The demon glanced at Zenitsu. “So, the old man went and lied to me to save his own skin. Exactly how is this ugly girl the village’s greatest beauty?” It clicked its tongue in annoyance.
To take Sayuri’s place, Zenitsu had yanked his hair back and painted his lips red with the juice of crushed flower petals, but he was still just a boy dressed up as a girl.
More than a few demons preferred the flesh of beautiful maidens, and Zenitsu supposed that this demon also possessed this particular proclivity. Its disappointment and annoyance at dashed expectations reached Zenitsu loud and clear, and he trembled in fear.
“Well, fine. I’ll tear you apart and eat you. And then once the season changes and those hateful wisteria flowers wither and die, I’ll go and eat the old man’s other daughters and his wife right in front of him,” the demon announced, wiping away the drool dripping from his mouth, seemingly toying with Zenitsu. “Punishment for taking a great demon like me for a fool.”
Zenitsu could hear vicious delight. A cold sound without a hint of warmth, hungry for blood.
“First, I’ll gouge out those eyes with the tip of this sickle. Next, your tongue,” the demon muttered, licking its lips. “After that—”
“Eeegaaaaah …”
In his extreme terror, Zenitsu finally let go of reason.
He heard a thread snap in his head, and then the void swallowed him up.
“Hngah?!”
Zenitsu woke to the sound of something hitting the ground and whirled around. He noticed the demon’s head lying at his own feet.
“Aaaaaaaaaaah!!” His scream echoed through the night on the mountain.
When he leaped back from the spot, he accidentally kicked the demon head, and it rolled away with a disturbing sound. Blood spurted from the base of the neck.
“Eeeeeeee!! Nooooooooooo!”
The demon’s six eyes were bloodshot and open wide, as if they had seen something unbelievable in its last moment. The place where the head had been severed from its body was perfectly level, as though a single stroke from a sharp blade had set the head free.
The demon’s head was just sitting there now, like a big daikon radish.
“Wait, what, what?! Why is it dead? How? So suddenly?! I hate this! I haaaate this!” Zenitsu wailed. “How did its head get cut off? Why?! This is too scary! What is this? Why?!”
He understood nothing. Not the fact that the demon was suddenly in two pieces on the ground. Not the fact that he was for some reason holding the sword he’d hidden on his back. And not the fact that his snowy-white kimono was stained with droplets of the demon’s blood.
“Did someone rescue me?” he cried. “Hey, where are you? Someone rescued me, right?!”
Weeping, he looked around, but there was no one else there.
Oh!
He had a sudden flash of insight. Only one person in this whole world would save a guy like him.
“Gramps …” Fresh tears filled Zenitsu’s eyes.
Most likely, Jigoro had come to drag him back to that training hell and rescued him from the demon. Then he’d slipped away again, no doubt guessing that there were factors he wasn’t aware of at play here.
Gratitude and contrition filled Zenitsu’s heart.
“Thanks, Gramps,” he whispered. “I promise I’ll make Sayuri happy. Thanks for everything. And thanks … for helping a guy like me. You take care of yourself, okay?”
Still crying, Zenitsu sheathed his sword, bowed deeply toward the dark woods, and then left the area, looking like he had made his peace with the past. When he had disappeared into the darkness, a shadow carrying a cane moved with a rustling noise deep in the brush.
“Idiot apprentice,” he choked out in a hushed voice. “I keep telling you, you’ve got talent no one can beat, but you just won’t listen for some reason.”
Sayuri was waiting. She was there up ahead, waiting for him! Lost in a dream, Zenitsu clutched a bunch of yellow lilies he’d picked along the way.
“Thank you … Zenitsu. I love them.”
He saw Sayuri’s happy face in his mind and chuckled creepily out of his own immense awkwardness.
He caught sight of someone clad in his kimono on the path ahead.
“Oh! Sayuri—” He started to wave and then stopped in his tracks.
She wasn’t alone. A rustic young man stood next to her, looking toward Zenitsu with the same unease with which Zenitsu regarded him.
“Zenitsu …” Tears welled up in Sayuri’s eyes.
Zenitsu froze. At that moment he understood everything. Sayuri had guessed that he felt more for her than just kindness or sympathy, which was why he’d volunteered to take her place.
But she was already in love with someone else.
That was the reason for the complicated and pained sound he’d heard her making. It wasn’t that she had gone out of her way to deceive him. She simply hadn’t said anything. She wanted to live—she didn’t want to die—so she had clung to whatever straw she could and held her tongue. Sayuri wasn’t like the girl who had made Zenitsu give her money so she could run away with someone else.
He had clearly heard the sound she’d made. He’d just interpreted it in a way that worked for him. Even now, the sound was saying, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Almost heartbroken.
It’s not your fault, Sayuri.
Feeling his exultation cool, Zenitsu gave the girl a smile nonetheless. His heart throbbed painfully in his chest. “The demon’s dead. You don’t have to worry anymore.”
“Th-thank you so much,” she said quietly. “Thank you.”
“Thank you so much!” the boy cried, practically prostrating himself before Zenitsu. “We will never forget this great debt! I’ll take her away from that house and her awful stepfather. Thank you—so much, Lord Demon Slayer!”