Muichiro turned his gaze from the boy sitting next to him up to the leafy trees. “You know, when I was your age, I’d never even touched a sword.”
“What?” Kotetsu looked up, surprised. “I figured you came from one of those famous demon-killing dynasties.”
“Our dad was a woodcutter.” Muichiro smiled at the nodding leaves. “Our parents died when we were ten. After that, it was just me and my brother. I couldn’t even cook rice or use a knife. I was hopeless at chopping wood. Yuichiro lost his temper at me all the time. He’d say the ‘m’ in ‘Muichiro’ stood for ‘moo’ because I was like a stupid cow. Or that the ‘m’ was for ‘moot.’”
Looking back, Muichiro saw that he’d been a sheltered boy, even spoiled. He’d resented Yuichiro’s coldness, not understanding that his older twin was desperate to keep him safe.
“Yuichiro wasn’t like me,” he went on. “He could do anything.”
Yuichiro was an adept cook. He could chop down trees. He could trap and dress game. And for all his cutting remarks and bouts of temper, he made Muichiro’s favorite dish, daikon simmered in miso, whenever he could get his hands on the ingredients. Muichiro could still taste the comforting flavor of miso infusing the soft daikon.
“Was your brother also in the Demon Slayer Corps?” Kotetsu asked. “Was he a Hashira?”
“My brother died when we were eleven,” Muichiro said shortly. “Killed by a demon.”
“Oh …”
“That’s why I became a Demon Slayer.”
“I’m so sorry, Tokito!”
Even through the mask, Muichiro could tell that Kotetsu’s face had paled. He turned to the boy with curiosity. “What are you apologizing for?”
“It’s just... I didn’t mean to bring up painful memories,” Kotetsu apologized.
“But it’s thanks to you and Tanjiro that I’m able to remember my brother at all.”
“Me and Tanjiro? What do you mean?”
Keeping the story as brief as he could, Muichiro explained that he’d nearly died fighting the demon that killed his brother. He’d lost his memory. “But I remember now,” he said. “You tried to save me even after you were stabbed in the gut. You tried to help me. And to protect the village and its swords.”
Tokito … F-forget about me … Help … Haganezuka … Protect … the swords.
There’d been no ego in those words, only Kotetsu’s selfless courage. He was no fighter, only a child of the village, yet he was prepared to give up his life for the swords.
“Seeing how much you care about people, and talking to Tanjiro, made me remember something important,” Muichiro concluded.
“Tokito …”
“Thank you.” He’d wanted to say that for a long time. “I’m glad I had the chance to thank you and Tetsuido.”
“No. I should be the one thanking you.” Kotetsu stood up on the spot and bowed. “Thank you, Tokito.”
“Why are you thanking me?” Muichiro asked. Before Kotetsu could answer, they heard a chipper voice call out to them.
“Kotetsu! We finally found you!” Mitsuri Kanroji came bounding over, a massive plate piled high with onigiri in her hands.
“Provisions?” said Muichiro.
Kotetsu was equally surprised. “Kanroji? What are you doing here?”
“And Muichiro too! I knew it!” Mitsuri beamed at them as she set the plate down with a heavy thunk. “Everybody at the village has been so good to us Slayers, I thought I oughta come help you move. I’m really strong, y’know! I can carry a ton of stuff. But when I got here the move was basically over, and I was wondering what I could do, and then I ran into Kanamori.”
Kanamori popped his head out from behind a tree and waved.
“Oh,” Muichiro said, comprehension dawning. “So that’s how you knew where I was.”
Kanamori’s mask bobbed up and down. “I may have mentioned that young Kotetsu was having trouble with his family’s automaton and that Lord Tokito was likely with him. And when she said she wanted to bring you a snack, I decided to assist.” He held up a large kettle in one hand and a stack of teacups in the other. “The finest gyokuro green tea.”
“There wasn’t much rice left in the village, so I could only make a little bit of onigiri,” said Mitsuri. “But I salted them nicely and filled them with yummy umeboshi.”
“That’s a little bit?” Kotetsu faltered before the mountain of onigiri.
“It is for her,” Muichiro muttered.
Mitsuri giggled, her cheeks flushing. “You two are real buddies now, huh? So cute!”
“Oh no,” Kotetsu protested. “The Hashira Tokito and I are—”
“Yeah. We’re friends,” Muichiro said.
Kotetsu looked at Muichiro in surprise. “Tokito?”
“I was wrong,” he told the swordsmith. “About what I said that time.”
Your time and a Hashira’s time have a completely different value. Swordsmiths can’t fight. They can’t save someone’s life. They only have the ability to make weapons.
Know your place in life and act accordingly. Because you aren’t a baby.
He had been ridiculously, shamefully arrogant. At the time, he hadn’t even understood why Kotetsu got upset or why Tanjiro slapped his hand away. Tanjiro had told him he lacked consideration, and he’d been exactly right.
The swordsmiths are important and do crucial work! They’re different from swordsmen but still have incredible skills. I mean, we couldn’t do anything if we didn’t have actual swords!
Swordsmen and swordsmiths need each other!
We’re both part of the fight!
Even in the face of Tanjiro’s rebuke, Muichiro had felt the whole incident was trivial. He hadn’t taken a single word to heart. Back then, no emotion could reach him. He lived only to kill demons.
He’d been no better than a mechanical doll.
“I know I should’ve done it sooner,” he said, “but I want to apologize to you. To all of you. I’m sorry.” He bowed deeply.
Kotetsu’s head fell and his shoulders shook.
“The swords you and Kanamori make have saved me, and Haganezuka’s swords have saved Tanjiro,” Muichiro continued. “Swordsmen and swordsmiths are fighting together. Tanjiro was exactly right.”
The boy’s Hyottoko mask had slipped, and droplets fell from its wooden chin. Kotetsu was silently crying.
“You’ve really grown up, Master Tokito,” Kanamori said thoughtfully. Then he let out a sniffle. He didn’t hesitate to remove his own mask and bare his thin, teary-eyed face. “How overjoyed Tetsuido would be if he could see you now!”
“But it’s true!” Mitsuri had joined in with tears of her own, her face screwed up in a sob. She clutched her sword as if ready to kiss it. “Master Tecchin’s katana have saved me so many times!”
“Kanamori? Kanroji?” Muichiro was taken aback by this outpouring of emotion. “Why are you crying?”
“Tokito,” Kotetsu said, wiping the cheeks showing from beneath his mask, “will you help me some more after we finish this onigiri?”
“Of course,” said Muichiro. “We’ll do it together.” Kotetsu grinned through his tears.