Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It started right after his death. 

Him dying for what, the fourth time.

The Ghost would live again

Why?

Cause Kaguya Otsutsuki said so

Madara Uchiha was reborn again as a boy named Tanjuro Kamado.

Madara POV

I woke up in a crib in a small hut in the middle of winter. It was December 24, it said on the calendar, but the calendar was different from the last one I saw. What era is it and why am I so small? Just then I began to baby nosies.

”ba, ah, goo”

This can’t be happening right? This is all a dream right? This has to be a dream, right?

Just then Someone came into the room she was a small women with brown eyes. She has black hair and round eyes. She picked me up and began to cradle and sing to me.

”Have no fear sweet tanjuro mama will protect you. ”

So she is my new mother; which means one thing….

I’ve either reincarnated or I went back into the past. I think the first one cause the technology here and the amount of charka civilians signatures down the mountain. But why me? Why was I reincarnated? Shouldn’t it have been hashirama? 

“What’s wrong Tanjuro?”

You know it’s going to take a while for me to get used to that name and looking from looking in the mirror, I probably get more of my features from my father because there aren’t any identical similarities between me and this lady.

”Welcome to the world Kamado Tanjuro”

Ugh, I don’t like the name. Well, beggars can’t be choosers.

Chapter Text

Tanjuro Kamado was strange boy. He had black hair with fiery tips, eyes a bold red filled with innocence and maturity. He wore a black Haori with cloud patterns that he had sewed on himself. 

When people said the Tanjuro was a strange boy, he was. He acted more mature than most children. Kids his age said he acted like an old man. He loved to read books and help his mother and father. He was the ideal child to have although his mother would worry about him making friends his age. Tanjuro didn’t care for the time being. Time has passed since Madara came to this world and, he has come to enjoy his quiet life. Although the kids were another problem.

Because Madara was such a “perfect child” the kids decided to place it upon themselves to put him in his place. Not like it ever worked though. Which leads us to now. Madara dodged another punch from another child once more. This time around, they had decided to circle Madara. Madara knew this but he just wanted to play their game. He only ever gets to scare kids every once in a while and running away has become boring for him. He needed a fight. 

“Stop dodging and fight back,” one child yelled.

”Ok,” Tanjuro said; he flipped the child over and made him land on his back. Another child tried to help him but Tanjuro made him trip.

“You know, this is getting you nowhere.”

”shut up,” one of the kids yelled.

You know these are the days Madara wished he had the body of an adult or had a Sharingan so he can just knock the stupid brats out.

”Nii-Chan!” One of the boys yelled. Out came a 11-year-old boy who was taller than Tanjuro. 

“Nii-chan, he’s been mean to me.”

”it’s ok Itsuki, everything will be fine.”

The older brother named Noko looked at the boy who has been mean to his brother and it happened to be the Kamado’s family only son, Tanjuro. He didn’t seemed like much. Once again Madara was being underestimated because of his size and age. Compared to the other five year old he looked more frail and smaller. This is going to be a pain for the next couple of years.

Noko tried to grab Tanjuro, but he grabbed him and flipped him over. Then the proceeded to put him in an arm lock.

”If anyone moves, I’ll break his arm,” he said in a monotone voice. The children were scared they’ve never seen anyone threaten someone before. They just it was a good idea to teach him a lesson. Now look where we are now. 

As just as promised when they left he let Noko go. This was how Tanjuro got control over the group of children that day. 

It was New years Eve and tonight Tanjuro’s father would Preform the Hinokami Kagura.  This was dance passed down through the Kamado family for generations since the sengoku era. Tanjuro has seen it many times and began to realize that this wasn’t a dance, they were sword forms. Sure some of them were a bit incomplete, with them having more wide motions but all in all, the sword forms were persevered. Whoever had the grand idea of passing this as a dance to protect this family was a genius.

(Yoriichi didn’t mean that; Madara you are Misunderstanding)

Tanjuro’s father danced from sunrise to sunset. It seems to be the difference in breathing. Once the dance was over, Tanjuro came up to his father and told him that he wanted to learn the Hinokami Kagura. His father said when he was older but after a bunch of pestering he finally got it. This might be because he doesn’t ask for much and this was the first the time he behaved like a child. Damn these childhood instincts.

Now for the main problem……

His Sharigan….

Chapter Text

It’s been 8 years since his father has begun to teach Tanjuro the Hinokami Kagura. He is currently 13 years old. During those years he met a girl named Kie. Kie was one of the more quiet kids in the town. She liked to read and didn’t mind Tanjuro’s quiet flaws. The two became friends real quick.

Now for the problem at hand, the Sharigan. Tanjuro has a sharigan; he knew because he remembered coming out the womb which was very traumatic for a grown man. He couldn’t remember at first but the memory popped up when he was ten and he screamed like there was no tomorrow. His parents had been worried about him for a week.Awakening the Sharigan, that’s easy, the problem lies with evolving it. There is no life threatening danger that could allow Tanjuro to evolve his Sharigan. He fought a bear with his bare fists and it still didn’t help. (He was close though) He could become a demon slayer like in those old tales his mother used to tell him but, that’s going to take ages and Tanjuro didn’t have that time. 

“Dammit, I want a real fight!” Tanjuro thought to himself. His wish would soon be granted. 

A week after he had that thought, Tanjuro stayed up a bit later than normal. It was night and he wanted to do something reckless, something rebellious, something that would later end him up into trouble. So he sneaked out the house Shinobi style. Even though Tanjuro was living a peaceful life, doesn’t mean he didn’t stop training. His body is between high genin and low chunin. His charka reserves are that of a high Chunin. Could he have done more? Yes, he could have, but training takes time and he doesn’t want anyone to be suspicious of him. Not even his father who is letting him practice the Himokami Kagura, knows that he does training in his free time rather than reading and helping out his family. It was a beautiful night. The sky was a beautiful dark blue. The stars shined up the night nicely and the cool air contradicted the warm heat of spring. 

Tanjuro decided to leave the village for awhile, besides, he can run back by sunrise. He ended up in a village 2 towns over. There was a festival happening down there so Tanjuro casually walked down to see the festival. There were many people there, even some who didn’t even live there. He ended up having a great time there eating lots of food and playing games until while he was walking around he a felt a disturbing charka signature. This signature felt muddy and slimy, it was as if someone was doused in sewage water. But under all that sewage water as a kind and gentle man, that felt very broken. He heart felt felt so gentle but strong, his natural aura was of snow. Tanjuro tried to find him but his charka was meshing with the civilians around here. The fireworks would be starting soon and Tanjuro couldn’t wait. When the fireworks went off, they lit up the night sky with different colors; it was still mesmerizing to this day. Tanjuro saw the man he felt earlier on the top of the roof. 

Should I try talking to him, Tanjuro thought to himself. He didn’t seemed like a person that would want to messed with unless he allowed it. He shouldn’t be that worried but he is. He doesn’t want to get into trouble with his mom. He can’t bear to see her sad. So Tanjuro left the village and went on his merry way home.

The End 

Nah, I’m just joking with ya.

Akaza POV

What was that aura? It was strange, I can’t describe it. It felt out of this world. It feel like a how should I put this; a flame in the middle of a snowstorm. Strong winds try to harm it but it still keeps burning; burning until there is nothing no more but it is also gentle like a bonfire that keeps everyone warm. The more I look at this aura, I feel it is ever-changing. I can feel their strong emotions from them. The most prominent emotion is anger, sadness joy but the one I felt the most was weariness. This person felt worn out even though he was a young person. I must know who thisthe POV End

Tanjuro was walking back home when he felt that someone was following him. It was the same person he felt before at the festival. Didn’t I erased my charka Tanjuro thought to himself. He stopped walking. 

“I know your there come out.”

There was silence for a while until a man with pink hair and eyelashes wearing a dark pink Haori. He had markings all over him. Tanjuro has never seen a person like him. Most if not all the people he has seen had never looked this; something was up.

”Why are you following me,” he asked with a neutral expression. 

“Your presence and fighting spirit is so strange I wanted to take a closer look at it.”

“what is this man talking about,” Tanjuro thought. 

“And the only way to find out is by doing this!”

Akaza punched straight towards Tanjuro head but Tanjuro dodged. If that attack had hit him, he would’ve been dead. Akaza attacked with more punches but with more ferocity. Tanjuro took out a kuni from his pocket. He always carries weapons on him for safe keeping. He tried to stab him on multiple occasions even switching hands but Akaza knew when to dodge and how to block his attack. 

It’s like I’m fighting a wall, Tanjuro thought to himself. The more he tried to attack, the more his attacks would be used against him. He can’t use ninjutsu here, it will cause problems later. So Tanjuro ran into the forest to lose Akaza. Akaza easily followed after him. As Tanjuro ran, something began bubbling within him from long ago. 

This is the thrill of a fight.

And just as he thought this, Akaza punched him square in his stomach. Tanjuro used charka to enforce his stomach so his guts don’t fly out. How does this man have so much force? It was as if he was whacked by a paper bomb. Tanjuro flew into a tree.

“Come on is that all you got? Is this all this frail weak boy can do?”

Of course, Akaza was just lying. He was just trying to get a rise out of him. Just by looking at his fighting spirit proves that he is much stronger than most seasoned demon slayers. He wants to know his name, try to convince him. If this kid is stronger than most demon slayers, imagine how he will be as a demon. Just then he heard laughing. That laughing was coming from Tanjuro himself. He had a crazed smile, his hair was turning black and his eyes were bleeding red with two tomes in them. 

“What’s the matter demon, scared?” Tanjuro no, Madara said.

”Not scared, excited!”

They fought till sunrise.

“You know I wasn’t fully going all out,” Akaza said.

”I know, but thanks to you I was able to go past my limits. It was a great fight.”

”This doesn’t have to be the end. We can have more of these fights if you want,” Akaza said quietly. 

“I would like that,” Tanjuro’s hair began to turn back to its original color as he began to walk away.

”By the way, the name is Tanjuro, yours?”

”Akaza”

Akaza POV

That was incredible! I haven’t had a good fight like that in ages. Sure I held back but wasn’t bad for a newbie. His instincts are refined and battle ready. His muscles move like a veteran shinobi and with his attack combined with those strange Justus he cast during the fight, he has nothing to scoff at. He even talked while we fought and gave off some funny banter. The boy’s body was born to fight. I wonder what will happened if he turned into a demon. But, now is not the right time he hasn’t reach the supreme territory yet and he’s not in his prime yet. I have to wait until he grows nice and well. I hope I will see you again Tanjuro.

And thus started an unlikely friendship that would change the tides of the demon slayer war. 

Chapter Text

I saw Tanjuro for the first time when I was 9; he had just beaten up some bandits who were trying to attack our village. He beat up every single man, One by one. It was honestly terrifying how swiftly he broke bones and cut people down. It was a bloodbath; there was no smile on his face. It still chills to the core even now. He then asked for a change of clothes and went up the mountain. Everyone was so shocked that day, that no one spoke of it ever.

The second time I saw Tanjuro was when he was selling charcoal in the village a couple of weeks after the incident. I saw him walking with his father one day when he was selling charcoal in the village. I decided to find out more about him and he was a very quiet boy with a petite stature; he looked frail but his face said otherwise. His face looked like a man who was tired.  It was strange. That shouldn’t be on a face of a child. His father went around selling, while Tanjuro quickly followed after. Nobody talked to the boy still shaken by the incident prior.  I continued to follow them until I saw Tanjuro leave his father to go to the village library. I slowly opened it to have a peak, and there he was standing back at me. 

“Is there something you need?” He asked in a plain monotone voice

To be honest, I wanted to run away from him when he realized I was there. It was as if he was looking directly into my soul but all I did was stand there.

”Do you need anything thing from me?” He said. But this time he had confusion in his eyes like what was to be afraid of him. It wasn’t like he had beaten multiple bandits just a couple of weeks back.

”I’m just here getting a book,” I told him.

“Then be my guest” 

I went and got a book from one of the shelves and read right next to him. He didn’t seem to mind though. This became a day to day routine. When he come down the mountain he would enter the library when I would later come by and read as well. All the kids looked at me weird for reading with a child like him. Tanjuro wasn’t normal and I liked that about him as I grew to like his company. One day while we were both reading, he asked me what book I was reading, and from there I had my first heartfelt conversation with him and so our friendship began.

After spending time with Tanjuro I began to pick up on small things that people wouldn’t notice. Tanjuro favorite food was inarizushi and he loves falconry. He made small, quiet smiles when he learns something, he doesn’t like when people are behind him. Not to mention he flinches at the name war. I learned many things about Tanjuro over the years but I can’t seem to find out why he lies to me sometimes. My mom would always tell me I have this special ability to tell when people are lying. This is the same with Tanjuro. All I hear are  half truths or him just dodging the questions. 

“Your not the only one with a special ability.”

“Huh?”

“My eyes are very sensitive, they can pick up on a person’s muscles movements so I can dodge them and I can copy their movements if I want. I also have a very sensitive nose on which I can pick up on other people’s emotions. You, my dear Kie, want to know something.”

Did he just call me my dear?

”Did you just call me dear?”

”uhhhhhhh….Gotta go!”

So I am breaking his walls.

I’ve come to the realization that Tanjuro has very much a lot of trust issues and under that poker face he always wears, is a kind-hearted man with many quirky flaws. It’s been 9 years since I’ve met Tanjuro. His parents already gave me their blessing although Tanjuro doesn’t know yet. It was just a normal day and Tanjuro was acting suspiciously, like more than usual. He was covering up more bruises than normal and he had small cuts on his arms. New years Eve was coming quickly and he said he wanted to show me something. That night on New Year’s Eve Tanjuro had on a traditional outfit that looked similar to what priests would where. He soon began to dance. 

”this is the Hinokami Kagura,” Tanjuro’s father said,” Its a dance passed down from father to son to please the fire god. The dance is composed of twelve segments repeated throughout the night until dawn.“

I continued to watch Tanjuro dance. He looked so majestic, it was as if there was nobody there. We continued to watch until dawn and Tanjuro was barely out of breath as if he’s done it before multiple times.

”he’s been practicing for the past 2 weeks to impress you.”

I couldn’t believe that he did this for me? He showed me something that vulnerable? I’m honored but I couldn’t help but think that someone else was also watching.

A month had passed since the Hinokami Kagura and I think I’m finally ready to ask him. We went to our favorite river near his house.

”Hey Tanjuro I wanted to talk to you about something,” I said.

“shoot”

”what if, hypothetically, there was someone you liked and they were too dense to realize that you have feelings for them. What should you do.

”I don’t know I’ve never been interested in anyone.”

Well, that’s disheartening

”this is hypothetically speaking.”

”I guess, I would try to be more direct with my feelings, like maybe some actions, they have to be bold though. Who’s the likely guy?”

”I guessed you make that answer.”

”huh?”

”Tanjuro Kamado, will you do me the honor of marrying me?”

I pulled out a ring from behind me. I bought this ring myself with the money I got from doing small jobs around town. To say Tanjuro was surprised was and understatement. His eyes were wide and round, he was blushing furiously, and was shaking uncontrollably.

”why me,” he asked so confused.

”Well, because you’re you.”

”I’m a terrible person though.”

”No you’re misunderstood. You’re the sweetest, most beautiful, and lovely person I’ve ever met, flaws and all.”

Tanjuro got even redder. I can see it, he’s embarrassed. Before I could say anything else, he ran away far into the mountains. Was that a no?

I walked back to his parents’ house where I told them everything. The two ended up laughing.

“Don’t worry dear, he’s always like that,” his mother said, “Tanjuro can’t handle his strong emotions so when they act up, he usually runs away. It doesn’t mean a no per say, he’s just overwhelmed.”

Well that’s a relief. I thought I did something wrong.

”He’ll probably be back by nightfall, you just have to give him a chance to process.”

“Oh, ok,” I said. Now it was just the waiting game.

Tanjuro’s mother was right, he was back by nightfall. He was composed since we last saw him. He slowly walked into the house and sat down. There was silence.

”y-yes”

”What was that I couldn’t hear you?” I said. 

“I said yes!” He immediately blushed afterwords. I was on cloud nine. Tanjuro just said yes to my marriage proposal. I hugged very tight, when he then proceeded to faint. And just like that, Tanjuro and I we’re married.

“And that’s how I met your father and married him.”

”Why didn’t he propose to you mom?” My son ask curiously. 

It’s been a hectic 2 years of my life one, being the birth of my first son Tanjiro. Tanjiro is a very energetic kid with a lot of enthusiasm. He reminds me of when I was a baby. I still remember the day when I told my husband. He fainted 3 times. It was a hard time for him because he wasn’t sure if he was going to be a good father. But when Tanjiro came out, he cried tears of joy. He wanted to name the child Izuna for some reason but I said Tanjiro. He was fine with it, but he said he was going to name the next child. 

“you wouldn’t be born if I didn’t ask him.” I proceeded to tickle his tummy. My son giggled uncontrollably. My son is a fast learner just like his father. I’m surprised he can speak but Tanjuro’s parents did say Tanjuro was an oddity. There are two things that I know, one, my son is going to be a lady killer just like his father even though the two don’t know, and two, if my son is anything like his father, he’s gonna have some strong emotions that will need controlling. All in all, life is good.

”Uncle Akaza!” Tanjiro, yelled. He crawled all the way to the door. There stood a man with black hair, blue eyes, wearing a Haori over his gi but, I knew better, that’s not he really looks like. This is Akaza, Tanjuro introduced me to him one night saying that he would be the godfather of our child. Saying Akaza was shocked was an understatement. Reluctantly, he agreeed cause if he were anything like Tanjuro, than he’ll probably be good at fighting. This was when I found out that my husband keeps a lot of secrets from me. I don’t know what they are but he probably thinks it’s to protect me and the family. But I’ll wait for him and I’ll break down his walls just like I did when I was little. 

“Hi Honey, How is our little ray of sunshine?”

”He’s going well,” I said but I have a surprise for you.”

”Huh, what would that be?”

”I’m pregnant again.”

My husband fainted.

Chapter Text

It was just one of those normal days at the Kamado House. Tanjuro was playing with Nezuko, Kie was making snacks with the help of Akaza and Tanjuro went down to the village to sell charcoal. Although there was something new in this routine, Takeo Kamado. Takeo was born a couple of months back; he was quiet just like the rest of his siblings. 

"Ok, lunch is done," Akaza said. The two children came rushing at Kie who was holding a plate of food. They all chatted and talked when Tanjiro asked a question.

"Can you tell us what dad did when he was younger?"

Akaza almost choked on his tea. Do they want to know what he did when he was younger? I mean sure, there was bizarre stuff they did, but others were just crazy.

"O-Oh, ok," Akaza said with an awkward smile.

"This is the story of how your father helped me out of a pinch"

(Flashback)

During the fall, I would take a lot of requests from my master.

"You have a Master?"

Yes, I do Tanjiro. Now back to the story. Because of the many requests, I've made many enemies in my work. One night your father and I were walking around a small town when suddenly, were ambushed by a bunch of my enemies. They had swords and other weapons as well. They looked ready to kill. They were about to attack me and I was ready, but your father blocked it. They asked your father...

"Why are you protecting this demon?"

"That's not nice"

It's okay Tanjiro, Uncle, and papa had it under control. Your father said...

"Because he's family and my only friend."

This made them confused. I, a person who only fought for fun have someone to protect, a monster, cares for someone? It was mindboggling to them.

Still confused by your father's loyalty towards me, they tried to separate us. This didn't end well for them.

"What did you guys do?"

Why, we beat the crap out of them of course. Tanjuro and I were surrounded so I busted an opening out for the both of us. Tanjuro watched my back and hurt anyone who tried to harm me. Most of my enemies tried to aim for my neck, so your father broke many bones that day. We ran into the crowd so we could lose them but it seemed they brought backup. It was the higher-ups.

"No!"

Yes, they had brought the higher-ups cause the lower ones couldn't deal with me. I believed they were called Hashira. This one that I met was young and had tempura hair; I found it funny. I don't remember his name though, I probably should have because we met him a couple more times. I was fighting him blow to blow. I wasn't really in the mood to fight I just wanted to hang out. I was about to knock him out until another Hashira appeared. This was the wind Hashira at the time. This new Hashira was better than the last one. He moved like the wind but this was nothing I couldn't handle. I started to get serious. There were two Hashira on me; they were leading me to a cliff meanwhile, your father had beaten up every small fry there. the Hashiras I was fighting didn't have good teamwork. I was able to knock out the tempura guy and kick the other to a tree. Your father was rushing at me asking if I was ok, I said I was fine but I got too lax, and I didn't notice the wind Hashira had gotten up and he was about to cut off my head until I saw a blue cover above me. I saw a hand protecting and in front of me was your father. His eyes were different than before, they weren't the eyes I would see during spars and fights, this was new. It was as if it evolved out of love.

What I later found out, was that I was in a blue humanoid body that Tanjuro controlled. the humanoid body punched the wind Hashria away and knocked him out. There was more backup coming and sooner or later we would be overwhelmed. The blue humanoid figure disappeared and Tanjuro asked a strange question.

"You're not scared of heights right?" 

I told him no. Why would I be scared of heights and why was he asking a question like that? The other Hashira were coming so Tanjuro grabbed me and together we jumped off a cliff. Tanjuro still held onto me while he grew wings out of nowhere. They were blue just like the humanoid figure. We flew into the night and arrived at your father's house just in time for his mother to call him for dinner.

(Flashback end)

"And that's how your father saved me from a pinch," Akaza said while holding Nezuko.

"Wow," Tanjiro said, "Tell us another story."

"Maybe another time Tanjiro"

Just then, Tanjuro came into the house. He had finished early. 

"Welcome back Honey," Kie said.

"It's good to be home."

The rest of the day went by with talking and laughter in the air. Even baby Takeo, who is usually quiet was a bit noisy. Just your average day at the Kamado household.

Chapter Text

Tanjuro is a good man he truly is, but Kie sometimes wonders what's going on in that head of his. Tanjuro is a good husband and a good father, but the things he does are highly questionable. Some days he is a ray of sunshine that blesses the entire family; other days he's distant. Kie can't put her finger on it. She is worried sometimes. What if he's keeping secrets or doing something she shouldn't be? Kie knows that the second one is out of the question because Tanjuro is too innocent to pick up on any girl's attempts, but she digresses. She can't help but feel paranoid. There's only one person she can go to in this situation; Akaza.

"You want me to keep an eye out for Tanjuro, Why?" Akaza asked questionably.

"I have this fear that something bad might happen to him," she said. Akaza knew better though now and then she would have this worried face when Tanjuro isn't looking, Tanjuro knows he just doesn't know how to begin the conversation. 

"So you're worried your husband might be cheating or worse."

"How did you know that," Kie asked.

I'm not gonna tell her about my demon blood art, Akaza thought to himself.

"Call it an intuition."

Kie was shocked that Akaza could see her concern. She thought she hid it well. The children didn't even notice.

"Look, I'm going to tell you the truth. Tanjuro keeps a lot of secrets you knew before getting married to him. Heck, he doesn't even tell me some things. You have to be patient with him and give him the time he'll open up to you. The last thing he wants to do is to hurt his family. Besides, that boy is too innocent to understand a flirt when he sees one."

Akaza had a point, Kie thought to herself. Maybe she was just being too impatient because she was concerned for the children.

"Welp, I have to leave tonight, my boss got me on this mission, and I won't be back till next week."

You know Kie always wondered why Akaza went out for long periods, but that was his business, not hers. Akaza left at sunset, and Kie got the kids ready for bed. She told them bedtime stories about demons of old and the demon slayers that protected humanity. It was only a childish story. Once the kids were put to sleep, Kie began to take off all the lights in the house. She knew her husband would be back while she was asleep, but she wanted to see him. So, she left a light on and waited until her husband came home.

And waited 

and waited 

and waited 

It had been 3 hours since sunset and Kie were beginning to feel nervous. She decided to look around the house just to pass the time. While she was looking around, she felt something off about the floor. One side of the floor felt hollow. She checked a second time it felt hollow. She opened one of the floors open and there lay a compartment. The compartment was metal and locked but that didn't stop Kie. Her family has had hard foreheads for generations. She did what her family did best, headbutts; Kie headbutted the metal compartment. The compartment door became dented; she tried again. The more she hit it, the more dented it became. This was no ordinary metal, this was chakra metal. This was infused with tanjuro’s chakra. Eventually, the door broke, and Kie laughed with satisfaction although, her head hurt a lot. She opened the compartment to see a bunch of weapons, from kuni to knives. Why would her husband have a bunch of weapons here in the house? I mean sure it's ok to have a couple of weapons in the house but this many? How many other weapons are in the house? Just then, the door slammed open and she saw a ghost.

The ghost was a fair-skinned man with spiky, black hair that had a slight blue tint to it. His hair was waist-length with shoulder-length bangs framing the sides of his face, covering most of his right eye. It wore a black shirt with a high collar left slightly open and the clan's crest on 's back, with blue pants and bandages around its shins.

“Who are you?” Kie raised her voice. The ghost looked shocked and dumbfounded. The spirit then began to disappear and overlap with the man she loved, tanjuro. Tanjuro looked torn. 

“We need to talk”

The first following minutes were silent and awkward. Her husband just saw her go through a panic attack. She thought she saw someone else.

“So,” her husband said, “why we're you digging under the floorboards?”

“Why we're there weapons under the floorboards?”

Tanjuro sighed, he knew this would happen sooner or later. Kie was always observant. He thought that maybe he could this secret for the rest of their lives but he guessed not. 

“And don't you dare start to be cryptic, I want answers, now”.

And answers she’ll have.

“I may be a bit paranoid.”

A bit, Kie thought to herself.

“I may or may not have been training in more than just the hinokami kagura. I may have been training with shinobi.”

Now there was the kicker. Tanjuro said wasn’t wrong, it was just that the shinobi weren't training him, they were trying to kill him on multiple occasions with Akaza.

“How the hell were you trained by shinobi?” Kie said.

“Akaza has a lot of enemies because of his boss and me being friends with Akaza, which makes me and our family targets.  I’ve never met but I know for certain he is rotten. I also asked Akaza to quit but if he does quit his job, he dies and we get injured in the process even if we aren’t affiliated with them. There is no win, win situation. So I need to prepare to protect you. Hence, the shinobi training.”

“You could just buy a gun,” she said.

“I have honor you know,” Tanjuro said with a deadpan expression.

At least all of Kie's worries were clear except for one.

“Will our children be participating in this?”

“For their own safety, yes, only if they want to learn through.”

Kie sighed, Akaza was right, she didn't have to worry.

“I'm sorry for not telling you this at the beginning. I was scared of what might happen to our family if word gets out. I’m scared that our children won’t grow up normally. I’m scared they might get hurt cause of me. I want to build a wall so that they don't get harmed but I love them too much to push him away.  I can only do so much, and I ended up harming you in the process. I’ll try to speak up more about my problems, we are married.”

And Kie couldn’t agree more. There was something gnawing at tanjuro’s brain every now and then. She saw it in his eyes every day when they woke up. She wanted to help, but he wouldn’t budge. It was always as if there was a wall between them. 

“At least you acknowledge how stubborn you are,” Kie said with a laugh. She kisses Tanjuro on the cheek and boy did he melt. She went for a deeper kiss on his lips which made him melt even more and his eyes turn red. She then proceeded to kiss his eyes and nose slowly pushing him down to the floor, the weapons being slowly forgotten.

“You want to do it here?”

“Why not?” Kie said, “I want another one anyways.

And Tanjuro turned beat red. 

It has been a couple of days since that incident and Tanjuro has begun to speak clearly about his problems, but today there had been a bit of a problem. Taeko was playing with the tea kettle and made it fall while they weren't looking. Tanjuro was about to jump in, but Tanjiro protected Taeko from the burn. He ended up with a scar on his forehead which is perfectly fine, but Tanjuro's ideal normal life was shattered when he saw that his first son awakened the Sharingan. 

Chapter Text

Douma was the last to arrive at the upper moon meeting, as usual. Akaza had been there for a while, staring blankly at the ceiling while tapping his fingers on the wooden floor. But Douma arrived with that familiar, dopey grin, the one that seemed to have tacky flowers floating around it. Even Muzan, the Demon King himself, was put off.

"What's up with you?" Daki asked, crossing her arms.

“I found the one,” Akaza said, his voice casual but carrying a strange weight.

“I’m sorry, what?” Gyutaro asked, his gaunt face twisting in confusion.

“I found the one I’ll fight for all eternity with.”

The room fell silent. Akaza wasn’t exactly known for his personal life, so this sudden declaration was more than a little shocking.

“What type of person are they?” Douma asked, still smiling but with genuine curiosity dancing behind his eyes.

“None of your fucking business whore.”

“Hey,” Daki yelled.

“I’m not talking about you Daki, I’m talking about the blonde hoe over there.” Akaza pointed to Douma.

Douma gasped in mock offense. “Ouch, Akaza-dono, you wound me.”

“The amount of fucks I give is the number of people you care about,” Akaza shot back, causing Gyutaro to snicker under his breath.

“He’s not of age yet,” Akaza continued as if nothing happened, “so I’m going to wait a couple of years until they’re in their prime to ask the big question.”

“And he doesn’t know you’re a demon?” Gyokko asked, his eerie voice slithering through the air.

“Nope, not yet.”

“Well, best of luck,” Gyokko said with a mocking wave of his hand.

“Can I meet them, Akaza-dono?” Douma asked, the smile still plastered on his face.

Akaza didn’t even dignify that with a response. “Choke on wisteria poison.”

---

The meeting ended with tension still thick in the air, but Douma couldn’t shake his curiosity. He had always been nosy, especially when it came to Akaza, who was annoyingly private. Ever since Akaza’s declaration, Douma had noticed changes—subtle ones, but changes nonetheless. Akaza trained harder, ate less, and often disappeared for extended periods without explanation. Even Muzan had remarked on Akaza’s improved work ethic, though he attributed it to this mysterious "partner" Akaza had mentioned. 

It had been years since that meeting, and Douma’s patience was wearing thin. He needed to know who this person was. 

So when Muzan assigned a mission requiring both him and Akaza, Douma knew it was the perfect opportunity. The mission seemed overkill—two upper moons to assassinate a mere politician? But Douma didn’t care about the details. He cared about learning more about Akaza’s secret.

The two set out, Douma keeping his usual playful demeanor while Akaza remained stoic, not betraying a hint of his thoughts. It wasn’t long before Douma met Akaza’s mysterious partner.

His name was Madara. A quiet boy, not much older than Douma had expected. He wasn’t overly muscular, though his lean frame suggested a quiet strength. He wore a haori that obscured much of his physique, and his stoic expression was hard to read. But there was something about him—something that sent a chill down Douma’s spine, a sensation Douma hadn’t felt in centuries.

The mission was simple: Douma and Akaza would cause a distraction while Madara sneaked inside to gather information and, if necessary, take care of the target himself. Simple on paper, at least. But when Madara was involved, things rarely went according to plan.

“You know, no one ever accounts for the shinobi.”

“What?” Douma said before a kunai was stabbed into his forehead. 

“You know we’ve gotten into too many shinobi fights in the last 3 weeks.”

Akaza and Madara dodged the other kunai. Out from the shadows appeared 8 Shinobi. 

“They really want us dead, don't they? I’m starting to think that shinobi aren’t extinct and are in hiding.” They dodged a shinobi's slash.

“They just don’t know when to quit, do they?” Akaza muttered as he dodged another kunai.

Madara moved swiftly beside them, his expression never changing. “They want us dead because we’ve interfered with their operations too many times.”

“This is why I hate government jobs,” Akaza grumbled.

Douma got right back up again taking the kunai out of his head. 

“Well, that was uncalled for.”

Taking out his fans, Douma sliced off the arm of 3 shinobi. They held their breath while Douma smiled. “Let me give you rest,” he said.

Meanwhile, the other five tried to attack akaza but akaza dodged and plam strikes 2 of them in the stomach. These past two years have been nothing but fruitful. His sparring with Tanjuro has turned more into training sessions. The different fighting styles this man has in his arsenal are terrifying. Akaza began to pick up on said fighting styles. Like the gentle fists that Prioritize internal damage by attacking the body's Chakra Pathway System, subsequently injuring them. Akaza’s favorite fighting style he learned was strong fists. This style’s purpose is to cause external damage and break bones. He likes breaking people’s bones, especially bad people. There is some sort of satisfaction about it but for some reason, it brings back bad memories. 

“These shinobi are weak.”

Tanjuro was right after fighting this many shinobi, it was starting to get boring. Akaza wouldn’t really do this but he used gentle fists to break their nervous system. 

“Now you won’t be able to hold a kuni again,” Akaza said. 

“Wow, Akaza-dono, I never knew you could be so cruel,” Douma laughed; Douma, ever the opportunist, picked up a severed head and took a bite. “Ah, I do love a good fight.

“I thought you didn't eat men?”

“Oh no, this is a lady I saved on the way here,” Douma said.

“I think I lost my appetite,” Tanjuro said.

“Akaza doesn't eat with you-”

Akaza punched Douma square in the face. 

“Hey, who wants drinks?”

“Akaza, do know what happens when you drink?” Madara said.

“No, still want to try.”

“I want drinks as well,” Douma said.

“Now, I don't want to go.”

“Oh come on Akaza, let’s hang out with him.” Madara said, “What could go wrong?”

”A ton of things.”

“ I know you don't like him but give him a chance,” Madara said.

“Yeah, give me a chance Akaza-dono,” Douma said.

“You know, I would probably say no but, it's one of the few times you ask for a request for something so I guess it can slide. Besides, you’re here with me.”

“Awwwwww, you two are so adorable,” Douma cooed.

“Again, Choke on wisteria poison, no, die by wisteria poison!”

They did in fact, end up going somewhere downtown. It was a prominent Izakaya where everything hung out to eat and drink. It wasn’t exactly the kind of place Akaza liked to frequent, but Douma had insisted on celebrating their "victory."

“Why did I agree to this?” Akaza muttered, watching Douma down his fourth cup of sake with ease.

“Because deep down, you like spending time with us,” Madara said with a rare hint of humor in his voice.

Akaza snorted. “I prefer hanging out with you, not him.”

Douma laughed. “Oh, Akaza-dono, you’re such a tsundere.”

---

“I win this round!” Douma yelled. They had decided to start a drinking game and Douma was winning most of the rounds.

“Ah fuck, why did I decide to go drinking again.”

“Maybe it's because you're stressed out,” Madra said.

“No, when I'm stressed I hang out with you. Drinking leaves a bad taste in my mouth and something left to be desired.”

“Oh come on Akaza-dono lighten up a little.” Douma laughed.

“This is me living it up.”

A couple of minutes passed. They played some new rounds and so they ran out of sake.

“Ok, I’m going to get some fresh air and get us more sake. Don’t do anything stupid.” Akaza said.

“I don’t know what you're talking about,” Douma smiled sweetly.

“You know what I’m talking about,” Akaza said as he left leaving Madara and Douma alone together. Douma immediately began to question Madara about how he met Akaza, how the two work together, and his daily life. He answered all the questions.

“Now it's time for my question. Have you ever heard of a supernova?”

“ I have not, but they do sound interesting,” Douma said.

“It's the culmination of a nuclear fusion reaction literally, an explosion of galactic proportions.”

“It must be beautiful beyond belief then?” Douma asked curiously.

“Indeed, it is very beautiful. I wonder if it could be said for a demon or human life?” 

“ How can a demon’s life compare to a human's?” Douma asked.

“Well, even though, you were blessed with the gift of immortality, not many get to live as long as you. I sometimes wonder if the reason why people become demons is because their life desires have yet to be fulfilled. Seeing that brief sparkle the moment a life draws to an end.”

“A life going up in flames is beautiful to behold. That sounds poetic,” Douma said.

“But you know Douma, I want to see you and everyone I love burn beautifully ablaze until finally, we are no more.”

I can see why Akaza-dono is interested in him, Douma thought to himself. 

“You are very interesting and entertaining,” Douma said with a coy smile, and Madara smiled back with a coy smile. That was until there was a crashing sound from the window. Everyone’s faces lead to Akaza with a fist out.

“Hey, I got the sake.”

“What the hell did you do?!” Madara yelled. 

“He touched somewhere he shouldn’t have.”

“Oh, Ok, then that isn’t much of a big deal,” Madara said sweetly. Where did all the anger go?

“It seems like a big deal to them,” Douma said as a bunch of thugs and Yakuza came into the izakaya. “Come on, everyone let’s be civil, we're not looking for trouble,” Douma said waving his hands.

“Should have thought of that before your little friend decided to punch the boss’ son.”

“That boy is a pervert!” Akaza yelled, “I was only defending myself from sexual assault. If you’re horny go to the Entertainment District.”

“Shut up, men kill them!”

The three were all surrounded. There was a thug on each corner. Akaza, Madara, and Douma all made eye contact with each other. People began to run out of the place while the owner called the police. Douma hosted up the table and threw it. The three disperse from there...

And a one-sided beatdown began.

Douma threw one of the sake cups at the thug and then dodged another one’s punch. He sweeps kicked the two and they both fell down to the ground. He found two empty bottles on another table so he just smashed their heads into it.

Madara twisted someone’s arm and kicked them into the crowd of thugs. He moved with grace and speed disarming each of the thugs one by one. 

“This is child’s play.”

Meanwhile, Akaza jumps back from a person who has a knife in their hands. He immediately disarmed them. More thugs and yakuza were showing up and they had guns. The newer ones began to open fire at the three of them. They all hands sprang back into the bar area and ducked for cover. The lights were destroyed and it was completely dark.

Guns have become more convenient. In the past couple of years. People will rather live with humiliation than die with honor. Not to mention the new ways guns are being made at a terrifying pace. 

“Damn, what should we do?” akaza yelled.

“We could use those firearms over there,” Douma said.

“We would both rather die than pick up one of those monstrosities.” Madara and Akaza said at the same time.

“I’ve got it,” Madara declared, “Akaza you and me could do that.”

“Eh, That?!”

“Yes, that!” Madara yelled.

“What are you taking about?” Douma questioned.

“That's supposed to be my secret weapon just in case I’m in a pinch.”

“Well, do you want people to know you’re a demon?” Madara questioned.

“No,”

“Good, then follow my lead,” Madara opened a scroll and inside were a bunch of kunai. 

“Take this bag of kunai and remember the exercise we did. Ok?” Akaza nodded along and Douma didn't know what was happening. What were these on about?

Madara tossed a bottle at the opposite side of the izakaya to fool the yakuza. One of them tried to tell them it was a trap, but it was too late. 

The two flipped over the table and threw 5 kunai each. Most of them ended up killing the thugs. They tried to shoot at the two again but they dodged in different directions. They tossed more kunai in mid-air fatally injuring or killing them. They both used the wall as momentum to push themselves into the air and at that moment, they went into overtime. The amount of kunai thrown in that second was faster than the eyes could see. Each kunai bounced off each other to land on the targets’ heads. They landed and ran back to the back door where staff could only be.

“Douma run!” Akaza yelled. More thugs came into the store shooting it up. The three ran out of the back door.

“We need to leave quickly,” Madara said., “But first a little distraction.”

“Don’t tell you-”

“I did,” Madara smiled sinisterly. There was only a hand seal and the building blew up. The raging fire was growing from the alcohol inside. 

Three ran out of town covered in sweat. 

“That was exhilarating!” Douma yelled, “We went pow, bang, and then the yakuza went argh. Then they pulled out their guns and said we’re going to kill you with these new tech guns and you guys said na-uah, we fight with honor. And then you two went ape shit on them. You two went woosh and Then on the cherry on top, the entire building went up with a giant boom! We should do this more often.”

Akaza blinked once...

He blinked twice...

For the first time in a long while, Douma seemed genuinely happy, not just putting on a show. It was unsettling.

As they ran out of town, Madara turned to Douma, who was still buzzing with excitement.

“Madara I have to ask you something.”

“Ask away,” he said.

“Why didn’t you hesitate?”

“If you hesitate, you lose,” he said calmly, “If we don't take risks, we can’t create a  future.”

There was silence.

Then Douma began to laugh, a genuine laugh. Douma’s laughter rang out through the night, an eerie, genuine sound that unsettled even Akaza. For a moment, Douma felt something he hadn’t felt in years—a thrill, a spark of emotion he thought long dead.

