Even after all this time, the fox mask remained intact.
That alone proved the mask's craftsmanship—whoever made it had poured their heart and soul into it.
That person, without a doubt, had to be the one the Hand Demon had cursed so bitterly: Urokodaki Sakonji.
Urokodaki-san had handcrafted these masks and given them to his disciples. He must have placed great hope and expectations upon them.
But those disciples had all perished here.
What kind of feelings must have weighed on Urokodaki-san when he learned his disciples had died? Did he blame them for not being strong enough?
Or did he blame himself, thinking he hadn't trained them well enough to survive the Final Selection?
No one knew—and no one ever would.
No one would know that the blame didn't lie with the disciples.
The fault lay entirely with that wretched Hand Demon.
No one would ever know… that the ones who had once worn these masks might have been incredible prodigies.
No one would ever know… that they might have been stronger than anyone else in their entire generation.
"…I'm going to take this mask out of here."
Sakoma Iori said quietly, after a long silence, turning to Takeo with resolve in her voice.
Because Sakoma Iori was rarely this serious—and her gaze this resolute—Takeo, for once, didn't argue with her.
He simply nodded and said quietly, "You're right. After all, we need to report everything to the Demon Slayer Corps."
A demon that had lived nearly fifty years had been hiding within Mount Fujikasane, the location of the Final Selection. One that had devoured who knew how many gifted children.
That was no small matter—it was something the Corps had to take seriously.
To most candidates, the Hand Demon was overwhelming. For those who hadn't yet mastered any form of Breathing Technique, facing that monster was practically a death sentence.
Even those who had learned Breathing Techniques—if they were on the weaker side—stood no chance of cutting through the countless hands that protected its neck.
Take Iori, for instance.
And the Hand Demon had specifically targeted candidates wearing fox masks—those who had once trained under Urokodaki Sakonji.
Those masked swordsmen might have had what it took to stand against the Hand Demon—maybe even fight him evenly.
The broken fox mask Iori now held was proof of that.
To be able to hold their own against such a demon during the Final Selection… in terms of both talent and strength, those swordsmen must have been extraordinary.
Perhaps they might have even grown into Hashira.
But instead… they died here.
Which is why the truth had to be reported. The Corps needed to reevaluate the situation inside Mount Fujikasane.
The Hand Demon had hidden here for decades without being discovered—there was no guarantee he was the only exception.
The Demon Slayer Corps needed to reexamine Mount Fujikasane from top to bottom. And to make that happen, both Takeo and Sakoma Iori had to bring the mask out.
It wasn't just about alerting the Corps—it was about giving closure to the fallen swordsmen who once wore those masks, and to the man who crafted them and trained those children: Urokodaki Sakonji.
Once they'd made that decision, Takeo glanced at Iori. His gaze swept over her battered form before he smirked and said teasingly,
"By the way, with how beat up you are… are you sure you're in any condition to keep taking this test?"
"Ah…" Iori winced.
It hadn't been so bad until Takeo pointed it out.
Now, her entire body felt like it was screaming in pain.
She immediately dropped to the ground, clutching the mask and rolling back and forth.
"Ow—ow ow ow! It hurts!! My bones are probably cracked, and maybe even my organs… gahhh! It really hurts!"
Watching her flail like that, Takeo just rolled his eyes.
If she had enough energy to roll around and wail like a child, then clearly her injuries weren't life-threatening.
The theatrics? Takeo could see right through them!
He gave her a light kick and sighed.
"Alright, cut the act. I never said I wasn't going to help you."
"Eh? Really?"
"You're hurt this badly. If I just left you here, that'd make me pretty heartless, wouldn't it? So relax. I'll stay with you until the Final Selection ends. Happy now?"
As soon as Takeo said that, Iori's eyes lit up.
She shot up from the ground and threw her arms around him, rubbing her cheek against his as she cried out in delight,
"I knew it! You act like a jerk, but deep down you care about me! Seriously, stop being shy! Just say it out loud, what's the big—ow, ow, OW!! That hurts!!"
