Chapter 4: The News Spreads
"Why—why didn't that kill him?!"
The woman standing beside Muzan collapsed to the ground, her tightly coiled emotions shattering with a scream.
"I was so close… I nearly killed him! And he survived having his head nearly severed?!"
Tamayo's voice trembled with rage as she spat the words through clenched teeth. "You damn monster! Why won't you just die?!"
Her fury caught Yoriichi Tsugikuni off guard. He hesitated, refraining from striking her down immediately.
Both Yoriichi and Akito saw it clearly now—the hatred blazing in Tamayo's eyes wasn't aimed at them. It was directed at Muzan Kibutsuji.
Ignoring the two Demon Slayers, Tamayo slumped to the ground, lifeless and despondent, as though all hope had been drained from her body.
"Damn it… we were so close!"
Akira pounded the earth with his fists, frustration and guilt pouring from his eyes. "I had him right there!"
Akito placed a hand gently on Akira's shoulder. "Don't lose heart. He escaped… but we'll find him again."
"It's useless."
Tamayo's voice was heavy with despair. "Muzan is extremely cautious. Now that you've failed, he'll vanish into hiding. You won't see him again in your lifetime."
Her words stabbed Akira like a blade to the heart, deepening the pit of regret already festering inside him.
His voice trembled as he lifted his head. "Master… if I hadn't suggested we split up, could we have killed Muzan?"
"Akira!"
Yoriichi snapped, jolting him from his spiral. Akira's crimson eyes slowly regained focus.
Yoriichi turned to Tamayo. "You know him, don't you? Muzan Kibutsuji. Tell us everything."
She met Yoriichi's gaze with unwavering hatred—real and raw. It couldn't be faked.
Perhaps it was the overwhelming strength she sensed in Yoriichi and Akito… or maybe the first glimmer of hope she'd seen in years. Whatever the reason, Tamayo shared all she knew about Muzan.
When she explained how Muzan would likely disappear until Yoriichi and Akito were long gone, Akira's hope crumbled.
It would've been easier if there'd never been a chance at all. But there had been—and he missed it. That, more than anything, was unbearable.
Akira bowed his head, darkness swallowing his world, the last sliver of light slipping away.
"Akira!!!"
He faintly heard his master's voice calling him—then everything went black.
His injuries were grave. In his final strike against Muzan, Akira had thrown away all regard for his own body, pushing beyond human limits. But he was only human. No demon's regenerative power would save him now. Survival itself was uncertain.
What had kept him standing until now was one thing: the will to kill Muzan. But now that hope was lost, his body gave out completely.
---
"Brother, you're awake!"
When Akira opened his eyes, he was home. Chitose sat beside him, worry etched deep in his face.
Akira tried to speak, but his throat was dry and raw.
"Water!"
Akito—his younger brother—hurriedly fetched a glass.
Akira reached for it, but his arms were too weak to hold it steady. The glass slipped, spilling most of the water.
"Let me help you."
Chitose gently brought the cup to Akira's lips.
As the cool water touched his mouth, Akira stared at his limp wrist and whispered, "Why…?"
Why couldn't he even hold a glass?
"Brother, your injuries were serious. The doctor said… you might never wield a sword again."
Chitose forced a smile. "But that's okay. I'm grown now. I'll protect you."
Akira barely heard him. Only one thought echoed through his mind:
I can't fight anymore.
Simple words—but they struck him like thunder. He had braced for it. Still, facing the truth broke something inside.
"Chitose… where's Master?"
"Master Yoriichi…"
Chitose hesitated.
Akira narrowed his eyes. "What happened?"
And so, Chitose told him. While Akira was unconscious, the world had changed.
Tsugikuni Iwakatsu—Yoriichi's older brother—had returned as a demon, stormed the Demon Slayer Corps headquarters, and killed the Lord. He severed the head of the Corps leader and vanished.
Now, Yoriichi—his master—was on trial.
Akira leapt from the bed and ran, ignoring the pain racking his battered body.
"Brother!"
Chitose called after him, but Akira didn't look back.
All he could see was Yoriichi's face—kind, patient—now judged by the very Corps he had sworn to serve.
He ran through the streets toward the base. Passersby turned to watch, shocked to see him.
But instead of respect, he saw something else in their eyes.
Disgust.
As if he were filthy.
As if he'd done something unforgivable.
But he hadn't.
When Demon Slayers saw him, they instinctively stepped away, avoiding him like a plague.
Someone whispered behind him:
"That's him, right?"
"Yeah. New guy, but he was with Yoriichi. Word is… he's the one who let Muzan escape."
"Why is he still in the Corps?"
"Hmph. Should've died with Yoriichi."
Akira stopped and turned toward the voice.
"What… did you just say?"
Silence. The speakers lowered their eyes, avoiding his gaze.
Akira didn't lash out. He just stared coldly—then turned and walked away.
But inside, his heart burned.
The rumors had spread.
Why were they slandering Master Yoriichi?
And how could anyone say he let Muzan go?