“I can see why Akaza-dono had an interest in you. Why don't you become a demon Madara-dono?”

Right off the bat, Akaza thought to himself. This was the first time Douma took interest in a person that fights. 

“Fuck off Douma, he’s mine.”

“We can share him,” Douma whined.

“I’ll have to decline your offer, Douma.”

“What, why?” Douma whined.

“Because I haven't fulfilled my desires yet and becoming a demon would make me never fulfill that wish.”

“If you say so,” Douma sighed.

“But the offer is still on the table,” Akaza said.

“I will keep that in mind,” Madara said as he walked home.

(At the Eternal Paradise cult)

Douma sat on his throne bored out of his mind. Last night had been a night to remember but as he looked back on it, he began to realize that he felt emotions there; genuine emotions. Now that he felt something that exhilarating, he wants to do it again. And this pounding in his chest when he thinks of Madara. 

“Kawaii, Madara-Kun.”

Chapter Text

The sun had barely peeked over the horizon when the tranquility of the mountain was shattered by desperate screams. On any other day, the Kamado household would be stirring to life in their usual, peaceful routine. But this morning was different.

Tanjiro and Nezuko Kamado, faces etched with a mix of determination and fear, were sprinting down the mountainside as if their lives depended on it. Their father, Tanjuro, usually a gentle soul, had transformed into a formidable pursuer. Nezuko led the way, her kimono fluttering behind her as she navigated the treacherous path. Her breaths came in short, sharp gasps, the sound almost drowned out by the thundering of her heart. She didn't dare look back, not even to check on her brother. Tanjiro followed close behind, his usual composure replaced by wide-eyed panic. The  mountain, typically a serene backdrop to their daily lives, had become a gauntlet of dangers. Holes appeared out of nowhere, threatening to swallow them whole. Kunai, gleaming wickedly in the early morning light, whizzed past their heads, embedding themselves in trees with dull thuds. Just when they thought they might actually escape, the ground beneath their feet gave way. A net, cunningly concealed by leaves and dirt, sprang up around them. In an instant, they were dangling helplessly several feet above the ground, entangled in the rough ropes. A soft thud announced their father's arrival. Tanjuro Kamado alighted on a nearby tree trunk with the grace of a falling leaf, a stark contrast to his children's frantic flight. His kind eyes sparkled with amusement, but there was an underlying steel in his gaze that made both children gulp.

"Nice try, kids," Tanjuro said, his voice warm despite the intense training session. "But better luck next time." With a swift motion, he sliced through the ropes of the trap. Tanjiro and Nezuko tumbled to the ground, landing in an undignified heap. As they scrambled to their feet, brushing off dirt and leaves, their father's next words sent a chill down their spines. "Now, we're doing weapon training." The siblings exchanged a look of dread. Weapon training was notorious in the Kamado household. It was a grueling ordeal that left them battered and bruised, their bodies aching for days afterward. Even their Uncle Akaza, a man of exceptional skill and strength, found these sessions challenging.

Tanjiro winced, remembering the stinging cuts from the wooden practice swords. Nezuko unconsciously rubbed her arms, recalling the deep purple bruises that had blossomed there after their last session. Tanjuro, noting their hesitation, raised an eyebrow. "You two coming or what?" The question was posed lightly, but both children recognized the underlying command. Exchanging one last glance of shared suffering, Tanjiro and Nezuko hurried after their father. They scrambled up the path, their earlier fear of pursuit now replaced by a new fear – the fear of falling behind and facing even more intense training as punishment.

As they made their way back up the mountain, the usual sounds of the forest – birdsong, rustling leaves, and distant animal calls – seemed to mock their plight. Another day of intense training lay ahead, but deep down, both Tanjiro and Nezuko knew that this harsh regimen was forcing them into something stronger, something capable of facing the challenges that lay ahead in their uncertain world.

When they reached the mountian weapons training began. You could even see Uncle akaza's face twist a bit. After what seemed like an eternity of weapons' training, their father looked back at them.

“Ok, that’s enough.”

Everyone let go of a breath they didn’t even know they were holding.

"Today we will be doing chakra control.” Tanjuro said, a mysterious smile playing on his lips. “Starting with tree climbing." Tanjiro and Nezuko exchanged bewildered glances. Their confusion was evident on their faces, eyebrows furrowed and mouths slightly agape. They had heard whispers of chakra and its potential, but never had they imagined it would be part of their training.

"Akaza, show them," Tanjuro called out. The children's eyes widened as they noticed their Uncle Akaza stepping out from the shadows of the trees. The day was unusually cloudy, allowing him to move about freely without fear of the sun. His presence added an air of excitement and anticipation to the scene. With graceful movements, Akaza approached the nearest tree. Without a word, he placed one foot on the trunk, then the other. To Tanjiro and Nezuko's amazement, he began to walk vertically up the tree, defying gravity as if it were a mere inconvenience. His hands remained at his sides, unnecessary for this supernatural feat.

The siblings watched in awe as Akaza continued his ascent, eventually standing upside down on a branch, looking down at them with a slight smirk. It was as if the laws of nature had been temporarily suspended, just for him.

"This is what you will be learning today before we get into Jutsu," Tanjuro explained, his voice filled with both pride and anticipation. "The key is to find the right amount of chakra to stick on. Too much leads to falling back, and too little won't allow you to stick at all. This is what you will be doing today." Tanjiro and Nezuko looked at each other, a mix of excitement and apprehension in their eyes. The dread they had felt earlier about weapon training was replaced by a burning curiosity. This was something entirely new, a skill that seemed to border on the magical.

"But... how?" Nezuko asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Feel the energy within you," Akaza called down from his perch. "Visualize it flowing to your feet, creating a bond between you and the tree." Tanjiro, always the more analytical of the two, furrowed his brow in concentration. "Is it liking the breathing techniques you've taught us, Father?" Tanjuro nodded approvingly. "In a way, yes. Breathing is the key to unlocking your chakra. But this will require even finer control."

As the lesson began in earnest, the clearing became a scene of determination and occasional comedic failure. Tanjiro and Nezuko took turns attempting to scale the trees, often making it only a few steps before tumbling back to the ground. But with each attempt, they could feel something changing, a new awareness of the energy flowing through their bodies. The forest echoed with the sounds of their efforts – the thud of bodies hitting the ground, surprised yelps, and occasional laughter. But underneath it all was a sense of wonder and potential. For Tanjiro and Nezuko, this was the beginning of a new chapter in their training, one that promised to unlock abilities they had never dreamed possible. As the sun began its descent, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, Tanjuro Kamado stood at the edge of the clearing, his eyes fixed on his children. A mix of emotions played across his usually stoic face – pride, surprise, and a hint of concern.

When he had decided to introduce chakra training, Tanjuro hadn't set his expectations too high. After all, Tanjiro and Nezuko were civilians, born into a family of charcoal-makers, not shinobi. Their physical abilities, while improving, were still far from what he hoped they'd achieve. Tanjiro had a slight edge due to his work with charcoal, his muscles more developed from the constant lifting and carrying. Nezuko, though determined, still struggled with the more physically demanding aspects of their training.

But what unfolded before him today defied all his preconceptions.

In a mere three hours, both children had mastered tree walking. Tanjuro watched, slack-jawed, as Tanjiro and Nezuko raced each other up and down the towering pines, their laughter echoing through the forest. By midday, he had introduced them to water walking, expecting it to take at least a week to grasp. To his astonishment, as the sun began to set, both children were splashing and playing on the surface of the nearby stream, their feet barely causing ripples as they moved.

"They're geniuses," Tanjuro murmured to himself, a mix of pride and trepidation in his voice. "Their chakra control... it's unprecedented." His mind raced with possibilities. If they could master these fundamental techniques so quickly, what might happen when he introduced them to actual jutsu? The potential was as thrilling as it was terrifying. Tanjuro's gaze drifted to Akaza, who stood in the shadows of a large oak, his eyes also fixed on the children. Tanjuro had asked his friend to assist with the training during his absences, knowing Akaza's skill and experience would be invaluable. But Akaza's commitments to his mysterious "boss" meant his help would be sporadic at best.

"They've surpassed all expectations," Akaza said softly, seeming to read Tanjuro's thoughts. "But this power... it will draw attention. Are you prepared for what comes next?" Tanjuro nodded grimly. He knew the risks, the dangers that came with such prodigious talent. But for now, he allowed himself a moment of pure, unadulterated pride in his children's accomplishments. As the last rays of sunlight filtered through the trees, Tanjuro called out to his children. "Excellent work, both of you. You've done better than I could have ever imagined." Tanjiro and Nezuko beamed at the praise, their faces flushed with exertion and excitement.

"Nezuko," Tanjuro continued, his voice taking on a more serious tone, "you can go inside now. Help your mother and uncle with dinner preparations."

Nezuko nodded, giving her brother a quick hug before darting off towards the house, her footsteps light and sure even on the uneven forest floor. Tanjuro turned to his son, his eyes locking with Tanjiro's. There was a weight to his gaze, a seriousness that made Tanjiro stand a little straighter.

"Tanjiro, you're with me," Tanjuro said, his voice low and intense. "We're doing Sharingan training." The words hung in the air, heavy with implication. Tanjiro's eyes widened, a mix of excitement and apprehension flashing across his face. The Sharingan – the legendary dōjutsu of the Uchiha clan. Tanjiro had heard whispers of its power, but never dared to dream he might possess it.

Akaza stepped forward, his expression unreadable. "Are you sure about this, Tanjuro? The Sharingan... it's not something to be taken lightly." Tanjuro nodded, his resolve evident in the set of his jaw. "He's ready. After what I've seen today, I have no doubts." As the forest grew darker around them, Tanjiro followed his father deeper into the woods. The air seemed to thicken with anticipation, the rustle of leaves and the distant call of night birds creating an otherworldly atmosphere. Tanjiro's mind raced. Sharingan training. The implications were staggering. Questions bubbled up inside him – How did he, a simple charcoal-maker's son, possess the legendary eyes of the Uchiha? What did this mean for his future, for his family's safety?

But as he watched his father's back, straight and unwavering as they walked, Tanjiro felt a sense of calm settle over him. Whatever challenges lay ahead, whatever secrets were about to be revealed, he knew one thing for certain – he would face them head-on, with the same determination that had carried him through today's training. The forest seemed to close in around them, enveloping father and son in shadows. As they reached a small, secluded glade, Tanjuro turned to face Tanjiro, his eyes glowing red in the gathering darkness.

"Are you ready, son?" Tanjuro asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Tanjiro nodded, his heart pounding with a mixture of fear and excitement. "I'm ready, Father."

Tanjuro's expression softened, and he sat down on a fallen log, gesturing for Tanjiro to join him. The red glow faded from his eyes, leaving them dark and contemplative. "Before we begin your Sharingan training, Tanjiro, we need to discuss something important," Tanjuro began, his voice gentle but serious. "We need to talk about what it means to fight, and what it means to love. These two concepts are at the very heart of the Sharingan's power and the Uchiha clan's history."

Tanjiro sat down beside his father, his brow furrowed in concentration. "I thought the Sharingan was just a powerful eye technique, Father. How does love fit into it?"

Tanjuro smiled sadly. "The Sharingan is far more than just a technique, son. It's a manifestation of the Uchiha clan's greatest strength and their greatest weakness. You see, the Uchiha are capable of feeling love more deeply than perhaps any other clan. This love is the source of their extraordinary power."

"But how can love make someone stronger?" Tanjiro asked, genuinely puzzled.

"Love, Tanjiro, can be the most powerful motivator in the world," Tanjuro explained. "When an Uchiha loves someone or something deeply, they'll go to extraordinary lengths to protect it. This intense emotion can awaken the Sharingan, granting them incredible power."

Tanjuro's eyes grew distant, as if seeing something far away. "But this same capacity for love is also the source of the Uchiha's greatest weakness. You see, when an Uchiha loses what they love, their grief and anger can be all-consuming. This is what we call the Curse of Hatred."

Tanjiro's eyes widened. "A curse? That sounds terrible."

Tanjuro nodded gravely. "It is. The pain of loss can twist an Uchiha's love into hatred, driving them to seek power and revenge at any cost. This cycle of love and hatred has shaped the Uchiha clan's history for generations."

"But Father," Tanjiro interjected, "you've always taught us that fighting should be a last resort. How does that fit with the Uchiha's power?"

Tanjuro smiled, pleased by his son's insight. "That's an excellent question, Tanjiro. You're right, I've always taught you and Nezuko that violence should never be your first choice. The true strength of a warrior isn't in how many enemies they can defeat, but in how many friends they can make, how many people they can protect."

He placed a hand on Tanjiro's shoulder. "Fighting, when it's necessary, should always be in service of love – to protect those who cannot protect themselves, to stand up for what's right. But it should never be driven by hatred or a desire for revenge. That path leads only to more pain and suffering."

Tanjiro nodded slowly, processing his father's words. "So, with the Sharingan, we have to be extra careful, right? Because our feelings are so strong?"

"Exactly," Tanjuro said, his voice filled with pride at his son's understanding. "The Sharingan is a tool, Tanjiro. A powerful one, but a tool nonetheless. It's up to you to decide how to use it. Will you let it be fueled by love and the desire to protect, or will you let it be corrupted by hatred and the thirst for revenge?"

Tanjiro's face is set in determination. "I choose love, Father. I want to use this power to protect our family, our friends, and anyone who needs help."

Tanjuro's eyes shimmered with unshed tears. "That's my boy. Remember, Tanjiro, true strength comes from the heart. The Sharingan may grant you great power, but it's your choices, your determination to protect rather than destroy, that will truly make you strong."

He stood up, offering his hand to Tanjiro. "Now, are you ready to begin your training? Remember, as we practice, focus on your love for your family, for your sister Nezuko, for all the people you want to protect. Let that be the source of your strength."

Tanjiro took his father's hand, standing up with a newfound resolve burning in his eyes. "I'm ready, Father. I'll make you proud, and I'll use this power to protect everyone I care about."

As they moved deeper into the glade to begin the training, the forest seemed to hum with anticipation. This was more than just a lesson in using a powerful technique. It was a pivotal moment in Tanjiro's life, a step towards understanding the delicate balance between love and power, between fighting and protecting.

The true test would come not in mastering the Sharingan, but in how Tanjiro would choose to use it in the face of the challenges that lay ahead.

Chapter Text

After the day turned into night. The Kamado Household was still lively as ever. Nezuko playing with Takeo, Tanjiro talking to Uncle Akaza and Kei scolding her husband for taking it too hard on the kids. 

“I keep telling you, to stop pushing them so hard, I don’t care if they're geniuses, they’re kids too!”  Kie whispered

“Kie, I only want the kids to be able to protect themselves.” Tajuro replied sighing 

“By giving them bruises!?” Kie yelled.

“It's better me than when they get attacked by something!” Tanjuro said trying his best to reason with his wife.

“Tanjuro, the only thing that is going to harm our kids are bears and I think you’ve trained them to kill one of those already.”Kie sighed

“Kie there are more dangerous things out there than just animals.” Tanjuro tried to explain.

“Like what-”

Akaza decided it was the best idea to filter out the conversations and focus on tanjiro. He was listening very closely to one of Akaza’a story’s.

“And then I kicked him in the jaw, knocking him out.” Akaza replied rather than say he killed the man with his superhuman strength.

"Wow, that's so cool," Tanjiro replied, his eyes wide with admiration. The crimson orbs seemed to sparkle in the dim light of the room, reflecting his excitement and awe at Akaza's story."Hey uncle Akaza, do you like dad?" Tanjiro asked innocently, tilting his head slightly as he posed the unexpected question.

Akaza, who had been taking a sip of his tea, suddenly choked and spluttered, caught completely off guard by the young boy's inquiry. He coughed a few times, clearing his throat before managing to rasp out, "I w-what?" His usually composed demeanor faltered as a hint of pink colored his cheeks. "What makes you say that?" he asked, trying to regain his composure. Tanjiro's nose twitched slightly as he considered his response. His unique ability to smell emotions allowed him to perceive things others couldn't, and he explained his observation with the frankness of a child: "Every time you look at dad, you have this smell of longing. It's like... a warm, wistful scent, kind of like the air just before it rains," Tanjiro began, his brow furrowing slightly as he tried to articulate the complex emotions he detected. "When you two spar, you smell the happiest. The thrill of battle drums in your lungs, and it's like a symphony of excitement and joy swirling around you."

Tanjiro's eyes grew slightly sad as he continued, "But when it's over, and you see dad with mom, your scent turns into something sour. It's not exactly bitterness... it's more like... like when you bite into a fruit expecting it to be sweet, but it's not ripe yet. It's a mix of disappointment and a little bit of hurt, I think." The young boy's perceptive analysis hung in the air, leaving Akaza stunned and silent, unsure how to respond to such astute observations from someone so young.

"Tanjiro," Akaza sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly as he set down his tea cup. His eyes, usually sharp and alert, now held a distant look, as if peering into a past shrouded in mist. "It's... it's complicated," he began, his voice softer than usual. He paused, gathering his thoughts before continuing, "I don't remember my family. My memories from before are... fragmented, like shards of a broken mirror. The first clear memory I have is when Muzan-sama took me in." Akaza's expression darkened, a mix of pain and resentment flickering across his features. "He used me for his own selfish whims. I was a tool, a weapon to be wielded at his discretion. And I... I couldn't leave. Not because I was physically bound, but because I had nowhere to go. No place to call home, no one to turn to. The demon world became my cage, and I it's willing prisoner." His gaze softened as he looked at Tanjiro, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Then your father came into the picture. Tanjuro... he showed me something that I thought I had forgotten. Something I wasn't sure I had ever known in the first place."

"What was that?" Tanjiro asked, his eyes wide with curiosity and empathy beyond his years.

Akaza's voice became barely more than a whisper, filled with a vulnerability that belied his usual strength. "He taught me to love Tanjiro."

The demon's eyes misted over, lost in recollection. "Your father... he saw me not as a demon, not as a weapon, but as a person. He showed me kindness when I expected only violence. Acceptance when I anticipated rejection. He offered me friendship when I thought I was beyond redemption." Akaza's hand trembled slightly as he continued, "Love isn't just romantic, Tanjiro. It's also the warmth of friendship, the comfort of belonging. Your father gave me a glimpse of what family could be. He made me feel... human again." A bittersweet smile crossed Akaza's face. "That's why it's complicated. I care for your father deeply, as a friend, as family. But I also envy him. He has everything I've ever wanted - a loving family, a place to belong, a life untainted by the darkness I've known. At times I love him so strongly that I want to keep him all to myself. I want to lock him in a cage so we can see each other and only each other forever. But I know that’s not what he wants. I want him to be happy; I want to give him an environment where he would thrive the strongest, and if that means I have to pull back so be it. "

Akaza reached out, gently ruffling Tanjiro's hair. "Your father taught me that even someone like me could feel love, could be loved. And that, Tanjiro, is a gift more precious than you can imagine."

"Kids, come here," Tanjuro called out, his deep voice carrying through the house with a gentle authority.

"Coming, Dad!" Tanjiro replied enthusiastically. He rose to his feet, casting a quick, sympathetic glance at Akaza before trotting over to his father.

As Tanjiro's small form retreated, Akaza remained seated, his posture stiff and his eyes fixed on the cooling tea before him. The sudden absence of the boy's presence left a palpable void, filled only by the tumultuous storm of emotions churning within him. Akaza's hands clenched and unclenched rhythmically on his lap, a physical manifestation of his internal struggle. The conversation with Tanjiro had forced him to confront feelings he'd long attempted to bury, to rationalize, to ignore. His gaze drifted to where Tanjuro stood, now surrounded by his children. The sight sent a familiar pang through Akaza's chest - a cocktail of warmth, longing, and an acute sense of loss for something he'd never truly had or something he had forgotten. 'Love,' he mused silently, the word echoing in his mind. It was such a simple concept, yet so devastatingly complex in its implications. He'd told Tanjiro the truth - Tanjuro had indeed taught him to love. But the full depth of that truth was something he hardly dared acknowledge even to himself. It wasn't just the platonic love of friendship, nor was it merely the familial love of found family. There was an undercurrent of something more, something that made his heart race when Tanjuro smiled at him, something that made his skin tingle when they spared. Akaza closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. The scents of the Kamado household - wood smoke, charcoal, the lingering aroma of dinner - mingled with the unique scent that was undeniably Tanjuro. It was a scent that spoke of strength, of kindness, of home.

'Home,' Akaza thought, the word bittersweet on his mental tongue. This place, these people - they had become his home in a way he'd never experienced before. And Tanjuro... Tanjuro was the heart of it all.

As he opened his eyes, Akaza's gaze settled on Kie, standing close to Tanjuro, her hand resting comfortably on her husband's arm, their argument dying down with Kie winning. The sight no longer filled him with the sharp sting of jealousy it once had. Instead, there was a quiet acceptance, tinged with a lingering sadness. Akaza realized, with a start, that he was happy for them. Happy that Tanjuro had found such joy, such peace. The revelation was both shocking and oddly freeing.

"So this is love," Akaza whispered to himself, so quietly that even he could barely hear it. It was messy and painful and beautiful all at once. It was wanting someone's happiness even if it meant sacrificing your own. It was finding family in the most unexpected places. As he watched Tanjuro with his family, Akaza felt something shift within him. The bitterness that had coiled around his heart for so long began to loosen its grip. In its place, a sense of peace began to bloom - fragile and tentative, but undeniably there.

For the first time in longer than he could remember, Akaza felt the ghost of a genuine smile tugging at his lips. He may not have Tanjuro in the way a part of him yearned for, but he had this - this family, this home, this love. And perhaps, he realized, that was enough.

Chapter Text

The Kamado family sat gathered around the dinner table, enjoying their evening meal. The air was filled with the usual chatter and clinking of chopsticks against bowls. Kie, however, seemed unusually quiet, a small smile playing at the corners of her lips.

As the meal wound down, Kie cleared her throat softly. "Everyone, I have some news to share," she said, her voice trembling slightly with excitement.

Tanjuro looked up, his eyes meeting hers with a knowing glance. He reached out and took her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze of encouragement.

"What is it, Mom?" Tanjiro asked, his keen senses already picking up on the change in his mother's scent - a warm, glowing aura that he couldn't quite place.

Kie's smile widened as she announced, "We're going to have another addition to our family. I'm pregnant!"

The room erupted in a cacophony of reactions. Tanjiro's eyes widened in delight, a huge grin spreading across his face. "Really? That's amazing, Mom!"

Takeo, not fully grasping the situation but feeding off the excitement, began to clap and cheer. "Yay! What are we cheering for?"

Uncle Akaza, who had been quietly observing, offered a warm smile. "Congratulations, Kie, Tanjuro. That's wonderful news."

Tanjuro beamed with pride, wrapping an arm around his wife's shoulders. "We're blessed to be growing our family," he said softly.

Amidst the joyful reactions, however, one small voice piped up in dissent. Nezuko, her bottom lip jutting out in a pout, crossed her arms over her chest. "Another baby? But why? Aren't Takeo and I enough?"

The room fell silent as all eyes turned to the young girl. Kie's face softened with understanding. "Oh, Nezuko, sweetheart..."

Tanjiro, sensing his sister's distress, tried to cheer her up. "Come on, Nezuko, isn't it exciting? You'll be a big sister again!"

But Nezuko shook her head stubbornly. "No! I don't want another sibling. I'm fine with just Takeo. Why do we need more?"

Kie moved to kneel beside Nezuko, gently taking her small hands in her own. "Nezuko, my love, having another sibling doesn't mean we love you any less. Our family's love only grows with each new addition. You'll always be our precious daughter."

Tanjuro added, "And think of how much you can teach your new little brother or sister, Nezuko. You're such a wonderful big sister to Takeo already."

Nezuko's frown deepened, tears welling up in her eyes. "But... but what if you forget about me?"

The parents exchanged a worried glance, realizing that Nezuko's fears ran deeper than mere jealousy. Kie pulled her daughter into a warm embrace. "We could never forget about you, Nezuko. You're irreplaceable, just like each of your siblings."

As the family rallied to reassure Nezuko, the atmosphere in the room shifted. What had started as a joyous announcement had become a moment of growth and understanding, a reminder that family bonds are tested and strengthened through change. While Nezuko's acceptance might take time, the love surrounding her promised to see her through this transition.

The day of Hanako and Shigeru's arrival dawned bright and clear, the summer sun casting a warm glow over the Kamado household. The air buzzed with excitement and the sweet scent of anticipation as the family prepared to welcome its newest members.

Inside the house, Akaza found himself in an unfamiliar role. The demon, unused to the bustle of domestic life, stood awkwardly in the living room, surrounded by the eager faces of Tanjiro, Nezuko, and Takeo.

"Uncle Akaza," Tanjiro piped up, his eyes shining with excitement, "can you tell us a story while we wait for Mom and Dad to come home with the babies?"

Akaza cleared his throat, uncomfortable but determined. "Well, I'm not much for stories, but... how about I teach you some breathing techniques instead?"

As Akaza began to guide the children through some basic exercises, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of regret at missing the festivities outside. The sounds of laughter and cheerful conversation drifted through the open windows, a stark contrast to the quiet concentration inside.

Outside, the Kamado property was transformed into a lively gathering. Neighbors from all around had come to offer their congratulations and blessings. The air was filled with the delicious aroma of grilled foods and sweet treats, prepared by well-wishers eager to contribute to the celebration.

Tanjuro moved through the crowd, his face beaming with pride as he cradled one of the twins - little Hanako, with a tuft of dark hair and eyes that seemed to take in everything around her. Kie followed close behind, holding Shigeru, who was peacefully sleeping despite the commotion.

"They're beautiful," cooed Mrs. Sasaki from next door, peering at the babies with delight. "And twins! What a blessing!"

"Thank you," Kie replied, her voice tired but filled with joy. "We're so grateful for everyone's support."

As the day wore on, the celebration continued in full swing. Children played games in the yard, their laughter mixing with the murmur of adult conversation. Gifts for the newborns piled up on a table - hand-knitted blankets, tiny clothes, and charms for good fortune.

Back inside, Akaza had managed to settle into a rhythm with the children. Nezuko, initially sullen about the new additions, had warmed up as Akaza patiently answered her questions about what it was like when Tanjiro was a baby.

As the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the yard, the guests gradually said their goodbyes. Tanjuro and Kie, exhausted but happy, finally brought the twins inside.

"Uncle Akaza," Tanjiro called out as they entered, "come meet Hanako and Shigeru!"

Akaza approached cautiously, his usual confident demeanor replaced by an almost comical nervousness. As he gazed down at the tiny faces of the newborns, something stirred within him - a feeling he couldn't quite name, but one that made him feel more human than he had in centuries.

"They're... perfect," he murmured, a rare smile softening his features.

As the Kamado family gathered around, cooing over the babies and sharing stories of the day's events, Akaza found himself filled with a sense of belonging. The sunny day that had kept him indoors had unexpectedly given him a precious gift - a deeper connection to this family that had already changed his life in so many ways.

The room was filled with warmth, love, and the promise of new beginnings as the sun finally dipped below the horizon, marking the end of a truly memorable day for the Kamado household.

Chapter Text

Hi, my name is Tanjiro Kamado and today we’re doing Tashio secrets over the last previous chapters.

Number One: Dad’s favorite animals are hawks and Falcons; he even has a pet hawk named Akira. Just last week, I saw Dad training Akira to deliver messages. It was amazing watching Akira soar through the air, precisely dropping a small scroll right into Dad's hand!

Number Two:  Mom has an uncanny ability to sense when we're up to mischief. Once, I tried to sneak a rice cake before dinner. I thought I was being so quiet, but just as my fingers touched the treat, Mom called out from the other room, "Tanjiro, don't even think about it!" It's like she has eyes in the back of her head!

Number Three: Ever since mom found out about our training, Mom's joined our training sessions, and Dad's teaching her a mix of jiu-jitsu and aikido. Yesterday, I saw Mom flip Dad over her shoulder using an aikido technique. Even Dad looked surprised!

Number Four: Dad uses something called capoeira. He says it's a martial art that incorporates dance and acrobatics. They still have a dance-like pattern to them, with few of those moves slipping in; sometimes he says this helps him when fighting many opponents at the time. He mixes it with Kenpo since it focuses on slipping past opponents and evading guard rather than blocking. Dad's capoeira skills are incredible. During our last family sparring session, he took on Nezuko, Takeo, and me all at once. He was like a graceful whirlwind, dodging and weaving between us. We couldn't land a single hit! Then he mixed in some Kenpo moves, slipping past our guards effortlessly. Dad really is the coolest.

Number Five: Uncle Akaza is our secret candy supplier. Last month, during the harvest festival, he snuck each of us a handful of colorful konpeito when Mom and Dad were distracted by the fireworks display.

Number Six:Takeo pretends not to like cooking, but I've caught him experimenting in the kitchen late at night. Last week, I woke up to the smell of freshly baked mochi. Takeo tried to say it was Mom's doing, but the proud gleam in his eyes gave him away.

Number Seven: Hanako and Shigeru, our twin terrors, argue about everything! This morning, they got into a heated debate about which type of ramen is superior - miso or shoyu. It ended with both of them covered in noodles!

Number Eight:Nezuko's leg strength is unreal. During our last training session in the mountains, she split a boulder clean in half with a single kick! Dad's been teaching her Taekwondo and Wushu Kung Fu techniques to harness her strength. I overheard him say she might even surpass the legendary Tsunade one day! Who ever Tsunade is.

Number Nine: Dad's conflicted about us becoming shinobi. He wants us to be able to protect ourselves, but he's wary of the Uchiha clan's dark history. Last night, I overheard him talking to Mom about the Uchiha's Curse of Hatred and how he hopes we can forge a different path.

Number Ten: Uncle Akaza may say otherwise, but he would be classified as a medical Ninja. Dad says he’s a prodigy when it comes to medical ninjutsu which is saying something since you need to have a serious amount of advanced chakra control. He always knows which herb is good and the other poisonous. Last summer, when I fell from a tree and broke my arm, Uncle Akaza healed it completely in minutes! His hands glowed with green chakra, and the pain vanished instantly. As he worked, I noticed that wistful smile - like he was remembering a long-lost memory.

"Tanjiro, come here!"

Oh, that's Dad calling. He probably wants to start our evening training session. Thank you for listening to another installment of Tashio secrets. Next time, I'll tell you about the time Dad took down a burglar who stole our savings. See you then!

Chapter Text

Today was a simple day for the Kamado family. The sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm orange glow over the modest family home and the surrounding forest. Tanjuro had just finished his work with the charcoal, his hands and face smudged with soot, a testament to his hard day's labor. He was making his final rounds, checking the quality of each batch before tomorrow's sale in the nearby village.

As he worked, a thought crossed his mind. It had been quite some time since he'd spent any quality time with Akaza. The former demon, now an integral part of their family, often kept to himself, still adjusting to his new life. Tanjuro decided that today was as good a day as any to change that.

Wiping his hands on a cloth, Tanjuro made his way back to the house. The delicious aroma of Kie's cooking wafted through the air, mingling with the earthy scent of charcoal. He found his children gathered in the main room, Tanjiro helping Nezuko with her reading while Takeo played with the twins, Hanako and Shigeru.

"Kids," Tanjuro called out, his deep voice gentle but firm. "I'm going to be leaving for the day. Don't cause any trouble for your mother." His eyes twinkled as he added, "Tanjiro is in charge if your mother gets injured."

Tanjiro looked up, curiosity evident in his crimson eyes. "Where are you going, Dad?"

Tanjuro's expression turned serious for a moment. "I'm going to meet with some of your uncle's associates. I'll be back by tomorrow morning." Anticipating their questions, he continued, "Yes, I've already discussed it with your mother, and yes, your uncle will be with me."

Little Hanako, always eager for presents, piped up, "Can you bring me back a gift, please?" Her eyes were wide and pleading, a tactic that often worked on her doting father.

Tanjuro couldn't help but chuckle. "I'll bring back gifts for all of you," he promised, his eyes sweeping over each of his children. "Now behave while I'm gone."

With a swift movement that still amazed his children, Tanjuro gathered his chakra and dashed away, leaving behind a swirl of leaves. Moments later, Akaza appeared beside him, his expression a mix of anticipation and unease.

Back at the house, Kie watched her husband disappear into the forest, a worried frown creasing her brow. She sighed heavily, her voice barely above a whisper. "I still don't like the fact that Akaza has to meet with those people, after everything they put him through."

Her words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken concerns. The children exchanged glances, picking up on their mother's anxiety. They knew bits and pieces of Uncle Akaza's past, of the demons and the darkness he had faced. But the full extent of his struggles remained a mystery to them.

Tanjiro, ever perceptive, moved to his mother's side. "Mom, is everything okay? Is Uncle Akaza in trouble?"

Kie forced a smile, trying to mask her worry. "No, sweetheart. Your father and uncle can handle themselves. It's just..." she paused, searching for the right words. "Sometimes, to move forward, we have to face our past. Even when it's difficult."

As the family gathered around Kie, seeking comfort in each other's presence, they couldn't help but wonder about the meeting that lay ahead. What associates from Akaza's past could be so important? And what challenges would Tanjuro and Akaza face before they returned home?

The next day dawned bright and clear, the sun peeking over the horizon and bathing the Kamado household in a warm, golden light. Tanjiro, always an early riser, had an idea brewing in his mind as he helped his mother prepare breakfast.

"Mom," he began, his eyes bright with excitement, "since Dad and Uncle Akaza are away, why don't we all go into town today? We could do some shopping, maybe have a picnic..."

Kie paused in her cooking, considering her son's suggestion. After a moment, a smile spread across her face. "That's a wonderful idea, Tanjiro. It has been a while since we've all gone out together."

With Kie's enthusiastic approval, the Kamado children burst into action, buzzing with excitement as they prepared for their day out. Nezuko helped Hanako and Shigeru get dressed, while Takeo, trying to act nonchalant but clearly excited, packed a basket with snacks for their outing.

As they set out down the mountain path, the family made quite a sight. Kie led the way, her gentle presence a calming influence on her energetic brood. Tanjiro and Nezuko flanked the group, their heightened senses alert for any potential dangers, a habit ingrained by their father's training. Takeo walked in the middle, still carrying the snack basket and pretending not to be as excited as his younger siblings, who skipped and chattered at the rear.

The forest gradually thinned as they descended, the earthy scents of their mountain home giving way to the myriad smells of the town below. Even from a distance, they could hear the hum of activity growing louder with each step.

As they rounded the final bend in the path, the town sprawled out before them, already alive with activity despite the early hour. The main street was a riot of color and movement, with vendors setting up their stalls and early-bird shoppers haggling over the freshest produce.

The smell of freshly baked bread wafted from the bakery, mingling with the aromatic spices from the herb seller's booth. Children darted between the legs of adults, their laughter adding to the cheerful cacophony of the bustling marketplace.

Kie turned to her children, her eyes twinkling with amusement at their awestruck expressions. Even Takeo, usually so composed, couldn't hide his wonder at the lively scene.

"Now remember," Kie said, her voice gentle but firm, "we stick together. No wandering off on your own."

Tanjiro nodded solemnly, taking Hanako's hand while Nezuko held onto Shigeru. Takeo, feeling very grown-up, walked beside his mother.

As they stepped into the crowd, the Kamado family was immediately swept up in the energy of the town. Vendors called out their wares, the tantalizing smells of street food filled the air, and everywhere they looked, there was something new and exciting to see.

Little did they know that this simple family outing was about to take an unexpected turn.

The bustling town square, once a scene of excitement for the Kamado children, had become a maze of unfamiliar faces and overwhelming sensations. Despite Kie's earlier warning, the family found themselves inadvertently separated by the ebb and flow of the busy crowd.

Tanjiro, with his strong build and kind demeanor, was quickly roped into helping various vendors move their heavy wares. "Young man, could you lend a hand with these rice sacks?" one called out, while another beckoned him to help with a stubborn cart wheel. His helpful nature made it impossible for him to refuse.

Meanwhile, Kie's reputation as a fair and wise woman preceded her. She was drawn into mediating a heated dispute between two merchants over prime selling spots. "Kie-san, please, we need your judgment on this matter," they pleaded, pulling her attention away from her children.

With their mother and older brother occupied, the younger Kamado children found their initial excitement waning. The colorful stalls and lively atmosphere that had captivated them earlier now seemed less interesting without guidance or purpose.

"I'm bored," Hanako whined, tugging at Nezuko's sleeve. 

"Me too," Shigeru chimed in, his eyes wandering to a group of children playing nearby.

Takeo, trying to maintain his air of maturity, suggested, "Maybe we could explore a bit? Mom and Tanjiro seem busy..."

Before they knew it, their feet had carried them away from the main square and into a less crowded area of town. The sounds of the market faded, replaced by the quieter bustle of side streets and alleyways.

As they turned a corner, they came upon a scene that made them pause. A imposing figure dominated the narrow street - a man easily over six feet tall, with broad shoulders and a face etched with scars. His rough appearance was accentuated by tattered clothes and a menacing scowl.

Just as the Kamado children spotted him, a small boy, no older than five or six, came running down the street, his eyes fixed on a colorful ball bouncing just ahead of him. The child, oblivious to his surroundings in his pursuit, collided with the large man's legs.

The impact sent the boy sprawling to the ground, his ball rolling away forgotten as tears welled up in his eyes. The man, rather than offering help, merely grunted in annoyance and aimed a kick at the fallen ball, sending it further down the street.

Nezuko felt a surge of protective anger rise within her. Without a second thought, she strode forward, her siblings watching in a mixture of awe and apprehension.

"Excuse me, sir?" Nezuko's voice was clear and steady, betraying none of the nervousness she felt facing the towering man.

The man turned slowly, his eyes narrowing as they fell upon Nezuko. His voice was a low growl when he spoke, "What do you want, brat?"

Nezuko stood her ground, her back straight and her gaze unwavering. She could feel her heart pounding, but her father's training had taught her to face fear head-on. "I would like you to apologize to the child you bumped into," she said, her tone calm but firm.

The man's scowl deepened, his posture shifting subtly into something more threatening. The air seemed to thicken with tension as he took a step towards Nezuko.

Behind her, Takeo moved protectively in front of the twins, his eyes darting between his sister and the menacing stranger. The little boy who had fallen scrambled to his feet, watching the confrontation with wide, fearful eyes.

Nezuko stood her ground, her father's teachings echoing in her mind. She knew she possessed strength beyond her years, but she also knew the importance of resolving conflicts peacefully when possible. As the man loomed over her, she prepared herself for whatever might come next, determined to stand up for what was right.

The man's face contorted into an ugly sneer, his eyes narrowing as he glared down at Nezuko. "Apologize? To that sniveling brat?" He let out a harsh bark of laughter. "Listen here, little girl. I don't owe anyone anything, least of all some clumsy kid who can't watch where he's going."

His words, dripping with disdain, struck a chord deep within Nezuko. She felt a familiar heat rising in her chest, a burning sensation that always accompanied her strongest emotions. This wasn't just about the little boy anymore; it was about every sideways glance, every whispered comment, every closed door her family had faced because of their humble background.

Memories flashed through her mind: Tanjiro returning home with a forced smile, hiding the hurt from being teased about the smell of charcoal that clung to his clothes. Takeo pretending not to care when other children refused to play with him, calling him "dirty" because of their father's work. Even little Hanako and Shigeru, too young to understand why some adults in town looked at them with poorly disguised contempt.

Nezuko's fists clenched at her sides, her nails digging into her palms. The injustice of it all - the casual cruelty, the thoughtless discrimination - it all came bubbling to the surface, finding a target in this unrepentant man before her.

Her voice, when she spoke again, was low and trembling with barely contained fury. "You think you're better than him? Than us?" Her eyes, usually warm and kind, now blazed with an intensity that made even the towering man take half a step back. "You don't get to hurt others just because you think you're above them!"

The air around Nezuko seemed to shimmer with heat, her anger manifesting in a way that was almost tangible. Her siblings watched in a mixture of awe and concern, recognizing the rarely-seen but formidable temper that their sister had inherited from their mother.

The little boy, still sniffling on the ground, looked up at Nezuko with wide eyes, sensing the shift in atmosphere. Even passersby began to slow, drawn by the palpable tension in the air.

