From the very beginning, Yoshizuru Asato had been thinking about one thing.
Why didn't the Shadow Demon control him the same way it controlled the others? Why was he only being tortured here, instead of turned into a puppet?
At first, Asato couldn't figure it out. But after carefully recalling everything that had happened since encountering the Shadow Demon—and watching the battle with Takeo—he started to understand.
The demon hadn't possessed him. It hadn't even planted a shadow seed in Takeo's body. Was it because it didn't want to?
No. It was because it couldn't.
The one thing Asato and Takeo had in common was that they both practiced Total Concentration Breathing. And it was precisely this Breathing Technique that prevented the Shadow Demon from fully controlling Asato.
Asato realized this.
Then, he came up with a solution.
Kill everyone who carried the Shadow Demon's shadow seeds, leaving only himself. Then, by using the Breathing Technique the demon feared most, he could trap the demon inside his own body!
And what he needed to do next was simple.
"Takeo! What are you waiting for!!"
Yoshizuru Asato roared.
Takeo, who had been frozen in shock ever since seeing the Shadow Demon possess Asato, stood there—momentarily paralyzed and uncertain what to do.
Takeo gripped the sword tightly, staring at Yoshizuru Asato, and asked the question he already knew the answer to:
"Asato… what are you trying to do!?"
His hands trembled slightly around the hilt.
He admitted it—he was afraid. He was terrified of losing Asato, the man who had first guided him into the Demon Slayer Corps. Even more than that, he was afraid of losing a friend—someone who had stood by his side, someone he could laugh and talk with.
But fear was meaningless here. At this moment, fear and hesitation were nothing but useless emotions.
Asato's life was already counting down. He knew it, and the Shadow Demon knew it too.
And it was precisely because of this that the demon now felt fear.
"Don't… don't you dare!!" The Shadow Demon shrieked. "If I die, he dies too!! Don't you dare!!"
The same Twelve Kizuki that had been so arrogant just moments ago was now showing clear signs of terror.
It was fear—not unlike Takeo's—but also entirely different.
Yoshizuru Asato said nothing further. He knew Takeo couldn't bring himself to strike a fellow comrade. That thought brought him both relief… and a hint of disappointment.
In battles against demons, it was all too common to face comrades who had been possessed or controlled.
In those moments, the ability to make swift, ruthless decisions was the line between life and death.
Takeo wasn't decisive enough—not yet. But perhaps that was a good thing. If Takeo could truly kill his own comrades without the slightest hesitation or guilt… Asato would be forced to wonder whether this kid was still human—or already something closer to the demons they fought.
It didn't matter if Takeo couldn't do it.
That's what Yoshizuru Asato thought.
I'm helping him. This worthless life of mine... the one I've managed to cling to for so long... it's finally time for it to serve its purpose.
Asato gripped the Nichirin sword in his hand, pressing the blade against his own neck.
"Takeo… remember me."
"Asato!!"
"Remember me. Remember this moment. Remember exactly how you feel right now. And then… go slay demons. Go become a Hashira, Takeo!!"
The instant Asato finished speaking, he drew the blade across his own neck without hesitation.
"AHHHHHHHH!!!"
The Shadow Demon's agonized scream echoed alongside the sound of Asato's blood spraying through the air.
The shadow coiled around his body writhed violently, as the demon's true form was forcibly dragged from the darkness:
"What have you done?! LOOK WHAT YOU'VE DONE!!"
The Shadow Demon had been anchored to Asato's body.
Even as Asato teetered on the edge of death, he used the very last of his strength—his final breath—to trap the demon, locking it in place and preventing it from escaping any further.
The demon struggled, pulling with every ounce of its strength, desperate to flee—to escape the burning blade now wielded by Takeo.
But the Shadow Demon... couldn't.
In those eyes engraved with the mark of the Twelve Kizuki lower moon three, there was no longer a trace of the majesty a member of the Twelve Demon Moons should have.
There was only fear.
A fear that came from the very core—the blood, the soul.
A fear of the flames burning on the Sun Blade.
Hinokami Kagura—
Tears slid silently down Takeo's face. His expression showed neither sorrow nor joy—no pain, no happiness. There was only a terrifying, absolute calm.
