42 Demon Slayer: Floating Comment

"Hey!"

Sanemi Shinazugawa felt a firm pat on his shoulder. Startled, he turned his head sharply, then exhaled with annoyance. "It's you again, Kōkin—"

"It's Masachika," the black-haired boy corrected with a grin, sliding onto the seat next to him.

"You could at least get my name right. It's rude not to, you know."

"I don't know what 'rude' even means." Sanemi turned his head away, his gaze falling on his scarred arm, wrapped in the iron chains he'd carried for so long.

"Well, get used to it. Because soon, you won't even be calling me Kōkin anymore." Masachika's grin widened as he clapped Sanemi's shoulder. "You'll be calling me Senpai! Master just agreed to take you in as his disciple. And that chain you've been dragging around to bind demons? You can toss it."

Toss it?

Sanemi's eyes fell on the chain—his faithful companion since the day he left home, left Genya, and started his lone hunt for demons. A sudden wave of uncertainty washed over him.

Ever since that fateful night when his mother turned into a demon and was reduced to ash before his eyes, Sanemi had sworn to destroy every foul creature that stalked the world.

But he lacked the breathing techniques or the kind of blade that the white-haired swordsman wielded—the one that burned demons to cinders. All he could do was rely on the man's sparse advice, using his unique blood to lure demons into traps, chaining them to trees, and letting the sun finish them off.

It was a painful death for the demons, but Sanemi had long since buried any sympathy for them.

Not long after he began wandering, he met Masachika—a boy with deep scars under his eyes and a smile as bright as the sun.

Through him, Sanemi learned of the Demon Slayer Corps, a hidden organization dedicated to hunting demons. And the uniform Masachika wore? It matched the one he'd glimpsed beneath the white-haired swordsman's haori.

Masachika was annoyingly kindhearted—a trait Sanemi considered utterly useless—but he had been insistent. He recommended Sanemi to his master, offering him a chance to train properly instead of continuing his reckless, solitary hunts.

Now, as they prepared to leave for the master's estate, a thought gnawed at the back of Sanemi's mind. He couldn't help but wonder about Genya—the younger brother he had left behind.

Was Genya safe? Had he found that white-haired swordsman?

Sanemi clenched his fists. He knew their uncle's death had been a pretext, it had all been for Genya's safety. If Genya could stay under the protection of such a strong swordsman, surely he'd be fine.

For once, Sanemi didn't snap back at Masachika's teasing. Instead, after a long pause, he asked,

"How many swordsmen are in the Demon Slayer Corps?"

"Hm… Counting the support units, there are probably a few hundred."

"How many do you know personally?"

"Dozens, I guess—fellow trainees, the medics at the Wisteria houses, some of the Kakushi."

Sanemi took a deep breath. "Do you… know someone like this?"

He began describing the "gentleman" in question. To his surprise, he barely mentioned the man's striking appearance—white hair, soft blue tips—before Masachika snapped his fingers.

"I know him!"

"…I haven't even finished describing him."

"Brilliant white hair, shoulder-length, faint blue at the ends. He wears a teal haori, right? And he has a white parrot perched on his shoulder?"

Sanemi stared at Masachika, then nodded slowly.

Masachika laughed. "That's Haruto-san! I saw him at headquarters just the other day. He's a Hashira now—one of the strongest swordsmen in the Corps."

A Hashira?

Sanemi's breath hitched. Masachika had mentioned them before—nine elite swordsmen chosen from hundreds for their unparalleled strength.

So that man… Haruto… was that strong?

Haruto could have killed their demon-turned mother with a single swing of his blade. But instead, he had chosen compassion, leaving the final blow to Sanemi himself.

Sanemi's voice trembled as he gripped Masachika's arm.

"Where does he live? Is… is there a kid with him?"

Masachika blinked, unfazed by Sanemi's intensity. "You mean the kid with the spiky hair? I heard Haruto-san was going to adopt him, but it didn't work out since the boy couldn't master breathing techniques."

Sanemi's heart pounded. "Where are they now?"

...

Mist-Shrouded Mountain.

Hidden in the underbrush, Sanemi crouched low, observing the group at the foot of the mountain.

He knew better than to get too close—swordsmen like Haruto had extraordinary senses. Instead, he kept his distance, watching silently.

A tan-haired boy was practicing with a Nichirin Blade while a Demon Slayer uniform hung outside the house to dry. Nearby, Genya was doing strength training, his smaller frame burdened with weights.

Genya had grown taller. He looked healthy and well-fed.

Sanemi relaxed. His brother was safe. As long as he had food to eat and people who cared for him, that was enough.

Sanemi had only intended to stay for a moment, but hours passed before he realized it was already midday.

And then, Haruto appeared.

Haruto removed Genya's weights, offered him water, and affectionately tousled his spiky hair.

Those were things Sanemi should have done. Instead, he crouched here like a coward, watching them from the shadows.

And then Haruto's gaze shifted.

Even from a distance, Sanemi knew: Haruto had spotted him.

Heart racing, Sanemi bolted, sprinting through the trees as fast as his legs could carry him. The wind whipped around him, a preview of the Breath of Wind he would soon learn.

But Haruto was faster.

In a flash of teal, the Hashira leapt, landing ahead of Sanemi and cutting off his escape. A swift knee to the chin sent Sanemi sprawling to the ground.

The impact wasn't harsh—just enough to throw him off balance.

"Haruto… Haruto-san," Sanemi muttered through clenched teeth as he scrambled to his feet. Despite his usual hotheadedness, he managed a respectful bow.

Haruto crossed his arms, his sharp gaze sweeping over Sanemi's battered form. Then, with a tilt of his head toward the wooden house, he said, "Do you want to see him?"

"No!" Sanemi blurted, his throat tightening. He forced himself to swallow. "As long as Genya's happy, that's all I need to know. My presence would only make him angry… it's better this way."

"Angry?" Haruto echoed, his expression unreadable.

"He must hate me," Sanemi whispered, his voice hoarse. "I left him behind… abandoned him in that broken home. Our bond as brothers…" His fists clenched, bloodshot eyes staring at the ground. "It's already shattered."

Shattered, my ass.

Haruto's face remained impassive, but his tone was sharp. "Are you always this dense?"