Nezuko took a step forward, her small frame somehow seeming to grow larger with the force of her righteous anger. "You *will* apologize," she said, her voice ringing with a certainty that brooked no argument. "Not just to him, but to everyone you've ever looked down on. People like you, who think you can trample on others without consequences - you're the reason this world can be so cruel!"

Her words hung in the air, charged with emotion and an underlying power that seemed to resonate with the very stones of the street. The man, for all his size and bluster, found himself rooted to the spot, faced with a force he hadn't expected in this small, pink-clad girl.

The confrontation teetered on a knife's edge. Would the man back down?Takeo watched his sister with a mix of awe and growing concern. Nezuko had always been the gentler one among them, quick to smile and slow to anger. But now, as he observed her confronting this towering brute, he saw a side of her he'd rarely witnessed before.

Her usual warm demeanor had been replaced by an aura of cold fury that seemed to radiate from her small frame. Takeo recognized this righteous anger - it was the same fire that burned in their father's eyes when he spoke of injustice, the same determination that drove Tanjiro to protect others, the same fierce compassion that sometimes flickered in Uncle Akaza's gaze when he thought no one was looking.

A chill ran down Takeo's spine as he realized the implications. People like Nezuko, like their father and brother and uncle - they got mad for others, not for themselves. Their anger was a shield for the weak, a sword against cruelty. But in wielding that weapon, they often forgot to guard themselves.

"Apologize now," Nezuko's voice cut through the air like a blade of ice, each word dripping with barely contained rage. The crowd around them seemed to hold its collective breath, the tension palpable in the suddenly still air.

And then, for a split second that seemed to stretch into eternity, something changed. The sunlight that had been streaming down on them appeared to dim, as if a cloud had passed over the sun. In that moment of shadow, Takeo saw something that made his heart skip a beat.

Nezuko's eyes, usually a warm, comforting brown, had transformed. In their place were two glowing red orbs, each pupil surrounded by a single black tomoe. The legendary Sharingan - the kekkei genkai of their Uchiha heritage - had awakened in Nezuko’s eyes.

The sight was both beautiful and terrifying. The power of their bloodline, manifested in Nezuko's gaze, seemed to pulse with an otherworldly energy. The man she was confronting stumbled back, his face a mask of confusion and fear, unable to comprehend the sudden change in the girl before him.

"What's going on?!" A shout from the crowd broke the spell. Heads turned toward the source of the cry, and in that instant of distraction, the Sharingan vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

Nezuko blinked, the familiar brown of her eyes returning. She swayed slightly, as if the brief activation of her dormant power had drained her. Takeo rushed forward, steadying his sister with a supportive arm around her shoulders.

The crowd murmured in confusion. Those closest to Nezuko rubbed their eyes, unsure if they had truly seen the legendary dojutsu or if it had been a trick of the light. The man Nezuko had been confronting took advantage of the moment to slink away, disappearing into the throng of onlookers.

Takeo held his sister close, his mind racing. The Sharingan's awakening was supposed to be a closely guarded secret of their family. Their father had warned them about the power and the danger it could bring. Now, in the middle of a crowded street, that secret had been revealed, if only for a moment.

As the twins huddled closer, their eyes wide with a mix of fear and amazement, Takeo realized that their simple trip to town had become something far more complicated. He looked around, searching for any sign of their mother or Tanjiro, knowing that they needed to regroup and deal with the implications of what had just occurred.

The bustling town square, which had seemed so exciting just hours ago, now felt like a maze of potential dangers. Takeo tightened his grip on Nezuko, silently vowing to protect his family.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the Kamado household, Tanjuro and Akaza finally returned from their mysterious meeting. The air was thick with an unspoken tension, amplified by Takeo's unusual behavior. The normally composed boy seemed fidgety, his eyes darting nervously between his father and siblings.

Tanjuro, ever perceptive, noticed the change immediately. "Takeo," he said gently, kneeling down to meet his son's eyes, "what happened while we were gone?"

Takeo hesitated, his words tumbling out in a rush as he recounted the events in town. He spoke of the crowded market, the confrontation with the rude man, and Nezuko's uncharacteristic outburst. As he described the strange moment when Nezuko's eyes seemed to change, Tanjuro's face paled visibly.

"Her eyes... they turned red, with these black marks," Takeo explained, struggling to find the right words. "It was only for a second, but it was so strange. Dad, what was that?"

Tanjuro's heart seemed to stop for a moment, the weight of his family's hidden legacy suddenly pressing down on him with renewed force. He exchanged a meaningful glance with Akaza, who nodded solemnly.

"It's time," Akaza said softly, his usually gruff voice tinged with concern. "They need to know about their Uchiha heritage, Tanjuro. We can't keep it from them any longer."

Tanjuro closed his eyes briefly, taking a deep breath to center himself. When he opened them again, his gaze swept over his children, each looking up at him with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension.

"Everyone," he said, his voice steady despite the turmoil in his heart, "gather around the dining area. There's something important I need to tell you about our family... about who we really are."

As the Kamado children settled around the low table, their faces illuminated by the warm glow of lanterns, Tanjuro took his place at the head. Akaza stood silently in the corner, a supportive presence as Tanjuro prepared to unveil the secret he had guarded for so long.

Tanjuro's eyes met each of his children's gazes in turn, lingering on Nezuko's warm brown eyes, now showing no trace of the power that had briefly awakened within them. He took another deep breath, steeling himself for the conversation that would change their lives forever.

"My dear children," Tanjuro began, his voice low and serious, "what I'm about to tell you is about our heritage... about the Uchiha clan..."

Chapter Text

The two men approached the lavish temple, the grand entrance of Douma's Paradise Cult shimmering with the soft light of dusk. Incense filled the air, blending with the faint sound of soft, ethereal chanting in the background. Douma's followers, dressed in pristine white robes, were lined up on either side, their eyes lowered in reverence.

Akaza let out a long sigh. "Do we really have to do this?"

Tanjuro, walking calmly beside him, gave a soft, knowing smile. "Yes."

"Why?!" Akaza’s voice had that familiar sharpness, laced with frustration.

Tanjuro remained unfazed, his calm demeanor soothing in contrast to Akaza's irritability. "Because he is your friend."

Akaza scoffed, crossing his arms tightly. "Who said we were friends?"

Tanjuro chuckled lightly. "You both share a bond, whether you like it or not."

Akaza glanced sideways at him, irritation still present but wavering. He couldn't help the soft grin that tugged at the corner of his mouth when Tanjuro spoke like that, calm and wise, but never patronizing. It was one of the many things he respected about the man. Akaza had never expected to feel at ease around someone like Tanjuro, yet here he was, feeling grounded in the presence of this soft-spoken swordsman.

As they neared the grand hall, Douma's unmistakable voice echoed through the chamber. The cult leader stepped out, his face adorned with the same cheerful smile that seemed both genuine and unnerving. His rainbow-colored eyes twinkled as they fixed upon Akaza.

"Akaza-dono! You've come! And you brought a guest, how lovely!"

Douma’s eyes shifted to Tanjuro, assessing him in an instant. There was something unsettling about the way Tanjuro’s presence immediately shifted the atmosphere. It was subtle, but Douma could sense it. Tanjuro radiated warmth—a kind of effortless kindness that was foreign to Douma. And more disturbingly, Akaza smiled when he was with Tanjuro. It wasn’t just the usual smirk of amusement; it was genuine, relaxed, as though he was truly at peace.

The sight made Douma’s smile falter for the briefest of moments, something no one would have noticed except for Douma himself. He forced his grin wider, hiding the strange twist of emotion he was feeling. Jealousy. It was new to him, something he'd never experienced before.

"Douma," Akaza greeted, his tone flat, but his posture was less rigid than it usually was in Douma’s presence.

Douma welcomed them inside, leading them to a grand chamber adorned with soft cushions and draped silks. His cult members remained outside, leaving the three men alone in the serene room. Douma couldn’t help but steal glances at Akaza as they settled down. Akaza sat beside Tanjuro—closer than Douma would have liked.

“So, what brings you two here? Is it just a casual visit, or are you planning to convert to my little paradise?” Douma asked, his tone light and teasing, but his eyes were locked onto Akaza, searching for the slightest hint of approval.

Tanjuro chuckled softly. "We're here for the company, nothing more."

Akaza rolled his eyes, but there was no venom behind it. Douma caught it. The easy banter, the comfort Akaza had around Tanjuro—it was driving him mad. How could someone like Tanjuro, with his quiet demeanor and gentle nature, hold such a strong influence over Akaza?

Douma’s mind raced as he observed them. Akaza has never smiled like that around me. He’s always so guarded, so cold… But with Tanjuro... Douma’s gaze flickered with something darker. It’s not fair.

The cult leader's chest tightened, a strange possessiveness welling up inside him. He wanted Akaza for himself. Akaza belonged to him—at least, that’s what he had always believed. He had thought their bond was unique, that Akaza’s tolerance of him was a sign of something special. But seeing him with Tanjuro, seeing how easily Akaza’s walls came down in his presence, it made Douma feel… inferior.

No, this won’t do. Akaza is mine.

Douma’s eyes, usually so bright and welcoming, darkened with an undercurrent of obsession. He needed to fix this, to bring Akaza back into his fold, back where he belonged. But how? He couldn’t let Tanjuro have him. He wouldn’t allow it.

"So, Akaza-dono," Douma began, his tone sweet but layered with a subtle tension, "How have things been lately? We don’t get to see each other as often anymore. I’ve missed you."

Akaza raised an eyebrow, glancing sideways at Tanjuro. "You’re being weird again, Douma."

Douma’s heart sank at how casually Akaza brushed him off, but he kept his smile intact, though it felt more forced now. He watched as Akaza and Tanjuro exchanged a look, the kind of wordless communication that made Douma feel like an outsider. The cult leader's mind began to spiral, his thoughts consumed with the need to reclaim Akaza’s attention, to remind him of their bond.

"Well," Douma said, his voice taking on a more playful tone to mask his internal turmoil, "I suppose I'll just have to find a way to make things more… exciting for you both while you're here."

He leaned in slightly, his smile returning, though his eyes held a hint of malice. "I wouldn’t want you getting bored, after all."

But behind that smile, Douma's thoughts were far from playful. I won't lose Akaza to him. I’ll do whatever it takes.

As the three of them sat in the grand hall, the tension between Douma and Tanjuro simmered beneath the surface, unseen but undeniably present. While Tanjuro remained blissfully unaware of the cult leader’s growing obsession, Douma’s heart was already set on a twisted path—one where Akaza would belong to him, and only him.

As Tanjuro and Akaza stepped out of the ornate temple, the evening air felt cooler, and fresher compared to the incense-heavy atmosphere inside. The soft chanting faded behind them, replaced by the gentle rustling of leaves in the breeze.

Akaza's brow furrowed, his mind replaying the events of their visit. "Did you notice anything... off about Douma?" he asked, breaking the silence.

Tanjuro glanced at his companion, his dark eyes thoughtful. "He did seem different. More... intense than usual. Did something specific strike you as strange?"

Akaza nodded slowly, trying to articulate the unease he felt. "It was the way he looked at you. And at me when I was talking to you. I've known Douma for a long time, and I've never seen him like that before."

Tanjuro hummed softly, considering Akaza's words. "People can surprise us, even those we think we know well. Perhaps something is troubling him?"

"Maybe," Akaza agreed, though he didn't sound convinced. "But there was something in his eyes... I can't quite place it."

As they continued walking, the temple disappearing behind them, Akaza couldn't shake off the lingering discomfort. Douma had always been unpredictable, but this felt different. It was as if a new, unfamiliar element had been introduced to their already complex dynamic.

"Whatever it is," Tanjuro said gently, placing a reassuring hand on Akaza's shoulder, "we'll face it together if we need to. For now, let's focus on getting home to the family."

Akaza nodded, grateful for Tanjuro's steady presence. As they made their way down the mountain path, the strangeness of Douma's behavior remained at the back of his mind, a puzzle he couldn't quite solve. Little did he know, this visit might have set in motion events that would have far-reaching consequences for all of them.

Chapter Text

The gentle crackling of the fire and the soft rustling of leaves outside provided a soothing backdrop to the tense atmosphere within the Kamado household. Tanjuro's usually serene face bore an uncharacteristic expression of concern, his brow furrowed and his dark eyes distant, as if peering into a past long buried.

He drew a deep breath, steadying himself for the weighty tale he was about to unfold. His gaze swept over his beloved family - Kie, whose hands had stilled over the hearth, her attention now fully on her husband; Tanjiro, his eldest son, leaning forward with a mix of curiosity and worry etched on his young face; Nezuko, clutching her younger siblings close, her large eyes reflecting the flickering firelight and a wisdom beyond her years.

Tanjuro's mind raced with apprehension. How would his children receive this hidden legacy? Would they bear the weight of their heritage with strength, or would it crush their innocent spirits? The story of the Uchiha clan was one of power and tragedy, of eyes that saw too much and hearts that felt too deeply. It was a tale he had hoped to keep from them for a while longer, to preserve their carefree childhood for just a bit more time.

But recent events, whispers on the wind, and shadows glimpsed in the forest had forced his hand. The world was changing, and his children needed to be prepared.

As he opened his mouth to speak, Tanjuro's thoughts drifted to the question that had haunted him for years - did the Uchiha clan still exist in this realm? He looked at his children again, noting Tanjiro's determined set of his jaw, Nezuko's quiet strength, and the innocent curiosity of the younger ones. In their faces, he saw echoes of a proud lineage, a heritage of fire and passion. Perhaps, he thought, the Uchiha clan lived on not just in hiding, but right here in this very room.

With a mixture of fear and resolve, Tanjuro began to speak, his voice low and measured. "Children, there's a story I must tell you about our family, about a clan called Uchiha, and about eyes that can see more than just the world around us..."

The fire crackled, casting long shadows on the walls, as the Kamado family leaned in to hear a tale that would change their lives forever.

Screw it, I'm going to lie Tanjuro Thought.

Tanjuro's eyes flickered with a mix of sorrow and reverence as he gazed at his family gathered around him. The warmth of the hearth seemed to deepen the lines on his face, etching shadows that spoke of a wisdom hard-won. He took a deep breath, steadying himself for the tale he was about to unfold - a story of power, betrayal, and lost legacy.

"Long ago," he began, his voice barely above a whisper yet carrying clearly in the hushed room, "during the tumultuous Warring States period, the Uchiha clan came into being. But they weren't always the formidable force they would become. In the beginning, they were simply civilians, ordinary people trying to survive in a world torn by strife."

Tanjiro and Nezuko exchanged glances, their young faces rapt with attention. Even the younger siblings, usually restless, sat still, sensing the gravity of their father's words.

"It was Amaterasu herself," Tanjuro continued, his voice taking on a reverent tone, "the goddess of the sun and the universe, who found them. In her divine wisdom, she chose the Uchiha to be her vessels on earth, to guide and protect the world in her name. The proof of her blessing manifested in their eyes - eyes that could see beyond the veil of ordinary perception."

Kie, who had been tending to the hearth, now sat beside her husband, her hand gently resting on his arm in silent support.

"With this newfound power," Tanjuro went on, his gaze distant as if seeing into the past, "the Uchiha transformed themselves. They became shinobi, warriors of shadow and flame, dedicated to upholding Amaterasu's justice within her realm. By the time the Sengoku period dawned, they had reached the zenith of their power."

Tanjuro's voice took on a note of awe tinged with sadness. "They were a sight to behold, our ancestors. Feared and respected throughout the land, their mastery of battle was unparalleled. But it was their eyes, the Sharingan, that truly set them apart. These eyes granted them insight beyond mortal ken and strength that seemed to rival the gods themselves."

He paused, his expression darkening. "But with such power came a terrible price. Envy festered in the hearts of their rivals, and conflict brewed even within their own ranks."

Tanjiro, unable to contain his curiosity, leaned forward. "What happened to them, Father? Why have we never heard of them before?"

Tanjuro's gaze softened as it fell upon his eldest son. "They vanished, Tanjiro. Their legacy was buried beneath the chaos of war and the shifting sands of political intrigue. The Sengoku period was a time of unprecedented upheaval, where clans fought tooth and nail for supremacy, and alliances crumbled like autumn leaves. The Uchiha, for all their might, were not immune to these tides of change."

He paused, choosing his next words with care. "There was a time when the Uchiha dreamed of peace. They worked alongside other powerful clans, striving to bring stability to a land ravaged by constant warfare. But peace, it seems, was not the desire of all."

Kie's grip on Tanjuro's arm tightened imperceptibly, her eyes reflecting a deep sadness.

"Resentment took root among some of their leaders," Tanjuro continued, his voice heavy with the weight of history. "The seeds of betrayal were sown in fertile soil, watered by ambition and fear. The Uchiha's fall, when it came, was swift and terrible - and it came from within."

Nezuko, her large eyes filled with wisdom beyond her years, asked softly, "Why would they turn against their own?"

Tanjuro sighed, the sound filled with the sorrow of generations. "There are many reasons, my dear Nezuko. Fear of losing power, jealousy of those more gifted, an insatiable hunger for dominance... In times of war, the lines between right and wrong blur, and people make choices that echo through eternity."

His voice dropped to barely above a whisper. "It's said that one of their mightiest warriors, a prodigy whose name has been lost to time, succumbed to the darkness in his heart. Blinded by ambition and a twisted sense of duty, he turned against his kin. In a single night of unspeakable carnage, he nearly wiped out the entire clan."

A collective gasp went up from the children, their eyes wide with horror and disbelief.

"To this day," Tanjuro said, his eyes distant, "the loss of the Uchiha clan is felt like a phantom limb in the body of history. Some say they were utterly destroyed, while others whisper of survivors who fled into the shadows, their bloodline hidden but unbroken. The truth, I fear, is known only to Amaterasu herself."

Tanjiro's young face was a mask of concentration, processing the weight of this revelation. "But Father, if they were so powerful, how could they fall? Couldn't their strength have protected them?"

Tanjuro shook his head, a sad smile playing on his lips. "Ah, Tanjiro, that is perhaps the most important lesson of all. Strength alone, no matter how great, is not enough to protect what truly matters. Power without wisdom, without compassion, is a double-edged sword that can turn against its wielder. The Uchiha's might became the very thing that destroyed them from within."

He looked around at his family, his gaze lingering on each face. "Their name may have faded into legend, their once-feared eyes reduced to campfire stories, but their tale carries a warning we must never forget. No matter what power we may gain in this life, it is meaningless if we lose sight of what truly matters - our family, our love for one another, our humanity."

Tanjuro's voice grew stronger, filled with conviction. "This is why I tell you this story, my children. The blood of the Uchiha flows in our veins, but it is up to us to choose our path. We must learn from their mistakes, to value unity over power, love over ambition. For it is only through kindness, through the bonds we forge with each other, that we can truly endure in this world."

Tanjiro nodded, his young face set with determination. "I understand, Father. We must never let power divide us. We'll stay true to each other, no matter what."

Tanjuro reached out, placing a gentle hand on his son's shoulder. His eyes, for a moment, seemed to flicker with an otherworldly light - perhaps a ghost of the legendary Sharingan. "That's right, my son. As long as we hold fast to each other, to our love and our principles, no force in this world can tear us apart. This is the true legacy of the Uchiha - not their power, but the lesson of their fall. And it is up to us to honor it."

And I’m sorry I lied to you,he thought. But unbeknownst to Tanjuro, The story he had fabricated was very true and there was evidence within this realm of the mighty Uchiha clan in the form of a single person.

As the family sat in contemplative silence, the fire crackled in the hearth, casting long shadows on the walls. In those shadows, one might almost imagine the spectral forms of their Uchiha ancestors, watching over their descendants with pride and hope for a brighter future.

Chapter Text

The moonlight filtered through the trees, casting dappled shadows across the small clearing where Tanjuro and Akaza stood face to face. The night air was thick with tension, the only sounds were the soft rustling of leaves and the distant call of a night bird.

Akaza's eyes, usually filled with battle-lust, now held a mixture of confusion and concern. His voice, normally booming with confidence, was soft and tinged with disbelief. "What do you mean you lied to them?"

Tanjuro's shoulders slumped, the weight of his deception visible in the lines of his body. He met Akaza's gaze, his own eyes reflecting a storm of emotions - guilt, fear, and a deep, abiding love for his family. "Yes, I lied to them about the Uchiha clan."

"Why?!" Akaza's voice rose slightly, his fists clenching at his sides. The demon's usual composure slipped, revealing the depth of his investment in Tanjuro and his family.

Tanjuro ran a hand through his hair, his expression pained. "I don't know, Akaza," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Do you know how it feels to not fully understand your body?" He held out his hand, and for a moment, his eyes flickered with an otherworldly power - the ghost of a Sharingan. "One day, my body just manifested this power, and I don't know what to do with it. How would my children react to them being freaks of nature?"

Akaza's expression softened, his own experiences as a demon allowing him to empathize with Tanjuro's fear. "They would forgive you," he said gently, taking a step closer to Tanjuro. "You need to have faith in them."

Tanjuro shook his head, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I'm sorry, I just can't. The only reason I even have the slightest conception of what's going on is because my mother kept telling me stories of demons, and seeing that you're one means that the Uchiha has to be true." He sighed deeply, the sound heavy with the burden of his secret. "None of this must get out. I don't want my children finding out about this, it could harm them in the long run."

Akaza stood still for a long moment, his gaze fixed on Tanjuro. A whirlwind of emotions played across his face - frustration, understanding, and something deeper, more tender. The demon, usually so certain in his convictions, found himself torn between his belief in honesty and his desire to support the man before him.

Finally, Akaza's shoulders relaxed, his decision was made. "Alright," he said softly, "I'll trust you. But I'll be doing a little investigation myself."

Tanjuro's relief was palpable, his body sagging as if a great weight had been lifted. "Thank you, Akaza," he breathed, reaching out to grasp the demon's arm in gratitude.

As their eyes met, Akaza felt a surge of emotion he couldn't quite name. The trust Tanjuro placed in him, the vulnerability he showed - it stirred something within the demon's chest, a warmth he hadn't felt in centuries. For a moment, the ruthless Upper Moon Three was gone, replaced by a being capable of deep empathy and... something more.

Akaza found himself wanting to protect not just Tanjuro, but his entire family. The feeling was foreign, almost uncomfortable in its intensity, yet he embraced it. This fragile human had shown him a kind of strength he'd never encountered before - the strength to love, to protect, to sacrifice for others.

As they stood there in the moonlit clearing, an unspoken understanding passed between them. Akaza silently vowed to honor Tanjuro's wishes, to guard his secret, and to watch over his family from the shadows. 

—

The crimson moon hung low in the sky, casting an eerie glow over the shadowed landscape of feudal Japan. In a secluded clearing, two formidable figures stood facing each other - Akaza, the fierce Upper Moon Three, and Kokushibo, the enigmatic Upper Moon One. The tension between them was palpable, crackling in the air like static electricity.

Akaza's usually confident posture was slightly hunched, his frustration evident in the set of his shoulders and the tightness around his eyes. "Why do I have to go on a mission with you?" he grumbled, his voice laced with irritation and a hint of something deeper - perhaps fear, or resentment.

Kokushibo, tall and imposing, his many eyes gleaming in the moonlight, regarded Akaza with a mixture of disdain and curiosity. "Because Muzan-sama wanted me to keep an eye on you," he replied, his voice smooth and cold as ice. "You've been too lax, Akaza."

The words hung in the air between them, heavy with implication. Akaza's fists clenched at his sides, his knuckles whitening with the force of his grip. "I still complete the missions as required," he shot back, a defensive edge to his voice. "I don't know what I'm doing wrong."

But even as he spoke, a flicker of uncertainty passed across Akaza's face. In recent years, the world beyond Japan's borders has been changing rapidly. Rumors of great conflicts, of weapons capable of unimaginable destruction, had reached even the isolated shores of their island nation. In response, Muzan had redoubled his efforts to keep Japan unchanging, a bastion of demonic influence in a world racing towards modernity.

This shift in Muzan's focus had led to an increase in joint missions among the Upper Moons, forcing them to leave their carefully cultivated territories more frequently. Akaza, with his unparalleled combat skills, had often been the prime candidate for these missions. But lately, something has changed.

Kokushibo's eyes narrowed, sensing the turmoil beneath Akaza's bravado. "Muzan-sama's will is absolute," he intoned, his words carrying the weight of centuries of loyalty. "If he believes you require... supervision, then it is not our place to question his judgment."

Akaza's jaw clenched, a muscle twitching beneath the skin. The truth was, he knew exactly why Muzan had been growing increasingly agitated with him. With each passing day, each new mission, Akaza found his thoughts straying more and more to a certain family nestled in the mountains - the Kamado family.

The missions had been coming more frequently, each one pulling him further away from the quiet moments he had come to cherish. Stolen conversations with Tanjuro under the cover of night, watching from afar as Tanjiro and Nezuko grew stronger with each passing season, feeling a warmth in his chest that he thought had died centuries ago.

"We leave at dawn," Kokushibo's voice cut through Akaza's thoughts, sharp as a blade. "I suggest you prepare yourself. Muzan-sama will not tolerate any... distractions."

As Kokushibo's form began to melt into the shadows, Akaza's voice cut through the night, curiosity and a hint of trepidation coloring his words. "Kokushibo, do you know the Uchiha Clan?"

The effect was immediate and dramatic. Kokushibo halted mid-step, his body tensing visibly. In that moment, unbidden memories flooded his mind...

*Flashback*

Flames licked the night sky, turning the world into a hellscape of orange and red. The clash of steel on steel rang out, punctuated by cries of agony and triumph. Kokushibo found himself surrounded by warriors with eyes that glowed red in the firelight, their movements almost too fast to follow. The Uchiha clan, in all their terrifying glory, their Sharingan eyes spinning with deadly precision as they fought with a ferociousness that matched even his own demonic power...

*Flashback end*

Kokushibo's voice, when it came, was dry and brittle, like autumn leaves crumbling underfoot. "What did you say?"

Akaza, realizing his misstep, backpedaled frantically. Sweat beaded on his brow as he stammered, "Oh nothing, yeah, nothing. Who is this Uchiha of which you speak of? 

The air around them grew heavy, charged with an oppressive energy that made even Akaza's skin prickle. Kokushibo's voice dropped to a dangerous whisper, "Don't lie to me, Akaza. You know what happens when I get angry."

Indeed, everyone in Muzan's inner circle knew the consequences of Kokushibo's wrath. His transformation was the stuff of nightmares - hair blazing red like fresh blood, defying gravity as it floated around him, the very air igniting into an inferno capable of reducing flesh to ash in seconds. Even Muzan himself gave Kokushibo a wide berth when his temper flared.

Akaza, ever the survivor, made a split-second decision. A partial truth might be his only salvation. "I just overheard it at a festival while I was on one of my missions," he said, his words carefully chosen.

Kokushibo's tension eased slightly, replaced by a weary resignation. "Of course, those bumbling fools would make a festival about them," he sighed, his voice heavy with centuries-old exasperation.

Confusion furrowed Akaza's brow. "What?"

Kokushibo turned to face Akaza fully, his multiple eyes gleaming with a mixture of disdain and something almost like nostalgia. "That festival you went to is called the Taiyo festival. It commemorates the day Amaterasu supposedly descended from the heavens to bless the world. It was also, according to legend, the day the Uchiha clan was created."

His voice took on a lecturing tone, as if reciting from some ancient text. "The town you visited was once the seat of Uchiha power. Under their rule, it flourished, becoming a beacon of prosperity in a war-torn land. The common folk there revered the Uchiha as living gods, their Sharingan eyes seen as proof of divine favor. They then proceeded to adopt multiple samurai families."

Akaza listened, fascinated despite himself. "Why would they adopt so many samurai families into their clan?" he asked, genuinely curious.

Kokushibo's laugh was harsh and without humor. "It was a dance of mutual exploitation, Akaza. For the samurai families, it was a chance to elevate their status, to bask in the reflected glory of the Uchiha name. The clan had always been insular, their bloodline jealously guarded. To be adopted into their ranks was a prize beyond measure."

He began to pace, his words painting a vivid picture of a bygone era. "Imagine it, Akaza. A time when the Uchiha name alone could open doors, could command respect and fear in equal measure. These samurai families would do anything for a chance to claim even a fraction of that power."

"But the Uchiha were not fools," Kokushibo continued, his voice tinged with what might have been grudging respect. "They saw an opportunity to expand their influence, to bolster their military might. By adopting these families, they gained loyal warriors, already trained in the arts of war. It was a brilliant strategy, really."

His eyes narrowed, a hint of his earlier anger returning. "But it was also their downfall. They grew too quickly, became too powerful. They forgot the very thing that made them strong in the first place - the purity of their bloodline, the concentrated power of their Sharingan."

Akaza absorbed this information, his mind racing. He thought of Tanjuro and his children, of the power that seemed to sleep within their blood. Could they be...? As Kokushibo's words hung heavy in the air, Akaza's mind raced, piecing together the fragments of information. The detailed account, the emotion underlying Kokushibo's voice - it all pointed to something more personal than mere historical knowledge. Before he could stop himself, the words tumbled from his lips.

"Kokushibo," Akaza said, his voice a mixture of awe and suspicion, "the way you speak of the Uchiha... it's almost as if you knew them firsthand."

The moment the words left his mouth, Akaza knew he had crossed a line. The air around them suddenly grew thick and oppressive, as if all the oxygen had been sucked away. Kokushibo's form, which had been melting into the shadows, solidified once more, his hair turned red like blood and the very ground around him began to burn; his multiple eyes fixated on Akaza with an intensity that made the younger demon's skin crawl.

In an instant, Kokushibo was before him, moving with a speed that even Akaza's trained eyes could barely follow. His hand shot out, gripping Akaza's throat with crushing force, his skin burning. When he spoke, his voice was low and dangerous, each word dripping with centuries of contained rage.

"You would do well to curb your curiosity, Akaza," Kokushibo hissed, his grip tightening. "Some knowledge is not meant for lesser demons. The Uchiha are gone, their legacy nothing but ash and whispered legends. That is all you need to know, all you should ever speak of them."

Akaza struggled against Kokushibo's grip, his own demonic strength useless against the Upper Moon One's overwhelming power. He could feel the edges of his vision starting to darken, his body screaming for air it no longer needed but desperately craved.

Just as suddenly as it had begun, Kokushibo released him. Akaza stumbled back, gasping unnecessarily, more out of habit than actual need, burn marks evident on his neck. When he looked up, Kokushibo's face was once again an impassive mask, all traces of his earlier anger hidden behind a veil of cold indifference.

"Our mission begins at dawn," Kokushibo said, his tone brooking no argument. "I suggest you focus on the task at hand and forget this foolish line of questioning. For both our sakes."

With that, Kokushibo turned and disappeared into the night, leaving no trace of his presence save for the lingering chill in the air and the phantom sensation of his grip on Akaza's throat.

Alone in the clearing, Akaza rubbed his neck, his mind reeling. Kokushibo's reaction had confirmed his suspicions - there was far more to the story of the Uchiha than he had been told. And somehow, impossibly, Kokushibo seemed to be intimately connected to their fate and to the Kamado family.

As the first hints of dawn began to lighten the eastern sky, Akaza steeled himself for the mission ahead. But even as he prepared his body for battle, his mind was elsewhere - with Tanjuro and his family, with the mysteries of the Uchiha, and with the growing certainty that he was standing on the edge of a truth that could shake the very foundations of the demon world.

Chapter Text

The early morning mist clung to the grass in the secluded mountain clearing, creating an ethereal atmosphere as Tanjuro Kamado stood facing his young daughter, Nezuko. The air was crisp with the promise of dawn, the forest around them still and silent save for the occasional chirp of an early-rising bird.

Nezuko, barely eleven years old, stood with her small fists clenched at her sides, her pink kimono slightly disheveled from their training. Frustration etched every line of her young face, her brow furrowed in concentration. Her eyes, usually a warm chocolate brown, flickered intermittently with hints of crimson - the nascent power of the Sharingan struggling to fully manifest.

Tanjuro observed his daughter with a mixture of pride and concern. His own eyes, normally gentle and kind, held a steely determination. He knew all too well the double-edged nature of the power Nezuko was trying to harness.

"Again, Nezuko," Tanjuro said, his voice soft yet firm. "Remember, the Sharingan responds to strong emotion, but you must be its master, not its slave. Control it, don't let it control you."

Nezuko nodded, her jaw set with determination. She took a deep breath, closing her eyes to focus. As she concentrated, the world around her seemed to fade away, replaced by a vivid memory...

*Flashback*
The village square was bathed in the warm glow of a summer afternoon. The sound of cruel laughter cut through the usual bustle of daily life, drawing Nezuko's attention as she returned from running an errand for her mother. 

What she saw made her blood run cold. A group of older children, led by Hiroshi, the blacksmith's son, had cornered Takeo and Hanako, her younger siblings. Hiroshi, a boy of fourteen with a mean streak as wide as the nearby river, was holding Takeo's beloved wooden horse high above his head, just out of reach of the desperate six-year-old.

"What's wrong, little Kamado?" Hiroshi taunted, his voice dripping with malice. "Too weak to get your toy back? Maybe if you weren't such a crybaby, you'd be tall enough to reach it!"

Takeo jumped futilely, tears streaming down his dirt-smudged face. Beside him, four-year-old Hanako wailed, her tiny fists beating ineffectually against the leg of one of Hiroshi's friends. "Leave us alone!" she cried, her voice high and frightened. "Give it back!"

The scene before her ignited something primal within Nezuko. A wave of protective rage washed over her, drowning out all other thoughts. In that moment, the world seemed to slow down, every detail etching itself into her mind with crystal clarity.

She moved without conscious thought, her body responding to an instinct she didn't yet understand. In the blink of an eye, she crossed the square, covering a distance that should have taken several seconds in the span of a heartbeat.

Her small fist connected with Hiroshi's jaw with a sickening crack that seemed to echo across the suddenly silent square. The older boy's eyes widened in shock as he was lifted off his feet, the wooden horse falling forgotten from his grasp as he crashed to the ground several feet away.

Hiroshi's friends, momentarily stunned by the sudden appearance of the enraged older sister, barely had time to register what had happened before Nezuko was upon them. She moved like a whirlwind, her attacks precise and brutal despite her small stature. One boy received an elbow to the solar plexus that left him gasping for air. Another found himself flipped over Nezuko's shoulder, landing hard on his back with a pained grunt.

In a matter of moments, the group of bullies was scattered on the ground, groaning in pain and shock. Nezuko stood among them, her chest heaving, pink kimono stained with dirt and a small smear of blood from a split knuckle. Her eyes blazed with an intensity that made the fallen children shrink back in fear.

Nezuko's voice, when she spoke, was low and dangerous, carrying a weight far beyond her years. "If you ever touch my siblings again," she growled, each word dripping with menace, "I'll make sure you regret it for the rest of your lives. Do you understand me?"

The bullies nodded frantically, scrambling to their feet and fleeing the scene as fast as their bruised bodies would allow. As the adrenaline began to fade, Nezuko turned to comfort Takeo and Hanako, who were staring at their sister with a mixture of awe and lingering fear.

As she knelt to embrace them, Nezuko caught a glimpse of her reflection in the window of a nearby shop. For just a moment, she could have sworn her eyes were a brilliant red, with two strange, comma-like shapes swirling within each iris. She blinked, and her eyes were their normal brown once more, leaving her to wonder if she had imagined it...

*Present*
Nezuko's eyes snapped open, the vivid memory fading back into the recesses of her mind. This time, when she met her father's gaze, her eyes were a brilliant crimson, two tomoe spinning lazily in each iris - the Sharingan, awakened and active.

Tanjuro nodded approvingly, but Nezuko didn't miss the flicker of concern that passed across his face. "Well done, Nezuko," he said, his voice carrying a note of caution. "But remember, anger can be a powerful tool, but also a dangerous one. The Sharingan is a gift, but it can also be a curse if not properly controlled."

Nezuko frowned, feeling the power of the Sharingan pulsing behind her eyes. Slowly, with effort, she allowed the red to fade from her gaze, her eyes returning to their natural brown. "But Father," she said, a hint of frustration in her voice, "how can I not be angry? The world is so unfair. People are cruel, they hurt those weaker than themselves. Shouldn't I use this power to protect our family?"

Tanjuro sighed deeply, the weight of generations seeming to settle on his shoulders. He knelt down, bringing himself to eye level with his daughter. His gaze was intense, filled with a mixture of love and an old, deep-seated pain.

"Protecting our loved ones is noble, Nezuko," he began, choosing his words carefully. "But there's a fine line between protection and vengeance. The Sharingan... it feeds on strong emotions, especially negative ones. If you're not careful, it can consume you, twist your love into something dark and destructive."

He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, his touch conveying all the love and worry in his heart. "Your true strength comes not just from your eyes, but from your heart. The greatest power lies in being able to love, to forgive, even in the face of cruelty. That's the hardest battle of all, but it's the one that truly matters."

Nezuko nodded slowly, trying to absorb her father's wisdom. But deep inside, a small part of her clung to the memory of that righteous anger, the intoxicating rush of power it had brought. She loved her father dearly and respected his guidance, but a seed of doubt had been planted. Was he truly right about the nature of strength? Or was he, perhaps, holding her back from realizing her full potential?

As they continued their training, the sun rising higher in the sky and burning away the last of the morning mist, neither father nor daughter noticed the pair of eyes watching them intently from the shadows of the forest. 

Akaza, having momentarily slipped away from his mission with Kokushibo, observed the scene with a complex mixture of emotions. Fascination warred with growing concern as he watched the young girl grapple with the awakening power within her. The potential Nezuko displayed was undeniable, but so too was the potential for darkness that came hand in hand with such strength.

As he watched Tanjuro patiently guide his daughter through the complexities of her awakening abilities, Akaza couldn't shake an ominous feeling. Kokushibo's warnings about the Uchiha echoed in his mind, along with fragmented memories of destruction wrought by eyes that burned like blood.

In that moment, watching the interplay between father and daughter, Akaza felt as though he was witnessing the first tremors of an earthquake that would soon shake their world to its very foundations. The future, he realized with a chill, balanced on a knife's edge - and the choices made by this young girl with fire in her eyes might very well determine which way it would fall.

Chapter Text

The sun had begun its descent towards the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink. The Kamado household was bustling with the usual evening activities - the younger children playing in the yard, Tanjiro helping his mother prepare dinner, and Nezuko practicing her forms in the small clearing nearby. It was in this peaceful scene that Akaza arrived, his presence both expected and somewhat tense.

Tanjuro emerged from the house, his face lighting up with a mixture of relief and concern at the sight of the Upper Moon demon. "Akaza," he greeted, his voice low to avoid drawing attention from the others. "I'm glad you could make it. It's been... a challenging few weeks."

Akaza nodded, his usually fierce demeanor softened in the presence of the Kamado patriarch. "I came as soon as I could. Muzan-sama's missions have been... demanding." He left unsaid the constant surveillance from Kokushibo, the growing suspicion among the Upper Moons. Here, in this small haven, he could let his guard down, if only for a moment.

Tanjuro led Akaza to a secluded spot behind the house, where they could talk without being overheard. As they settled, Tanjuro's face grew grave. "Nezuko's powers are growing stronger by the day," he began, his voice barely above a whisper. "But I fear... I fear I'm losing her, Akaza."

Akaza's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

Tanjuro sighed, running a hand through his hair - a rare display of frustration from the usually composed man. "The Sharingan... it's awakening fully now. Two tomoe in each eye. Her control is improving, but her anger..." He trailed off, his eyes distant.

"Tell me," Akaza prompted gently.

"Last week, there was an incident in the village," Tanjuro continued. "Some traveling merchants were harassing a local widow, trying to force her to sell her land. Nezuko intervened. She... she put three grown men in the clinic, Akaza. And the look in her eyes..." He shuddered at the memory.

Akaza listened intently, his mind racing. He thought of Kokushibo's warnings about the Uchiha, of the destructive potential of their power. But he also thought of the fierce protectiveness he'd seen in Nezuko, the love that drove her actions.

"She's walking a dangerous path," Tanjuro said, his voice heavy with worry. "I've tried to guide her, to teach her about the importance of compassion and forgiveness. But I fear my words are falling on deaf ears. She sees the injustice in the world and wants to fight it with all her strength. I understand her feelings, but..."

