A/N: Some readers might feel that Takeo should've just killed the Hand Demon right away instead of wasting time—but as Demon Slayer, Takeo needed to understand how such a powerful demon ended up in the Final Selection. Could demons ignore the effects of wisteria? Were future recruits in danger?
These are critical questions when you fight for the sake of humanity. Luckily, now they knew that the demon was originally a weak one and all that crap.
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He… he was decapitated—just like that, in an instant…
Takeo stared intently at the boy who had appeared so suddenly.
Before the boy made his move, Takeo hadn't even sensed his presence. By the time he had noticed, the boy had already closed the distance—and in the same moment, the Hand Demon's head had dropped cleanly from his shoulders.
Such terrifying speed. That strike had been too fast.
This boy was even stronger than Takeo had initially thought!
"W-What?! Who even is that guy?! How did he… he just showed up and—"
Sakoma Iori couldn't make sense of what had just happened either.
She had wanted to question the Hand Demon further about the fox masks… but instead, he was simply slain—by a boy who appeared like a ghost and vanished just as fast.
The scene shifted so abruptly, so absurdly, that both of them struggled to catch up with what had happened.
Even the Hand Demon himself—despite already being decapitated—took several seconds to comprehend it.
As his senses faded and his body began to crumble into ash, realization finally struck:
"Impossible… Impossible, impossible, impossible! There's no way I could be killed… no way I'd die here!!! Aah… why?! Why—?!"
Just a moment ago, he had been gloating—boasting about how many people he had devoured, how many of Urokodaki's disciples he had slaughtered.
And in the next moment, he was decapitated, reduced to nothing but a disintegrating corpse lying helplessly on the ground.
The abruptness of it all made it impossible for the Hand Demon to accept his fate. Why was someone this powerful even here?
Someone who could kill him in a single strike… that kind of person shouldn't exist in the Final Selection.
In truth… the Hand Demon should never have dared provoke such opponents.
Even that red-haired brat from earlier—when he had appeared and struck, the Hand Demon hadn't even been able to perceive the attack.
That should have been a sign—should have told him that something was off about this year's Selection. But his overconfidence in his own strength, combined with his obsessive hatred toward those who wore Urokodaki's fox masks, had clouded his judgment.
It was that girl's fault. That damned girl.
If she hadn't picked up and worn the mask of Urokodaki's disciples… if she hadn't brought it with her and worn it… if she hadn't ultimately drawn in that red-haired brat—he wouldn't be dying here like this.
No… he could feel it now. His body was falling apart. The disintegration was irreversible.
This was really the end.
With rage and unwillingness twisting his face, the Hand Demon's gaze locked onto the three figures before him—his final, hateful memory to carry into Hell.
But not a single one of those three spared him another look.
Takeo and Sakoma Iori both stared at the boy who had appeared so suddenly. The boy, having just finished slaying the demon in one blow, turned to look back at them.
Maybe it was the overwhelming strength he had just displayed, but Iori instinctively shrank back a little when his gaze met hers. Then she turned to Takeo and asked in a hushed voice:
"Who is he? Someone you know?"
"Nah," Takeo replied, his expression oddly unreadable as he glanced at the boy. Brushing off Iori's question, he turned his attention to the newcomer. "Why did you come over here?"
Just earlier, this same boy had refused to even let Takeo block his path. Now that Takeo was out of the way, he'd followed them anyway.
What was that about?
Was this guy… tsundere?
The boy replied flatly, "There's no point in listening to a demon's meaningless rambling. All that chatter—you could've used that time to kill more demons. I thought you might be strong, so I was curious to see how you fought, but from the looks of it, I was just wasting my time."
His words were calm, but they grated on the ears.
From behind Takeo, Iori muttered with a twitch of irritation, "Takeo, is he your little brother or something? Why's his mouth as venomous as yours?"
"…Shut up," Takeo replied dryly.
The black-haired boy's sharp tongue was already grating on Takeo's nerves. Iori's incessant chattering only made it worse.
