodaki would soon meet the end of its decades-long nightmare before the person named Takanashi Rokuno.

The blade was drawn. The feast of slaughter was about to begin.