"But you fear where that path might lead," Akaza finished for him.

Tanjuro nodded, looking older and more tired than Akaza had ever seen him. "I don't know what to do, Akaza. How do I protect her from herself?"

Akaza was quiet for a long moment, considering. Finally, he spoke, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. "Let me talk to her."

Tanjuro looked up, surprise evident on his face. "You?"

Akaza nodded. "I... I understand anger, Tanjuro. I understand the desire for vengeance, the seductive call of power. Perhaps I can reach her in a way you can't."

Tanjuro studied Akaza's face, searching for something. Whatever he saw there must have satisfied him, because he nodded slowly. "Alright," he said. "But please, be careful. She's... she's still my little girl, Akaza. No matter how strong she becomes."

Akaza placed a hand on Tanjuro's shoulder, a gesture of reassurance that felt foreign yet right. "I understand. I'll be gentle, I promise."

As the last rays of sunlight painted the sky in deep purples and blues, Akaza made his way to the clearing where Nezuko was training. The young girl was moving through a series of katas, her movements fluid and precise. As Akaza approached, she turned, her eyes widening in surprise.

"Akaza-san," she greeted, bowing slightly. "I didn't know you were visiting today."

Akaza nodded in acknowledgment. "Your father asked me to speak with you, Nezuko. Do you mind if we talk?"

Nezuko's expression turned guarded, but she nodded, moving to sit on a large rock at the edge of the clearing. Akaza joined her, maintaining a respectful distance.

For a moment, they sat in silence, the sounds of the forest at twilight filling the air around them. Finally, Akaza spoke. "Your father tells me your powers are growing stronger."

Nezuko's chin lifted slightly, a hint of pride in her voice. "Yes. I can activate the Sharingan at will now, and maintain it for longer periods."

Akaza nodded. "That's impressive. But power often comes with a price, Nezuko. Your father is worried about you."

Nezuko's expression hardened. "He doesn't understand. None of them do. The world is full of cruelty and injustice. With this power, I can make a difference. I can protect people."

"Like the widow in the village?" Akaza asked quietly.

Nezuko's eyes flashed, a hint of red bleeding into the brown. "Those men deserved what they got. They were bullies, preying on someone weaker than them."

Akaza studied her face, seeing the conviction there, the righteous anger. It stirred something in him, a memory just out of reach. "I understand your anger, Nezuko. Believe me, I do. But anger... it's a dangerous thing. It can consume you if you're not careful."

Nezuko frowned. "But isn't anger sometimes justified? When we see injustice, shouldn't we be angry? Shouldn't we fight?"

Akaza was quiet for a moment, considering his words carefully. "Anger can be a powerful motivator, it's true. But it's also blinding. It can make you see the world in black and white, when the truth is often more complicated."

He gestured towards the village, barely visible through the trees. "Those men you fought - do you know their stories? What drove them to act as they did?"

Nezuko's frown deepened. "Does it matter? They were hurting someone who couldn't defend herself."

"It always matters," Akaza said softly. "Understanding doesn't mean excusing, Nezuko. But when we fight without understanding, we risk becoming the very thing we're fighting against."

As he spoke, fragmented memories began to surface in Akaza's mind. A life long past, a young man consumed by anger and the desire for strength...

*Flashback*
The dojo was filled with the sound of wood striking wood, of feet shuffling on polished floors. A young man with fiery red hair moved through the crowd of students, his movements precise and powerful. But there was an edge to him, a barely contained fury that made the other students give him a wide berth.

"Hakuji!" The master's voice cut through the noise. "Control yourself! Your anger makes you sloppy."

Hakuji - for that was Akaza's name in this long-ago time - turned, his eyes blazing. "My anger makes me strong," he snarled. "While the rest of these weaklings hold back, I embrace my power!"

The master's face fell, disappointment etched in every line. "True strength comes from discipline, Hakuji. From understanding yourself and your opponent. Anger is a crutch, nothing more."

But Hakuji wasn't listening. He was already turning away, his mind filled with dreams of power, of proving everyone wrong...

*Present*
Akaza blinked, the memory fading as quickly as it had come. He found Nezuko watching him curiously.

"Akaza-san? Are you alright?"

Akaza nodded, trying to shake off the disorienting feeling of the sudden recollection. "Yes, I'm fine. I was just... remembering something."

Nezuko's curiosity was piqued. "What were you remembering?"

Akaza hesitated, then decided that honesty might be the best approach. "I was remembering a time when I was much like you, Nezuko. Young, angry at the world, desperate to prove myself."

Nezuko's eyes widened. "You? But you're so strong now. Surely, you've always been..."

Akaza shook his head, a wry smile touching his lips. "No one is born strong, Nezuko. We all start somewhere. And my beginning... it was not so different from where you are now."

He turned to face her fully, his expression serious. "I thought anger made me strong. I thought if I could just be powerful enough, I could right all the wrongs in the world. But do you know what I learned?"

Nezuko shook her head, hanging on his every word.

"I learned that true strength isn't about how hard you can hit, or how many enemies you can defeat. It's about understanding. It's about being able to see the humanity in everyone, even those who have wronged you."

Nezuko frowned, clearly struggling with this concept. "But how can we just forgive people who do terrible things? Isn't that just letting them get away with it?"

Akaza shook his head. "Forgiveness doesn't mean allowing injustice to continue. It means understanding that even those who do wrong are human, with their own stories and struggles. It means fighting not out of anger or vengeance, but out of a desire to create a better world for everyone."

As he spoke, more memories began to surface. Flashes of a life he had long forgotten - moments of kindness amidst the anger, people who had tried to show him a different path...

*Flashback*
A small house on the outskirts of a village. An old man, bent with age but with kind eyes, offering a bowl of rice to a bruised and angry Hakuji.

"Why are you helping me?" Hakuji demanded, suspicious of the old man's kindness.

The old man smiled, the wrinkles around his eyes deepening. "Because everyone deserves kindness, young man. Even those who have forgotten how to be kind to themselves."

Hakuji wanted to scoff, to reject the old man's words. But something in that simple act of kindness touched a part of him he thought long dead...

*Present*
Akaza blinked, coming back to himself. Nezuko was watching him intently, her brow furrowed in thought.

"Akaza-san," she said slowly, "you speak as if... as if you've lived through this yourself. But you're a demon, aren't you? How can you understand these things?"

Akaza felt a chill run through him. How indeed? These memories, these feelings - they belonged to a life he had thought long forgotten. A life before he became a demon. But as he sat there, under the curious gaze of this young girl with fire in her eyes, he found himself questioning everything he thought he knew about himself.

"I..." he began, then stopped, unsure how to continue. How could he explain something he didn't understand himself?

Nezuko, sensing his discomfort, changed tack. "What you said about understanding others, about seeing their humanity... it's not easy, is it?"

Akaza seized on this, grateful for the shift. "No, it's not. It's probably the hardest thing you'll ever do. But it's also the most important."

He looked out over the darkening forest, his voice soft. "The world isn't divided into good people and bad people, Nezuko. We all have the capacity for both within us. The choice we make, every day, is which part of ourselves we nurture."

Nezuko was quiet for a long moment, digesting this. When she spoke again, her voice was small, almost vulnerable. "But what if... what if I'm not strong enough? What if I can't control my anger?"

Akaza turned back to her, his expression softening. "That's why you have people who love you, Nezuko. Your family, your friends - they're there to support you, to remind you of who you really are when anger threatens to consume you."

As he said this, another memory surfaced, this one more painful than the others...

*Flashback*
A girl with kind eyes and a gentle smile, reaching out to a furious Hakuji. "You don't have to do this alone," she said softly. "Let me help you. Let me show you another way."

But Hakuji, blinded by his rage and his pride, turned away. "I don't need anyone's help," he snarled. "I'll become strong on my own, no matter what it takes."

The girl's face fell, sadness and disappointment replacing the kindness in her eyes. "Then you've already lost, Hakuji. True strength comes from connections, from love. Without that, you'll only ever be half of what you could be."

*Present*
Akaza came back to himself with a start, a deep ache in his chest. He looked at Nezuko, seeing in her the same fire, the same potential for greatness - or for tragedy - that he had once possessed.

"Nezuko," he said, his voice thick with emotion he didn't fully understand, "promise me something."

Nezuko nodded, sensing the importance of the moment.

"Promise me that no matter how angry you get, no matter how much you want to fight, you'll never push away the people who love you. They are your true strength, your anchor. Without them, power is meaningless."

Nezuko's eyes widened at the intensity in Akaza's voice. Slowly, she nodded. "I promise, Akaza-san."

As they sat there in the growing darkness, Akaza felt something shift within him. These memories, these emotions - they were changing him, making him question everything he thought he knew about himself, about his place in the world.

He looked at Nezuko, this young girl with the power to shape the world and made a silent vow of his own. He would protect her, guide her as best he could. And in doing so, perhaps he could find a way to redeem the man he once was, the man he was starting to remember.

As they made their way back to the Kamado household, where warm light spilled from the windows and the sounds of a loving family could be heard, Akaza felt a strange mix of emotions. Hope, fear, confusion, and underneath it all, a growing certainty that his world was about to change in ways he couldn't begin to imagine.

The path ahead was uncertain, fraught with danger. But as he watched Nezuko run ahead to join her family, Akaza felt something he hadn't experienced in centuries - the faintest glimmer of peace.

Chapter Text

The crisp mountain air carried the sweet scent of pine and wildflowers as Akaza trudged up the winding dirt path leading to the Kamado household. It had been three long, grueling years since he last set foot on this familiar trail. The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the landscape and painting the clouds in hues of orange and pink. Akaza's muscles ached from his recent mission, a complex affair that had taken him to the far corners of Japan, but there was an odd comfort in the idea of seeing the Kamados again.

As he approached the modest wooden house nestled among the trees, Akaza found himself unconsciously quickening his pace. The sounds of laughter and chatter spilled out from within, carried on the gentle breeze. He paused at the doorway, his calloused hand resting on the rough wooden frame. For a moment, he simply stood there, listening to the cacophony of voices inside. A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, though he'd never admit the warmth that spread through his chest at the familiar sounds.

Taking a deep breath, Akaza stepped inside, his eyes adjusting to the dimmer light of the interior. The main room was a flurry of activity. Tanjuro, looking as serene as ever with his long dark hair tied back and his gentle eyes watching over the scene, stood in the center. Around him, the Kamado children were engaged in what appeared to be a training exercise.

Tanjiro, now a young teenager with a more defined musculature and a determined set to his jaw, was demonstrating a complex breathing technique to his siblings. His movements were fluid and controlled, a testament to the years of training he had undergone since Akaza's last visit. Beside him, Nezuko mirrored his actions, her long dark hair swaying with each measured breath. Her eyes, so like her mother's, sparkled with concentration and a hint of competitive spirit as she tried to match her brother's form.

The younger siblings—Takeo, Hanako, and Shigeru—watched with varying degrees of attention. Takeo, his face scrunched in concentration, attempted to copy Tanjiro's movements but often lost his balance, causing Hanako to giggle. Shigeru, still too young to fully participate, was content to wave his arms in a clumsy imitation of his older siblings.

Kie sat nearby on a worn tatami mat, her serene presence a counterpoint to the energetic children. In her arms, she cradled a small bundle wrapped in a soft, pale blue blanket. The sight of this unexpected addition caused Akaza to freeze mid-step, his eyes widening in surprise and then narrowing in confusion.

"Hold up," Akaza said, his gruff voice cutting through the chatter. He pointed at the baby, his tone laced with a mixture of disbelief and irritation. "Who the hell is that?"

The room fell silent for a moment as all eyes turned to the newcomer. Tanjuro looked up from the training session, his face breaking into a warm, welcoming smile. If he was surprised by Akaza's sudden appearance after three years, he didn't show it. "Welcome back, Akaza," he said, his voice as calm and steady as ever.

Tanjiro's face lit up with excitement. "Akaza-ojisan!" he exclaimed, momentarily forgetting the breathing exercise. Nezuko echoed her brother's greeting, while the younger children stared at Akaza with a mixture of awe and trepidation, still not entirely used to his imposing presence.

Akaza, however, ignored the greetings. His gaze remained fixed on the infant in Kie's arms, his brow furrowing deeper with each passing second. "Seriously, Tanjuro?" he growled, exasperation evident in his voice. "Another one? How many kids do you need?"

Kie, who had been gently rocking the baby, tried to suppress her amusement but failed. A soft laugh escaped her lips as she exchanged a knowing glance with her husband. Her eyes danced with mirth, clearly entertained by Akaza's reaction.

Tanjuro, unperturbed by Akaza's outburst, walked over to him with his usual unshakable composure. His footsteps were light on the wooden floor, barely making a sound. "This is Rokuta," he said simply, motioning toward the baby. "He was born about a year ago."

Akaza pinched the bridge of his nose, letting out an exaggerated sigh that seemed to come from the depths of his soul. "A year ago?" he repeated incredulously. "You've been multiplying while I've been gone! I swear, every time I come back, there's a new one." He gestured dramatically at the rest of the children, who were watching the scene unfold with growing amusement.

Tanjiro, Nezuko, and the other kids couldn't contain their laughter anymore. They burst into giggles, the sound filling the room like a bubbling stream. Tanjiro, still trying to maintain some semblance of respect, managed to speak through his laughter. "It's not that many, Akaza-ojisan!"

"Not that many?" Akaza's voice rose an octave as he gave Tanjiro an incredulous look. "Tanjiro, there's five of you now! Five! Don't tell me that's not many!"

Kie finally lost her composure entirely. Her laughter rang out, clear and melodious, as she carefully handed baby Rokuta to Tanjuro. "Akaza," she said, wiping tears of mirth from her eyes, "you make it sound like we're trying to break some sort of record."

Tanjuro accepted the baby with practiced ease, cradling Rokuta gently in his strong arms. The infant gurgled softly, blinking up at the gathered faces with wide, curious eyes. He seemed utterly oblivious to the commotion he had inadvertently caused, his tiny fingers grasping at the air.

Akaza grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest and fixing Tanjuro with a glare that would have intimidated most men. But Tanjuro merely smiled, completely unfazed. "You're just doing this to annoy me, aren't you?" Akaza accused. "You know I hate crowds."

Tanjuro raised an eyebrow, his smile widening ever so slightly. "We're just building the family, Akaza," he said softly. Then, with a hint of warmth in his voice, he added, "Besides, you're part of it, aren't you?"

The statement caught Akaza off guard. For a brief moment, his glare wavered, a flicker of something softer passing across his face. But it was gone as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by another heavy sigh. "Tch, whatever," he muttered, though there was less bite in his tone than before.

Nezuko, still giggling, nudged her brother with her elbow. "Akaza-ojisan is just jealous because he missed Rokuta's birth," she whispered, though not quietly enough to escape Akaza's keen hearing.

Tanjiro grinned, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Yeah, he didn't get to meet him until now. Poor Akaza-ojisan, missing out on all the fun!"

Akaza shot them both a look that would have withered lesser individuals, but the Kamado children merely grinned back, completely immune to his intimidation tactics. He could never stay truly angry around these kids, a fact that both annoyed and secretly pleased him. Their laughter and energy, while sometimes grating on his nerves, had become a familiar comfort over the years.

Rokuta, seemingly sensing that he was the center of attention, let out a tiny squeal. His small hands reached out toward Akaza, fingers grasping at the air as if trying to grab onto this loud, unfamiliar man. There was no fear in the baby's eyes, only curiosity and perhaps a hint of the same warmth that characterized the rest of his family.

Akaza sighed again, but this time, there was an unmistakable softening in his expression. The hard lines around his eyes eased, and the tension in his shoulders seemed to dissipate slightly. "Fine," he muttered, stepping closer to Tanjuro and the baby. "Let me see him."

Tanjuro, with a knowing smile, carefully transferred Rokuta into Akaza's arms. Despite his gruff exterior, Akaza handled the infant with surprising gentleness. His large, battle-hardened hands cradled Rokuta securely, supporting the baby's head with unexpected tenderness.

Rokuta blinked up at Akaza, his big eyes full of wonder and innocence. For a long moment, they simply stared at each other – the hardened warrior and the newborn child, a study in contrasts. Then, to everyone's surprise, Rokuta let out a happy gurgle and reached up to pat Akaza's cheek with his tiny hand.

The room held its breath, waiting for Akaza's reaction. For a second, it seemed as though he might hand the baby back and retreat behind his usual gruff facade. But then, the corner of his mouth twitched, almost imperceptibly.

"Well," Akaza grumbled, though there was an unmistakable fondness in his voice, "at least this one's quiet. For now."

The rest of the Kamado family exchanged glances, trying desperately to contain their amusement. Tanjiro bit his lip to keep from laughing, while Nezuko hid her giggles behind her hand. Even Kie and Tanjuro shared a silent, knowing look.

As Akaza stood there, holding baby Rokuta with a mixture of reluctance and growing affection, the warmth that filled the house seemed to intensify. It was a warmth that went beyond the physical – a warmth of family, of belonging, of home. And despite all his protests and grumbling, Akaza found himself enveloped in it.

He would never admit it out loud, but standing there in the Kamado household, surrounded by laughter and the innocent gaze of a newborn, Akaza felt something he rarely experienced in his harsh world: peace. It was a feeling he had missed more than he realized, and one he found himself surprisingly grateful to experience again.

As the sun dipped lower on the horizon, casting long shadows through the windows, the Kamado family settled in for an evening of stories, laughter, and the simple joy of being together. And at the center of it all was Akaza, still holding baby Rokuta, a reluctant but undeniable part of this ever-growing, ever-loving family.

Chapter Text

The moon hung high over the darkened forest, casting its silver light over the earth below. Deep within a secluded mansion, hidden far from prying eyes, Muzan Kibutsuji sat in his private chambers. His pale hands rested on the arms of his throne, his unnervingly calm expression masking the storm of thoughts swirling in his mind.

It had been years since Akaza began visiting the Kamado family. At first, Muzan had seen it as a trivial matter, a mere distraction for one of his most powerful Upper Moons. But recently, something has shifted. Akaza had grown… different. Less ruthless. More detached from Muzan's control.

A scowl formed on Muzan’s lips as his crimson eyes narrowed. The Kamados. *That* family was the root of it all. They had somehow created a bond with Akaza, a bond that weakened Muzan's influence over him. Akaza's visits had been growing more frequent, and each time, Muzan felt his grip over the demon slipping. This wasn’t something he could afford to ignore any longer.

His fingers tightened on the armrest. It was dangerous—unacceptable, even—that Akaza might one day break free from his control. The Kamados were becoming more than just an annoyance. They were a threat to Muzan’s hierarchy.

And then there was Tanjuro Kamado.

Muzan’s thoughts darkened further as memories of that man resurfaced. Tanjuro, with his calm demeanor, was not just an ordinary swordsman. There was something more lurking beneath his gentle exterior. A power that reminded Muzan of something ancient, something that should have stayed buried.

*The Uchiha.*

---

**Flashback: 

Years ago, when Muzan had first sent Akaza to observe Tanjuro Kamado, there had been nothing immediately alarming. Akaza had followed Tanjuro on several missions, assessing the man’s combat abilities. At first, Muzan had believed that Tanjuro was simply a skilled warrior, perhaps a former Demon Slayer with some potential. But there was an instance, a fleeting moment during one of those missions, that had changed everything.

Akaza and Tanjuro were deep in enemy territory, surrounded by demons. The air was thick with the scent of blood, and Akaza had expected Tanjuro to falter, to show fear. But he hadn’t. Instead, Tanjuro had calmly unsheathed his sword, his movements fluid and precise. 

And then, Akaza saw it.

For a brief moment, Tanjuro’s eyes had changed. They shifted into something Akaza had never seen before—deep red, swirling with three tomoe, glowing with an almost unnatural intensity. It was a power unlike anything Akaza had encountered. The Sharingan.

Tanjuro had moved with deadly precision, slicing through the demons as if he could see every one of their moves before they made them. Akaza had watched, stunned, as Tanjuro’s sword danced through the air, his Sharingan eyes allowing him to predict and counter every attack with terrifying ease.

When it was over, the battlefield was littered with the bodies of fallen demons, and Tanjuro stood amidst them, calm and unshaken. He had turned to Akaza, his eyes back to their usual, gentle state, as if nothing had happened.

"Are you alright, Akaza?" Tanjuro had asked, his voice soft, as though he hadn’t just demonstrated an extraordinary power.

Akaza, for once, had been at a loss for words. He had nodded, but his mind had been racing. He knew he needed to report this to Muzan, but something held him back. Perhaps it was Tanjuro’s kindness, or the inexplicable bond that had begun to form between them. But Akaza hadn’t said a word about the Sharingan to Muzan—not then, at least.

---

**Present: 

Now, sitting in his chamber, Muzan’s fingers drummed against the armrest as he recalled that mission. The realization was clear: Tanjuro Kamado was more than just a skilled swordsman. He carried the bloodline of the Uchiha, a clan Muzan had thought eradicated long ago.

Fear, a rare emotion for Muzan, began to creep into his mind. The Uchiha had been a threat in the Sengoku period, their power rivaling even that of the demons. Their Sharingan had allowed them to control and predict battles with unnatural precision. If Tanjuro was truly descended from that clan, it meant the Kamado family had the potential to become his greatest threat.

And worse still, that bond between Tanjuro and Akaza—could the Sharingan be influencing Akaza? Could it be what was weakening Muzan’s control?

Muzan’s crimson eyes darkened, his fingers clenching into a fist. This was unacceptable. The Kamados needed to be eradicated before their influence grew any stronger. He could not risk losing Akaza, one of his most powerful Upper Moons, to the influence of the Uchiha.

---

Muzan stood from his throne, the cold fire of determination burning in his chest. He would not allow a mere human family to undermine his empire. He would destroy the Kamados, wipe them out completely, and ensure that the Uchiha bloodline was obliterated once and for all.

His voice echoed through the chamber, cold and commanding. "Summon the Upper Moon One."

The Biwa Played

Chapter Text

In the dimly lit chamber, Muzan’s eyes glowed with a dangerous intensity as he stood from his throne. His cold, commanding voice echoed through the stillness. 

"Summon Upper Moon One."

The sharp pluck of the biwa resounded through the air, and in an instant, Kokushibo appeared before Muzan. His towering form cast a long shadow over the room, and the six haunting eyes that adorned his face glimmered with a stoic, yet ominous power. Kokushibo knelt before Muzan, his deep voice unwavering as he spoke.

"Master Muzan," Kokushibo greeted, his head bowed in deference.

Muzan’s eyes narrowed as he regarded his most powerful Upper Moon. "Kokushibo, there is a matter I wish to discuss—a threat that has surfaced from a bloodline thought long extinct." Muzan’s voice dripped with disdain as he mentioned the family in question. "The Uchiha."

At the mention of the name, Kokushibo's expression darkened, a subtle flicker of recognition and resentment crossing his face. "The Uchiha," he repeated, his voice low, as if the name itself stirred memories of deep, old wounds.

Muzan observed the slight shift in Kokushibo’s demeanor, intrigued. "You know of them."

Kokushibo slowly lifted his head, his six eyes locking onto Muzan’s. There was a cold, burning hatred in his gaze that Muzan had never quite seen in the normally composed demon. "Yes. I know the Uchiha clan well," Kokushibo said, his voice rough with barely contained animosity. "They are a treacherous bloodline. I encountered them when I was still human."

---

**Flashback: 

He remembered the Uchiha elder, his Sharingan spinning lazily as he dismissed Michikatsu’s existence as insignificant. "You are but a tool, young child, your father cannot protect you here. The Uchiha are eternal; we will use whatever means necessary to secure our future, even if it means sacrificing those who serve no further purpose. You my dear child, are far more important than you know, with your bloodline in our hands we will become unstoppable"

The boy trembled at the sight of the elder.

“Don’t worry, we'll take good care of you, we don’t want our prized possession being damaged and All.”

They dragged him away from his father, his family and put him into a medical facility.They used him for science experiments and when that wasn’t happening, they were forcing him to marry their kids. He was driven to madness by their torture, and it was that moment that had ultimately driven Michikatsu toward the path of darkness, where Muzan had found him.

Kokushibo’s fists clenched as the memory ended. The hatred for the Uchiha had never left him. Even now, as a demon, that betrayal festered in the deepest recesses of his mind.

---

"They used me," Kokushibo muttered, his voice tight with bitterness. "The Uchiha are treacherous by nature. They care only for themselves, using others as pawns in their endless pursuit of power. It is because of them that I..." He trailed off, his voice thick with the weight of his past.

Muzan’s interest deepened. He had known there was bad blood between Kokushibo and the Uchiha, but this level of hatred was far more personal than he had expected.

"You were right to hate them," Muzan said smoothly, his voice like a serpent’s hiss. "But their bloodline is not as extinct as we once thought. Tanjuro Kamado—a man tied to the Uchiha bloodline—possesses the Sharingan. And what’s more, his family carries the legacy of Sun Breathing, the very technique that your brother Yoriichi mastered."

Kokushibo’s eyes widened slightly at the mention of Sun Breathing. The bitterness within him intensified, his mind flashing to his brother’s overwhelming strength, a strength that had always been beyond his reach. His greatest shame.

"The Kamado family..." Kokushibo said slowly, his voice dripping with venom. "They carry both the Uchiha’s cursed blood and the legacy of Sun Breathing? They are a dangerous convergence of two ancient powers."

Muzan’s voice grew cold. "Exactly. The Kamado family is a threat to my reign. If Tanjuro’s Sharingan can weaken my control over Akaza, then there’s no telling what else he is capable of. Their bloodline, their connection to Sun Breathing—it must be severed."

Kokushibo stood to his full height, his towering form casting a shadow over Muzan’s chamber. The six eyes on his face burned with intensity, each one reflecting his deep hatred for the Uchiha, for the Kamados, and for anything connected to the Sun Breathing technique that had haunted him for centuries.

"I will destroy them," Kokushibo declared, his voice resolute. "The Uchiha bloodline, the Kamado family, their Sun Breathing—all of it will be erased. I will ensure that none of them remain to threaten your reign, Lord Muzan."

Muzan’s lips curved into a dark, satisfied smile. "Good. I am trusting you with this task, Kokushibo. The Kamados will be eradicated, and with them, any hope of rebellion against me."

As the conversation ended, the tension in the room thickened. Kokushibo’s hatred for the Uchiha and Muzan’s growing fear of the Kamado family had aligned them with a singular purpose: the complete destruction of the Kamados and their cursed legacy.

With Kokushibo dispatched, Muzan’s mind began to settle, his plans set in motion. The Uchiha had once betrayed Kokushibo, but now it would be Muzan’s turn to use their bloodline for his own gain, only to obliterate them when the time was right.

The sun had set on the Kamado family, and Muzan would make sure it would never rise again.

—-

As Kokushibo walked away from Muzan’s chamber, the air around him felt electric with the surge of long-buried emotions. His towering form moved through the shadowed halls with purpose, but his mind was in chaos, consumed by a single, overwhelming thought: the Uchiha.

A twisted smile crept across his face, his lips curling with a manic glee that he hadn’t felt in centuries. His six eyes gleamed with wild, feverish anticipation as he imagined it—finally, after all this time, he would have his revenge. The Uchiha, the clan that had humiliated and used him, would be wiped from existence. Their bloodline, their accursed Sharingan, would be nothing more than dust beneath his feet.

The Sun Breathing, the legacy of his brother Yoriichi, no longer held the same weight in his mind. In the past, Kokushibo had been consumed by envy for Yoriichi's mastery of the technique, by his endless comparisons to his brother’s perfect strength. But now? Now, the only thing he could think about was the Uchiha—their arrogant eyes, their manipulative ways, and the centuries of hatred he had carried in his heart.

"The Uchiha..." Kokushibo whispered to himself, his voice trembling with dark excitement. "Finally, I will erase every trace of them."

His mind spiraled deeper into madness. The images of those red, spinning Sharingan haunted him, but this time, they were not something to fear. No, they were something to *crush*. He could still see them—those crimson eyes that had once looked down upon him with cold disdain, using him as a mere pawn in their selfish games.

The memory of the Uchiha elder sneering at him, calling him a tool, played over and over in his mind. "You are insignificant," the elder had said, "nothing more than a sword for the Uchiha’s ambitions."

But now, Kokushibo would be the one standing over them, their blood pooling at his feet. His sword would be the instrument of their destruction, not their rise to power.

A crazed laugh bubbled up from his throat, the sound echoing eerily in the dark halls as he walked. His thoughts spiraled further, the joy of impending vengeance consuming him. He didn’t care anymore about serving Muzan’s goals, about the power struggle within the demon ranks, or even about Sun Breathing itself. None of it mattered compared to the chance to destroy the Uchiha bloodline.

"It will be glorious," Kokushibo muttered, his smile widening into a grotesque, twisted grin. "Their eyes will fade, their pride will crumble, and they will know the suffering they inflicted upon me."

His grip tightened on the hilt of his sword, the blade humming with bloodlust as if it, too, thirsted for the Uchiha’s demise. The thought of cutting them down, of watching the light drain from their cursed Sharingan, filled him with a dark, euphoric pleasure. He could almost hear their cries, see the fear in their once-arrogant eyes as they realized their fate.

Kokushibo’s heart pounded faster, his breaths coming in shallow gasps as his anticipation grew. His body trembled with excitement; his mind completely consumed by the idea of wiping the Uchiha from existence. His hatred for them had festered for so long that it had become part of him, a driving force that had shaped his very being.

And now, at last, he would have his moment of reckoning.

His voice, barely more than a crazed whisper, echoed softly through the darkness. "I will kill them all."

Kokushibo continued his march, his mind fixated on the bloodline he so despised. He didn’t care how many Kamados he would need to slaughter, how many demons or humans he had to go through. All that mattered was that the Uchiha would fall by his hand.

The Uchiha bloodline would finally be erased from the world, and Kokushibo would be the one to deliver their long-overdue judgment.

Chapter Text

The sun was setting over the mountain, painting the sky in hues of orange and purple as Tanjuro and Tanjiro made their way down the winding path towards home. The air was crisp with the coming night, filled with the scent of pine and the earthy aroma of freshly cut wood. Both father and son carried bundles of coal on their backs, the fruits of their day's labor.

Tanjiro, ever the optimist, hummed a cheerful tune as he walked beside his father. His bright red hair, a stark contrast to the darkening sky, bounced with each step. "Do you think Mom and the others will like the extra coal we got this time, Dad?" he asked, his voice filled with excitement and pride.

Tanjuro smiled softly, his kind eyes crinkling at the corners. "I'm sure they will, Tanjiro," he replied, his voice calm and reassuring. But beneath his serene exterior, an unsettling feeling gnawed at him. Years of shinobi training, buried but never forgotten, screamed that something was amiss.

As they continued their descent, the feeling grew stronger. The forest around them seemed unnaturally still, as if holding its breath in anticipation of something ominous. Birds had ceased their evening songs, and even the insects were silent. Tanjuro's hand instinctively tightened on the strap of his coal bundle.

"Tanjiro," he said, his voice low and controlled, "I want you to run ahead to the house. Tell your mother to gather the children and prepare to leave if necessary."

Tanjiro's cheerful demeanor faltered, confusion and concern clouding his young face. "But Dad, why? What's wrong?"

Tanjuro's eyes flickered, the dark irises suddenly bleeding into crimson as his Sharingan activated. The tomoe spun slowly as he scanned their surroundings. "There's danger coming, son. I need you to protect your mother and siblings. Can you do that for me?"

Tanjiro nodded solemnly, his own instincts kicking in. Without another word, he took off down the path, his feet sure and swift despite the fading light.

Tanjuro watched him go, a mixture of pride and worry in his heart. Then, with a deep breath, he turned to face the approaching storm.

---

**Meanwhile at the Kamado Home**

The warmth of the Kamado household was a stark contrast to the chill settling outside. Lanterns cast a soft, golden glow over the main room, where Kie bustled about, preparing the evening meal. The aroma of cooking rice and miso soup filled the air, mingling with the scent of wood smoke from the hearth.

Nezuko sat nearby, carefully folding origami cranes while keeping an eye on her younger siblings. Takeo and Hanako were engaged in a spirited game of cat's cradle, their laughter ringing out periodically. Baby Rokuta dozed peacefully in a wooden cradle, occasionally making soft, contented noises in his sleep.

The peaceful scene was interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps. The door slid open, revealing not Tanjuro and Tanjiro as expected, but Akaza. The demon's imposing figure filled the doorway, his pink hair and eyes a stark contrast to the warm tones of the Kamado home.

"Akaza-Oji!" the children shouted in unison, their faces lighting up with joy. Even little Rokuta stirred at the commotion, blinking sleepily.

Kie turned from her cooking, a warm smile gracing her features. "Welcome back, Akaza," she said, wiping her hands on her apron. "We weren't expecting you. Are you hungry? There's plenty to go around."

Akaza stepped into the house, a rare smile softening his usually stern features. The Kamado home had become a sanctuary for him, a place where he could forget the darkness of his existence as a demon. Here, he was just Akaza-Oji, a beloved member of the family.

"Thank you, Kie," he said, his deep voice tinged with warmth. "But I've just returned from a mission. I wanted to check on you all before—"

His words were cut short as a sudden, oppressive energy cut through the air like a blade. The warmth seemed to leech from the room in an instant, replaced by a cold dread that settled in the pit of Akaza's stomach. His smile faded, replaced by a look of grim determination.

*Kokushibo.*

Akaza's heart dropped. He recognized that presence instantly—the same suffocating aura of Upper Moon One. But why was Kokushibo here? His senses heightened, the air around them suddenly felt colder, heavy with impending danger.

In a low, urgent voice, Akaza turned to Kie. "Take the children and hide. Now."

Kie, sensing the gravity in his tone, clutched Rokuta tighter and looked into Akaza's eyes. "What's wrong?" she asked, concern lacing her voice. The other children had fallen silent, sensing the sudden shift in atmosphere.

"It's an Upper Demon," Akaza responded, his voice grave. "Kokushibo. He's after your family. Probably because of me." His fists clenched in frustration, nails digging into his palms. "I've put all of you in danger."

Kie reached out, placing a hand on Akaza's arm. Her touch was gentle, but her eyes were filled with a steely resolve. "Don't apologize, Akaza. You've given us so much happiness. This is not your fault."

Akaza's heart ached at her words, a complex mix of emotions warring within him. But there was no time for sentiment. His eyes darkened with resolve as he spoke again, his voice low and urgent. "Kie, take the children. Run down the mountain. If Tanjuro and I don't return by sunrise, you must leave and never look back. Kokushibo will stop at nothing until he kills us all."

Kie hesitated for a moment, the weight of the situation sinking in. But she nodded, trusting Akaza's judgment. With quick, efficient movements, she gathered the children, her face pale but determined.

"Nezuko, help me with Rokuta," she said, her voice steady despite the fear evident in her eyes. "Takeo, Hanako, grab only what you need. We must move quickly and quietly."

As the family prepared to flee, Tanjiro burst through the door, out of breath and wide-eyed. "Mom!" he gasped. "Dad says there's danger coming. We need to—" He stopped short, taking in the scene before him. "Akaza-nii? What's happening?"

Akaza placed a hand on Tanjiro's shoulder, his grip firm but reassuring. "Your father is right, Tanjiro. I need you to be brave now. Help your mother get everyone to safety. Can you do that?"

Tanjiro nodded, his young face set with determination. "I'll protect them, Akaza-Oji. I promise."

Akaza allowed himself a small, proud smile. "I know you will, kid. Now go, quickly."

As the Kamado family slipped out into the night, Akaza turned to face the approaching threat. The air around him crackled with energy as he prepared for the battle to come.

---

**Outside**

The night had fully settled now, the forest cloaked in shadows. A thick mist had begun to roll in, curling around tree trunks and obscuring the ground. The moon, full and ominous, cast an eerie glow over the scene.

Through this ethereal landscape, Kokushibo's towering figure emerged. He walked with slow, deliberate steps towards the Kamado home, each movement filled with purpose and barely contained malice. His long hair flowed behind him, seeming to merge with the shadows themselves.

As he drew closer, the details of his appearance became clearer. His face, twisted in disgust, bore the marks of his demonic nature. Six eyes burned with an inner fire, reflecting his hatred and disdain. His sword, sheathed at his side, seemed to pulse with dark energy, eager for the coming conflict.

Kokushibo's gaze fell upon the modest Kamado house, his lip curling in contempt. His thoughts were a maelstrom of bitterness and scorn. *How far the Uchiha clan has fallen,* he mused, his inner voice dripping with derision. 

In his mind's eye, he saw the Uchiha of old—proud, powerful, manipulating events from the shadows. They had been a force to be reckoned with, always two steps ahead of their enemies, their Sharingan giving them an edge in battle and politics alike.

And now? Now they had dwindled to this—mere shadows of their former selves, hiding in the mountains like common peasants. Mingling with humans, starting families, living simple lives. It was pathetic, a mockery of everything the Uchiha had once stood for.

As he approached the house, Kokushibo's senses picked up on recent movement. His eyes narrowed, realizing that the family had fled. But it mattered little. They couldn't hide from him for long. First, he would deal with Tanjuro and that traitor, Akaza. Then, he would hunt down every last member of this disgraced Uchiha line.

A cruel smile played across Kokushibo's lips as he unsheathed his sword. The blade gleamed in the moonlight, hungry for blood. It was time to remind these fallen shinobi of the true meaning of power.

—

Tanjuro raced through the forest, his feet barely touching the ground as he moved with the silent grace of a seasoned shinobi. His Sharingan blazed in the darkness, three tomoe spinning rapidly as he scanned for any sign of the approaching threat.

He could feel Kokushibo's presence now, a malevolent force that seemed to corrupt the very air around it. Tanjuro's mind raced, memories of his past life as Madara Uchiha bubbling to the surface. He had hoped to leave that life behind, to find peace with Kie and their children. But it seemed the past was not done with him yet.

As he cleared a dense patch of trees, Kokushibo came into full view. The Upper Moon demon stood in a small clearing, his sword already drawn and gleaming ominously in the moonlight. Tanjuro didn't hesitate. In one fluid motion, he unsheathed his own blade and darted towards Kokushibo.

The clash of their swords sent sparks flying, illuminating the night for a brief, brilliant moment. Tanjuro's Sharingan worked overtime, tracking every minute movement of Kokushibo's body. But even with his heightened perception, Kokushibo's speed was almost overwhelming.

Kokushibo's six eyes narrowed, a hint of surprise in them. "So, you haven't completely lost your edge, Tanjuro," he sneered, his voice cold and mocking. "Or should I say, Madara?"

Tanjuro's jaw clenched at the use of his alias name, but he didn't rise to the bait. Instead, he pressed his attack, his blade moving in intricate patterns as he sought an opening in Kokushibo's defense.

But Kokushibo's movements were equally swift, as if he anticipated every strike. He dodged Tanjuro's attacks with disturbing ease, his body twisting and turning in ways that seemed to defy the laws of physics.

"You think your pathetic jutsu will work on me?" Kokushibo taunted as he parried another of Tanjuro's strikes. "I've faced countless Uchiha in my time. I know all their tricks."

Tanjuro's eyes narrowed, focusing harder. His hands flashed through a series of seals, muscle memory from years of training taking over. "Fire Style: Phoenix Flower Jutsu!"

A volley of small, intense fireballs erupted from Tanjuro's mouth, each one homing in on Kokushibo with deadly accuracy. The forest lit up with the glow of the flames, shadows dancing wildly across the trees.

But Kokushibo's sword danced through the air, slicing through each fireball with contemptuous ease. The flames dissipated harmlessly, leaving nothing but wisps of smoke in their wake.

"Pathetic," Kokushibo spat, his voice dripping with disdain. "Is this all the great Uchiha clan has to offer?"

Tanjuro didn't respond to the taunt. Instead, he used the momentary distraction to change positions, appearing behind Kokushibo in a burst of speed. His hands were already forming new seals as he inhaled deeply.

"Fire Style: Great Fireball Technique!"

A massive sphere of searing flames engulfed Kokushibo, the heat so intense it scorched the surrounding trees. The roar of the fire drowned out all other sounds, and for a moment, it seemed as if the Upper Moon had been caught off guard.