His figure surged forward, closing the distance to Yoshizuru Asato, as crimson blood flowed freely from the wounds on his body, blending with the scorching flames that wrapped around him.
In less than the blink of an eye, Takeo stood before the Shadow Demon.
The demon wanted to beg for mercy. His mouth opened, but he was far too late—no sound came out.
The flaming wheel spun from Takeo's blade, starting at the demon's neck, tracing a perfect circle through the air.
Flames roared. Heads flew. Blood rained down.
On that day, the head of Lower Rank Three of the Twelve Kizuki was severed from his body—and hit the ground with a heavy thud.
—Flame Wheel.
The surrounding shadows dissolved, scattering like dust caught in a strong wind, revealing the room's true appearance once again.
Asato, not yet fully gone, smiled in relief when he saw Takeo finish off the Shadow Demon.
Then, Yoshizuru Asato closed his eyes.
There were no final words. No lingering conversations. No last looks exchanged.
This… was how ordinary people die.
Without ceremony. Without fanfare.
After closing their eyes, their breathing simply ceases—and that's it.
The Shadow Demon's severed head slowly began to disintegrate. No one would ever know what the tears still lingering in its eyes truly meant.
Perhaps it was regret for a past long forgotten.Perhaps it was nothing more than the sheer terror of death.
But it didn't matter anymore.
And Takeo didn't care about the feelings of a demon.
Even though he had slain one of the Twelve Kizuki, he felt no joy. No sense of accomplishment.
Nothing.
He knelt down beside Asato's lifeless body, staring blankly at the corpse in front of him.
He didn't even feel like crying—yet the tears came anyway, pouring down his face like floodgates breaking.
Why…
Why am I crying?
He hadn't cried when Sakoma Iori died.
So why was he crying now… for Asato?
Takeo didn't understand. And right now, his mind was too clouded to figure it out.
He had always known this world was cruel.
He'd prepared himself mentally for it—or so he thought. But now… it was painfully clear that his so-called mental preparation was far from enough.
Unlike Iori's death, Asato's death was brutal. Agonizing. He had ended his own life with his own blade.
Just how much determination… how much courage… did it take to do something like that?
Even Takeo, with his extraordinary healing abilities, probably wouldn't have been able to make such a decisive choice.
Just how much resolve… how much conviction… did Yoshizuru Asato possess to do something like this?
Was sheer hatred for demons enough to drive someone to this?
"..."
As this question surfaced in Takeo's mind, he turned to look at Asato's body.
That's enough… Takeo thought.
No matter what happened in the past—no matter what anyone else had done—at least right now, there was still an unshakable, burning hatred for demons in his heart.
Hanako's story had taught him that demons were not worthy of pity.
Iori's death had taught him that when facing demons, he must fight with everything he had—no holding back.
And now, Asato's death… carved something even deeper into Takeo's soul.
It taught him that no matter the cost… no matter the enemy… he must do whatever it takes to kill demons.
Even if it means sacrificing himself.
Takeo sat quietly next to Asato's body, unmoving. He just sat there.
He didn't know how much time had passed.
But eventually, under the guidance of the Kasugai crow, the Kakushi arrived.
Someone else arrived alongside the Kakushi.
A tall man with two chained Nichirin swords strapped across his back, a jeweled forehead guard adorning his brow, and a flamboyant presence that was impossible to ignore.
He suddenly appeared beside Takeo, scanning the area. His sharp eyes finally settled on Takeo, who sat quietly next to the corpse.
"Oi, kid. Where's the Twelve Kizuki?"
"..."
Takeo didn't answer.
He simply kept his gaze fixed on the body before him, not even glancing up at the man.
The man clicked his tongue, scratching the back of his head in mild annoyance. "Tch… Another gloomy little brat."
Shaking his head, he turned his attention away from Takeo and surveyed the room.
Obvious signs of battle were everywhere—the remnants of a fierce and desperate fight.
Then the man asked again, "Oi, kid. Don't tell me… you're the one who took down the Twelve Kizuki?"
It sounded like a question, but his tone carried little doubt—as if he'd already pieced together exactly what had happened.
Takeo still said nothing.
Just like before... not a single word left his lips.
______
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