36 Vol. II Demon Slayer: Floating Comment

For the fourth time, Haruto collapsed to his knees in front of the wooden hut on Mount Sagiri, coughing up a mouthful of blood.

He clutched his chest in desperation, feeling the muscles knit together as the wounds from his last timeline's end were mended. His face was pale, his body trembling. Death loomed closer with every cycle, and for the first time, true fear took root in his heart.

Would there even be a next time?

What if he were killed by Muzan again? What then?

Would his soul be trapped in an endless void, or would he simply cease to exist?

This wasn't a fight. It was a massacre—an unrelenting, one-sided slaughter. Even with Giyu's help, they hadn't managed to leave so much as a scratch on Muzan Kibutsuji.

"Since we didn't make it in time, why not just pretend we didn't know?"

But how could he pretend?

If the victims were strangers, Haruto might have been able to rationalize it—convince himself that their deaths were merely stepping stones for the protagonist's growth. After all, he could atone for his cowardice later by dedicating himself to slaying demons.

But the Kamado family...

The Kamado children were so vivid in his mind, so achingly real.

Nezuko, who loved candies and excelled at everything she did. Takeo, the blunt but soft-hearted boy who wanted to help his older brother. Hanako, who clung to Tanjirō with unwavering devotion. Shigeru, with his round, chubby cheeks. And Rokuta, the shy one who always peeked at Haruto from behind Nezuko.

They weren't just cold, lifeless characters from an anime. In this world, they were alive—bright and full of life.

Before his third death, Haruto had checked the hut. Aside from Kie, the Kamado children had all been there, sleeping peacefully in a row. All except Tanjirō.

Was he at the foot of the mountain? Is that how he'd survived the massacre?

Was this why, in the original story, he was the one running through the snow with Nezuko on his back?

How cruel, Haruto thought, to strip away everything from a child just to make him a beacon of hope for the Demon Slayer Corps.

Staggering to his feet, Haruto pulled out the vial of demonization serum and started running toward Mount Kumotori.

"One more time... Just one more time."

At the very least, he had to prove he'd done everything in his power.

If he failed again, how could he ever face Tanjirō's grief-stricken eyes?

Inside the Kamado family's hut, a blood-curdling scream shattered the silence.

"Mother!"

Kie's body slumped against Nezuko, warm blood soaking through her kimono.

In the next moment, a man at the doorway grabbed Kie by the neck, lifting her effortlessly. Moonlight glinted off the snow outside, illuminating his crimson eyes, which gleamed like blooming camellias.

"How strange..."

The demon's low voice murmured in Kie's ear.

"Why does this feel so... familiar?"

The thought flickered briefly before Muzan turned his attention to the girl in his grip. Her breathing grew faint as his palm split open, releasing a trickle of blood—the essence of the first demon. It seeped into Nezuko's body, and she fell limp as if lifeless.

Muzan's gaze shifted to the children huddled inside the hut.

Humans and their useless emotions. Even in the face of despair, the older children shielded the younger ones, clinging to the futile hope that they could protect them.

It was laughable.

Hanako clutched Takeo's sleeve tightly, though even her older brother was trembling uncontrollably.

The girl's tears fell in heavy droplets as she screamed with all her might:

Her cry reached Tanjirō, who awoke with a start in a house at the foot of the mountain.

It was... her voice!

(Perhaps not a sound he heard, but rather a connection born from the unbreakable bond shared by family—an intangible resonance.)

The piercing cry cut through the night, causing Muzan to pause momentarily.

How noisy.

But before he could step further into the hut, his attention was drawn to the figure leaping toward him from the cliffside.

The swordsman was trembling, his breathing erratic. His mist-blue eyes burned with a mixture of desperation and fury.

Muzan recognized the signs instantly: he was turning into a demon.

And yet, Muzan couldn't sense his own blood within this man—a phenomenon he'd never encountered before. Every demon, without exception, carried his blood. He could control them, feel them.

But not this one.

This swordsman was transforming into a demon entirely unrelated to him.

It was infuriating.

Such a weakling, and yet he dared to harbor a secret?

Muzan's lips curled into a sneer.

"How pathetic. You're unworthy of the knowledge you carry."

But as Muzan prepared to end it, Haruto's fear and sorrow vanished.

Since the moment Hanako's voice had pierced the night, the ominous messages, the despairing commentary from beyond—everything had gone silent.

The story had shifted.

Or... was this his final chance?

Haruto didn't know. All he could do was cling to the belief that this time, it would work.

This time, he would face Muzan.

Tanjirō ran through the snow, his heart pounding against his ribcage. His Nichirin blade jostled against his hip with every frantic step.

His sister's voice still echoed in his mind, filled with anguish.

Why? Why would she cry like that?

The icy wind cut through his thin clothes as he pushed himself forward, tears blurring his vision.

The air was thick with the stench of blood.

Was it a wolf? A bear? Or—

A demon.

From a distance, he saw the Kamado family's hut. The metallic scent of blood spilled from within.

The clearing outside was a battlefield, littered with blood and chaos. Someone had fought there—a fierce, desperate struggle.

Tanjirō stumbled to the snow-covered doorway, where the sound of a child's sobs reached his ears.

Hanako's voice.

She was alive. Relief flooded his chest for an instant, but when he crawled into the hut, the sight before him shattered his heart.

His mother lay lifeless on the floor, blood pooling around her throat.

The children clung to her body, wailing.

But where was Nezuko? Takeo?

As Tanjirō entered, Rokuta ran to him, arms outstretched, only to be pulled back by Shigeru.

"Brother..." Hanako's voice trembled as she pointed outside, toward the forest. "Mom's gone... Nezuko was taken... and... Haruto and the man with black hair... they're going to die! Takeo followed after them!"

Her words were a dagger to his heart.

"Stay here with Mother," Tanjirō said firmly, trying to hold back tears. "I'll be back soon."

Clutching his Nichirin blade tightly, he sprinted toward the forest.

The battle was still raging.

Haruto and Giyu stood back-to-back, fighting desperately. Muzan was toying with them, more interested in observing Haruto's transformation than killing them outright.

But as dawn neared, Muzan's patience waned.

Then, Muzan felt it—a sensation both foreign and hauntingly familiar.

He turned to see a young swordsman racing toward him through the snow.

That hair, that mark, those furious eyes—and the unmistakable Hanafuda earrings.

In an instant, Muzan was pulled back to a night centuries ago.

A night when he faced...

Yoriichi Tsugikuni.