Then, through the inferno, Kokushibo's voice rang out, cold and unimpressed. "Moon Breathing, First Form: Dark Moon Evening Palace."

A crescent of pure darkness cut through the fireball, dispersing it instantly. Kokushibo emerged unscathed, his eyes narrowed in irritation. "Your jutsu are impressive, Tanjuro. But they're relics of a bygone era. Allow me to show you true power."

With blinding speed, Kokushibo closed the distance between them. His sword moved in intricate patterns, each strike aimed at a vital point. Tanjuro's Sharingan worked overtime, allowing him to dodge and parry, but each movement was becoming more desperate.

A slash grazed Tanjuro's arm, drawing first blood. He winced but didn't falter, countering with a kunai throw that Kokushibo effortlessly deflected.

"You've grown soft, Tanjuro," Kokushibo taunted as they clashed again, sword meeting kunai in a shower of sparks. "Living among humans, playing at being a family man. You've forgotten what it means to be an Uchiha."

Tanjuro's eyes flashed with determination. "You're wrong," he growled, pushing back against Kokushibo's blade. "I haven't forgotten. I've found something worth protecting."

But even as he spoke, Tanjuro could feel himself being pushed back. Kokushibo's strength was immense, his technique flawless. Years of peace had indeed dulled Tanjuro's edge, and the weight of his past as Madara Uchiha hung heavy on his shoulders.

Kokushibo sensed the hesitation and pressed his advantage. His sword became a whirlwind of deadly strikes, each one pushing Tanjuro further on the defensive. "Enough of this!" the Upper Moon snarled, his patience wearing thin.

With a final, devastating slash, Kokushibo knocked Tanjuro's kunai from his hand. The Uchiha stumbled, momentarily off-balance, and Kokushibo seized the opportunity. He raised his sword high, aiming for Tanjuro's heart, ready to end the battle in one decisive strike.

Just as the blade was about to connect, a blur of motion intercepted the strike. Akaza stood between Tanjuro and Kokushibo, his bare hands gripping the sword, stopping it mere inches from its target. The impact sent shockwaves through the ground, trees swaying from the force of the clash.

Akaza's eyes burned with fierce determination as he glared at Kokushibo. "Why are you here?" he demanded, his voice low and dangerous.

Kokushibo's eyes narrowed, a mix of surprise and disgust crossing his features. "You've lost your way, Akaza," he spat. "Muzan plans to erase your memories of these humans. You're a fool for letting them weaken you."

Those words triggered something deep within Akaza. It was as if a dam had burst in his mind, and memories long suppressed came flooding back with overwhelming force. The world around him seemed to fade away, replaced by vivid flashes of his past life.

*A young woman's face, framed by flowing dark hair, her eyes twinkling with laughter...*

"Koyuki," Akaza whispered, the name feeling both foreign and achingly familiar on his lips.

The scene shifted, and suddenly he was standing in a modest dojo. The wooden floors creaked beneath his feet as he moved through a kata, his movements precise and powerful. A group of young students watched him with awe, their eyes wide with admiration.

*"Sensei!" they called out, their voices filled with respect and affection.*

Akaza's heart clenched as he recognized his students, the ones he had sworn to protect and nurture. Their faces were so clear, so full of life and potential.

The memories continued to assault him, each one more vivid than the last. He saw himself tending to his sick father, felt the weight of responsibility on his shoulders as he worked tirelessly to provide medicine and care.

*"You've always been so strong, my son," his father's voice echoed in his mind, weak but filled with pride.*

Akaza's breath caught in his throat as the significance of these memories began to sink in. He had been more than just a fighter. He had been a husband, a teacher, a son. He had been human.

As the realization washed over him, ghostly figures began to materialize around him. They were translucent, glowing with a soft, ethereal light, but unmistakably real. Koyuki stood before him, her eyes filled with the same love and warmth he remembered.

"Akaza," she spoke, her voice like a gentle breeze. "You haven't forgotten us. You haven't forgotten yourself."

His students appeared next, their young faces beaming with encouragement. "Sensei, you taught us to never give up, to always strive to be better. It's time for you to remember your own teachings."

His father's spirit placed a ghostly hand on his shoulder. "You've carried such a heavy burden, my boy. But you're stronger than any curse. You always have been."

Akaza's mind reeled as he struggled to process what was happening. An inner voice, one he hadn't heard in what felt like centuries, began to speak:

*What have I become? I swore to protect the weak, to nurture the young, to love with all my heart. How could I have forgotten? How could I have let myself be twisted into this... this monster?*

The curse Muzan had placed on him began to crack, like ice breaking apart in the spring thaw. Akaza could feel it splintering, could sense the tendrils of demonic influence loosening their grip on his soul.

*No more,* he thought, his inner voice growing stronger with each passing moment. *I won't be a pawn in Muzan's game any longer. I am Akaza, the protector, the teacher, the husband. I made a promise, and it's time I honored it.*

With a surge of will he didn't know he possessed, Akaza pushed back against the curse. The ghostly figures of his loved ones seemed to lend him their strength, their light growing brighter as the darkness of Muzan's influence receded.

In that instant, the curse shattered completely. It was like emerging from deep, murky waters into bright sunlight. Akaza's eyes widened with newfound clarity, the fog of demonic influence lifting from his mind for the first time in ages.

He blinked, coming back to the present moment. Kokushibo still stood before him, transformed and menacing. Tanjuro was at his side, tense and ready for battle. But Akaza felt different. Reborn. The weight of his past actions hung heavy on him, but with it came a sense of purpose he had long forgotten.

Akaza's fists clenched, not with the mindless rage of a demon, but with the controlled determination of a martial artist. His eyes, once clouded with bloodlust, now shone with resolve.

"You're wrong, Kokushibo," Akaza said, his voice steady and filled with newfound conviction. "These humans haven't weakened me. They've reminded me of who I truly am."

The ghostly figures of his loved ones faded away, but Akaza could still feel their presence, their strength flowing through him. He took a step forward, placing himself between Kokushibo and the path that led to the Kamado family.

"I made a promise long ago," Akaza continued, settling into a fighting stance. "To protect those who cannot protect themselves. It's time I honored that vow."

The fight ahead would be the toughest he had ever faced, but for the first time in centuries, he knew exactly who he was and what he was fighting for.

The true battle was about to begin, and Akaza was finally ready to face it as his real self.

Realizing what had happened, Kokushibo's expression darkened further. "So... you've broken free." His voice dropped, filled with malicious intent. "Then I'll end you both."

---

The air around Kokushibo began to distort, rippling like heat waves rising from sun-baked earth. His body trembled violently, muscles contorting beneath his skin as if something within was fighting to break free. The ground beneath his feet cracked and splintered, small fissures spreading outward like a spider's web.

Tanjuro and Akaza watched in horrified fascination as Kokushibo's transformation began. The Upper Moon's hair, once as dark as a moonless night, started to change. From the roots, a deep, fiery red began to spread, like blood seeping through water. Within moments, his entire mane had become a cascade of crimson, whipping around his face as if alive with its own energy.

But it wasn't just his appearance that was changing. The very air seemed to grow heavy, charged with an oppressive energy that made it difficult to breathe. Tanjuro's Sharingan spun wildly, struggling to process the enormous surge of chakra emanating from Kokushibo. It was unlike anything he had ever encountered – a mixture of demonic energy and something else, something ancient and terrifyingly powerful.

Akaza's eyes widened in recognition, a cold dread settling in the pit of his stomach. "This chakra," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper, "it can't be..."

The ground continued to fracture beneath Kokushibo, small stones levitating as his power erupted in waves. Trees groaned and bent away from him, as if trying to escape the onslaught of energy. In the distance, animals could be heard fleeing in panic, their instincts screaming of the danger that now stood in the forest.

Tanjuro and Akaza stood side by side, their own power paling in comparison to the maelstrom before them. Tanjuro's face was set in grim determination, but a bead of sweat trailing down his temple betrayed his apprehension. Akaza's fists were clenched so tight his knuckles had turned white, his mind racing to comprehend what they were witnessing.

As Kokushibo's transformation neared its completion, his six eyes began to glow with an unholy light. The purple of his demon marks seemed to pulse and writhe on his skin, intertwining with new patterns that swirled across his body – patterns that Tanjuro recognized with growing horror.

"A... an Uzumaki?" Tanjuro's words came out strained, his heart pounding so hard he could hear it in his ears. "How is this possible?"

Kokushibo's chakra crackled around him like lightning, the sheer intensity of it causing the air to shimmer and distort. The once-calm forest now vibrated with his malevolent energy, leaves and small branches swirling in a vortex around him.

When Kokushibo finally spoke, his voice seemed to come from everywhere at once, reverberating with newfound power. "Surprised? You thought you knew all my secrets?" A cruel smile played across his lips, revealing sharpened teeth. "Allow me to enlighten you on the true nature of power."

Chapter Text

The forest trembled under the weight of the battle raging within its depths. Trees groaned and splintered as waves of chakra rippled through the air, the very fabric of reality seeming to warp around the three combatants locked in their deadly dance.

Tanjuro and Akaza moved in perfect synchronization, years of training and battle instincts guiding their every move. But even their combined might seemed to barely scratch the surface of Kokushibo's newfound power. The Upper Moon demon now revealed to possess Uzumaki lineage, was a whirlwind of destruction, his sword leaving trails of crimson energy in its wake.

"Is this all the great Uchiha clan has to offer?" Kokushibo taunted, his voice echoing unnaturally through the clearing. "Pathetic!"

Tanjuro gritted his teeth, his Sharingan spinning wildly as he struggled to keep up with Kokushibo's movements. Even with his heightened perception, the demon's speed was almost beyond comprehension. Beside him, Akaza launched a flurry of punches, each strike powerful enough to shatter stone, but Kokushibo deflected them with ease.

"You know nothing of true power," Kokushibo sneered. His hands blurred through a series of seals that Tanjuro recognized with growing horror. "Let me show you the legacy of the Uzumaki clan!"

Suddenly, the air around them seemed to come alive. Glowing chains of pure chakra erupted from Kokushibou, their links humming with barely contained energy. Before Tanjuro could react, the chains had wrapped around his limbs, binding him tight and cutting off his chakra flow.

"Tanjuro!" Akaza shouted, turning to help his friend. But in that moment of distraction, Kokushibo struck. His sword flashed, and Akaza barely managed to dodge, the blade leaving a deep gash across his chest.

I can’t breathe… I can’t move. Tanjuro struggled against the chains, his mind racing. Without access to his chakra, most of his jutsu were useless. The Sharingan still spun in his eyes, but its power was greatly diminished. 

Then, in the midst of the chaos, a memory surfaced. His family. The rhythmic dance of the Hinokami Kagura. He could see his wife, Kie, and the children watching him perform with joy during the New Year festivals—the movement, the flow. It wasn’t just a dance, it was a sword technique, why had he forgotten about that?

With a surge of resolve, Tanjuro's mind sharpened. He began to sway, even as the chains tightened around him. He moved in sync with the patterns of the Kagura, each step purposeful, each movement a deliberate echo.

The heat in his body grew—not chakra, but a deeper, more primal fire.

Kokushibo’s sneer faltered, just for a moment, as Tanjuro’s body began to glow with the unmistakable aura of the Sun Breathing. His eyes snapped open, blazing with an inner fire.

"Still fighting?" Kokushibo muttered, his voice low but laced with disdain. Tanjuro's sword erupted in flames, the chains cracking under the immense pressure of his newfound strength.

And then Kokushibo laughed.

It was a sound unlike anything Tanjuro had ever heard. Sickening and cruel, yet so filled with madness that it sent shivers down his spine. It was not the laugh of a warrior. It was the laugh of someone lost in their own despair, their own hatred.

"Of course," Kokushibo rasped, his eyes wide with manic delight. "Of course, you nasty Uchiha have been blessed with my brother's gift." His voice was a mixture of rage and sorrow. His six eyes gleamed in the flickering light of Tanjuro’s flames, a reflection of the chaos in his soul. "It suits your family, doesn’t it? Will you take everything from me?"

The madness in his voice was tinged with something deeper, something broken. The hatred he harbored for the Uchiha was not born of rivalry alone—it was born of betrayal. Kokushibo’s twisted past echoed through the battlefield like a haunting dirge.

Tanjuro, feeling the weight of Kokushibo's words, faltered for a brief moment. He’s not just fighting us—he’s a victim. The realization hit him hard, but there was no time to process it fully. Kokushibo was still their enemy, still determined to destroy them, no matter the tragedy that had twisted his soul.

The battle continued, Tanjuro's fiery blade clashing with Kokushibo's crimson sword. Akaza, bloodied but undeterred, joined the fray once more, fighting alongside his friend. But it was clear they were at a disadvantage. Kokushibo’s chakra chains snaked through the battlefield, a constant reminder of the overwhelming power they faced.

Each time Tanjuro broke free from the chains, new ones emerged, binding him again. His Sun Breathing was powerful, but Kokushibo’s mastery of the Uzumaki bloodline, coupled with his demonic strength, was like fighting a force of nature itself.

Akaza fought with a fury born of desperation, his fists glowing with the raw energy of his demon blood. He roared as he lunged at Kokushibo, but the Upper Moon demon deflected every strike with ease, his manic laughter growing louder as the battle raged on.

"You think you can win against me?" Kokushibo’s voice was a roar of pure madness. "I have lived for centuries! I have endured! The Uchiha will die here— all of you! "

Tanjuro’s heart pounded as he dodged another flurry of strikes. He could feel the exhaustion creeping in, the strain of the battle wearing down his body. But he couldn’t give up. His family, his children—they depended on him. He had to find a way to end this.

As Kokushibo's chakra chains wrapped around him again, Tanjuro focused all his remaining strength into one final technique. The flames of the Hinokami Kagura flared once more, burning brighter than ever before, even as Kokushibo’s crazed eyes bore into him.

"I will protect my family," Tanjuro whispered, his voice filled with resolve. "No matter the cost."

The air was thick with tension as the trap was set. Tanjiro crouched low behind the cover of trees; his breathing steady as he glanced toward Akaza. The two had worked in perfect unison, leading Kokushibo to this exact spot—a place carefully chosen for the trap to spring.

Akaza’s eyes flickered with intensity. His focus was unwavering, and beneath the surface of his demon blood was a fierce determination to protect the Kamado family. Tanjuro had bought them enough time to prepare for this moment, and now it was time to act.

Kokushibo, still reeling from the intense battle earlier, stalked forward, his chakra chains moving like serpents through the forest. His crimson eyes burned with contempt, hatred deeply embedded in his soul as if the entire forest was suffocating under his presence.

"You think you can escape me, Uchiha scum?" Kokushibo spat, his voice cold and venomous. His hand twitched toward the hilt of his sword; the demon's strength was undiminished by the skirmish. He was searching for blood—Uchiha blood.

In that split second, as Kokushibo advanced, Tanjuro and Akaza moved. Tanjuro darted out from the shadows, his agility a blur, and Akaza’s fists launched toward Kokushibo like thunderbolts. The demon deflected the strikes, his sword cutting through the air in a deadly arc, but they were too quick, their teamwork flawless.

The real moment came when Tanjuro appeared behind Kokushibo.

His Sharingan gleamed like embers in the night, the legendary eyes of the Uchiha clan burning with intensity. His expression was grim yet resolved. In that heartbeat, time seemed to slow as Tanjuro formed the necessary seals.

"Amaterasu!"

The dark flames erupted on Kokushibo’s head instantly black flames of unquenchable fire, searing through his flesh with the intensity of a thousand suns. The flames clung to him, wrapping around his head, and consuming everything in their path. Kokushibo's roar pierced the night, a primal scream filled with both agony and rage.

His head was burning.

_____

The flames... these black flames. ..

Kokushibo's vision blurred as the fire licked at his face, the searing pain digging into his very soul. His eyes widened in disbelief at the agony, the relentless flames consuming him—like the cursed fire from his past, the cursed fire of the Uchiha.

How could I ever forget this pain? The thought rang bitterly in his mind. The flames had burned through his life once before, and now they were back, devouring him again. Memories surged the faces of Uchiha warriors, their arrogance, their coldness—their insidious desire to use him. The Uchiha clan had bled him dry, and their legacy, their cursed Sharingan, was the cause of his endless suffering.

This pain... it's more than just physical. It's the pain of betrayal, of manipulation, of being nothing more than a pawn in their grand schemes. Every lick of flame brings back a memory of their treachery.

Kokushibo's heart pounded as rage coiled deep within. They... they took everything from me . He could feel the flames burrowing into his mind, deeper than just the physical pain. The hatred he harbored for them, for centuries of betrayal, was overwhelming.

I remember it all. Every slight, every lie, every moment they used me for their own gain. The Uchiha, with their cursed eyes, looking down on me, molding me into their perfect weapon. They pushed me into the darkness, and manipulated my fate, all for their clan's glory.

The pain... it's unbearable. But I've lived with this hatred, let it fuel me, let it drive me. And now, faced with death, I feel it stronger than ever.

I will never forget what they did...

This suffering... it ends with me. But not before I end them. The Uchiha bloodline must be erased from this world. No more children born with those cursed eyes. No more lives ruined by their machinations.

And now... I will end them, no matter the cost.

My life... it means nothing if they continue to exist. If I must die to see them extinguished, then so be it. My death will have meaning. It will be the first step towards wiping the Uchiha from existence.

He lifted his hand to his own neck, his eyes glowing with the madness of vengeance. In this moment, Kokushibo felt a twisted sense of peace. The pain that had defined his existence for so long would finally serve a purpose.

This is my legacy. This is my revenge. With my death, I set in motion the end of the Uchiha.

He didn't hesitate.

With one swift motion, Kokushibo severed his own head.

_____

Tanjuro stood frozen, his sword trembling in his hand. He stared at the scene in disbelief, unable to fully process what had just happened. Akaza, panting heavily from the effort of battle, remained tense, waiting for something—anything—to happen.

The silence stretched for what felt like an eternity.

The forest was still, the oppressive weight of Kokushibo’s presence finally lifted. But the image of Kokushibo’s head, consumed by the black flames of Amaterasu, would be forever etched in their minds.

Was it over?

For a moment, there was silence. The eerie quiet after Kokushibo severed his own head hung heavy in the air, as though the forest itself was holding its breath. Tanjuro eyes still burning from Amaterasu, stared in disbelief at the headless body lying on the ground. His heart pounded in his chest, the adrenaline of battle surging through his veins, but something wasn’t right.

Akaza, his breathing labored and chest bleeding from the earlier wound, kept his gaze locked on Kokushibo’s fallen form. He knew better than to let his guard down. The Upper Moon One wasn’t like other demons—he was something far more dangerous. 

"Stay alert," Akaza whispered through gritted teeth, his eyes scanning the area for any sign of movement.

And then it happened.

Kokushibo’s body began to twitch.

A low, unnatural sound echoed through the forest—like bone cracking and flesh knitting itself together. The black flames of Amaterasu still clung to Kokushibo’s severed head, burning relentlessly, but his body… his body was moving.

"No…" Tanjuro breathed, stepping back in disbelief. "It can’t be."

The air around them grew thick, almost suffocating, as Kokushibo’s body slowly began to rise. His neck, where his head had once been severed, pulsed with dark energy. Before their very eyes, the grotesque process of regeneration had begun. Flesh and muscle twisted and reformed, bones reknit, and slowly—horrifyingly—his head started to grow back.

"You’ve got to be kidding me…" Akaza growled under his breath. He tightened his fists, instinctively preparing for another battle, but he knew deep down that they were at their limit. Kokushibo was regenerating, and once he regained full control, they’d be completely outmatched.

"Tanjuro!" Akaza shouted, his voice filled with urgency. "We need to go— now! "

Tanjuro hesitated, his Sharingan eyes still fixed on Kokushibo’s regenerating form. He could feel the weight of failure pressing down on him. They had set the perfect trap, executed everything flawlessly—and yet, it wasn’t enough. Kokushibo’s power was beyond anything they had anticipated.

"Tanjuro!" Akaza’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts.

Akaza grabbed Tanjuro by the arm, pulling him back as Kokushibo’s form began to stabilize, his head now almost fully restored. The Upper Moon’s eyes, filled with malice and centuries of hatred, gleamed with a terrifying light as the last bits of his face regenerated. His mouth curved into a twisted smile, the look of someone who had already won.

"Run!" Akaza growled, pulling Tanjuro with him. "We can’t fight him like this."

Tanjuro’s heart pounded in his chest, but he knew Akaza was right. Kokushibo wasn’t just a demon anymore—he was something far more terrifying, something far beyond their reach. The Uchiha clan’s power, the legacy of his bloodline, wasn’t enough to stop this monster.

Together, they fled through the forest, their feet pounding against the earth as they sprinted away from the monster that was now fully reborn.

Behind them, Kokushibo’s laughter echoed through the trees, haunting and manic.

"You can’t run from me, Uchiha!" Kokushibo’s voice roared, a chilling blend of madness and hatred. "You will all die by my hand!"

The forest itself seemed to warp and twist around them as Kokushibo’s chakra chains snapped through the air, lashing out like serpents trying to ensnare them. Tanjuro and Akaza ducked and dodged, using every ounce of their strength and agility to stay ahead of the relentless pursuit.

As they ran, Tanjuro glanced back for a split second and saw Kokushibo’s form in the distance, fully restored and moving toward them with terrifying speed. His eyes blazed with fury, and the earth beneath him cracked with every step he took.

"Akaza…" Tanjuro breathed, panic creeping into his voice. "What do we do?"

Akaza didn’t respond immediately, his focus solely on keeping them alive. But even he knew that they were out of options. Kokushibo was too powerful. They couldn’t fight him head-on, and running would only delay the inevitable.

"We need to get you and your family out of here," Akaza said finally, his voice grim. "We can’t let him reach the others."

Tanjuro’s heart clenched at the thought of his family. Kie, Tanjiro, Nezuko, and the others—they were all in danger because of him. Because of their connection to the Uchiha bloodline. And now, this demon—this monster—was hunting them.

Akaza’s eyes flickered with a deep resolve. "You go to them. I’ll hold him off."

"What? No!" Tanjuro shouted, his voice raw with emotion. "You can’t fight him alone!"

"I’m not giving you a choice!" Akaza barked back, his expression fierce. "I’ll buy you time. Get to your family and get them out of here. That’s the only way."

Tanjuro’s mind raced, torn between the duty to protect his family and the guilt of leaving Akaza to face Kokushibo alone. But he knew Akaza was right. They had no other option.

With a heavy heart, Tanjuro nodded, his eyes filled with gratitude and sorrow. "Stay alive," he whispered.

Akaza smirked, though the pain and exhaustion were clear in his eyes. "I always do."

____

The forest trembled under the weight of an ancient, terrible power. The clash between Akaza and Kokushibo had erupted into a maelstrom of chakra and killing intent, their battle shaking the very foundations of the earth. Trees groaned and splintered, leaves whirled in chaotic eddies, and the night air crackled with the raw energy of their confrontation.

Kokushibo's form, monstrous and imposing, moved with a deadly grace that belied his immense strength. Each step, each motion was filled with centuries of battle experience, his crimson eyes gleaming with malevolent intelligence. His sword, a work of demonic art, sang through the air with each strike, leaving trails of chakra in its wake.

But Akaza was no longer the demon he once was. Months of rigorous training under Tanjiro had transformed him into something unprecedented—a demon with the techniques of a shinobi.

Akaza's fists, once instruments of pure brutality, now moved with surgical precision. The Gentle Fist style, taught to him by Tanjiro, allowed him to target Kokushibo's chakra points with pinpoint accuracy. Each strike was a carefully calculated attack, designed to disrupt the flow of energy within Kokushibo's body.

Kokushibo's eyes widened in surprise as he felt his chakra network fluctuate under the assault. He leaped back, his sword raised defensively. "Impressive," he sneered, a hint of genuine respect in his voice. "But all this stolen power... it's still not enough."

Akaza's eyes narrowed, his chest heaving as he shifted stances. The Gentle Fist had taken its toll, but Kokushibo was far from defeated. It was time to change tactics.

With a burst of speed, Akaza closed the distance, his body now moving in the powerful, dynamic motions of the Strong Fist style. His fist crashed into Kokushibo's guard with the force of a meteor, the impact sending shockwaves through the forest. Trees buckled and cracked under the pressure as Akaza pressed his advantage, each strike carrying the weight of a mountain behind it.

Kokushibo, however, was not Upper Moon One for nothing. With centuries of battle experience, he adapted swiftly to Akaza's new style. His sword became a shield and a weapon all at once, deflecting Akaza's crushing blows while seeking openings for counterattacks.

"Dynamic Entry!" Akaza shouted, launching into a spinning kick aimed at Kokushibo's head. The Upper Moon ducked under the attack, his sword flashing upwards in a deadly arc.

Akaza barely managed to twist away, the blade slicing a shallow cut across his chest. He landed in a crouch, his eyes never leaving his opponent. The two circled each other, the air between them thick with tension.

"I've seen it all before!" Kokushibo growled, his voice a mixture of contempt and excitement. "These techniques, these styles—they're nothing new to me. I've fought Uchiha, Hyuga, and every other clan you can name. What makes you think you can defeat me with their hand-me-down techniques?"

Akaza didn't respond with words. Instead, he charged forward, his body a blur of motion. He feinted with a right hook, then dropped low for a sweep kick. Kokushibo leapt over the kick, his sword descending in a killing blow—only to meet Akaza's raised forearm, reinforced with a layer of hardened chakra.

The clash sent both fighters skidding backwards, gouging deep furrows in the earth. Akaza's arm trembled from the impact, while Kokushibo's eyes narrowed in frustration.

"You're full of surprises, traitor," Kokushibo hissed. "But how long can you keep this up?"

Indeed, despite his ferocity, Akaza was beginning to feel the weight of the battle. Kokushibo was a force unlike any other, and even with the techniques he'd learned from Tanjiro, the Upper Moon's sheer experience began to tilt the tide in his favor. Akaza's movements were slowing, and the gaps in his defense were widening.

Kokushibo sensed the shift and pressed the attack. His sword became a whirlwind of steel, each strike aimed at a vital point. Akaza dodged and blocked frantically, but he couldn't avoid every hit. Shallow cuts appeared on his arms, his legs, his torso—each one a testament to Kokushibo's overwhelming skill.

"Leaf Hurricane!" Akaza shouted, spinning into a series of rapid kicks. But Kokushibo was ready. He caught Akaza's ankle mid-kick, his grip like iron.

"This is the end for you, traitor," Kokushibo hissed, his voice dripping with malice. With a brutal twist, he hurled Akaza through the air. The demon-turned-shinobi crashed through several trees before slamming into a boulder, the impact leaving a web of cracks in the stone. "You've forgotten your place. And now you'll pay the price for betraying Lord Muzan."

Akaza struggled to his feet, his body battered and bleeding. He knew that Kokushibo was right—the demon was simply too strong. But as Kokushibo raised his sword for the killing blow, something inside Akaza refused to give up. The faces of Tanjiro, of Nezuko, of the entire Kamado family flashed through his mind. He had found something worth protecting, worth dying for.

Just as Kokushibo swung his blade down, ready to cleave Akaza in two, a blazing force slammed into Kokushibo's back.

"Amaterasu!"

The night exploded into an inferno of black flames. Kokushibo's body jerked forward as the fires of Amaterasu ignited on his back, searing through his flesh with unquenchable fury. His scream pierced the air, raw and full of rage, as the flames burned deeper and deeper into his body.

He turned, snarling, to see Tanjuro standing behind him, his sword still glowing with the intense heat of Sun Breathing. Tanjuro's Sharingan eyes spun with determination, the deadly combination of his Uchiha heritage and his mastery of breath styles pushing Kokushibo to the brink.

"You... Uchiha scum!" Kokushibo roared, his voice a mixture of pain and madness. His eyes were wide with fury as he realized the black flames were not fading, their curse eating away at him relentlessly.

Tanjiro's face was pale, the strain of using Amaterasu evident, but his resolve was unshakable. "This ends now," Tanjuro said through clenched teeth, his sword raised to strike again.

But Kokushibo, driven mad with pain and hatred, moved faster than Tanjuro could react. In a blind fit of rage, he lashed out, his fist blazing with chakra, and punched clean through Tanjuro's stomach.

The sound of the impact echoed through the forest, and for a brief moment, everything went still. The black flames continued to burn, casting eerie shadows across the shocked faces of both Akaza and Tanjuro.

"Tanjuro!" Akaza's voice broke through the silence, panic rising in his chest as he watched Tanjuro stumble back, blood pouring from the gaping hole in his abdomen. The world seemed to slow as Tanjuro crumpled to the ground, his sword slipping from his grasp.

Kokushibo, his body still engulfed in the black flames of Amaterasu, was now a twisted figure of burning flesh and rage. His screams of agony filled the night as the flames continued to eat away at him, but his eyes—those maddened, bloodshot eyes—were still locked on Tanjiro.

"I'll... kill you all..." Kokushibo spat, his voice trembling with pain and hatred. "Your family... your cursed Uchiha bloodline... I'll destroy it all, even if it costs me everything!"

Akaza, trembling with fear and fury, rushed to Tanjuro's side. Blood soaked the earth beneath him as Akaza knelt down, his hands shaking as he tried to lift his fallen friend. "Stay with me, Tanjuro!" Akaza pleaded, panic rising in his chest as he saw the extent of Tanjuro's injuries.

But there was no time for careful treatment. Kokushibo's body was still burning, but his chakra was flaring wildly, the ground around them cracking under the pressure. The Upper Moon was still alive, still dangerous, and now more unstable than ever.

"We have to go," Akaza muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. He hoisted Tanjiro over his shoulder, his mind racing as he realized the full gravity of the situation. Kokushibo would never stop. He would hunt them down—hunt down the entire Kamado family—until there was nothing left.

With a burst of adrenaline, Akaza took off into the night, his legs moving as fast as they could carry him. Behind him, Kokushibo's screams echoed through the forest, a twisted promise of vengeance that seemed to shake the very stars.

"I'll find you!" Kokushibo's voice roared through the darkness, filled with rage and agony. "I'll kill every last one of you, even if it means my own destruction!"

Akaza didn't look back. His only thought was to get Tanjiro to safety, to protect the family that had given him hope. The night was thick with the weight of Kokushibo's threat, but Akaza pushed forward, running faster and faster, carrying Tanjiro into the shadows of an uncertain future.

The battle was over, but the war had only just begun. And as the black flames of Amaterasu continued to burn in the distance, Akaza knew that their lives would never be the same again.

To Be Continued...

Chapter Text

The Kamado family ran through the dense forest, the soft glow of moonlight filtering through the branches above. Kie held Rokuta close to her chest, her heart pounding, every fiber of her being fighting to stay composed for her children’s sake. The others followed her lead, Tanjiro at her side, his face etched with worry as he glanced back toward the distant sounds of the battle they’d left behind.

“I should be there… fighting with him,” Kie muttered under her breath, a flicker of frustration in her usually calm eyes. She forced herself to keep moving, even though every step away from Tanjuro and Akaza felt like a betrayal.

Tanjiro heard her whisper and tightened his grip on her hand, his own thoughts a storm of fear and helplessness. “Mom… Father told us to run for a reason. If we go back, we’ll only make things harder for him.”

Nezuko, a few paces behind, clenched her fists. “But why does it have to be this way?” she asked, her voice raw with anger. “Why can’t we be stronger? I can’t stand this feeling… this weakness.” She could feel the hot sting of tears pricking her eyes but forced them back. She wanted so badly to turn around, to help in any way she could, to fight for the family she loved.

Tanjiro slowed his pace slightly, looking back at his sister. “I know, Nezuko. I feel it too,” he admitted, his voice shaking with the same helplessness. “But right now, we have to trust Father. We’ll get stronger… one day, we’ll be able to protect them too. But that time isn’t now.” He hated saying it, hated how powerless he felt admitting it. But he knew they had to keep going.

Takeo stomped his foot as he ran, his face scrunched in frustration. “I want to fight too!” he shouted, his voice filled with the fierceness of his young spirit. “Father shouldn’t have to fight alone!”

“Takeo, stop!” Kie’s voice was sharper than usual, though her heart ached at his words. “You’ll understand one day… sometimes, being strong means knowing when to protect what truly matters. Right now, that means keeping each other safe.”

Shigeru, just a few paces behind, looked up at his older siblings with wide, determined eyes. Though his body was young, his heart burned with the same desire to protect his family. He didn’t speak, but his eyes showed the same frustration—the same hatred for their weakness that all of them felt.

Hanako clung to Nezuko’s side, fear in her tearful gaze. “Nezuko… do you think they’ll be okay? Father and… and Akaza?” Her voice trembled, the bravery in her spirit waning with every step deeper into the forest.

Nezuko, steeling herself, put a hand on Hanako’s shoulder. “Yes. They’re both strong. But we have to be strong too. For them… and for each other.”

Kie’s arms tightened around Rokuta, who was nestled against her, his eyes wide and confused. At three years old, he couldn’t fully grasp the fear threading through the night or understand why they were running. All he knew was that his family was close, that they were together. 

“Why… why are we running, Mama?” he asked, his small voice piercing the darkness.

Kie swallowed, managing a gentle smile. “We’re going on an adventure, Rokuta,” she whispered, her voice breaking slightly. “We’re just going somewhere safe, okay?”

Rokuta nodded slowly, not fully understanding, but sensing his mother’s unease. His small hand clutched her kimono as they ran, grounding him in the only security he knew.

The group pressed onward, the sound of their footsteps blending with the rustling leaves and the occasional chirp of a nighttime creature. Every so often, they’d hear the distant echoes of a roar or clash of power from the direction they had come. Each sound made their hearts clench, knowing that Tanjuro and Akaza were still out there, facing the nightmare they had run from.

Takeo glanced over at Tanjiro, frustration boiling over. “Tanjiro, we should do something! There has to be something we can do! We can’t just keep running like cowards!”

Tanjiro’s face tightened as he looked at his younger brother. He knew how Takeo felt—how they all felt. But he also knew the risk they posed if they went back.

“Takeo, trust me… I want to help just as much as you do. But we have to trust them. They’re strong, and they’re fighting for us. Our job right now is to make sure we stay safe, so their fight isn’t in vain.”

Takeo opened his mouth to argue, but Kie’s voice broke through the tension. “Enough. We’re almost out of the forest. Keep moving.”

Her tone held a finality that quieted them, though the anger and frustration still lingered. Every one of them wanted to be strong, to be able to stand beside Tanjuro, to fight like he and Akaza were. But they knew—deep down—that now was not that time.

Chapter Text

Akaza’s legs moved on instinct, each stride carrying him and Tanjuro farther and farther away from the battlefield. Kokushibo’s enraged roars faded behind them as the forest swallowed the sounds of their struggle, and soon it was only the two of them—their harsh breaths, the rapid thump of Akaza’s heart, and the soft rustle of the leaves around them.

Only when they’d put enough distance between themselves and the battle did Akaza slow down, his feet coming to a reluctant stop in the shadow of a large oak tree. Gently, he laid Tanjuro down on a soft patch of moss, kneeling beside him. Blood soaked Tanjuro’s clothes, pooling around the wound in his stomach, a stark reminder of how close they had come to losing him.

“Tanjuro… stay with me,” Akaza muttered, leaning down, his hands trembling as he reached to check the wound. 

But just as he pressed his hand against the torn flesh, he noticed something impossible—something that sent a cold shock through him. Beneath his touch, the bleeding had slowed, the torn skin beginning to mend itself in subtle, almost undetectable ways. He stared, unable to look away, as the wound he’d thought fatal started to close up.

Akaza drew in a shaky breath, his mind grappling with what he was seeing. The bruises, the cuts—they were all healing. Tanjuro’s face, once pallid, regained a hint of color, the pain etched in his expression easing with each passing moment.

*This can’t be happening…* Akaza thought, the realization settling into him like a stone.

A trembling hand reached up to his face, brushing over his own features. For the first time in decades, he felt smooth, warm skin—not the demonized texture that had once marked him. And when he glanced at his hands, there was no sign of Muzan’s influence. The kanji that had once branded him as Upper Moon Three were gone. His eyes, free of their once-cursed markings, were clear and human.

*I’m free.* The thought should have filled him with relief, but all he could feel was terror. Terror for Tanjuro, his friend—the man he had come to love and admire. He had watched Tanjuro embrace his humanity, each moment as precious as the last, choosing life over eternity. Akaza had made his peace with it. Tanjuro would grow old, and one day, they would part. But this… this wasn’t supposed to happen.

“No…” Akaza’s voice cracked, a wave of despair crashing over him. “No, Tanjuro… you can’t…” His hands hovered uncertainly over Tanjuro’s face, brushing his cheek in disbelief. “You weren’t supposed to become one of us…”

In his unconscious state, Tanjuro’s face softened, the lines of pain giving way to a peacefulness that struck Akaza to his core. He’d seen that same expression on those who had first embraced demonhood—when the fear faded, and only an empty calm remained. The thought of Tanjuro, someone who valued his humanity above all else, succumbing to that same fate made Akaza’s stomach twist.

“Why now?” Akaza whispered, his voice choked with desperation. He knew what he was seeing—a natural progression that every demon undergoes, the regeneration, the healing. But Tanjuro… the one who refused that curse, the one who fought against darkness at every turn… why was it happening to him?

Akaza’s mind reeled, unable to reconcile what he was seeing. The man he admired, the one who’d chosen to live in the fleeting beauty of humanity, was slipping away—into the same eternity that Akaza had once known and resented.

“I… I didn’t want this for you,” he whispered, struggling to keep his voice steady, his hand clinging to Tanjuro’s in a mix of panic and helplessness. He’d dreamed of seeing Tanjuro grow, of watching him experience the stages of life that Akaza himself had lost, of feeling the pang of bittersweet joy as he aged. But now, everything he’d held onto, every quiet resolution, felt as though it was slipping through his fingers.

And the cruel irony twisted in his chest like a blade: he had once begged Tanjuro to become a demon, to stay with him forever. But now, when he was finally free from Muzan’s grip, and when Tanjuro had embraced his life with such fierce resolve, this change was happening against his will.

Akaza’s hands shook as he traced the edges of Tanjuro’s wounds, trying to assess the extent of the damage. “Please, Tanjuro,” he whispered, clinging to hope. “Don’t become… like me.” The words felt hollow, knowing they could do nothing to stop this transformation.

And then, slowly, Tanjuro’s eyes fluttered open, hazy with pain but alive. A faint smile touched his lips as he recognized Akaza, his gaze softening with the warmth that Akaza had come to cherish. “Akaza… you’re… okay,” he murmured, his voice weak but filled with relief.

Akaza swallowed, trying to match his friend’s strength. “I should be saying that to you, idiot,” he managed, his voice cracking. “You’re… healing.” He couldn’t bring himself to say the words, but he knew Tanjuro could sense his fear.

Tanjuro’s gaze turned thoughtful as he took in Akaza’s unmarked face, the human warmth in his friend’s eyes. “You’re free…” he said, almost in awe, his voice a soft murmur.

Akaza nodded, but his relief was tempered with anguish as he held Tanjuro’s hand a little tighter. “I am. But… Tanjuro…” His voice faltered, the weight of his realization heavy. “You can’t… you shouldn’t become one of us. I… I wanted to watch you grow, to see you live… this isn’t what I wanted for you.”

Tanjuro managed a weak smile, his eyes filled with understanding even as he struggled to stay conscious. “Akaza… we’ve both been through so much. Maybe… maybe there’s still a choice,” he whispered, his words slurring. 

Akaza clung to that faint hope, but the dark reality gnawed at him. The man he loved for his unbreakable spirit, the one he’d vowed to protect, was slipping into the shadows. And though he wanted to believe in Tanjuro’s strength, he couldn’t ignore the fear that, even now, Tanjuro was becoming something else.

As Tanjuro’s breaths grew steadier, Akaza brushed his fingers over his friend’s brow, whispering a silent prayer to a world that had rarely granted him mercy. They’d survived, but he knew this fight wasn’t over. And now, in the quiet between breaths, he feared it had only just begun.

