Tanjiro's younger brother scratched the back of his head, clearly confused.

Standing beside him, Tanjiro furrowed his brow, then blinked as a memory surfaced—his mother had used this flower before. A blossom with vibrant blue petals. It had been part of their meals.

Tanjiro quickly shared the memory with Tachibana Kyūjō.

And the moment Kyūjō heard it, his eyes sharpened with clarity, as if every piece of the puzzle had finally clicked into place.

"So that's it... That's the reason!"

Everything suddenly made sense.

No wonder Nezuko, even after turning into a demon, could still resist the thirst for human blood and retain her humanity.

Even more than that—Nezuko was the only demon in history to conquer the sun.

And the reason… was something as simple—and absurd—as this:

The Kamado family had unknowingly eaten Blue Spider Lily as part of their everyday meals.

Kyūjō almost wanted to laugh.

If someone had told him this a month ago, he would've thought it was a joke.

Still, he turned to Kamado Kie, Tanjiro's mother, and asked seriously:

"Kie-san… Are you certain this flower is edible?"

Kie smiled gently, as if it were the most normal question in the world.

"Of course. The scent is soft—not poisonous at all. I used to cook it often for the children."

Kyūjō sighed inwardly.

Was this… the miracle of poverty?

When you're poor enough, even mysterious flowers with suspicious colors and unknown origins could become part of your dinner.

Kamado Kie… he thought. If there were a generation zero for the Stone Hashira, she would be the founder. Braver than most could ever be—in ways no one could predict.

— — —

A few days later, in the backyard of the Kamado household, Kyūjō stood quietly, his gaze locked on a low-growing patch of green between the hedges.

The leaves were small and dark, the stems fragile but full of life.

"Is this the plant?" Kyūjō asked, crouching to take a closer look.

Kie nodded.

"Yes. Once summer reaches its peak, the blue blossoms bloom. But only for a few days. If you want to take it, feel free. Just be careful digging it up. Keep the roots and soil intact. With the right care, it should flower again in about two weeks."

Kyūjō's eyes lit up.

Two weeks.

That wasn't long.

And if the Blue Spider Lily could be brought back in one piece… Tamayo could begin a full study on it.

This plant might be the key.

A bait… that not even Kibutsuji Muzan or Kokushibō would be able to resist.

— — —

Two days later, the Demon Slayer Corps arrived.

Two wooden carts creaked up the slope, their wheels crunching over gravel as they pushed through the thinning morning mist.

"THUNDER HASHIRA-SAMAAA!!"

A voice suddenly exploded into the air like a cannon blast, slamming into Kyūjō's eardrums.

"Tch…"

He winced and reflexively rubbed the back of his ear.

His heightened senses—his blessing and his curse—often became a burden.

He looked toward the approaching figure. A broad-shouldered young man strode toward him, his energy burning as fiercely as ever.

His appearance had changed.

Muscles now rippled beneath his uniform. Scars ran across his arms and neck like battle medals—proof of countless life-or-death fights.

Kyūjō narrowed his eyes. "...Naoto?"

The man beamed.

"That's right! Fujiwara Naoto! It's been two and a half years, Lord Kyūjō! I've made it to Kinoto rank now! Cool, huh?!"

Kyūjō let out a slow breath.

He's back... Why do I always run into 'little brothers' like this wherever I go...?

But his gaze drifted toward the large scar across Naoto's neck—close to severing the artery.

Kyūjō's eyes narrowed further.

This wasn't just a reckless kid chasing glory.

Naoto had earned that rank.

"...You've done well, Naoto."

After a brief reunion, the group headed back toward the Kamado home, joined by another slayer who'd arrived with Naoto.

They packed up what remained of the Kamado household's belongings and loaded them onto the carts.

Without wasting time, the convoy began descending the mountain, heading back toward the Demon Slayer Corps headquarters.

But even inside the cart, Tanjiro couldn't stop looking out the window, eyes fixed on the distant shape of his childhood home, now shrinking behind the trees.

Meanwhile, Kyūjō didn't ride.

He walked ahead of the convoy, sometimes chatting with Naoto, but never once letting the carts slip from his watchful gaze.

The road wasn't narrow—but one mistake on a mountain path like this could mean disaster.

— — —

Then, Kyūjō noticed something.

A thin, deep cut running just below Naoto's jaw.

Too clean. Too precise.

Like it had been dealt by a swordsman, not a demon.

Ordinary demons didn't use techniques like that.

Most relied on claws, fangs, or their Blood Demon Arts. Only a rare few—like Akaza or Kokushibō—combined their demon powers with true martial arts.

Kyūjō's expression darkened.

"Naoto… that wound. Did it come from a new 'Martial Demon'?"

Naoto nodded grimly and touched the scar.

"Yeah… He practiced the Yagyū Shinkage-ryū style. His name is Yagyū Izumi Harumi."

"Even the Stone Hashira said he might be on par with the Upper Moons."

Kyūjō fell silent.

Naoto clenched his fist.

"What's worse is… he wasn't hiding. He was in a dojo. A human dojo. In Ōsaka."

"And the people there… his students… they protected him."

"If the Stone Hashira hadn't been there, I would've died that day."

Kyūjō's brows furrowed.

"What happened afterward?"

Naoto's voice lowered.

"He disappeared… before reinforcements arrived. Vanished among the very humans who refused to give him up. We couldn't do anything."

Kyūjō's fist clenched.

There were humans… shielding a demon?

No. Not humans. Not anymore.

Anyone who chose to side with demons… only deserved one thing:

Death.

He turned north, his gaze piercing through the mist toward the faraway peaks of Mount Kumotori.

"As long as I'm alive…" he whispered in his heart, "I'll wipe every last demon off this world."

— — —

That night. Somewhere in Kanagawa Prefecture.

A man in a long coat and red hat walked silently through the shadows of the city.

A folding fan spun lightly in his hand, its golden patterns glinting beneath the moonlight.

His steps were weightless. His presence barely a whisper in the air.

He was Dōma.

And he was not human.

Suddenly, four figures emerged from the surrounding alleys.

Tall. Short. Broad. Thin.

But all of them had the same unmistakable presence—like swords hidden in scabbards.

They stood still in front of him, blocking the road.

One of them, a lean young man, stepped forward.

When he spoke, his voice was not his own.

It was the voice of someone far older. Hoarse and heavy, like iron scraping across stone.

"Dōma… You've crossed the boundary of your territory."

"This place… does not belong to you."

Dōma tilted his head.

His eyes shimmered with every hue, like a rainbow refracted in ice.

But they held no warmth.

"Oh?"

"So… you came to kill me?"

A smile bloomed on his lips.

"Interesting."

"Then let's see… if you can."

The four Martial Arts Demons tensed.

An eerie stillness fell over the alley, as heavy as the air before a thunderstorm.

The one with the old voice stepped forward again.

"We've heard about you… from Akaza-dono."

"And just as he warned… you really are insane."

"But listen—Akaza-dono is waiting for you. Outside the city. He's ready."

Dōma blinked.

Surprised.

Then smiled wider.

"Aah… So he does remember me."

"I knew he couldn't forget me that easily."

— — —

A collision between two Upper Moons was about to begin.

And in that quiet street under the shadow of night...

Calamity was stirring once more.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

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