Her overly dramatic affection made the veins on Takeo's forehead twitch.
Getting hugged by a girl—if this were his previous life, he'd probably be over the moon.
But right now…
Smelling the not-so-subtle stench of someone who hadn't bathed in days, Takeo felt lightheaded with disgust. Unable to take it anymore, he jabbed one of her bruises and kicked her off him..
—Then stomped on her butt for good measure!
"You get one nice moment and immediately get carried away! Listen up! You're staying at least three meters away from me for the next few days—until you've had a proper bath! Got it!?"
"Y-yes, Lord Takeo… I'm very sorry…"
Beaten and defeated, Iori immediately dropped into a dogeza pose in front of him, apologizing without an ounce of shame.
Takeo ignored her and sat off to the side, rubbing his nose repeatedly.
Seriously… having a hyper-sensitive sense of smell wasn't always a good thing. Sometimes, it completely ruined your impression of a girl.
…
Drip~! Ting
When a droplet of water fell upon the still surface of a mirror, sending out rippling waves, Takeo immediately understood.
This was a dream.
For the first time in many days, he had returned to his mental space.
And that's when Takeo realized—his cheat ability was probably getting an upgrade.
"Last time it was Uncle Logan. Who's it gonna be this time?"
Suspecting that his system was updating, Takeo felt a subtle sense of anticipation rising in his chest.
Uncle Logan's legacy had been incredibly useful to him.
Two hundred years' worth of honed martial arts had formed the very foundation that allowed him to quickly grasp the Breathing Techniques.
His mutated body's regeneration ability had enabled him to survive Kyojuro Rengoku's brutally intense three-day training.
His heightened sense of smell let him locate demons faster. His beast-like instincts let him gauge the strength of his enemies with surprising accuracy.
Even Uncle Logan's willpower had become one of Takeo's greatest sources of strength.
If not for the will left behind by Uncle Logan, Takeo—who in his previous life had only been a corporate office worker—might have had the physical endurance to survive Flame Hashira Kyojuro's training, but he definitely wouldn't have had the mental fortitude.
Raised in an era of peace, with a soul that had never tasted true hardship, Takeo might not even have matched Iori when it came to grit and determination during training.
It was only after merging with Uncle Logan—after inheriting the will forged over two hundred years of bloodshed, loss, and survival—that Takeo had gained the iron will to push through anything.
Just that one man, that one aging warrior's legacy, had been enough to create what people now called "the genius named Takeo."
So now the question was: what kind of gift would this new visitor bring him?
"If they're like Logan and I can inherit everything without a fight, that would be ideal…"
While trying to guess who it might be this time, Takeo couldn't help fantasizing about another shortcut to power.
Of course, he knew it was unlikely.
Old Man Logan had only been so quick to pass on his legacy because he was on the verge of death—he didn't have the luxury of time.
But now? Takeo wasn't facing any near-death crisis, and whoever this new "imaginary mentor" was, they probably wouldn't be that easy to deal with.
With these thoughts in mind, Takeo walked deeper into his mental space.
Then, beneath that familiar great tree, Takeo saw a figure in black with white hair.
The silhouette was curvaceous, unmistakably feminine.
She wore a sleek black battle dress, long boots wrapped over sheer black stockings.
Her eyes were covered by a visor, and on her back, she carried two swords—one massive, even longer than her own body, and the other a standard-sized katana, similar to a Nichirin sword.
Takeo, who was no stranger to video games, instantly recognized her.
"…2B?!"
But just as those words left his mouth, the black-clad figure vanished.
The next thing he knew, a sensation of weightlessness hit him, followed by a dizzying spiral.
Thud!
And then—he saw his own headless body collapse to the ground, while the figure in black stood calmly beside it, resheathing her blade.
It was only then that Takeo realized what had happened.
He had just been beheaded—cut down in a single stroke by that woman.
________
12 Advance chapters—P@treon/HornyFBI