The morning sunlight filtered through the trees as Giyuu made his way up the mountain path. A feeling of dread gnawed at him, a quiet whisper of unease that had crept in when he’d first caught sight of the Kamado household from a distance. Now, as he approached the clearing, his stomach twisted at the sight that greeted him.

The Kamado home lay in ruins. Splintered wood, ash, and fragments of what once held warmth and laughter were strewn across the yard. A broken futon lay among the rubble, the remnants of family life shattered and cold. Giyuu’s heart sank as he took it all in, guilt washing over him like an icy wave. Had he arrived too late?

If only I’d been faster... he thought, clenching his fists. The lingering traces of blood and the faint whiff of sulfur in the air left little doubt in his mind. Demons had been here—and the carnage they’d wrought haunted his every step as he ventured closer, searching for any sign of life.

His breath caught when he finally saw him: a person laying unconscious on one of the futons within the remains of the house. Giyuu rushed forward, kneeling beside him to check for signs of life. The man’s face was pale, and there were traces of fresh blood on his clothes, but there was also a strange stillness, a quiet warmth that reassured Giyuu—he was alive.

Giyuu placed a tentative hand on the man’s shoulder, attempting to rouse him. “Sir… are you alright? Can you hear me?” He waited, his hand tightening as he tried to assess the extent of his injuries.

But before he could do more, a sudden force lunged at him from the shadows. Giyuu’s instincts flared, and he rolled to the side just in time to avoid a sharp blow aimed directly at him. He was back on his feet in an instant, drawing his sword to face his attacker.

In the snowy morning light, the figure took shape: a demon, one with fierce eyes and a stance that told Giyuu all he needed to know—this was no ordinary adversary. His attacker was radiating a dangerous energy, muscles tensed, gaze sharp, and movements unnaturally precise.

“What brings a Demon Slayer to this home?” the demon asked, his voice low and wary. There was a strange protectiveness in his stance, his frame slightly shielding Tanjuro from Giyuu’s view.

Giyuu met the demon’s gaze, remaining silent. His mind raced as he tried to understand the situation, piecing together fragments of what he’d heard about the Kamado family from the villagers. Why would a demon be here, guarding the very man he was meant to eat? Yet, he couldn’t dismiss the danger. There was a threat here, and it stood in front of him.

“Alright,” the demon said, the beginnings of a smirk curling his lips. “You want to do it the hard way? Fine, we’ll do it the hard way.”

The demon darted forward, his speed blurring, and Giyuu had just enough time to raise his sword to parry. The impact resonated through his bones as he blocked the strike, the force driving him back a step. This demon was powerful, stronger than most, his fighting style refined, unlike the mindless brutality of lesser demons.

Giyuu quickly moved into a Water Breathing stance, the calm and fluid rhythm helping him focus as he prepared for the next attack. Akaza surged toward him, his attacks rapid and calculated, each blow carrying deadly force. Giyuu sidestepped, countering with a sharp slice aimed at the demon’s shoulder, but his blade met only air as Akaza dodged with practiced ease.

“You’re different,” Giyuu noted, keeping his breathing steady, though his mind was racing. “Why are you protecting him?” He tried to read the demon’s movements, attempting to understand the contradiction he saw before him.

Akaza merely laughed, a sound tinged with bitterness and fire. “Protecting them? It’s more than that,” he replied, his fists crackling with a fierce energy. “If you want to take him from me, you’ll have to earn it.”

Giyuu dodged another punch, this time stepping in to land a quick, slicing strike at Akaza’s side. But the demon’s reflexes were uncanny; he twisted to avoid the blade, closing the distance between them in an instant. His fist shot out, barely missing Giyuu’s head as he spun away.

Akaza’s strikes grew fiercer, more intense, each one carrying the weight of someone fighting for something beyond himself. Giyuu felt the desperation in Akaza’s movements, the unwavering determination to protect what he cared for. It puzzled him, yet he couldn’t ignore the sheer strength and skill of his opponent.

But Giyuu wouldn’t back down. Water Breathing, Third Form: Flowing Dance. He moved with a fluid grace, dodging and weaving between Akaza’s blows, aiming for his weak points. Akaza countered with a fury that shook the ground beneath them, matching Giyuu’s movements with a brutal power that seemed almost… human.

The fight surged with every heartbeat, both fighters locked in a deadly dance of strength and speed. As the sun rose higher, casting a dim glow over the battlefield, Giyuu couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something more to this demon, something that spoke of loyalty, of bonds beyond blood.

He steeled himself, the blade in his hand trembling slightly. There were still questions unanswered, a mystery unraveling before him, but he had a duty to uphold. And for now, that meant facing this demon and finding the truth hidden within the remnants of the Kamado household.

A soft groan drew their attention, and both fighters froze as Tanjuro stirred on the futon. His eyes fluttered open, revealing a startling transformation—where warm burgundy eyes had once been, now gleamed a fierce crimson tinged with an otherworldly glow. Despite the change, his face retained its gentle features, unmarred by the grotesque transformations that usually accompanied demon conversion. The only other signs of his altered state were the sharp fangs that now peeked from behind his lips, visible as he drew in a deep breath.

Akaza, sensing Tanjuro’s stirring, turned away from his standoff with Giyuu and hurried to his friend’s side. Relief softened his normally tense expression, but it quickly turned to unease as he took in Tanjuro’s altered appearance. Giyuu, catching sight of the change, shifted his stance instantly, his sword rising on instinct as he recognized the telltale signs of a demon. But before his blade could arc through the air, Akaza moved with blinding speed. His hand clamped around Giyuu's wrist with crushing force, and in one fluid motion, he hurled the Demon Slayer across the clearing.

"Don't you dare," Akaza snarled, his voice dropping to a dangerous growl. The morning air crackled with his fury as he stalked toward Giyuu, killing intent radiating from every step. Giyuu steadied himself, astonished but undeterred, his gaze darting between Akaza and the silent figure now standing behind him. “He’s a demon,” Giyuu stated, voice edged with conviction. “I can’t let him live if he’s… turned.” His stance remained guarded, even as confusion clouded his expression.

Akaza glared, his jaw clenched. “You don’t understand, so don’t speak as if you do.” His voice was deadly quiet, anger and frustration mingling with a vulnerability he rarely allowed himself to show. He made to move toward Giyuu, prepared to defend Tanjuro with his life if necessary.

A hand touched his shoulder, gentle but firm. Akaza turned to find Tanjuro standing there, his expression serene despite the chaos. He shook his head slowly, and in that simple gesture lay a command that even Akaza couldn't ignore. The former Upper Moon's shoulders sagged, his rage dissipating like morning mist.

"Tanjuro..." Akaza whispered, his voice thick with concern. But Tanjuro merely squeezed his shoulder once before stepping past him.

Giyuu watched, sword still raised, as the demon—Tanjuro, he now knew—approached him with slow, deliberate steps. Every instinct screamed at him to attack, to fulfill his duty as a Demon Slayer, but something in Tanjuro's calm demeanor held him in place.

When Tanjuro reached him, he did something so unexpected that Giyuu's sword arm dropped in shock—he embraced him. The warmth of the embrace struck Giyuu to his core, so different from the cold touch he'd expected from a demon. Then Tanjuro drew back slightly, pressing their foreheads together in an intimate gesture that sent waves of emotion coursing through Giyuu's being.

For a moment, Giyuu froze, his heart pounding as Tanjuro’s arms wrapped around him in a gesture of calm and solidarity. He felt the weight of the demon’s forehead press against his own, the warmth of Tanjuro’s skin so utterly human, despite the fangs and the crimson eyes. And then… something began to stir within him, something he hadn’t felt in a long, long time.

An overwhelming tide of emotion welled up, unbidden, memories rushing back to him: moments of quiet companionship, the laughter he’d shared with Sabito, the dreams they’d carried together. He tried to pull away, but the ache within him, the loneliness he had buried for so long, was too much to bear. Tears gathered in his eyes, then spilled over, unbidden.

He choked on a breath, barely able to make sense of the flood of emotions engulfing him. It was as if he’d connected, in that moment, with a shared pain and history he didn’t understand but somehow felt in his very bones.

Akaza watched the scene unfold with growing bewilderment, but his expression suddenly sharpened as he noticed something impossible in Giyuu's tear-filled eyes. Where there had been only deep blue before, now a pattern swirled to life—the distinctive red and black tomoe of the Sharingan.

"Impossible," Akaza breathed, taking an unconscious step forward. "You're... an Uchiha?" The revelation hit him like a physical blow. The Kamado family wasn't alone in their uniqueness—there were others out there with inherited powers that defied common understanding.

Giyuu, still overwhelmed, slowly pulled away, his mind a whirl of questions and emotions he couldn’t yet give voice to. He looked into Tanjuro’s eyes, trying to decipher the silent man before him. Despite the demonic features, despite the fangs and crimson gaze, there was a warmth there that Giyuu recognized—a kindness that made the weight of his loss feel less heavy, if only for a moment.

“Who… are you?” Giyuu whispered, his voice wavering. But Tanjuro remained silent, his gaze gentle and filled with understanding, as though no words were needed between them. Giyuu clutched his sword, the weight of his duty and the pull of an unexplainable kinship warring within him.

Akaza stepped forward, placing a hand on Giyuu’s shoulder, pulling him slightly back. “His name is Tanjuro Kamado,” he said firmly. There was a strange, quiet pride in his tone, as if he was introducing someone he respected above all others. “And he’s not like other demons. He’s… special.”

Giyuu took a shaky breath, the gravity of that name resonating within him. He didn’t fully understand why, but something in him stirred, as though he’d encountered a piece of himself in Tanjuro’s gaze.

The three stood in silence, the weight of history and unspoken words settling around them. Tanjuro merely nodded, a soft look of acceptance and understanding in his gaze, as if he too understood the burden of their shared past—and what it might mean for the future.

Giyuu touched his eyes, still trying to process the foreign power that had awakened within them. The Sharingan pulsed with each heartbeat, showing him the world in ways he'd never imagined possible. "I don't understand," he said quietly. "All these years as a Hashira, and I never knew..."

"The Uchiha clan has always been secretive," Akaza said, his voice carrying the weight of centuries-old knowledge. "Like the Kamado family, they possessed abilities that set them apart. But unlike the Kamados, they were warriors first, guardians second." He paused, studying Giyuu with newfound interest. "Your eyes... they're proof that the bloodlines still exist. That there might be others out there."

Tanjuro's hand moved again across the ground: The world is changing. Old powers are awakening.

The silence that followed was heavy with unspoken questions. Tanjuro released Giyuu and knelt down, fingers tracing patterns in the dirt—his only means of communication now. Akaza and Giyuu gathered around him, their previous hostility forgotten in the face of larger revelations.

We need to find them, Tanjuro wrote, his hand steady despite the emotion behind his words. My family.

Giyuu’s breathing steadied as he looked into Tanjuro’s calm, silent gaze. Every fiber of his being urged him to strike, to fulfill his duty and rid the world of another demon, but he couldn’t. Something within Tanjuro was painfully human—a kindness and sorrow that Giyuu recognized. The tears on his own face only solidified that bond.

He took a step back, slowly lowering his sword. “I… I don’t understand this. But I’ll help—for now.” His voice was strained, a mix of hesitation and determination.

Akaza raised an eyebrow. “You’re saying you’ll help him?” He looked suspicious, almost challenging Giyuu to turn his back on Tanjuro.

Giyuu nodded stiffly. “If we’re going to protect his family, we need a plan. And we need to leave here… quickly.”

Giyuu sheathed his sword, a decision forming in his mind. Everything he'd believed about demons, about his role as a Hashira, about his own identity—it was all shifting, reshaping itself around these new truths. "Then we move," he said firmly. "Together. The Corps has safe houses throughout the region. Places even other Hashira don't know about."

Tanjuro nodded, rising to his feet with an otherworldly grace that betrayed his new nature. Yet his eyes remained kind, human in their depth of feeling even as they glowed with demonic power. He gestured toward the mountain path, then pointed to his heart and held up three fingers.

"Three days," Akaza translated, familiar with Tanjuro's ways. "He's saying we have three days before the others realize something's wrong." His expression darkened. "Before they come looking."

"Three days to disappear," Giyuu murmured, his Sharingan spinning slowly as it committed every detail to memory. "Three days to find his family." He looked at his unlikely companions—a former Upper Moon turned human, a human turned demon who still clung to his humanity, and himself, a Hashira carrying the legacy of a clan he never knew existed.

The path ahead was uncertain, but as the first drops of rain began to fall, one thing became clear: their fates were now intertwined in ways none of them could have predicted.

Chapter Text

Respected Master Urokodaki,

I hope this letter finds you well. I write to you not only as your former student but as someone in need of guidance. Recent events have shaken everything I thought I knew about our world and my place in it.

During my patrol in the northern mountains, I encountered something unprecedented. I've discovered relatives I never knew existed—distant family connected to me through ancient bloodlines. One of them, a man named Tanjuro, is searching desperately for his missing family. I know this may seem irrelevant to our mission, but I believe there may be a connection to the broader fight against demons. Would you be willing to use your network to help search for them? Any information about a family named Kamado would be invaluable.

Master, what I write next may test your faith in my judgment, but I beg you to read my words completely before passing judgment. Tanjuro has been turned into a demon. Before you worry, this is different from anything we've encountered before. He retains his human heart completely—there is no bloodlust, no violence. He cannot speak, yet his humanity shines through in every gesture. When I first saw him, I drew my blade as our training dictates. But what happened next... Master, he showed me something. A connection, a depth of emotion and humanity that no demon should possess.

I know how this must sound coming from me, of all people. After Sabito, I swore I would never waver in my duty. But this situation challenges everything we thought we knew about demons. Tanjuro's companion (I will explain more about him in person) has also shown me things that suggest there are aspects of this war we don't fully understand.

I've made a decision that I know may disappoint you. I will be traveling with them until we locate Tanjuro's family. Before you object, please know that I make this choice with full awareness of its gravity. I give you my word, written in my own hand: if either of them kills a single human being, I will commit seppuku without hesitation. My life will answer for my judgment.

But Master, I believe this path, though uncertain, may lead us to greater truths about the nature of demons and humanity itself. There are powers awakening in our world that we never knew existed. I've discovered abilities within myself that I don't yet understand—abilities that you and I need to discuss in person when time permits.

I will send updates as often as I can, though our path may take us to remote regions. Please remember my training—I will not let my guard down. But I also cannot ignore this chance to understand something that might change everything we know about our fight.

If you feel I have strayed too far from the path you set me upon, I will accept your judgment. But I ask you to trust in the foundation you built within me. The principles you taught me haven't changed—only my understanding of how to apply them has grown.

With deepest respect and gratitude,

Tomioka Giyuu

P.S. If you receive word from any other Hashira about unusual demon activities in the northern mountains, I ask that you delay their response. Give me time to prove my judgment right or wrong. That is all I ask.

_____

To the Honorable Master Ubuyashiki,

I write to report an unprecedented situation that requires your wisdom. As a Hashira, it is my duty to inform you of events that may affect the Corps' understanding of demons and our mission.

During my patrol of the northern mountains, I encountered an anomaly. A demon transformation unlike any documented in our records. The subject, Kamado Tanjuro, has maintained complete human consciousness and shows no predatory instincts toward humans. He cannot speak, yet demonstrates a level of self-awareness and control that defies our current understanding of demon nature.

What makes this case particularly significant is that he was accompanied by a former Upper Moon who has somehow reverted to human form—a transformation I witnessed myself. I know this claim sounds impossible, but I stake my position as Hashira on its truth.

Master, in light of these discoveries, I request temporary leave from my regular duties. I believe investigating this situation could provide crucial insights into demon nature and possibly reveal weaknesses in Muzan's power that we haven't yet understood. The Kamado family appears to possess unique abilities that may be valuable to our cause.

I must also disclose a personal discovery. During my encounter with Tanjuro, I awakened an inherited ability—one connected to an ancient bloodline known as the Uchiha. I mention this not for personal reasons, but because it may be relevant to our broader understanding of the powers that exist in our world.

I understand the gravity of harboring a demon, even one who retains humanity. Therefore, I offer these assurances:

1. I maintain constant vigilance over both Tanjuro and his companion
2. At the first sign of danger to humans, I will execute my duty without hesitation
3. Should they prove destructive, I will accept full responsibility and the consequences thereof

Currently, we are searching for Tanjuro's missing family. I believe finding them may reveal more about these unique abilities and their potential significance in our fight against Muzan.

I know this report challenges many of our fundamental beliefs about demons. However, I am convinced that understanding these exceptions could be crucial to our mission. I await your guidance on how to proceed.

With utmost respect and loyalty to the Corps,

Tomioka Giyuu

Water Hashira

P.S. I have also written to my former master, Urokodaki, seeking his counsel in this matter. If you wish to confirm any details, he will be able to validate my character in making these unprecedented requests.

Chapter Text

I was born into a cage of expectations, though I wouldn't recognize its bars until years later. My earliest memory is of crimson – my mother's hair, identical to my own, reflected in a palace mirror. Beautiful, they called it, but their eyes held something else. Fear? Reverence? I was too young to understand that my red hair marked me as different, as other .

My twin brother Yoriichi and I were mirror images of fate's cruel joke – he, marked by a strange birthmark and destined for isolation; I, crowned with forbidden red hair yet chosen to carry our family's legacy. When Father declared Yoriichi should die, I remember not the words but the way Mother's hands trembled as she cradled my brother. Her desperate bargain saved his life but condemned him to a different kind of death – a life of isolation until he would be sent to the temple.

I learned to move like a shadow through our home's corridors, stealing moments with my brother in his three-tatami room. The servants whispered that he was deaf, simple, broken. But I saw how his eyes followed every movement, how they seemed to peer through flesh and bone to something beyond. In those quiet moments, I would practice my sword forms while he watched, each swing a desperate attempt to prove my worth as the chosen son.

The flute I made him was born of that same desperation – a clumsy thing of hollow bamboo that wheezed more than it sang. I spent weeks trying to make it perfect, my small hands blistered from carving. When I finally gave it to him, he held it like it was made of pure gold. His silence felt like acceptance, the first time I'd given something of worth to anyone.

Then came the day that shattered my world. Seven years old, swinging my practice sword with the dedication of one who knew nothing else, when Yoriichi spoke. His words – that he wanted to become a samurai like me – should have filled me with joy. Instead, they filled me with dread. Because deep down, I knew. I knew that if he tried, he would succeed. Everything always came so easily to him.

And I was right. Four perfect strikes. Four moments that revealed the truth I'd been hiding from – that no matter how hard I worked, how many hours I practiced, how many blisters I earned, I would never match his natural gift. When I begged him to share his secret, his casual dismissal of swordsmanship felt like a slap. Here I was, desperately clawing for every scrap of skill, while he could simply... see . See through flesh, see through bone, see the very essence of life itself.

Mother's illness was the first time I truly hated him. While I watched helplessly as she withered, he knew. He knew exactly how many days she had left, could see the weakness creeping through her left side like poison. He planned his goodbye with the precision of a surgeon, while I remained blind and ignorant until the end.

He came to me that night, at three in the morning, still clutching that worthless flute. His gratitude felt like acid on my skin. How dare he thank me? How dare he treasure such an imperfect thing while possessing such perfection himself? I said nothing as he left, my silence a mirror of his childhood years. But inside, I was screaming.

I remember their eyes first - obsidian pools that seemed to drink in the light itself. I was only ten when the Uchiha clan first appeared at our doorstep, their presence casting long shadows across our humble home's wooden floors. Until then, they had been nothing more than whispered legends, tales of divine warriors blessed by Amaterasu herself.

Father's reaction that day haunts me still. I had never seen fear in his eyes before - he had always been our family's unmovable mountain, steady and strong. But when those black-eyed visitors arrived, something in him crumbled. That night, he gripped my shoulders so tight it hurt, his voice trembling as he warned me: "If you ever see someone with black hair and black eyes, you hide. You hide and you don't come out until I find you."

I didn't understand then why he started dying my hair the very next day, or why he would obsessively check the color in the mirror each morning. Sometimes I would catch him pulling at the strands, as if trying to pull out some truth hidden in their artificial shade. But children rarely question the strange behaviors of their parents - we simply adapt, accepting their oddities as normal.

The stories of the Uchiha had always captivated me. How could they not? They were said to be Amaterasu's chosen, her divine guardians walking among us mortals. In secret, I would imagine myself among their ranks, wielding powers blessed by the sun goddess herself. While Father grew more paranoid with each passing day, I grew more fascinated.

Then came the announcement that changed everything: the Uchiha clan would be adopting our family. My heart soared with childish joy - finally, I would be part of something greater, something divine. But Father... oh, Father. I'll never forget how the news seemed to physically age him, his face becoming a mask of ash and terror. He looked at me with eyes that had seen some horrible future, gripping my arms just as he had that first night.

"Never trust them, Michikatsu," he pleaded, his voice cracking. "No matter what happens, no matter what they promise you, never-"

But he never finished that warning. They came before dawn, their footsteps thundering through our home like an approaching storm. I remember the splintering of wood, the sharp crack of our door being thrown open. Black cloaks swirled like storm clouds as they poured in, their red clan symbols gleaming like fresh blood in the dim light.

Everything happened so fast. Hands grabbed me, pulled me away. Father's voice rose in desperate protest, but it grew fainter and fainter as they dragged me from our home. The last glimpse I caught of him - his face contorted in anguish, reaching out for me as other clan members held him back - is seared into my memory like a brand.

That was the last time I ever saw my father. And it was the day I learned that sometimes the most beautiful legends hide the darkest truths. The Uchiha weren't divine guardians - they were collectors of secrets, hoarders of power. As they led me away to my new "family," I finally understood why Father had looked so broken when the adoption was announced. He hadn't been afraid of the Uchiha's power - he had been afraid of what they would do with it. What they would do to us. To me.

That day marked the beginning of my nightmare, though I didn't know it yet. The divine blessing I had so admired would reveal itself to be a curse, and the clan I had dreamed of joining would become my prison. Their arrival revealed the truth about my crimson hair – I was Uzumaki, a bloodline they coveted like precious stones.

I learned the truth during one of their countless "examinations," when an elder carelessly mentioned my Uzumaki heritage as if discussing the weather. My true clan, scattered to the winds, known for their vitality, their powerful chakra, their mastery of fūinjutsu... and their crimson hair. Father hadn't just been hiding himself - he'd been hiding me.

The experiments began almost immediately after that revelation. They called them "training sessions," but training doesn't leave you vomiting blood onto pristine tatami mats. Training doesn't have you screaming into your pillow at night as your chakra pathways feel like they're being torn apart and reconstructed. Training doesn't make you pray for unconsciousness just to escape the pain.

"Again," they would say, their Sharingan eyes glowing in the dim light of the underground chambers. "Your Uzumaki blood can handle it. Again."

And they were right - I could handle it. That was the curse of my heritage. My body would heal, my chakra would replenish, and they would push me even further the next day. Sometimes I would lie in bed for days, every cell in my body screaming in agony, but they were patient. They could afford to wait - I was their investment, after all.

Between the torture sessions they called training, they taught me everything. Ninjutsu came naturally - my massive chakra reserves made even the most demanding techniques feasible. They drilled military tactics into my head until I could recite battle formations in my sleep. They taught me the art of war, the dance of politics, the poetry of death. I excelled at it all, desperate for their approval, for some sign that I was more than just their experiment.

I noticed the special treatment, of course. Other adopted children trained, yes, but not like this. They weren't pushed to these extremes, weren't given this level of attention. At first, I took pride in it - silly, naive child that I was. I thought it meant I was special, that I was finally being accepted as one of them.

"Why can't I just be normal?" I would whisper to my reflection, watching blood drip from my nose after particularly brutal training sessions. "What would it take to just be like everyone else?" But the face that stared back at me held no answers, only exhaustion and growing despair.

Then came the marriage proposals. It started subtly - casual introductions to young women from the clan, "coincidental" meetings in the compound gardens. But soon the elders' intentions became clear as crystal. They would parade their granddaughters before me like prized cattle, each one with those same black eyes that had haunted my nightmares for years.

That's when everything clicked into place, when the grand design became horrifyingly clear. They hadn't spent years training me out of kindness or acceptance. They hadn't pushed me to my limits to make me stronger for my own sake. They had been cultivating me, like a farmer tends to his most promising crop. They wanted to combine Uzumaki vitality with Uchiha power. They wanted to breed a new line of shinobi, more powerful than either clan had ever produced.

I was to be their stud, their prized breeding horse. All those years of torturous training, of desperate attempts to prove myself worthy of the Uchiha name - they meant nothing. I was never meant to be an Uchiha. I was meant to produce them.

The realization hit me like a physical blow, leaving me retching in my quarters. Every memory of praise, every moment I had treasured as proof of their acceptance, turned to ash in my mouth. I saw now what my father had tried to protect me from - not just the Uchiha's power, but their ruthless ambition.

That night, as the moon cast long shadows through my window, I made my decision. I wouldn't be their breeding stock, wouldn't let them use my blood to create their perfect weapons. The irony wasn't lost on me - all those years of training, meant to bind me to them, had instead given me the skills I needed to escape.

I fled under the cover of darkness, taking nothing but the clothes on my back and the bitter knowledge of what I truly was to them. Every step away from the compound felt like breaking a chain, each one painful but necessary. Behind me lay years of torture disguised as training, of manipulation masked as acceptance. Ahead lay uncertainty, but at least it was my choice.

____

I met her in a small village where cherry blossoms danced on the spring breeze. I was exhausted from weeks of running, paranoid of every shadow, jumping at every flash of red eyes in my dreams. That's when she walked into my life - or rather, stormed into it.

"Your stance is terrible," she said, watching me practice with my sword in a secluded clearing. "You're so focused on looking behind you that you can't see what's in front of you."

I nearly drew my blade on her, but something in her eyes stopped me. They weren't filled with judgment or hidden agenda - just honest observation and a hint of amusement. Her name was Akane, and she had no idea how those simple words would change both our lives.

She was unlike anyone I'd ever met. While I'd been raised in rigid hierarchy and calculated manipulation, she spoke freely about her dreams of a better world. She'd sit for hours, gesturing animatedly as she outlined her vision of a government that served its people rather than ruling over them.

"Imagine a world," she'd say, her eyes bright with passion, "where children don't have to be afraid of their own blood, where power serves the weak instead of preying on them."

I found myself drawn to her like a moth to flame. She wasn't impressed by strength or bloodlines - she cared about ideas, about making real change. When I finally told her about my past, about the Uchiha and what they'd done to me, she didn't offer empty pity. Instead, she took my face in her hands and said words I'll never forget:

"They tried to make you their weapon, but they forgot that weapons can cut both ways. Your strength is yours now - not theirs, not your clan's, just yours."

We married under those same cherry blossoms where we first met. Our first child came a year later, then our second. For the first time in my life, I understood what it meant to be truly free. No experiments, no expectations, no Sharingan eyes watching my every move. Just love, pure and unconditional.

Our home was modest, but it was filled with laughter and heated debates and quiet moments of perfect peace. Akane would read to our children while I watched from the doorway, amazed that such happiness could exist in the same world that had caused me so much pain. At night, we'd lie awake, talking about everything and nothing - her plans for social reform, my slow journey of healing, our hopes for our children's future.

But the past has a way of finding you, no matter how far you run.

The samurai job seemed simple enough - guard duty, nothing more. I took it to provide for my family, promising Akane I'd be home before the harvest moon. I still remember her standing in our doorway, our children clinging to her kimono, as she made me swear to write to her every week.

Then came that night of blood and screaming. The demon moved like a shadow, tearing through trained warriors like they were paper dolls. I fought with everything I had, but it wasn't enough. I watched good men die, their screams mixing with the monster's inhuman howls. As it turned its attention to me, I thought of Akane, of our children, of all the letters I'd never get to write...

That's when he appeared - Yoriichi, moving like a divine wind, his sword gleaming in the moonlight. The demon fell before I could blink, but it was too late for my comrades. As Yoriichi helped me to my feet, apologizing for not arriving sooner, I felt something twist inside me.

All those old feelings came rushing back - the inadequacy, the burning need to prove myself, the bitter taste of being saved when I should have been strong enough to save others. I'd spent years building a new life, becoming someone who deserved Akane's love and our children's admiration, but in that moment, I was that helpless boy in the Uchiha compound again.

When Yoriichi offered to train me as a Demon Slayer, I knew I had to accept. Not just for the power to protect my family, but for the chance to finally face my demons - both literal and figurative. Akane understood, as she always did. She helped me pack, pressing a stack of blank papers into my hands.

"Write to me," she said, her voice firm but gentle. "Write to me about everything - your training, your fears, your victories. Write to me so I know you're still fighting to come back to us."

And I did write, pouring my heart onto paper, telling her about the grueling training, about learning to breathe in new ways, about slowly finding purpose in protecting others instead of running from my past. Her replies were my lifeline, each letter carrying the scent of home and hope.

"My love," she would write, "remember that you're not running toward power this time - you're running toward protection. That makes all the difference in the world."

She was right, as she usually was. This path wasn't about proving myself to anyone. It wasn't about matching Yoriichi or erasing my past. It was about ensuring that no other family would lose their loved ones to the demons that stalked the night. It was about building the better world Akane had always dreamed of, one sword stroke at a time. I always did write to her once every week.

____

Training under Yoriichi was unlike anything the Uchiha had put me through. Where they had been cruel taskmasters, he was a patient teacher. Where they had demanded perfection through pain, he sought understanding through practice. It should have made it easier. Somehow, it made it worse.

I watched him try to teach the other demon slayers his Sun Breathing technique. They would gasp and strain, their faces turning red with effort as they attempted to replicate his perfect movements. None of them could do it - not even close. But instead of seeing their failure as weakness, as the Uchiha would have, Yoriichi simply smiled and helped them find their own way.

"Everyone's breath is different," he would say, adjusting a student's stance with gentle hands. "Like how the sun's light reflects differently off various surfaces, each person's strength manifests in its own unique way."

That's how the first Breathing Styles were born. Water Breathing, Wind Breathing, Flame Breathing - each one a reflection of Sun Breathing, adapted to suit different natures. I trained alongside a Wind Breathing user, our swords singing through the air as we sparred day after day. The way they moved, like a leaf dancing in the breeze, helped me understand something crucial: power doesn't have to look the same to be effective.

Then it happened - the Demon Slayer Mark appeared on my skin; it came with power and understanding of my own Breathing Style. Moon Breathing, they called it - a technique derived from Sun Breathing but distinctly my own. I should have been proud. In many ways, I was.

But it wasn't enough. It was never enough.

My Moon Breathing was powerful, yes. It could slice through demons like they were made of paper. Other slayers looked at me with awe, whispered about my technique when they thought I couldn't hear. But it wasn't Sun Breathing. It wasn't Yoriichi's technique. It was just another reflection, another shadow of his light.

"Isn't it amazing," Yoriichi would say during our rare moments of rest, "how unique our generation is? To think we've developed so many new ways to fight demons!"

I would nod, smile even, while something twisted in my gut. Because he was right - we were unique. But that uniqueness came with a price. Neither of us had successors for our Breathing Styles. Sun and Moon, destined to fade away with us. He saw it as beautiful, temporary like cherry blossoms. I saw it as failure.

The years passed, and I threw myself into training with renewed vigor. Every swing of my sword, every breath I took, was aimed at closing the gap between us. But while I trained until my hands bled and my lungs burned, while I pushed myself to the brink of collapse day after day, Yoriichi lived his life with that same serene smile.

He would disappear for months at a time and would return with stories of helping farmers with their harvests, of teaching children to read, of simple meals shared with grateful villagers. And each story was like a knife in my gut.

Because that's what truly burned - not that he was stronger, not that his technique was superior, but that he had never had to fight for any of it. While I had endured torture at the hands of the Uchiha, he had lived freely. While I had scraped and clawed for every scrap of power, every technique, every breath, he had been born with it all.

Even now, as one of the most powerful Demon Slayers alive, I was still chasing. Still working myself to exhaustion while he simply... existed. The moon eternally chasing the sun, never quite catching up, never quite measuring up.

I would write to Akane about these feelings, pouring my bitterness onto paper late at night when the moon hung full and mocking in the sky. Her replies were always gentle but firm:

"My love," she would write, "you're measuring yourself against the wrong standard. The moon doesn't need to be the sun to be beautiful. It has its own light, its own purpose."

But how could I explain to her that it wasn't about being beautiful? It was about justice. About the unfairness of it all. About watching my brother live the peaceful life I had been denied, wielding the power I had been tortured for, all while wearing that same serene smile.

The Moon Breathing techniques grew more powerful with each passing day. I developed new forms, each one more deadly than the last. Other slayers looked to me for guidance, for training, for wisdom. I had everything I had ever thought I wanted - strength, respect, purpose.

But every time I saw Yoriichi return from one of his peaceful sojourns in the countryside, every time I watched him demonstrate Sun Breathing with that effortless grace, every time I heard him speak of hope and optimism for a future he had never had to fight for... the old darkness would stir in my heart.

But all good things must come to an end. I remember the whispers first. They spread through the corps like wildfire - Yoriichi had encountered Muzan Kibutsuji himself. My brother, the perfect swordsman, the undefeated demon slayer, had finally faced our greatest enemy. Everyone waited for news of Muzan's death, for the celebration that would surely follow.

But the whispers turned darker. Muzan had escaped. Not only that, but Yoriichi had let another demon live. The perfect warrior had failed.

I wasn't there when it happened, but I heard the story so many times it feels like my own memory: Yoriichi, his sword flashing with the power of the sun itself, actually wounded Muzan. He drove the demon king to the brink of death - something no one had ever done before. But "almost" killing Muzan wasn't enough. Neither was letting another demon slip away.

The corps' reaction was swift and merciless. The same people who had praised his name, who had begged to learn his techniques, who had spoken of him with reverence - they turned on him like rabid dogs. The whispers became shouts, demands for blood to pay for blood.

"Seppuku!" they cried. "He must take responsibility for his failure!"

I watched from the shadows as they surrounded him in the corps' main courtyard. My brother, who had never raised his voice in anger, who had never struck out in spite, stood there calmly as they hurled accusations and insults. His face remained serene, accepting their judgment as if he had expected it all along.

Something broke inside me then. All my jealousy, all my bitterness about his easy life melted away as I watched them tear him down. I stepped forward, my hand on my sword. I would defend him. I would remind them of all he had done, of how many lives he had saved, of how he had created the very breathing techniques they used.

But before I could speak, Yoriichi caught my eye. He gave the slightest shake of his head, that same gentle smile on his face. Even now, he was trying to protect me.

Oyakata's intervention came as a surprise to everyone. Instead of death, he declared banishment. It was meant to be merciful, I suppose. But watching my brother accept this punishment without protest, watching him prepare to leave everything he had built...

I found him later, as he was preparing to leave. He had so few possessions - just his sword, a change of clothes, and that ridiculous hannya mask he always carried.

"Let me come with you," I said, the words tumbling out before I could stop them. "We can find Muzan together. Prove them wrong."

He turned to me then, and for the first time, I saw sadness in his eyes. Not for himself, but for me. "No, brother," he said softly. "Your path lies here. You have a family waiting for you, students who need you. The corps needs Moon Breathing's strength."

"But they're wrong!" I protested, feeling like a child again. "You wounded Muzan more than anyone ever has. You've saved countless lives. How can they just throw you away?"

He smiled - that same damn serene smile that had always infuriated me. But now it felt like a knife in my heart. "They're afraid," he said simply. "Fear makes people forget kindness. But that doesn't mean we should forget to be kind."

I wanted to rage at him, to shake him until he showed some anger, some resistance to this injustice. But he just placed a hand on my shoulder, the way he used to when teaching me breathing techniques.

"Take care of yourself, brother," he said. "And remember - the moon's light is most beautiful when the sun sets."

Then he turned and walked away, his back straight, his steps unhurried. No rage, no bitterness, no desire for revenge. Just acceptance and that unshakeable serenity.

I stood there until his figure disappeared into the distance, my hands clenched so tight my nails drew blood. All those years I had envied his power, his peace, his seemingly perfect life. Now I watched as he walked away from it all without a backward glance, while those who had praised him celebrated his fall.

The irony was bitter enough to choke on. I had spent years resenting him for having an easier life than mine, only to watch him accept punishment for a feat no other slayer could have accomplished. He had wounded Muzan, had come closer to ending our war than anyone in history, and his reward was exile.

As I walked back to my quarters that night, the moon hung full and cold in the sky. I thought of all the times I had trained under its light, trying to match my brother's strength. Now he was gone, and I was left wondering if I had ever understood what true strength meant at all.

I wrote to Akane that night, my brush strokes angry and uneven:

"My brother is gone. They cast him out for being less than perfect, for being human enough to fail. And he accepted it with a smile, as if their cruelty was just another form of kindness he hadn't yet understood. How can I serve a corps that would discard its greatest warrior so easily? How can I trust in justice when I've seen it bend so easily to fear?"

Her reply came days later, her words as wise as ever: "Sometimes the greatest injustice is not in how others treat us, but in how we let their treatment change who we are. Your brother chose to remain kind in the face of cruelty. That, my love, might be his greatest strength of all."

But as I read her words, watching the moon cast shadows across the paper, I wondered if such strength was worth the price it demanded. And for the first time, I truly understood why my father had tried so hard to hide me from those who wielded power - because in the end, even the sun itself could be cast into darkness by the fears of lesser men.

_____

They came at dawn, just as the Uchiha always did. I felt their presence before I saw them - that familiar suffocating weight of Sharingan eyes watching, waiting. I had just enough time to write one final letter to Akane, my hands shaking as I penned the words I never wanted to write:

"My beloved, When this reaches you, I will be gone. The past I've been running from has finally caught up to me. Listen carefully - you must forget me. Burn our letters. Tell our children their father died honorably in battle against demons. Better a dead hero than the truth.

Keep them safe. Keep them hidden. If you see black eyes and red clouds, run.

I'm sorry. Every moment of freedom I had with you was worth all of this. Forever yours, Michikatsu"

I had barely sealed the letter when they burst in. They didn't need to restrain me - we all knew I would comply. Fighting meant risking them finding my family. So I stood still as they stripped away my Demon Slayer uniform, as they roughly washed the dye from my hair, revealing the cursed red strands I had hidden for so long.

They dragged me outside, into the morning light where the other Hashira had gathered for their meeting. I can still hear the collective gasp as my true heritage was exposed - the crimson hair of the Uzumaki clan, the mark of what the Uchiha had been hunting all along.

"This one belongs to us," one of the Uchiha elders announced, his voice dripping with satisfied ownership. "You won't be seeing him again."

I didn't resist as they led me away. I couldn't bear to see the looks on my fellow Hashira's faces - the shock, the betrayal, perhaps even pity. I had finally found a place where I thought I belonged, only to have it ripped away again.

The wedding was a blur. I remember a white kimono, black eyes watching my every move, and the feeling of chains closing around me once more. They had finally achieved what they'd wanted all along - an Uzumaki bound to their bloodline, a breeding stock for their grand ambitions.

Days bled into weeks, then months. I moved through life like a ghost, going through the motions of existence without truly living. Everything that had made me Michikatsu - my swordsmanship, my Moon Breathing, my dreams of freedom - felt distant, like memories from another life.

Then I met him - Muzan Kibutsuji. The demon king found me during one of my rare moments alone, when even the Uchiha's vigilance had lapsed. He didn't see a failed experiment or a prized stallion. He saw me - saw the rage and desperation burning beneath my carefully controlled exterior.

"They've bound you with chains of duty, honor, and blood," he said, his eyes gleaming with understanding. "But what if I told you there was a way to break those chains forever?"

I knew what he was offering. I had spent years hunting his kind, had seen the horrors demons could inflict. But I had also seen how the Uchiha treated their "family," how the Demon Slayer Corps had cast aside my brother, how every institution I had ever served had eventually revealed itself to be built on lies and fear.

"You'll never be truly free as a human," Muzan continued. "They'll always find a way to bind you. But as a demon..." His smile widened. "Well, demons answer to no one."

I didn't hesitate. Didn't need to consider the price or consequences. In that moment, I understood that Michikatsu - the dutiful son, the loyal brother, the loving husband and father, the dedicated demon slayer - had to die for me to truly live.

