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3 Demon Slayer: Floating Comment
🕑 Added 2025-01-05 20:13:02 +0000 UTCThe Meiji era—a time when it was said that demons roamed after sundown, preying on humans.
...
"Gah—!"
Haruto jolted awake, his breath ragged and his heart pounding. Standing before him was his master, Gotokawa.
Like all the swordsmiths from the village, Gotokawa wore a peculiar and somewhat grotesque fireman mask. Beneath it was a stern old man with short, bushy eyebrows. He reeked of scorched metal and carried a heavy forging hammer in his hand.
"Another nightmare?" Gotokawa asked in his usual gruff tone.
"Seems like it..." Haruto murmured groggily, pressing a hand against his chest. Feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, he exhaled in relief.
"So it was just a dream..."
But it had felt so real. He could still recall the moment that massive demonic hand had pierced through his chest, the sensation of his strength seeping away from every part of his body. It was terrifying.
"Since you're awake, get moving. The Kakushi will be here soon."
With that, Gotokawa turned and returned to his forge, hammer swinging purposefully. He hadn't even bothered to put on his geta after hearing Haruto's cries, yet his concern remained unspoken, buried under a stoic silence as cold and heavy as the iron he worked.
Haruto sat on the veranda, gazing absentmindedly at the wind chime swaying gently in the breeze.
Was it really just a dream?
If so, why could he recall so vividly the way the "hand demon" had protected its neck with its arm? Or the pink-haired boy wearing a fox mask, standing with his companion?
In the end, the pink-haired boy had been the one to slay the demon—or so it seemed. Haruto couldn't be sure if that boy had contacted the Ubuyashiki family to retrieve his body and return it to the swordsmith village.
In the dream, of course.
What kind of expression would Gotokawa have worn upon seeing his corpse?
Shock? Sadness?
Or would he have simply remained silent, hammering away at his blade as he was doing now?
Haruto's thoughts drifted, wandering beyond Gotokawa's house and through the village. Somewhere nearby, he sensed the steady, purposeful strides of someone approaching.
"The Kakushi!"
Snapping back to reality, Haruto scrambled to gather his belongings. His pack was heavy, filled with the 200 rice balls Gotokawa had spent the night preparing.
Pack, Nichirin blade... and the haori.
He glanced at the rack where two haori hung. One was his, adorned with red and yellow flame patterns. The other was Gotokawa's—a traditional blue garment embroidered with a serene mountain and river motif.
In the dream, he'd been wearing the flame-patterned haori when he died.
Raising an eyebrow, Haruto made his choice, slipping on Gotokawa's haori instead.
When the Kakushi arrived at the house, Gotokawa finally set down his hammer and turned to look at Haruto. His gaze froze momentarily.
"Master, I'm wearing this one today."
The boy stood confidently in the courtyard, the blue haori draped over his shoulders and a blade at his waist.
For a fleeting moment, Gotokawa was reminded of someone else—his son, Ryōji, who had passed away 30 years ago.
Back then, Ryōji had just joined the Demon Slayer Corps. Standing just as proudly, he had once declared, "Father, I'll wear this today!"
Though the haori wasn't the same, the spirited determination on Haruto's face was identical.
Gotokawa swallowed hard, nodding stiffly. "Alright."
As the Kakushi carried him on her back, Haruto lay still, blindfolded and wearing earplugs. The gentle sway as they moved was oddly comforting.
Though it was his first time leaving the swordsmith village, he couldn't shake the feeling that he had walked this path before.
When they stopped to rest, Haruto handed a rice ball to the Kakushi, his voice warm and cheerful.
"Thanks for your hard work! Please enjoy this!"
At the drop-off point, the Kakushi removed his blindfold and earplugs. She stared, momentarily dazed, into his pale blue eyes, which shimmered like they were cloaked in a light mist.
Haruto's gaze sharpened suddenly, locking onto hers.
"Something wrong?"
Startled, the Kakushi quickly asked, "Did I do something inappropriate?"
"No, it's nothing," Haruto replied, shaking his head. "Sorry, I spaced out for a moment."
How strange. This Kakushi looked exactly like someone from his dream.
"From here on, it's up to you."
The words were identical to those in his dream. He handed her two more rice balls, but his unease kept him from chatting further.
Something was wrong.
Very wrong.
Standing by the roadside, unsure of what to do, Haruto sighed and muttered, "When in doubt... eat."
As he munched on a rice ball beneath a tree, he pondered the dream. If it had been real, then what was happening now?
A save point?
Would past events play out the same way again?
He glanced at his chest, imagining it being pierced once more.
At least he knew where the hand demon would appear this time. He could simply avoid that spot—or better yet, find a strong swordsman to accompany him. The pink-haired boy in the fox mask seemed like a solid candidate.
Feeling a bit more confident, Haruto stood, his stomach half-full, and headed for Mount Fujikasane.
The mountain's wisteria blossoms were as dazzling as they had been in the dream.
Climbing the long staircase, he was met with a scene that was eerily identical: swordsmen with cold eyes and the two fox-masked boys standing in the corner.
[You're my destined husband.]
...What?
Haruto blinked as another barrage of strange comments scrolled through his mind.
[Isn't it odd how Croc-sensei designed such a handsome white-haired guy with blue eyes just to kill him off in one frame?]
What was this nonsense?
Frowning, Haruto tightened his grip on his blade. No matter what had changed, he would alter his fate. Starting here.