With an irritated glare at Iori, Takeo turned to face the boy again.
"A waste of time? I don't think so. You seem to think you're pretty strong, huh?"
"At the very least, stronger than either of you," the boy replied flatly.
"Then let's fight," Takeo said without hesitation. "Once the Final Selection is over—let's have a match!"
Takeo issued the challenge directly.
This boy was powerful, clearly possessing his own unique Breathing Technique—an original style. Takeo saw him as the perfect opponent. If he could spar with him, even if he lost, he knew he would learn something valuable.
But instead of accepting, the boy tilted his head and asked plainly, "Why? What would I get out of fighting you? You don't look like you'd last even a single strike."
Takeo's mouth twitched at the remark.
He'd thought his confidence was justified—he did have a cheat-like advantage, after all. But this guy, who looked about the same age, was on a whole other level of arrogant.
Even if the boy had every right to be confident—having that kind of strength and mastering an original Breathing Technique at such a young age was practically unheard of—his tone still rubbed Takeo the wrong way.
That smug, matter-of-fact attitude was just too irritating for Takeo's increasingly teenage temperament to tolerate.
"You ask me," Takeo said with a smirk, "Well, you're just scared of losing to me."
A classic provocation—maybe even a little cheap—but when it came to boys their age, it usually worked wonders.
The black-haired boy looked indifferent on the surface, but Takeo caught the subtle change—the way he straightened his posture just slightly. His voice stayed calm, but his pace quickened a fraction as he replied:
"I don't believe you can beat me. Sure, you blocked my strike earlier, but that doesn't mean you're stronger than me… But if you're that eager to fight, then I'll accept. After the Final Selection, right? I'll be waiting outside."
"Perfect. It's a deal."
Takeo's lips curled into a grin.
Hook, line, and sinker. Sweet!
After agreeing to fight after the Final Selection, the boy turned and left.
Just like when he arrived, he vanished without a sound—swift as the wind, disappearing in the blink of an eye.
Only then did Sakoma Iori dare to approach Takeo and speak. She poked him in the cheek and muttered, "Hey, you think you can win? That guy felt stronger than you."
Then she continued mumbling under her breath, "What's up with kids lately? One after another, all of them are absurdly strong. You're like that, he's like that… Don't tell me all the official Demon Slayers are like this…"
Seeing two freakishly strong boys both around the age of twelve was enough to shake Iori's confidence a bit.
"Don't worry, I don't think all officials are like us."
"And what about your challenge just now? You are confident that you can win?"
"Sigh.." Takeo swatted her finger away from his cheek and replied calmly, "Honestly… Nah, I'd lose."
"Eh?" Iori stared at him in disbelief.
"Then why are you still going to fight him?!"
"So what? Just because I might lose, I shouldn't fight? If that's how you think, why don't you run the next time you see a powerful demon?"
Takeo shot back with a rhetorical question.
It was precisely because he might lose that he wanted to fight—after all, that boy was strong, but Takeo felt he could at least put up a decent fight.
Fighting an evenly matched opponent was the best way to gain real combat experience.
That was what Takeo believed.
Meanwhile, Sakoma Iori answered his earlier question without hesitation:
"I did run! But I couldn't outrun it!"
She said it with such bold self-righteousness that Takeo was momentarily speechless.
Then his eyes shifted to the fox mask in Iori's arms, and he commented,
"See, that's why I said it was bad luck. Look, it literally brought a demon straight to you."
It was meant to be a casual jab—over the past two days, their dynamic had evolved into a back-and-forth rhythm of teasing and banter.
Takeo fully expected her to fire back.
But Iori suddenly fell silent.
She gently stroked the mask cradled in her arms, her expression unreadable.
"…Sakoma?"
Takeo called out to her.
Then Iori looked up at him, her eyes serious.
"I still believe it was the will left behind in this mask that protected me. It's not unlucky at all!"
She spoke with unwavering conviction.
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12 Advance chapters—P@treon/HornyFBI