As Muzan's blood coursed through my veins, burning away everything I had been, I felt something break free inside me. The moon breathing technique I had created transformed, becoming something darker, more powerful. My hair turned white, my eyes multiplied, and with each change, I felt the chains of my past dissolving.

Michikatsu died that night, along with all his weaknesses - his desperate need for approval, his bitter jealousy, his futile dreams of normality. From his ashes rose something new, something unfettered by human constraints.

Kokushibo.

The black moonlight that would never again chase the sun.

The demon who would never again bow to any master.

Free at last, though perhaps not in the way Akane would have wished. But then, some prices are worth paying, even if the cost is your humanity itself.

Looking back now, with my demon's eyes that see so much more clearly than human ones ever could, I wonder if this was always my destiny. The Uchiha tried to make me their weapon, the Demon Slayer Corps tried to make me their warrior, but in the end, I chose to make myself into something else entirely - something that would never again be bound by the chains of human ambition.

I am no longer the moon chasing the sun. I am the darkness that devours both.

_____

The black flames still burn. Even now, months later, I feel them - not just on my skin, but in my soul. Amaterasu, the black flames of the sun goddess herself, a gift to her precious Uchiha clan. How fitting that they would use divine fire against the demon I've become.

Every regeneration is agony. My cells scream as they try to rebuild, only to be consumed again by the lingering flames. The pain is beyond anything I've experienced - worse than the Uchiha's experiments, worse than becoming a demon, worse even than watching my life with Akane slip away. But pain is nothing new to me. Pain has been my constant companion since I was ten years old.

No, what truly burns is the irony. All these centuries of power, of freedom from human constraints, only to be marked once again by their cursed eyes. Tanjuro- another vessel for their tainted blood - wielding Amaterasu against me as if he had any right to that power. As if he understood what it meant to be shaped by those black flames.

They say Amaterasu burns for seven days and seven nights, or until its target is completely destroyed. But I am no ordinary target. I am Kokushibo, Upper Moon One, the demon who mastered the dark arts of Moon Breathing. I've survived worse than divine fire. I've survived the Uchiha's breeding programs, the Corps' betrayal, the loss of everything I ever loved.

Let the flames burn. Let them scar my flesh and mark my soul. Every moment of agony only feeds my resolve. I lie here in my chamber, watching my flesh bubble and regenerate in an endless cycle, and I’ll plan. I’ll remember. I’ll hate.

I remember the weight of black eyes watching my every move. I remember the feel of dye in my hair, trying to hide what I was. I remember their hands on me, their plans for my blood, their casual cruelty masked as family duty. Most of all, I remember the moment they dragged me away from the life I had built, from Akane and our children, from the only real freedom I had ever known.

The Uchiha think themselves gods among men with their blessed eyes and divine flames. They collect power like merchants collect coins, hoarding bloodlines and abilities as if they have the right to decide who lives and who dies, who serves and who rules. They took everything from me - my childhood, my dignity, my family, and now they dare to mark me with their goddess's flames?

No more.

I lean into the pain now, let it fuel the darkness inside me. My demon blood may struggle against Amaterasu's pure fire, but it cannot destroy what I've become. Nothing can. Not divine flames, not blessed eyes, not even time itself. I am no longer the boy they could break with their experiments, no longer the man they could chain with duty and tradition.

I am vengeance incarnate. I am the shadow that will swallow their precious sun. I am the monster they created, turned against its makers at last.

Let them think me defeated. Let them believe their divine flames have crippled me. I've spent centuries perfecting the art of patience, of turning pain into power. I will heal, no matter how long it takes. I will gather my strength, hone my hatred to a razor's edge. And when the time comes, I will show them what their perfect weapon has become.

The Uchiha believe themselves untouchable, protected by their goddess's black flames and blood-red eyes. They forget that the moon casts the deepest shadows when the sun burns brightest. They forget that their precious Sharingan was born from darkness - from pain and loss and hatred. They forget that they are not the only ones who know how to harness suffering.

I trace the burning scars across my flesh, watching them heal and burn again. Each mark is a promise. Each scar is a debt to be repaid. I will hunt them down, one by one. I will destroy everything they've built, everything they value, everything they think makes them special. I will show them what true power looks like - not the borrowed strength of divine eyes, but the raw force of centuries of hatred given form.

Let Amaterasu burn. Let it mark me as their enemy. I will wear these scars like a badge of honor, a reminder of what I'm fighting for. And when I'm done, when the last Uchiha lies broken at my feet, they will understand what their arrogance has cost them.

They wanted a weapon? They'll have one. They wanted power? I'll show them power. They wanted to play with forces beyond their control?

I'll give them exactly what they asked for.

The black flames still burn, but so do I. And when this fire finally dies, when my flesh finally heals, there will be a reckoning. The Uchiha clan thought they could control me, contain me, destroy me.

They're about to learn just how wrong they were.

Chapter Text

The rhythmic clacking of wooden sandals against the dirt path was the only sound that accompanied our small group as we made our way through the remote countryside. Akaza led the way, his strides confident and purposeful, while Tanjuro walked silently beside me, his eyes scanning our surroundings with a quiet intensity.

It had been three days since I'd encountered them amidst the ruins of the Kamado household, and in that brief span of time, my world had been turned upside down. The demon I had once prepared to strike down now walked beside me, his gentle demeanor and unwavering humanity a stark contrast to everything I'd been taught about his kind. And Akaza—the former Upper Moon Three—had somehow shed the demonic curse that had bound him, his movements and expressions now imbued with a rawness I had never witnessed in a demon.

As we pressed onward, I couldn't help but feel a growing sense of unease. The weight of my decision to accompany them weighed heavily on my shoulders, even as I caught glimpses of Tanjuro's determined spirit and Akaza's newfound humanity. Were they truly the exceptions they appeared to be? Or was I simply allowing my emotions to cloud my judgment, putting the fragile peace of the Demon Slayer Corps at risk?

The questions swirled in my mind, but Tanjuro's presence at my side seemed to offer a measure of reassurance. He had reached out to me that day, his embrace conveying a depth of emotion that still resonated within me. And as we walked, he would occasionally reach out, gently tapping my arm to draw my attention. When I looked at him, he would signal with his hands, his movements deliberate and purposeful.

It took me several attempts to decipher his meaning, but eventually, I realized he was attempting to teach me—the ways of the Uchiha, the ancient bloodline that we shared. Akaza, sensing my confusion, would often step in, offering guidance and explanations that helped me better understand the gestures and signs Tanjuro was using.

"The Uchiha were a powerful clan of shinobi," Akaza explained one evening, as we sat around a small campfire. "They possessed a unique ability called the Sharingan, which granted them heightened perception, reflexes, and the capacity to mimic any technique they witnessed." His gaze flickered to my eyes, the now-familiar Sharingan spinning slowly within their depths. "Tanjuro wants to ensure you learn to harness this power, just as your ancestors did."

I listened, my mind racing as I tried to reconcile this new information with everything I thought I knew about myself. A shinobi? Me? The idea seemed almost laughable, yet Tanjuro's unwavering determination told me that he believed it to be true.

As the days passed, Tanjuro's silent lessons continued. He would demonstrate various hand signs and movements, guiding me through the basics of channeling my own inner energy—what he called "chakra." Akaza, surprisingly, proved to be a valuable ally in these lessons, offering insights and techniques that complemented Tanjuro's silent instruction.

"Focus your breathing," Akaza would say, his voice low and calm. "Feel the energy within you, like a fire waiting to be stoked. Now, channel that into your limbs, let it flow through your body."

I would follow his directions, feeling the unfamiliar sensations as my body responded to this newfound power. At first, it was clumsy and uncertain, but gradually, I began to understand the ebb and flow of this energy, learning to harness it in ways that enhanced my speed, strength, and agility.

Tanjuro would nod approvingly, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he watched my progress. And in those moments, I couldn't help but feel a growing sense of connection to these two unlikely companions. Akaza, the former demon who had shed his cursed nature, and Tanjuro, the human turned demon who had somehow retained his humanity—they were guiding me, teaching me things that expanded my understanding of the world in ways I could scarcely comprehend.

As we continued our journey, I found myself becoming more attuned to their needs as well. Akaza, despite his newfound humanity, still possessed an intimate knowledge of first aid and field medicine that proved invaluable. He taught me how to properly treat wounds, how to identify and mitigate the effects of various poisons, and even how to set broken bones.

"You never know when these skills might come in handy," Akaza would say, his eyes briefly flickering with a shadow of his former demonic nature. "Especially in a world where danger lurks around every corner."

Tanjuro, in turn, would demonstrate silent techniques for unarmed combat, showing me how to harness my chakra and newfound Uchiha abilities to defend myself without relying solely on my sword. His movements were fluid and graceful, each gesture conveying a lifetime of experience that I could scarcely begin to fathom.

As I learned from them, I found my perspective shifting. No longer were Akaza and Tanjuro simply demons to be feared and eliminated. They were mentors, guides, and—dare I say it—something akin to family. The walls I had so carefully constructed over the years were slowly crumbling, replaced by a growing sense of trust and camaraderie that I had never anticipated.

The journey ahead was still uncertain, fraught with dangers that I could scarcely imagine. But as we pressed onward, following the trail that might lead us to Tanjuro's missing family, I found myself filled with a newfound purpose. This was no longer just about my duty as a Hashira—it was about understanding the truth that lay beyond the boundaries of our carefully constructed beliefs.

And if that truth required me to redefine everything I thought I knew about demons and the nature of humanity itself, then so be it. I was ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead, with Akaza and Tanjuro at my side.

_____

Meanwhile…

The old basket swayed gently as the Kamado family made their way up Mount Sagiri's winding path, guided by the last rays of sunlight filtering through the trees. Shizugaya, the farmer who had gifted them the basket, had warned them about traveling at night, but they had little choice. Tanjiro carried young Rokuta on his back while Nezuko helped Hanako over fallen logs. Their mother, Kie, walked beside Takeo, her steps determined despite their exhaustion.

The temple appeared before them like a phantom through the trees—weathered wood and faded paint telling stories of better days. Tanjiro's enhanced sense of smell caught it first: the metallic tang of fresh blood carried on the evening breeze.

"Everyone, hide," he whispered, passing Rokuta to his mother. "I smell blood. A lot of it."

Nezuko's eyes narrowed, but she nodded, guiding their siblings behind a thick cluster of bushes. Kie held them close, her eyes fixed on her eldest son as he approached the temple doors.

The scene that greeted Tanjiro froze him in place. Corpses lay strewn across the temple floor, their bodies torn and mangled. In their midst crouched a demon, its mouth dripping with fresh blood as it turned to face the intruder.

"This is my territory," the demon growled, rising to its full height. "You should have stayed away, human."

Tanjiro remained still, his mind flashing back to the demon that had attacked their home—the one his father had fought. That demon had radiated power that made the air itself feel heavy. This one... this one was different. Weaker.

The demon lunged forward, claws extended. Tanjiro's hand moved on instinct, drawing the kunai his father had given him. The blade sliced clean through the demon's neck, drawing a spray of dark blood.

"Not bad," the demon chuckled as its wound sealed shut before Tanjiro's eyes. "But not good enough." It vanished, reappearing behind Tanjiro with frightening speed.

But Tanjiro had seen faster. His body moved smoothly, dodging each strike with the fluidity his father had drilled into him through countless training sessions. *This demon is nothing compared to the one Father faced,* he thought, continuing to evade the increasingly frustrated attacks.

From her hiding spot, Nezuko watched her brother's defensive dance with growing irritation. *Always so peaceful, even now.* Unable to contain herself any longer, she burst from the bushes, channeling chakra into her foot as she launched herself at the demon. Her kick connected with devastating force, sending the demon's head flying across the temple.

"Nezuko!" Tanjiro called out in surprise.

"Stop playing around, brother!" she shot back, jumping away as the demon's headless body lunged for her. Her foot connected again, keeping the body at bay while Tanjiro recovered from his shock.

What followed was a bizarre dance of siblings versus demon parts, with Shigeru and Hanako running out to help corral the still-moving body while Nezuko and Takeo managed the head. Working together, they managed to bind the demon with shinobi wire, wrapping it tightly until it could barely move.

"What do we do with it?" Hanako asked, her voice trembling slightly as she stared at their captive.

"Kill it," Takeo said firmly. "It's eaten people."

"But how?" Nezuko wondered aloud, looking at the bound demon with a mixture of disgust and uncertainty.

The sound of footsteps drew their attention to their mother. Kie walked forward, having handed Rokuta to Tanjiro. Without a word, she picked up a large rock from the temple grounds. Her first strike caught them all by surprise—the solid thunk of stone against skull echoing through the temple. Again and again she brought the rock down, her face set in grim determination as she unleashed her fury on the creature that threatened her children.

She might have continued until dawn if not for the firm hand that caught her wrist.

"That's enough," a gruff voice said. They all turned to see a man wearing a tengu mask, his presence commanding immediate attention. "The sun will rise soon. That will finish it."

True to his word, the first rays of dawn began to peek through the temple windows, and they watched as the demon dissolved into ash.

After helping them bury the demon's victims with proper rites, the masked man turned to address them. "I am Sakonji Urokodaki," he said, his voice softening slightly. "You must be the Kamado family."

They nodded in unison, still wary of this strange newcomer.

"I was sent by Tomioka Giyuu to find you," he continued. "Your father, Tanjuro—he's alive. He sent us to bring you to safety."

The effect of his words was immediate. Kie's hands flew to her mouth, tears welling in her eyes. The children broke into relieved smiles, even Nezuko's stern expression cracking as hope bloomed in her chest.

"Father's alive?" Tanjiro breathed, his voice thick with emotion.

Urokodaki nodded. "Come. My house isn't far from here. You'll be safe there until we can reunite you with him."

As they gathered their belongings and followed Urokodaki up the mountain path, the weight of the night's events began to lift. Their father was alive. They would be together again. And for the first time since their home had been attacked, the Kamado family felt the warm embrace of hope.

Chapter Text

Giyuu considered the question carefully, remembering the countless demons he had slain, and the humans whose actions had sometimes proved more monstrous. "Perhaps," he began, choosing his words with care, "being human isn't about what flows through our veins, but what resides in our hearts."

Akaza nodded, a bitter smile playing at his lips. "I've known demons who retained more humanity than some humans I've encountered. Men who would sacrifice their own children for power, women who would poison their sisters for wealth." He paused, watching as Tanjiro gestured silently to them, indicating a safe path forward. "And yet, I've also seen humans rise above their darkest impulses, choose compassion when cruelty would have been easier."

"Like you did," Giyuu observed, noting how Akaza's steps faltered slightly at the words.

"My return to humanity wasn't just about breaking Muzan's curse," Akaza admitted. "It was about remembering who I was beneath the corruption, finding that spark of conscience that never truly died." He turned to Giyuu, his eyes reflecting the morning light. "Sometimes the most demonic act is not in taking a life, but in taking away someone's ability to choose their path."

They climbed in silence for a moment, both lost in thought. Ahead, Tanjuro stopped at a clearing, his hands moving in the familiar gestures that they had come to understand as a signal to rest. As they settled on fallen logs, Giyuu found himself studying both his companions – one a former demon who had clawed his way back to humanity, the other a human-turned-demon who had somehow retained his soul.

"Perhaps," Giyuu ventured, "the true measure of humanity lies not in what we are, but in what we choose to become. Every day, we face choices that either strengthen our humanity or chip away at it."

Akaza's expression softened. "Yes, and sometimes the most human thing we can do is recognize the humanity in others, even when they've lost sight of it themselves." He glanced at Tanjuro, who sat quietly observing their exchange. "Like you did with us."

"It wasn't easy," Giyuu admitted. "Everything I'd been taught, everything I believed, told me to strike you both down. But sometimes our duty to humanity requires us to look beyond our preconceptions, to see the person beneath the demon – or the demon beneath the person."

Tanjuro's hands moved in a series of gentle gestures, and Akaza translated: "He says that true humanity is found in the capacity for growth, for change. Even the darkest heart can find its way back to the light if given the chance."

As they resumed their journey up the mountain, Giyuu felt a deeper understanding settling over him. The path to Mount Sagiri had become more than just a physical journey – it was a testament to the complexity of human nature itself. With each step, they moved closer not only to their destination but to a truth that transcended the simple divide between human and demon.

The hope of finding the Kamado family ahead drove them forward, but it was the bonds forged between them – bonds that defied all conventional wisdom – that gave their journey its true meaning. In the end, perhaps that was the most human thing of all: the ability to forge connections that transcended the boundaries of what they once believed possible.

The Kamado family had finally arrived at Sakonji Urokodaki's secluded home, their sanctuary nestled deep within the mountain forest. The wooden house was modest yet comforting, surrounded by ancient trees and a calming stillness that contrasted starkly with the chaos they had fled from. Inside, Urokodaki welcomed them with quiet warmth, offering food and bedding. The Kamados, though grateful, were weighed down by an invisible burden.

As the family tried to settle in, Tanjiro suddenly froze mid-step. His nose twitched, his expression shifted, and his heart began to pound in his chest. The scent hit him like a physical blow—familiar yet wrong, so terribly wrong.

"Father..." he whispered, his voice trembling. Without another word, he bolted out the door, his legs moving instinctively as if drawn by an invisible thread.

"Tanjiro!" Kie called out, clutching Rokuta tightly as she followed. The rest of the family—Nezuko, Takeo, Hanako, and Shigeru—scrambled to keep up, fear and confusion etched into their faces.

Tanjiro raced through the forest, his senses sharpened to a knife's edge. His father's scent was unmistakable, but it carried something foreign, something that made his stomach turn and his blood run cold. The wrongness of it clawed at his mind as he tore through the trees. Finally, he came to a clearing—and there he was.

The name died in his throat as he saw his father standing there, illuminated by the pale moonlight. Tanjuro's eyes met his son's, and though he tried to smile, no warmth reached those eyes—eyes that now held a faint, crimson glow. His father opened his mouth as if to speak, but no words came, only a low, inhuman sound that made Tanjiro's heart shatter.

Tanjiro fell to his knees, tears streaming down his face. He gripped the earth beneath him, his fingers digging into the soil until they bled. The sobs that wracked his body were primal, raw—the sound of a child watching their world crumble.

The rest of the family arrived moments later, and the sight before them stopped them cold. Kie gasped, holding Rokuta tighter to her chest. Nezuko, Takeo, Hanako, and Shigeru stood frozen, staring at their father. His familiar features were there, but those glowing eyes and sharp, fanged teeth told a different story—one of horror and loss.

The children's emotions erupted all at once. They rushed forward, crying and clinging to their father as if their touch could undo whatever had happened. Tanjuro knelt, embracing his family, confusion and anguish etched into his face as he tried to comfort them without words, without understanding why they were weeping.

Kie's voice broke the silence, trembling. "Tanjuro... what happened? Why... why do you look like this?"

Before anyone could respond, Akaza stepped forward, his expression grim. "I need to explain," he said, his voice heavy with guilt. "During the battle with Kokushibou, some of his blood got into Tanjuro's injuries. It... it turned him into a demon."

The air grew colder, the weight of Akaza's words settling over them like a suffocating shroud. Kie swayed on her feet, her face pale, and Urokodaki caught her shoulders, steadying her.

Nezuko's Sharingan blazed to life, the red patterns in her eyes swirling with unrestrained fury. "You were supposed to protect him!" she screamed, her voice raw with emotion. "You let this happen! You should have done better!"

Akaza's face darkened. "Do you think I didn't try?!" he snapped, his voice rising. "I fought with everything I had! I told him to run, but he refused! He stayed to fight with me!"

"That's not good enough!" Nezuko shot back, her fists clenched at her sides. She turned to Tanjiro, who remained unnaturally still. "How can you just kneel there? Don't you feel anything? Aren't you angry?!"

The air around Tanjiro suddenly grew heavy, charged with something dark and suffocating. When he raised his head, his eyes had changed—his Sharingan spinning to life, the tomoe whirling faster and faster until they merged into their second stage. The transformation was accompanied by a surge of chakra so intense it made everyone step back.

"How dare you?" His voice was barely above a whisper, but it cut through the clearing like a blade. "How DARE you ask if I'm angry?"

He rose slowly, and for the first time, his family saw something in him they'd never witnessed before—pure, unbridled rage. The gentle boy who always smiled, who carried his father's warmth, was gone. In his place stood someone else entirely.

"You think I don't feel it?" His voice rose, cracking with emotion. "Every breath I take burns with it. Every heartbeat pounds with it. I want to hunt down Kokushibou and tear him apart piece by piece. I want to make him suffer so much he begs for death, and then I want to keep him alive just to make him suffer more."

Tears streamed down his face, but his eyes remained hard, the Sharingan spinning wildly. "I want to watch him burn in the sun until there's nothing left but ash, and then I want to scatter that ash to the wind so nothing of him remains. The hatred in me is so deep it's drowning me, Nezuko. It's eating me alive!"

His father made a soft, pained sound, trying to reach for him, but Tanjiro stepped back, his body trembling.

"But I can't do any of that," he continued, his voice breaking. "I can't do anything because I'm weak. Because that's the fate of the weak—to be crushed by the strong. To watch everything they love be destroyed while they stand helpless."

Nezuko's anger faltered, her own tears falling freely now. "Nii-chan..."

"You can be angry, Nezuko," Tanjiro said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "We all are. But if we let that anger blind us, if we let it control us, then Kokushibou wins. And I refuse—" his voice caught, and for a moment, they saw their gentle brother again, breaking under the weight of his own darkness, "—I refuse to let him take anything else from us."

He fell to his knees again, and this time, when their father embraced him, Tanjiro didn't pull away. He buried his face in his father's chest and wept, not for what was lost, but for what still remained—and what he would have to become to protect it.

"Enough," Kie's voice cut through the tension, steady despite her tears. "Is there... is there any way to turn him back? To make him human again?"

The silence that followed her question was deafening. Giyuu and Akaza exchanged a heavy look before both slowly shook their heads.

"But there has to be!" Shigeru suddenly burst out, his young voice filled with desperate hope. "There has to be a way!"

Hanako stepped forward, clutching her brother's hand. "If doctors can find cures for diseases, then... then there must be a way to turn demons back into humans too, right?" Her eyes darted between the adults, pleading for confirmation.

Giyuu's expression softened slightly. "The Demon Slayer Corps... we've been searching for such a cure for generations. If you truly wish to find one, becoming demon slayers would give you access to our resources, our knowledge. You could search while carrying out missions."

Tanjiro and Nezuko exchanged a look, their Sharingan eyes reflecting the same determination. "We'll do it," they said almost in unison.

"No." Kie's voice was sharp, final. She stood straighter, her arms trembling but her gaze unflinching. "Absolutely not. I won't have my children out there hunting demons, risking their lives—"

"Then what can we do, Mother?" Nezuko's voice cracked. "What other choice do we have? Are we supposed to just watch Father suffer?"

Kie opened her mouth, but no words came. What could she say? What answer could possibly be enough?

A gentle touch on her back made her turn. Tanjuro stood there, his demon eyes somehow still holding that same gentle wisdom she'd fallen in love with. He gave her a look she knew well—one that spoke volumes without words. It said: Trust them. Trust in what we've taught them.

Kie's shoulders slumped, tears falling freely now. "I've already watched your father be taken from us," she whispered. "The thought of losing any of you too..." She straightened, wiping her eyes. "But I know I can't stop you. You're too much like him—too willing to sacrifice everything for family."

She took a deep breath, her voice growing stronger. "Fine. But only Tanjiro and Nezuko." She held up a hand to silence the protests already forming on her other children's lips. "They've trained with your father since they were small. They have the Sharingan. They're the only ones prepared for this fight, and I'll be damned if I send any of you out there unprepared."

Takeo, Hanako, and Shigeru wanted to argue, but the look in their mother's eyes stopped them. They understood—this wasn't just about their capability, but about their mother trying to protect what she could of their family.

Giyuu let out a quiet breath, relieved that the emotional storm had passed. “ Well then, we can begin their training as soon as possible." Tanjuro moved to stand between his two eldest children, placing a hand on each of their shoulders. Though he couldn't speak, his touch conveyed everything—his sorrow, his pride, his love, and his faith in them. Tanjiro and Nezuko leaned into their father's touch, their resolve strengthening.

For the first time since discovering their father's condition, hope flickered in the darkness—small and fragile, but alive. They would find a way. They had to. After all, they were Kamados, and Kamados never gave up on family.

"We'll save you, Father," Tanjiro whispered, his hand reaching up to grasp his father's. "We promise."

Nezuko nodded, her own hand joining theirs. "No matter what it takes."

Kie watched her husband and eldest children, her heart both breaking and swelling with pride. This wasn't the future she'd wanted for them, but perhaps it was the future they needed—a chance to fight back against fate itself. She could only pray that their father's strength would be enough to carry them through what lay ahead.

Chapter Text

The mountain forest around Urokodaki's home felt different now—charged with anticipation and a quiet, resolute energy. Tanjiro and Nezuko stood before their mentor, their Sharingan eyes alert and focused, while their family watched from a short distance away.

Sakonji Urokodaki's mask betrayed no emotion, but his voice was steady and profound. "Your training begins now," he declared, his words cutting through the morning mist. "The Demon Slayer Corps is not what most believe it to be. We are not a government-sanctioned organization, but a brotherhood forged in blood and sacrifice, active since times most have forgotten."

Akaza stepped forward, his presence both protective and instructional. "Before you can fight demons, you must understand them," he began, his voice low and serious. "Their origin as you know, was created by the demon King Muzan-sama. We do not know how he first came to be. But what we know is terrifying."

He paced slowly, his movements deliberate. "Demons possess physical abilities far beyond human limitations. Their regeneration is instantaneous, capable of healing wounds that would kill a normal human in seconds. Some can shape-shift, others possess unique and horrifying powers that defy understanding. Humanity's only true weapons against them are sunlight and specially crafted swords."

Kie listened intently, her hand clutching Tanjuro's. Her husband, now a demon, watched their children with eyes that burned with a mix of pride and sorrow. Though he could not speak, his gaze never left Tanjiro and Nezuko.

Giyuu stood nearby, his expression neutral but his eyes sharp. "The path you're choosing is not easy," he added. "Every demon slayer fights knowing they might not return. We fight not for glory, but to protect those who cannot protect themselves."

Sakonji nodded, then gestured to the mountain surrounding his home. "This mountain will be your first teacher. Every stream, every rock, every tree will test your limits. Your training will be brutal, comprehensive, and tailored to your unique abilities."

He turned specifically to Tanjiro and Nezuko. "To become a Demon Slayer, you must pass the Final Selection on Mount Fujikasane. I will determine if you are ready—and only I will decide whether you can attempt the selection."

Nezuko's Sharingan spun slightly, her determination palpable. Tanjiro's hand unconsciously clenched, the first tomoe in his eye beginning to rotate.

"Your Sharingan gives you an advantage," Akaza noted, studying them carefully. "But advantage is not guarantee. You will learn breathing techniques that will amplify your natural abilities. You will learn to push your body beyond what you believe possible."

Rokuta, the youngest, tugged at his mother's kimono. "Will they be okay?" he whispered.

Kie's smile was both proud and heartbreaking. "They are Kamados," she whispered back. "And Kamados protect their own."

Tanjuro stepped forward, unable to speak but communicating volumes through a gentle touch on each of his children's shoulders. His eyes—now demon-red but still filled with paternal love—seemed to say: *I believe in you. Be strong. Save me.*

Tanjiro bowed deeply to Sakonji, Nezuko mirroring his movement. "We are ready," they said in unison, their voices carrying the weight of their family's hopes and their father's fate.

The mountain seemed to listen. The trees swayed, the wind whispered. Their journey was about to begin.

Sakonji's masked face turned toward the dense forest. "Then let us start."

And with those words, the first chapter of the Kamado siblings' transformation began—a path that would test their strength, their resolve, and their very humanity.

The mountain became their first and most ruthless teacher. 

Days blended together as Tanjiro and Nezuko descended the treacherous slope, each journey more challenging than the last. At first, the hidden traps caught them constantly—razor-thin tripwires, concealed pit holes, and camouflaged snares that would spring shut with deadly precision. But with each descent, their Sharingan proved invaluable. The spinning tomoe allowed them to perceive minute changes in the environment, detecting the slightest disturbance that might signal an approaching trap.

Sakonji watched, his masked face unreadable, as the siblings gradually adapted. Their movements became fluid, their reflexes sharper. They dodged, weaved, and anticipated, their bodies moving with an instinctive grace that spoke of their natural talent.

But Sakonji was not one to let them grow complacent.

As days passed, the traps became increasingly sophisticated. Knives protruded from hidden compartments, spikes would shoot out from seemingly innocent patches of ground, and entire sections of the path would collapse without warning. The difficulty escalated exponentially.

When Sakonji finally handed them their first training swords, everything changed.

The weight of the blade threw off their carefully developed rhythm. Nezuko, who had been almost perfect in her trap evasion, suddenly found herself caught repeatedly. The sword changed everything—it wasn't just about dodging anymore, but managing a new extension of their body.

"A sword is not just a weapon," Sakonji explained, his voice cutting through their frustration. "It is an extension of your arm, your spirit, your very being."

Akaza stepped forward during sword training, demonstrating a brutal but necessary lesson in resilience. He would knock Tanjiro and Nezuko down repeatedly, forcing them to learn how to get back up quickly. "In battle, a moment's hesitation means death," he would say, helping them to their feet each time.

During sword mechanics training, Sakonji's lesson was both technical and terrifying.

"The blade is strong vertically," he demonstrated, applying precise pressure along the sword's length, "but weak horizontally." With a sharp motion, he showed how improper handling could cause a blade to snap. His next words were delivered with chilling intensity: "Break this sword, and you will wish you hadn't."

Tanjiro and Nezuko listened intently, their Sharingan observing every minute detail of the demonstration.

The next phase of training pushed them to their absolute limits. Akaza would attack without warning, expecting them to counterattack or defend. When he instructed them to charge at him, they approached with everything they had—using every shinobi technique they knew, moving at full speed, their Sharingan spinning wildly.

Yet each time, they found themselves effortlessly flipped through the air, landing hard on the unforgiving mountain ground.

Giyuu, watching from a distance with the rest of the Kamado family, couldn't help but see reflections of their own early training. Kie watched with a mixture of pride and terror, her hand unconsciously gripping Tanjuro's—who observed his children's training with eyes that burned with an intensity that transcended his current demonic state.

"They're learning," Tanjuro would have said if he could speak. His look said it all—every bruise, every fall was a step toward saving him.

As the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the mountain, Tanjiro and Nezuko stood side by side. Bruised, exhausted, but unbroken. Their Sharingan continued to spin—a testament to their unwavering determination.

The mountain had tested them. And they had not been found wanting.

Total Concentration Breathing—a technique that seemed simple in theory, yet proved brutally challenging in practice.

Sakonji stood before Tanjiro and Nezuko, his masked face betraying no emotion as he began the lesson. "Breathing is not just about drawing air," he explained. "It is about control. About focus. About becoming something more than human."

Tanjiro took a deep breath, filling his lungs with what he thought was the correct technique. Before he could even exhale, Sakonji's hand struck his stomach with a sharp, precise slap that sent him staggering.

"Wrong," Sakonji declared flatly.

Nezuko attempted next, her Sharingan spinning as she tried to analyze the correct method. Her attempt met the same fate—a swift, painful slap that drove the breath from her lungs.

The breathing forms proved equally challenging. Each time Tanjiro or Nezuko attempted a stance, each time they tried to brace their stomach or align their body, Sakonji's corrections came in the form of sharp, instructive slaps that left them both frustrated and determined.

"Become one with the water," Sakonji would say—a statement that, for these two, would take on a literal meaning.

One particularly cold morning, without warning, Sakonji kicked both Tanjiro and Nezuko off a steep cliff into a freezing river below. Giyuu, watching from nearby, couldn't help but be transported back to his own merciless training. The memory of similar lessons flickered in his eyes—a mix of trauma and respect for the method.

Nearby, the Kamado family watched with a mixture of horror and pride. Kie clutched Tanjuro's hand, her breath catching each time her children were pushed to their limits. Tanjuro, unable to speak, communicated volumes through his intense, burning gaze.

Six months into their training, Giyuu received mission orders. "I'll return," he promised the Kamados, his hand resting briefly on Tanjiro and Nezuko's shoulders. "Continue your training."

One year after taking them as students, Sakonji made an unexpected announcement. "I have nothing more to teach you," he told Tanjiro and Nezuko. The words hung in the air—part dismissal, part ultimate compliment.

The final test came in a forest clearing. Two massive boulders stood adorned with shide—sacred Shinto paper streamers that seemed to flutter with an otherworldly energy. Sakonji's masked face turned towards his students.

"Final Selection," he declared, "depends on this moment. Slice these boulders."

Tanjiro and Nezuko exchanged a look. The boulders were massive, unyielding—seemingly impossible to cut. Tanjiro approached first, his sword raised, Sharingan spinning as he tried to analyze the best approach. His first strike failed completely, the blade barely making a mark.

Nezuko followed, her technique different but equally unsuccessful. The boulders remained untouched, mocking their efforts.

"Sensei!" Tanjiro called out, but Sakonji had already disappeared, leaving them alone with their seemingly impossible task.

The forest seemed to watch. The shide papers fluttered, almost like silent witnesses to their challenge. Tanjiro and Nezuko stood before the boulders—determination etched into every line of their bodies, their Sharingan spinning with an intensity that spoke of their unwavering resolve.

Their journey was far from over. In fact, it was just beginning.

Chapter Text

While Tanjiro and Nezuko navigated Urokodaki's ruthless training regimen, life continued for the rest of the Kamado family in its own peculiar rhythm. The clearing near Urokodaki's home had become their temporary residence, with Kie maintaining a semblance of normal family life despite their extraordinary circumstances.

Teako and Hanako helped their mother with daily chores, while Shigeru and Rokuta gathered firewood and water. But it was the training sessions between Giyuu, Tanjuro, and Akaza that truly transformed the clearing into something else entirely—a place where past and present seemed to blur.

Tanjuro's demon form moved with an otherworldly grace as he circled Giyuu, who stood with his sword drawn, two tomoe spinning lazily in each eye. Though unable to speak, Tanjuro's intense crimson gaze and deliberate movements communicated his assessment clearly enough—Giyuu's Sharingan activation was too slow.

Akaza watched from the edge of the clearing, his arms crossed. "He's right. You're thinking too much about activating it. The Sharingan should respond to your instinct, not your conscious thought."

Giyuu's eyes narrowed. "I never trained it properly. I barely remember obtaining it."

"How *did* you obtain it?" Akaza asked, his voice carrying an edge of curiosity. "The Sharingan only awakens through intense emotional trauma. Most shinobi remember that moment with perfect clarity."

A strange look crossed Giyuu's face. His eyes unfocused, and suddenly he wasn't in the clearing anymore...

*The smell of blood. Mount Fujikasane's dark forests spinning around him. Sabito's voice—"Run, Giyuu!"—and then silence. The hand demon's massive form, shadows dancing, screams echoing...*

Giyuu blinked, the memory fragmenting like scattered glass. "I... Final Selection. Something happened during Final Selection. But the details..." He shook his head, frustrated.

"Interesting," Akaza murmured. "Your mind seems to be protecting you from something."

Tanjuro didn't wait for the conversation to continue. His demon form blurred into motion—launching a series of precise, measured strikes that forced Giyuu to respond instantly. His teaching style was relentless, pushing Giyuu to react rather than think. Though he couldn't speak, his movements carried decades of martial wisdom.

"Watch his movements!" Akaza called out. "The Sharingan doesn't just see—it predicts. Your eyes are trying to tell you where his strikes will land before they happen."

Giyuu's Sharingan spun faster as he defended against Tanjuro's onslaught. Each block became smoother, each counter more precise. But then—

*Another flash: The hand demon's fingers stretching endlessly in the darkness. Someone pushing him aside. Blood spraying across his face. His own scream, raw and primal...*

The memory cost him his focus. Tanjuro's wooden training sword caught him in the ribs, sending him sprawling.

From their spot near the house, Kie watched with concern while preparing lunch with Teako and Hanako. Rokuta clutched his mother's kimono, eyes wide with worry. "Is Giyuu-san okay?"

"He's learning," Kie assured him, though her eyes reflected uncertainty as she watched her demon husband's fierce but controlled movements.

Later that afternoon, Akaza took over the training. His approach differed dramatically from Tanjuro's intensity.

"Close your eyes," Akaza instructed, sitting cross-legged across from Giyuu. "The Sharingan is connected to your chakra network. Feel how it flows differently when your eyes are active."

Giyuu complied, focusing inward. 

"The Sharingan isn't just a tool—it's part of you," Akaza continued. "Those memories you can't access... they're locked away, but they're still shaping how your eyes work. Don't fight that. Accept it."

*Another fragment: Sabito's smile. A promise made under falling snow. "We'll both make it through Selection, won't we?" The weight of that promise, heavier than any sword...*

Giyuu's eyes snapped open, Sharingan spinning wildly. Akaza nodded approvingly.

"Better. Your eyes responded to the memory, even if you couldn't fully grasp it."

Tanjuro observed from nearby, his demon eyes glowing with understanding. His clawed hands moved in practiced gestures, signing what Akaza translated: "Sometimes the body remembers what the mind tries to forget."

The training continued day after day. Tanjuro would push Giyuu's physical limits, his demon strength carefully controlled but relentless, forcing Giyuu's Sharingan to evolve through combat. Meanwhile, Akaza worked on the spiritual and chakra aspects. The rest of the family fell into their own rhythm around these sessions—Shigeru practicing basic sword forms he'd observed, Rokuta attempting to mimic his older siblings' stances, Teako and Hanako helping their mother tend to Giyuu's training injuries.

One evening, as the family gathered for dinner, Giyuu watched Tanjiro and Nezuko in the distance, still working on Urokodaki's brutal training regime. His Sharingan activated unconsciously, and for a moment—

*Final Selection. The hand demon's laughter. Sabito's final words. Blood on snow. A promise broken and remade. His eyes burning as they changed forever...*

"Giyuu-san?" Rokuta's voice pulled him back to the present. "Your eyes are doing the spinny thing again!"

Giyuu blinked, deactivating his Sharingan. "Sorry," he murmured, accepting the bowl of rice Kie offered him. Nearby, Tanjuro sat in the shadows, his demon eyes watching over his family with an intensity that spoke of both love and sorrow.

Akaza and Tanjuro exchanged a meaningful look. The memories would return when they needed to, but for now, Giyuu's progress was undeniable. His Sharingan activated more naturally, responded more fluidly, even if the full story of its awakening remained buried in the depths of trauma.

As night fell over the mountain, the Kamado family settled into their temporary home. Tanjiro and Nezuko's distant training echoed through the trees, while Giyuu sat on the engawa, his Sharingan active, watching the stars spin in patterns only his eyes could see. The past might be fragmented, but the present—this strange, beautiful present with a family of humans, their demon father, and a mysterious mentor—felt more real than any memory.

____

"Again," Akaza instructed, his demon eyes glowing softly in the early morning light as Kie moved through the basic kata sequence. Though his appearance was more human-like than most demons, subtle signs of his true nature were evident—the faint patterns etched into his skin, the supernatural grace of his movements. The morning sun filtered through the trees as the Kamado matriarch repeated the movements, her form improving with each iteration. Nearby, Teako and Hanako mirrored their mother's movements, while Shigeru and Rokuta practiced their footwork.

"Your children's safety isn't just about having protectors," Akaza had told Kie when she first requested training, his demon strength carefully controlled as he demonstrated techniques. "It's about being able to protect them yourself."

The training sessions had become a daily ritual. While Tanjuro watched from the shadows, his more visibly demonic form a stark contrast to Akaza's more human-like appearance, both demons guided the family through the foundations of shinobi combat arts.

"Taijutsu isn't about strength," Akaza explained, adjusting Kie's stance with hands that could shatter boulders but now moved with gentle precision. "It's about turning your opponent's force against them." He demonstrated with a simple redirect, his supernatural speed slowed to human levels so they could follow his movements.

Teako proved particularly adept at genjutsu. "The art of illusion requires a subtle mind," Akaza noted as the young girl successfully maintained her first basic illusion, his demon eyes detecting the precise flow of her chakra. "You're not trying to overpower the enemy's senses, but to guide them into seeing what you want them to see."

Hanako, meanwhile, excelled at chakra control. Her first attempt at walking up a tree trunk lasted three steps—impressive for a beginner. "Your chakra flow is naturally steady," Akaza observed, his enhanced senses allowing him to perceive the subtle fluctuations in her energy. "That will serve you well in both ninjutsu and medical techniques."

The youngest, Shigeru and Rokuta, turned their training into a game, competing to see who could hold the leaf-sticking exercise longer. Their laughter echoed through the clearing, undaunted by their demon teachers' presence.

On days when Tanjiro and Nezuko had respite from Urokodaki's training, they would join these family sessions. Their presence added a new dimension to the training.

"Watch how your siblings' Sharingan tracks movement," Akaza would tell the younger children, demonstrating at speeds that only the Sharingan could fully perceive before slowing down for the others. "Even without those eyes, you can learn to observe and predict as they do."

One particularly memorable morning, Kie managed to catch Tanjiro off guard with a perfectly executed sweep, sending her eldest son tumbling. Tanjuro's demon eyes gleamed with pride, while Akaza nodded approvingly, the patterns on his skin shifting slightly with his satisfaction.

"Mom's getting really good!" Nezuko beamed, helping her brother up.

The training wasn't always physical. Akaza spent hours teaching them about chakra theory, hand seals, and the fundamental principles of shinobi arts. His centuries of experience as a demon had given him unique insights into the nature of energy and combat.

"Knowledge is as important as technique," he would say, drawing diagrams in the dirt with inhuman precision. "Understanding *why* a technique works makes you better at using it."

For Kie, these lessons became something more than just self-defense training. They were moments of empowerment, of taking active control in protecting her family. The way she moved changed subtly—more confident, more aware of her surroundings.

"A mother's instinct to protect is already powerful," Akaza noted one day, his demon eyes tracking Kie's movements as she successfully completed a complex defensive sequence. "We're just giving it teeth."

The younger children developed their own specialties. Teako's genjutsu could now fool birds into changing direction. Hanako had progressed to basic healing techniques, practicing on her siblings' training scrapes. Shigeru showed promise with ninja tools, his aim improving daily. Even little Rokuta was mastering the basic academy jutsu that Akaza taught him.

During one session, while practicing chakra control, Kie asked, "Why did you agree to teach us, Akaza-san?"

Akaza paused, exchanging a look with Tanjuro, their demon eyes meeting in silent understanding. "Because strength isn't just about being able to fight," he answered carefully. "It's about being able to protect what matters. And sometimes... sometimes the best protection a family can have is each other. Even demons understand that."

The training continued through the seasons. While Tanjiro and Nezuko pushed through Urokodaki's brutal regimen, their family grew stronger in their own way. Kie mastered basic ninjutsu, the children developed their skills, and even Giyuu would sometimes join these sessions, offering his own insights.

One evening, as the family practiced together—Kie and the children moving through forms while Tanjuro observed from the shadows—Akaza stood back and watched his students, his demon senses taking in every detail of their progress. In Kie's determined movements, in Teako and Hanako's growing confidence, in Shigeru and Rokuta's enthusiastic practice, he saw something powerful taking shape.

They weren't just learning to fight. They were learning to survive, to protect, to stand together. In a world where demons lurked in shadows and danger could strike at any moment, the Kamado family was forging itself into something remarkable—a unit where every member, from the youngest to the oldest, could contribute to their collective safety.

Tanjiro and Akaza, two demons bound by different circumstances, watched over these training sessions with an intensity that spoke of both pride and purpose. Their supernatural strength remained carefully controlled, their demon nature channeled into teaching rather than destroying. And in these moments, under the watchful eyes of their demon protectors, the Kamado family grew not just in strength, but in unity.

Chapter Text

The boulder stood silent, unyielding—a monument to their repeated failures. Six months had passed since Sakonji's challenging declaration, and the massive stone remained unscratched, mocking their every attempt.

Tanjiro closed his eyes, his Sharingan momentarily stilling as memories of their training flooded his mind. He remembered Sakonji's harsh lessons: the precise breathing techniques, the brutal physical conditioning, Akaza's relentless combat training. Each memory was a lesson, a fragment of wisdom etched into his very being.

"We can't give up," he said to Nezuko, more to reassure himself than her.

They practiced together, sparring in the clearing near the boulder. Their swords became extensions of their bodies, moving with a synchronicity born of shared blood and intense training. Tanjiro would attack, Nezuko would defend. Then they would switch, analyzing each other's techniques, finding weaknesses, improving.

Day after day, they returned to the boulder. Their first strikes were clumsy, ineffective. Weeks turned into months, and their technique refined. They learned to channel their breath, to focus their Sharingan's perception into each swing. But the boulder remained unchanged.

On a particularly exhausting day, they dropped their swords. Sweat and frustration mingled on their faces.

Nezuko's scream of frustration erupted suddenly, raw and powerful. "I will NOT fail!" she yelled, her voice echoing through the forest. Tears of determination mixed with sweat, her Sharingan spinning wildly. "We are doing this. For father. For our family."

Tanjiro watched her, understanding every emotion. Their shared resolve burned brighter than their individual doubts.

Unbeknownst to them, in the shadows of the surrounding trees, Akaza watched. His eyes, once approving during their training, now burned with a growing anger. Their progress was too slow. Their potential remained untapped.

"If they won't push themselves," Akaza muttered, his hand clenching into a fist, "then I will make them."

One day while Tanjiro and Nezuko wew still training on how to cut the rock, they heard movement. They took battle stances and looked to the top of the Bould. One moment the boulder was empty, the next Akaza stood atop its massive surface, his imposing figure casting a shadow over Tanjiro and Nezuko. "Enough," he declared, his voice a thunderclap of frustration. "Attack me."

Tanjiro and Nezuko exchanged uncertain glances. "But—" Tanjiro began.

Akaza didn't wait. He leaped from the boulder with terrifying speed, his foot connecting with Tanjiro's chest. The young shinobi went flying, his sword deflected effortlessly by Akaza's bare hands. Before Nezuko could react, Akaza vanished into the trees, his movements a blur of impossible speed.

Leaves scattered as he moved, a phantom racing through the forest. Nezuko's Sharingan spun wildly, trying to track his impossible movements. But tracking and responding were two different skills. Akaza struck from behind, sending her crashing to the ground.

"Pathetic," Akaza spat. "Sakonji taught you breathing techniques, and you've learned nothing. Nothing!"

Tanjiro struggled to his feet, sword raised. "We're trying—" he began, only to be interrupted by another lightning-fast strike that sent him reeling.

Akaza dodged each of their attacks with contemptuous ease, moving like wind through their defenses. "You're trying to fight like samurai," he growled. "But you're not samurai. You're shinobi. *Shinobi*!"

His words hit harder than his physical blows. Tanjiro and Nezuko froze, the realization dawning like a sudden light.

"You were born to a shinobi clan," Akaza continued, his voice softening slightly. "Your father's blood runs in your veins. You're not meant to stand and fight with honor—you're meant to adapt, to strike from shadows, to use every advantage."

The siblings exchanged a look. Their father's teachings flooded back—not of honorable combat, but of survival. Of using every trick, every technique, every possible advantage.

Akaza's lips curved into something almost like a smile. "Now that I've beaten that into your thick skulls, show me what you're really made of."

In that moment, Tanjiro and Nezuko transformed. No longer were they trying to be something they were not. They became what they truly were—Kamado shinobi, with all the cunning, adaptability, and ferocity that name implied.

They charged.

Nearby, hidden in the misty forest, two figures with fox masks watched. The boy turned to his companion. "I guess they won't be needing any help," he said quietly.

As mist swirled around them, they melted back into the shadows.

The real training was just beginning.

The boulder challenge had changed everything. Akaza's brutal lesson echoed in their minds: You're shinobi. Fight like one.

Tanjiro and Nezuko returned to their family's clearing with a new perspective. Water breathing was no longer just about sword techniques—it was about adaptation, about blending their inherited shinobi skills with the blade.

Tanjuro watched from the shadows, his demon eyes burning with an intensity that seemed to say, Show me what you've learned . Though he couldn't speak, his gaze was a constant instructor.

Their first attempts were messy. Water breathing forms mixed with shinobi movement techniques created a chaotic dance. Nezuko would begin a water breathing stance, then suddenly break into a rapid shadow step, her sword moving in unpredictable patterns. Tanjiro followed, integrating chakra flow into his blade, making the water-based techniques shimmer with an almost supernatural edge.

"Look," Teako pointed out one morning, her young genjutsu-trained eyes tracking their movements, "they're not just fighting. They're storytelling with their blades."

Indeed, their technique became a narrative—each movement a word, each breath a sentence, the entire sequence a complex language of combat that spoke of their dual heritage. The precise water breathing forms of their training with Sakonji now danced with the adaptable, shadow-like movements of their shinobi lineage.

Akaza watched from the edge of the clearing, a rare smile playing on his lips. "Not bad," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

Kie, who had been practicing her own techniques nearby, began to incorporate their innovations into her training. "It's about flow," she observed to Hanako. "Not just of water, but of movement. Of intention."

The younger children tried to mimic their older siblings. Shigeru would practice water breathing stances, then attempt to add a shinobi twist—a sudden roll, a quick redirection that made his movements unpredictable. Rokuta watched in awe, his small hands already mimicking the complex hand seals he'd learned.

"They're creating something new," Akaza told Tanjuro one evening, watching Tanjiro and Nezuko practice. The two demons exchanged a look—part pride, part recognition of the potential brewing in these young warriors.

Their water breathing evolved. No longer was it just about precise sword techniques learned from Sakonji. Now, it became a hybrid art—water breathing with shinobi unpredictability, blade techniques merged with chakra flow, traditional forms dancing with shadow movement.

When Sakonji would eventually see their technique, he would either be furious at their deviation or impressed by their innovation. But for now, in this moment, Tanjiro and Nezuko were creating something uniquely Kamado—a fighting style that honored both their water breathing training and their shinobi roots.

The mountain watched. The trees seemed to listen. And in the clearing, two young warriors continued to redefine what it meant to be a Demon Slayer.

Chapter Text

The morning light filtered through the trees, casting long shadows across the training ground. Tanjiro's sword trembled, his breath synchronized with the rhythmic beating of his heart. Something was different today. The boulder—their persistent, unyielding opponent—felt... changed, as if it had been waiting for this moment.

He closed his eyes, remembering Sakonji's teachings. Breathe. Feel. Listen.

And then—he caught it. The Opening Thread.

It wasn't just a scent, though his keen nose detected it first. It was a convergence of sensations: the whisper of wind through leaves, the subtle vibrations in the earth beneath his feet, the way moisture hung in the morning air. The thread wove through it all, connecting everything in an intricate dance that only now, after months of training, he could finally perceive.

Tanjiro's Sharingan spun, tracking the invisible path that connected his sword to the stone. The crimson eyes, a gift passed down through generations of the Uchiha, revealed layers of reality that normal vision couldn't comprehend. In the stone, he saw not just a boulder, but a living testament to countless attempts, failures, and lessons learned.

Beside him, Nezuko moved with an identical intensity, her own Sharingan active. Her blade caught the light differently now—no longer just reflecting it, but seeming to bend it, to dance with it. Where Tanjiro detected the thread through his heightened senses, she followed an instinctual understanding that defied explanation. The siblings had always been close, but their training had forged something deeper: a harmony of purpose that transcended words.

Their swords struck simultaneously.

The boulder split with a thunderous crack, two perfect halves falling apart as if they had always been meant to separate. The sound echoed through the mountains, carrying with it the weight of their achievement. Silence followed, broken only by their heavy breathing and the gentle rustle of leaves.

"We... did it," Tanjiro whispered, hardly believing. His hands trembled, not from exhaustion but from the pure emotion of the moment.

Nezuko's Sharingan slowly calmed, the spinning tomoe settling as a smile of pure joy spread across her face. They had conquered the impossible together, just as they'd done everything else in their lives.

"Your instincts," Tanjiro said to Nezuko, watching as she sheathed her blade with practiced grace, "I think they found something I could only smell. Something that showed us the way. It's like... you saw the heart of the stone itself."

Before they could celebrate further, a familiar presence approached. Sakonji emerged from the treeline, his expression a mixture of shock and something deeper—pride, perhaps even wonder. His weathered face, usually stern and unyielding, softened in a way they'd never seen before.

"I never intended to send you to Final Selection," he said quietly, his voice carrying the weight of confession. "These boulders... I believed them unbreakable. I was certain you would fail, that I would protect you from the certain death that awaits most young demon slayers." He paused, his next words barely above a whisper. "Just as I failed to protect so many others."

He stepped closer, looking at the perfectly split stone. His hand traced the smooth surface where their blades had struck. "Remarkable children," Sakonji murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "You've done more than split stone today. You've split fate itself."

In an unexpected moment of tenderness, he pulled Tanjiro into a tight embrace. The boy could feel his master's heart racing, could smell the complex mixture of pride, fear, and hope that emanated from him. "Come back alive," Sakonji whispered fiercely. "Promise me. Both of you."

Tanjiro, surprised by the rare display of affection, could only nod, his throat tight with emotion. Nezuko stepped forward, and Sakonji included her in the embrace, holding both his students as if they were his own children.

In the surrounding forest, unseen eyes watched. Akaza's gaze burned with a mixture of satisfaction and something else—anticipation of the challenges yet to come. His presence, though hidden, carried with it centuries of wisdom and sacrifice. 

The Kamado hut transformed into a celebration that evening. Steam rose from countless pots, the aroma of multiple dishes filling every corner with promises of comfort and joy. Tanjiro and Nezuko stood wide-eyed, overwhelmed by the sheer abundance of food spread across the cooking area. Their younger siblings darted between tables, helping where they could, their excitement palpable.

Teako, the youngest, stood proudly beside their mother Kie, who was carefully stirring a large pot of her special udon. "We're celebrating," Teako explained, her young face beaming with excitement. "You've both passed the boulder training. Final Selection awaits!"

The words carried both pride and worry. Final Selection—the ultimate test for aspiring demon slayers. Few survived it. Even fewer emerged unchanged.

Sakonji watched the scene from his corner, a rare smile softening his usually stern features. "Eat," he commanded gently, gesturing to the feast before them. "You've earned this. Tomorrow, we begin preparing you for what comes next."

The siblings needed no further encouragement. They ate with the hunger of those who had survived intense training, their movements synchronized even in this simple act. Each bite was a step closer to their ultimate goal—finding a cure for their father, who remained in the shadows of the house, fighting his own battle against the demon blood that threatened to consume him.

Later that night, Kie and Akaza walked into the misty forest, leaving the celebration behind. The night air was cool, filled with the soft sounds of nocturnal creatures and the distant echo of laughter from the hut. Their relationship was complex—a human woman and an ancient demon, bound together by their dedication to protecting the Kamado family.

"The children," Kie began, her voice carrying maternal pride tinged with worry. "They're remarkable. Just like their father was at their age."

Akaza's gaze remained fixed ahead, but there was something different in his posture. A softness, almost vulnerable, that few ever witnessed in the powerful demon. The forest around them seemed to hold its breath, waiting.

Kie's question lingered between them—a simple inquiry that cut deeper than any blade: "Do you want to be human again?"

Akaza stopped walking. His hands—powerful, capable of destruction beyond human comprehension—suddenly felt foreign to him. For centuries, he had been Muzan's weapon, a demon driven by a singular purpose. But now? Purpose felt like a shifting landscape, as uncertain as the mist that swirled around their feet.

"I've forgotten what it means to be human," he said quietly. The words carried the weight of centuries, each syllable heavy with lost memories and forgotten warmth. "When I left Muzan, I thought protection was enough. Protect the Kamado family. Guide them. But after Muzan falls..." He trailed off, looking lost for perhaps the first time in centuries.

Kie waited, understanding the power of silence, of allowing thoughts to take shape in their own time. The moon cast silver light through the branches, illuminating Akaza's features—still youthful after countless years, yet carrying an ancient weariness in his eyes.

"I've been a demon so long," Akaza continued, his voice barely above a whisper, "that humanity feels like a distant dream. A half-remembered song from childhood." His eyes, ancient and weary, scanned the forest. "What purpose would I have? I've killed. I've destroyed. I've been a weapon for so long that peace feels..." He searched for the word, "...threatening."

He turned to Kie, vulnerability replacing his usual intensity. "I don't know how to be anything else." The admission seemed to cost him something, as if speaking the words made them more real.

Kie's response was gentle, touched with the wisdom of generations. "Purpose isn't always about what you were. It's about what you can become." She reached out, touching his arm—a gesture that would have been fatal with any other demon. "Look at Tanjuro. Even now, fighting against the demon blood, he finds purpose in loving his family."

The wind rustled through the trees, carrying the whispers of unspoken possibilities. Akaza had protected the Kamados through generations, watching children grow into adults, seeing cycles of life and death pass like seasons. But a life beyond protection? Beyond survival? That was a concept as foreign to him as his human past.

"I'm not even sure I want to be human," he admitted, the words tasting strange on his tongue. "But I'm equally unsure about remaining a demon. After centuries of certainty, this doubt..." He clenched his fists, then consciously relaxed them. "It's unsettling."

Kie nodded, her understanding deeper than words could express. "Then don't decide. Let the path reveal itself." She smiled, a gentle expression that reminded Akaza of countless other Kamado women through the ages. "Sometimes the greatest strength lies in accepting uncertainty."

In that moment, suspended between what he was and what he might become, Akaza felt something he hadn't experienced in centuries—hope. Not the sharp, driven hope of survival or protection, but a softer, more nuanced emotion. The hope of possibility.

The forest seemed to breathe with him, full of potential and mystery. From the direction of the hut, laughter drifted through the trees—the sound of the Kamado children, living their lives unafraid despite the darkness that surrounded them.

Back in the hut, Sakonji's communication had shifted to something wordless but profound. His eyes told Tanjiro and Nezuko everything they needed to know—they had learned all he could teach. Greater hardships awaited them now.

Through a series of practiced gestures and meaningful looks, he explained the fundamental truth they would face: "Demons," his eyes warned, "consume humans to gain power. Their strength grows with each victim. You'll learn to sense this—to know a demon's history through their very essence."

He presented them with fox masks—intricate, carefully crafted pieces that seemed to hold secrets in their painted designs. "Protection," his eyes said, though both siblings understood that true protection would come from their own strength and wisdom.

Tanjiro touched the mask, feeling its weight. More than wood and paint, it was a talisman. A promise. A reminder of all they had learned and all they had yet to face.

When Kie and Akaza returned, Tanjuro's gaze followed them briefly from his shadowed corner. But some conversations, he knew, were meant to remain unspoken. His own battle with the demon blood had taught him the value of silent understanding.

The night settled around the Kamado home like a protective blanket—a moment of peace before the storm of Final Selection would arrive. In the quiet hours that followed, each member of the household carried their own thoughts, their own fears, their own hopes.

Dawn approached with inevitable grace, painting the sky in shades of promise and warning. Tanjiro and Nezuko stood ready, their packed bags a testament to their journey's next chapter. Around them, the Kamado family gathered—each face a mixture of pride and concern, love and fear.

"We'll be back," Tanjiro reassured them, his hand finding Nezuko's with practiced ease. The gesture spoke volumes—they would face whatever came together, as they always had.

Their younger siblings crowded around them, each trying to be brave despite their obvious worry. Hanako clutched at Tanjiro's sleeve, her eyes bright with unshed tears. "Promise you'll come back safe, right?"

"Of course," Nezuko assured her, kneeling to embrace her sister. The scent of morning glories—Hanako's favorite flowers—clung to her kimono.

As they prepared to depart, they noticed Akaza's absence. Even their father was present, though he remained in the shade of the house, his struggle visible in the tension of his posture. Hanako, ever observant, approached with a puzzled look crossing her face when Tanjiro noticed their protector's absence.

"He's sleeping with Rokuta," she explained, then added with a hint of worry, "He's been very tired lately. Sleeping more than usual. Sometimes... sometimes I hear him talking in his sleep, saying strange things."

Tanjiro and Nezuko exchanged a concerned glance. Something felt off about Akaza's increasing lethargy, about the timing of it all. But now wasn't the moment to investigate—their path led elsewhere.

Sakonji stepped forward, his presence commanding yet gentle. "The family will be safe," he assured them. "Your journey is what matters now."

Kie hugged them both, her embrace fierce with maternal protection. "Remember everything we've taught you," she whispered.

_________

The wisteria petals danced on the evening breeze, their purple hue deepening as twilight approached Mount Fujikasane. The journey to Mount Fujikasane had been long, each step bringing them closer to their destiny. As they approached the testing grounds, the mountain's silhouette stretched against the darkening sky like a sleeping giant. But it was the forest that truly captured their attention—an ocean of wisteria flowers creating a natural prison for the demons within.

The gathering area hummed with nervous energy. Dozens of young applicants clustered together, their bodies bearing the marks of intense training, their eyes reflecting dreams of becoming Demon Slayers. Some stood tall with practiced confidence, others huddled in small groups, seeking comfort in numbers. All were united by a singular purpose—and the knowledge that many would not survive the next seven days.

The twin administrators emerged from the shadows like spirits, their movements perfectly synchronized, their youth belied by eyes that had witnessed countless aspirants face their destiny.

"Welcome," they spoke in unison, their voices merging into an otherworldly harmony, "to Final Selection."

The first twin stepped forward, her kimono rustling like autumn leaves. "This mountain is more than a test. It is a prison, sealed by nature itself. For generations, demons have been trapped here by the wisteria's sacred power. These flowers are both barrier and executioner—demons cannot pass through them without suffering excruciating pain, weakness, and eventually, death."

Her sister continued, gesturing to the dark forest behind them. "Your task appears simple: survive seven days in this forest. But understand this—you face demons who have nothing left to lose. Creatures who have been imprisoned here for decades, their hunger growing with each passing year. They cannot escape, but they can kill. And they will try."

The forest seemed to breathe around them, shadows shifting between the wisteria blooms. Hints of demonic presence flickered at the edge of vision—contained, but far from defeated.

"Some of you will die," the twins declared, their combined voice echoing across the gathering. "Most of you will die. Those who survive will have earned the right to become Demon Slayers. But remember this—surviving is not enough. How you survive matters. The demons you face were once human. How you choose to end their cursed existence will shape the kind of Demon Slayer you become."

Tanjiro felt Nezuko's hand brush against his, a gesture they'd shared since childhood. No words were needed. They were together. They would survive. But more importantly, they would survive with their humanity intact.

As night descended, the wisteria flowers began to glow with an ethereal light—nature's warning signal, marking the boundary between salvation and damnation. The twins stepped aside, their role complete.

Final Selection had begun.

__________

They chose the eastern path, reasoning that being closer to dawn's protection would be advantageous. But as they would soon learn, survival on Mount Fujikasane was never simple. Tanjiro's enhanced sense of smell suddenly triggered, a warning that made his blood run cold.

"Above!" he shouted, pushing Nezuko aside as a demon plummeted from the canopy like a falling star.

The impact sent tremors through the earth, scattering wisteria petals like purple rain. Before they could fully recover, a second demon burst from the shadows, its claws meeting only the steel of Nezuko's blade.

"This one's mine!" the first demon snarled, its face contorting with hunger and territorial rage.

The second demon's laugh was hollow, devoid of humanity. "Share? The girl looks tastier—"

"We're right here!" Nezuko snapped, her Sharingan blazing with controlled fury. "Stop talking about eating us like we're not even—"

"Nezuko," Tanjiro's voice cut through her anger like a blade through water. "Focus. Remember what we learned. Anger clouds the senses."

Their breathing synchronized naturally, a technique practiced countless times under Sakonji's guidance. The Opening Thread—that perfect moment when an opponent's guard drops—revealed itself to Tanjiro's keen nose and Nezuko's enhanced vision. Suddenly, the demons' movements seemed to slow, their patterns becoming clear as mountain streams.

"Water Breathing, Fourth Form: Striking Tide!"

Their blades moved in perfect harmony, drawing twin arcs through the night air. The demons had no time to register their fate. One moment they stood, hungry and arguing; the next, they dissolved into nothingness, their heads severed in a single, precise strike.

As the demons' remains scattered like ash in the wind, Tanjiro knelt, hands pressed together in prayer. His head bowed in respect not for what these creatures had become, but for what they once were.

"What are you doing?" Nezuko asked her voice tight with confusion and lingering anger. "After what they just tried to do—"

"They were human once," Tanjiro said softly, his voice carrying no judgment. "Before Muzan turned them. They didn't choose this fate."

Nezuko's grip tightened on her sword until her knuckles whitened. "Don't," she said, her voice trembling with suppressed emotion. "Don't ask me to feel sympathy for them." Images flashed through her mind— Akaza telling them about Kokushibo's attack, their father's transformation, the night that had shattered their world. "Not after what they did to our family."

Tanjiro rose slowly, understanding the pain behind his sister's words. "I'm not asking you to forgive," he said gently. "Just to remember that evil has a source. And it's not always in the ones it corrupts." He touched his fox mask, remembering Sakonji's words. "Sometimes, the greatest victory isn't in defeating an enemy, but in remembering their humanity—and keeping our own."

The wisteria flowers swayed in the night breeze, their purple petals a constant reminder of the barrier between humanity and demonkind. Nezuko turned away, unable to share her brother's compassion but loving him all the more for having it.

Then the scent hit them—a miasma of decay, rot, and death so powerful it made Tanjiro's stomach turn. The stench grew stronger, followed by a scream that shattered the night's silence like breaking glass.

"I shouldn't have come here! I want to go home!"

Through the trees, they saw him—a young applicant, barely their age, stumbling backward in terror. Then they saw why.

The demon towered above the forest floor, its body a grotesque mass of writhing green hands. In its grasp, a lifeless form dangled like a broken puppet. Tanjiro watched, horrified, as the demon's jaw unhinged, dropping its victim into the endless dark of its maw.

"No..." the surviving applicant whimpered, his legs giving out beneath him.

The demon's body convulsed, growing larger with each passing second. Its arms meshed together, extending like serpents through the air, reaching for the paralyzed boy.

"Not this time," Nezuko's voice cut through the terror like a blade through darkness. Her Sharingan blazed with newfound purpose. "We're not powerless anymore!"

She moved like water itself, her blade catching moonlight as she spun through the air. "Water Breathing, Second Form: Water Wheel!"

The demon's extended arms fell, severed by Nezuko's perfect arc. The saved applicant scrambled backward, still trembling but alive.

The demon's attention shifted, its misshapen face twisting into a grotesque smile at the sight of their fox masks. "Two little foxes," it crooned, voice dripping with malicious delight. "Come to play with me."

"What do you mean?" Tanjiro demanded, positioning himself beside his sister.

"Tell me," the demon's voice turned thoughtful, almost nostalgic. "What year of the Meiji era is it?"

"Meiji?" Tanjiro's grip tightened on his sword. "It's the Taisho era now."

The demon's reaction was immediate and violent. It thrashed against itself, massive hands clawing at its own flesh. "Taisho? TAISHO?" Its scream echoed through the wisteria forest. "Time moves on while I rot here? SAKONJI! This is your fault! YOUR FAULT!"

"You know Master Sakonji?" Tanjiro's question hung in the air like morning mist.

The demon's laughter turned bitter, a sound like breaking bones. "Know him? He trapped me here. Forty-seven years ago, he left me to this prison of wisteria."

"That's impossible," the rescued applicant found his voice. "No demon in Final Selection is that old—"

"Fifty," the demon interrupted, pride mixing with madness in its voice. "Fifty young ones like you I've devoured in this prison. Thirteen wore fox masks like yours. Thirteen of Sakonji's precious students."

Tanjiro felt his blood run cold. Thirteen students. Thirteen lives. Thirteen dreams of becoming Demon Slayers, ended in this monster's jaws.

"Shall I make it fifteen?" the demon's body began to shift, hands reforming into new, more terrible shapes.

Nezuko's voice was steel. "No. You won't take anymore."

"You know there were these two in particular," the demon's voice dripped with nostalgia, like a connoisseur recalling fine meals. "One boy—strange hair color, incredible power. And a tiny thing, weak but quick as a sparrow." Its mass of hands gestured theatrically. "Only one ever escaped me. A boy."

"Giyuu-san," Tanjiro whispered, the name heavy with understanding.

Memories flooded back—Giyuu attempting to demonstrate proper Water Breathing forms, his movements perfect but his eyes... empty. Distant. As if part of him remained here, on this mountain, with his fallen companions.

Nezuko's hand trembled on her sword hilt. "That's why he never gets close to anyone," she realized. "Why he keeps everyone at arm's length."

"The masks," the demon continued, running a grotesque finger along its jaw. "I'd know Sakonji's handiwork anywhere. Such careful craftsmanship, such useless protection." It laughed, a hollow, terrible sound. "He might as well have killed them himself!"

The demon's mass shifted, almost dreamy in remembrance. "The little agile one—when I told her that, she lost control. Such delicious rage! Such tender meat when I tore her apart—"

"SHUT UP!"

Nezuko launched forward, her blade gleaming with fury. Her Sharingan spun wildly, precision lost to raw emotion.

"Nezuko, stop!" Tanjiro shouted. "You're fighting blindly—"

But his sister was beyond hearing. The demon's words had struck too deep, awakened too much fury.

Tanjiro cursed and jumped into the fray, trying to create openings, to draw the demon's attention. But the creature was cunning, experienced in the art of killing young warriors.

Nezuko saw what she thought was an opening—a direct path to the demon's neck. Her blade flashed forward.

Too late, she noticed the arm.

It struck like a battering ram, catching her mid-strike. The impact sent her flying, her body crashing through branches before slamming into a massive tree trunk. Her fox mask shattered, pieces scattering like fallen cherry blossoms.

"Nezuko!" Tanjiro's scream echoed through the forest.

She lay motionless, vulnerable. The demon's arms began to reach for her, its mouth spreading in a grotesque smile.

Behind them, footsteps retreated rapidly through the underbrush—the applicant Nezuko had saved, choosing survival over loyalty.

Tanjiro stood alone, his sister unconscious, facing a monster that had devoured thirteen of Sakonji's students. A demon that had broken Giyuu's spirit and now threatened to take the person Tanjiro loved most.

His grip tightened on his sword. The scent of the Opening Thread was there, waiting to be followed. But first, he had to reach Nezuko.

The demon's laughter filled the night air, a sound that had heralded the death of so many young warriors before them.

But not tonight. Not his sister. Not while he still drew breath.

Something shifted in the night air. A presence so cold, so deadly, it made even the wisteria flowers seem to shrink away. The Hand Demon felt it first—a killing intent that made centuries of consuming humans seem gentle in comparison.

Tanjiro stood still, but everything about him had changed. His Sharingan evolved, spinning into a new pattern as darkness crept into his consciousness. Each breath carried the weight of promised violence.

The Hand Demon flinched. Those eyes—

The Hand Demon's memory fractured, plunging him back into that moment of pure horror from decades past:

The boy stood before him, black hair gleaming in moonlight, blue eyes suddenly bleeding into crimson. His smile—that terrible, gentle smile—never wavered as he methodically severed another arm.

"Does it hurt?" the boy asked softly, almost tenderly. "They say demons can regenerate endlessly. Let's test that, shall we?"

Flames danced around them, carefully controlled to prevent a quick death. The boy had planned this, had studied exactly how much heat would cause pain without destruction.

"Another one," he whispered, blade flashing. Another limb fell. "And another." Flash. "And another." The boy's laughter echoed through the wisteria forest, high and broken. "They grow back so beautifully, don't they? Like flowers blooming."

Hours passed. The demon had lost count of how many times he'd regenerated, how many times he'd been carved apart. The boy's red eyes spun hypnotically, forcing him to stay conscious, to feel everything.

"You know," the boy mused, cleaning his blade with delicate care, "I wondered what it would feel like. Taking someone apart piece by piece. Now I understand why demons do it." His smile widened, sweet and terrible. "It's quite fascinating, really."

Dawn approached. The boy knelt beside the demon's ruined form, still wearing that gentle smile. "The sun will rise soon," he said, as if sharing a secret with a friend. "But don't worry—this will all pass. Everything passes, doesn't it? Just like she passed..." For a moment, his voice cracked, revealing the broken soul beneath the madness.

"Goodbye," he whispered, rising to leave. "The sun will keep you company now."

The last thing the demon saw before the boy vanished into the forest was those spinning red eyes, filled with a darkness deeper than any demon's heart.

Back in the present, facing Tanjiro's similar gaze, the Hand Demon understood true fear. Some nightmares, it seemed, could repeat themselves.

The memory shattered as Tanjiro moved with predatory grace, each step deliberate. The demon lashed out in panic, arms sprouting and multiplying, reaching to crush this new nightmare.

But Tanjiro was elsewhere, his blade singing through the night air. Arms fell like rain, dissolving before they hit the ground. His movements were fluid, precise, devastating.

His hands flashed through signs—snake, ram, monkey, boar, horse, tiger—

"Fire Style: Fireball Jutsu!"

The forest lit up like dawn had come early. The Hand Demon's screams echoed across Mount Fujikasane as flames consumed his regenerating limbs. The wisteria flowers glowed orange in the inferno's light.

Tanjiro approached the burning demon, his blade ready for the final strike—

"Brother."

Nezuko stood, blood trickling down her face, her own Sharingan spinning with cold fury. "Let me end this," she said, her voice carrying an edge sharper than any blade. "For all the children he devoured."

Tanjiro's expression softened, his earlier rage giving way to understanding. "Of course, sister."

The Hand Demon tried to move, to defend, but the flames had weakened him. Nezuko's blade caught moonlight as she stepped forward.

"Water Breathing, First Form: Water Surface Slash!"

Her strike was perfect—clean, precise, final. The demon's head fell, his massive body already crum

His massive body already crumbling to ash like autumn leaves in winter wind.

"Impossible," the head whispered, staring up at Nezuko's merciless gaze. "To die... looking at... a Demon Slayer's face..."

The rage ebbed from Tanjiro like receding tide, leaving him cold and clear-headed. Then the scent hit him—a profound sadness, deep as an ocean, emanating from the demon's crumbling form. Beneath the layers of blood and death, he caught something else: the faintest trace of cherry blossoms and spring rain. A memory of humanity, preserved like an insect in amber.

Without thinking, he ran forward, gathering the dying demon's head in his arms. Tears fell from the demon's eyes, each drop carrying decades of pain and loneliness.

"Tanjiro?" Nezuko's voice carried confusion, her own battle fury fading. "After everything it did... all those children it killed..."

"It was trying to survive," Tanjiro said softly, holding the demon as its form began to dissolve. "Trapped here, alone, hungry... what choice did it have?" His voice broke slightly. "Can you smell it, Nezuko? Beneath everything else—the scent of spring. Of humanity."

He closed his eyes in prayer, tears mixing with the demon's. "When you return to this world," he whispered, "may you walk a different path. May you never know this hunger again."

"But Tanjiro—"

"If we kill with hatred," he interrupted, looking up at his sister with eyes that had seen too much, "if we execute judgment without mercy, what makes us different from the demons who hunt for pleasure? We'd become the very monsters we're fighting against."

The demon's form scattered into ash, carried away by the night wind. Nezuko stood silent, her Sharingan fading as understanding dawned in her eyes.

"You're right," she admitted quietly, kneeling beside her brother. "We can't lose ourselves to vengeance. That's... that's not what we're fighting for." She touched the fragments of her shattered fox mask. "That's not what Father would have wanted."

The next days blurred together like watercolors in rain. Through the wisteria forest they traveled, encountering demon after demon. Some were ancient and cunning, others newly trapped and wild with rage. But before each battle, before steel met flesh, they would ask the same question:

"Is there a way to turn a demon human again?"

Some laughed, the sound echoing through the purple-tinged darkness. Others attacked instantly, their hunger overwhelming any capacity for conversation. A few—the oldest, the most preserved—would pause, something like remembrance flickering in their eyes before the madness took hold again.

None provided answers, but each encounter ended the same way—with prayer, with respect, with maintained humanity despite the darkness surrounding them. Their bodies grew tired, their spirits tested, but they refused to let go of their compassion, their understanding. Each demon they faced was once human—someone's child, someone's loved one, someone's story cut tragically short.

On the fourth night, they found a young demon, barely older than themselves, crying in a hollow tree. Her kimono, though tattered, still bore traces of cherry blossom patterns. She begged them to end her existence before the hunger could take hold again.

"I can still remember," she whispered, her voice cracking with emotion. "My mother's face, my sister's laugh... but they're fading. Every day, they fade a little more. Soon there will be nothing left but hunger."

They granted her wish with heavy hearts, Tanjiro holding her hand as Nezuko delivered the killing blow. Her last words were "thank you," and her smile as she dissolved was purely human.

On the seventh day, exhausted and battle-worn, Tanjiro caught a familiar scent in the wind. "Wisteria," he murmured. "Stronger than before. And... human scents. Survivors."

Following the scent, they emerged into a clearing bathed in morning light. The shrine stood before them, its ancient wood gleaming like gold in the dawn. Around them, other survivors gathered—far fewer than had started this journey, each bearing the marks of their trials, each changed by what they had encountered.

The morning mist clung to the mountain as five exhausted figures stood before the twins, their bodies bearing the scars of seven brutal days of survival. Tanjiro's heart grew heavy as he counted their diminished numbers - only five remained from the dozens who had begun Final Selection. Beside him, Nezuko's eyes darted across the gathering, searching for the unconscious applicant she had saved earlier. The absence spoke volumes, and her shoulders slumped with the weight of failure.

The blond boy next to them trembled, his voice barely a whisper as he spoke. "We survived... but for what? Death still waits for us all." His words carried the hollow echo of someone who had witnessed too much horror in too short a time.

The twins materialized before them like spirits through the mist, their identical faces bearing serene smiles that seemed inappropriate against the backdrop of such carnage. "Congratulations," they spoke in perfect unison, their voices carrying across the clearing. "You have proven yourselves worthy."

"Worthy?" The boy with the mohawk spat the word like poison, his face contorted with rage. "After seven days of hell? What happens now?" He lunged forward, hands clenched into fists. "Give me my sword at least! We've earned that much!"

The twins maintained their placid expressions as they explained the protocol: first would come the uniforms, marking them as Mizunoto - the lowest rank among the ten tiers of the Demon Slayer Corps. The swords would come later, but first, they must select their ores.

At a signal from one of the twins, the air filled with the beating of wings. Kasugai Crows descended from the sky, their black feathers gleaming in the morning light. Each survivor received their messenger bird - all except the blond boy, who stared in disbelief at the small sparrow that alighted on his shoulder.

The mohawked boy's patience finally snapped. With a roar of fury, he grabbed one of the twins by their hair, fingers twisted in the white strands. The action sent a shock through the group, but none moved faster than Tanjiro. His hand clamped around the boy's arm like an iron vise.

"Release them," Tanjiro's voice was quiet but carried an edge sharper than any blade. "Or I'll break your arm." There was no malice in his tone - only certainty.

The boy's lips curled into a snarl. "Try it."

Tanjiro's grip tightened with surgical precision, applying pressure to exactly the right points. The boy's face contorted in pain, and his fingers released their hold on the twin's hair.

After the tension dissipated, the survivors were led to a collection of ores - the future hearts of their Nichirin Swords. They stood before the samples, uncertainty plain on their faces. How could they choose? What made one piece of metal more suitable than another?

Tanjiro stepped forward first, his nose twitching as he inhaled deeply. His heightened sense of smell had saved him countless times during the selection - perhaps it could guide him now. He moved from sample to sample until suddenly stopping, his eyes widening. Without hesitation, he pointed to one particular ore, knowing in his bones it was the right choice.

Nezuko followed, closing her eyes and extending her chakra sense. The ores seemed to sing to her, each with its own unique resonance. One called louder than the rest, its energy perfectly attuned to her own. She made her selection with quiet confidence.

Miles away, in a room shrouded in shadow, a man sat listening to his Kasugai Crow's report. Six survivors - an unusually high number for Final Selection. A smile played across his features as he contemplated the future. What kind of warriors would these survivors become? What legends might they forge with their newfound strength?

"Six slayers," he mused, watching incense smoke curl through the air. "Six slayers to push back the darkness. Show me what kind of light you'll become."