Akaza suddenly lunged backward. It wasn’t fear, nor a retreat from injury, but the light. He looked up at the sky, smiled a cold smile, then wiped the blood from his face with his hand.

  “You’ve been lucky, boy…”

  His eyes settled on Tanjiro, a look of unerasable promise. “If not for the sunrise… I would have buried you here with my own hands.” Then he added, his tone deepening:

  “I will tell my master about you.” One name, but it carried immense weight: Kibutsuji Muzan.

  “When Muzan hears of your strength… he will demand your head himself.”

  But before he completely vanished, he cast Tanjiro one final, irrevocable look. “I will return, and next time the sun will not save you.” He took a step back, then his body began to fade into the retreating shadows, his voice whispering through the train:

  “I will return and kill you before your sister’s eyes.”

  And then… he disappeared. Only the light, blood, and the body in the center remained—Kyojuro Rengoku’s body. The sun rose higher, yet it brought neither warmth nor salvation; it brought only truth.

  The Upper Moon had fled, the Hashira had fallen, and the boy was kneeling, staring at the ground. He didn’t feel the sun, didn’t feel the wind—only emptiness.

  “I am the cause…” The train no longer shook, there was no screaming, no cshing sound shaking the metal—only the smell of blood and extinguished fmes. The boy stood amidst the wreckage, his eyes fixed on Rengoku’s body lying before him. The hair that had bzed like fire now y still, the sword that had cut through darkness was motionless. Yes, there was no Fme Hashira anymore, no shield protecting them, only Kyojuro Rengoku’s body stretched on the ground, a heavy silence in the air, droplets of blood flowing slowly. The boy tried to breathe, but his chest didn’t move. He tried to scream, but no sound came out.

  His gaze focused on Rengoku’s hand—the hand that had gripped his sword firmly just minutes ago, now half-closed, as if still trying to fight even after death.

  “I am the cause…”

  The words didn’t leave his mouth; they echoed in his mind, striking and tearing at him:

  “Didn’t I say I would save them? Didn’t I swear I would change this future? One wrong step, one moment of hesitation, and the price was the life of a man who stood on one leg, trying to protect me until his final moment. I was foolish enough to think I could face the Upper Moon Three and defend Rengoku. I was the dumbest man on earth to think I could protect a Hashira with my strength—or rather, Tanjiro’s strength. Perhaps I should have trained before facing this. Perhaps I should have died here in this battle, instead of witnessing Rengoku’s death again. I am weak… so weak I don’t deserve to live. Maybe even weaker than Inosuke and Zenitsu. I couldn’t do anything, not even nd a single strong strike on Akaza; every blow was like a toy in front of him. Perhaps someone like me doesn’t even deserve the honor of being a member of the corps defending people, because I am just like them. If I hadn’t intervened and let the fight be only between Rengoku and Akaza… would he have died?”

  At that moment, he heard the voice again—the voice that had never left him since entering this world:

  “You knew what would happen… yet it happened.”

  His heart clenched so tightly he thought it would stop, then he slowly raised his head and looked at the body again. Rengoku hadn’t died smiling this time, hadn’t died peacefully—he had died looking at him, and that was worse. The sword slid from the boy’s hand and fell to the ground with a soft sound, yet it felt like a final verdict.

  “I can’t carry him anymore…”

  He whispered the words at st, and behind him, Nezuko watched silently, tears falling onto the floor that had witnessed a sacrifice never to be forgotten. But for him, it wasn’t a sacrifice—it was a sin. The boy was still kneeling, staring at the ground, his eyes empty as if his soul had left his body and gone elsewhere.

  “I am the cause…” he said again, but then came a step—a shoe touching the broken wood. It was neither quick nor hesitant, but steady, cold. Then a long shadow stretched over his bloodied body. The boy did not lift his head, but he felt it. The atmosphere changed, then a sp—the sound wasn’t loud, but it broke the silence. The boy’s face turned sharply; his mind, drowning in guilt, snapped back to reality. Then a low, unwavering voice said:

  “Look at him.”

  The boy slowly raised his head, and there he saw him: bck hair, sharp gaze, eyes like a calm sea. Before him stood Giyu Tomioka, the Water Hashira. He did not appear angry nor sad, yet his eyes were heavier than any anger.

  “Is this what you’ll do? Sit here and decide you’re the killer?”

  The boy replied, tears filling his eyes: “I… I made him fight alone… I’m the cause of his death…” And before he could continue, Giyu grabbed him by the colr, lifting him violently, then leaned close and looked into his eyes:

  “Kyojuro Rengoku did not die because of you. He died because he chose to be a Hashira. That is what happens when you are a Hashira: you fight and defend until your st breath. And know this—he did not stand against the Upper Moon for you alone; he stood because it was his duty. He stood because he was stronger than you. He stood because he chose to. ”

  The boy fell to his knees again, but this time they were not knees of weakness—they were knees of shock. In that moment, Giyu took another step and said:

  “If you are going to bme yourself… do it as someone stronger. Only the weak use guilt as an excuse to stop.”

  The inner voice in the boy’s head fell silent for a moment, then he felt something stir within—not comfort, but a different kind of pain, a pain that pushed him to stand, not colpse.

  Giyu slowly turned his back and said:

  “Cry tonight… but tomorrow, either you become a real person and a real sword, or leave the Corps.”

  Giyu’s gaze was steady; no empathy showed. Then he said:

  “Prepare yourselves. A critical meeting regarding you will be held. The crow has delivered the report to the master about what happened on the train.”

  He looked at Zenitsu and Inosuke, still sprawled on the ground, and said:

  “We move now. Do not be te. But remember, this meeting is not for greetings—it is a test. A test that will decide your fate and whether you continue in the Corps.”

  The boy was still broken inside, muttering continuously: I am the cause… I killed him… Even if Giyu told him otherwise, he thought it might be better for everyone if he was expelled from the Corps.

  This was not merely a journey elsewhere; it was a journey to the heart of the Corps, where all the Hashira sat, each carrying their own judgment. Every word could decide a life—or even expulsion.

  The boy stood, still hesitant, and so they began walking, step by step, toward what would determine their fate—the Hashira Council. Tanjiro and Nezuko entered his wooden box, still feeling the pain of Rengoku’s death. The hall was extremely dark, with the group of Hashira seated around the long table. Giyu stood behind the boy, solid as rock, while the crow that came from the master’s office circled above the table, conveying every detail.

  The first to speak in the council was Sanemi, the Wind Hashira. “Is this true? Did you really let this boy face Akaza alone?” He suddenly stood, gripping the table with force, nearly leaping over it. “If it were me, I would have buried him there—but it seems the sun saved him this time.” He looked at the boy with fierce anger and suspicion. “Answer me, you fool: do you know something about the future?”

  The boy slowly lifted his head, trying to speak, but the inner voice whispered in his mind: Beware… no one will believe you.

  Giyu pced a hand on the boy’s shoulder calmly. Sanemi fell silent, though his fury remained. He stood atop the table and shouted:

  “I hear what they say about this boy. Everything happened as if he knew beforehand. If it’s true, that means he pyed with the life of the Fme Hashira and the rest of the Corps.”

  The entire Corps whispered among themselves and watched silently, each with their own opinion, each seeing something different. Then Giyu finally spoke:

  “Do not look at him that way. He is not what you think, and I take responsibility for everything I say.”

  All eyes turned to Master Kagaya, whose deep voice shook the hall as he entered:

  “Everything you have heard here is true.” He stood in the center of the room, his eyes searching for the boy, then said:

  “Tanjiro, I have seen what happened and heard everything from the crow.”

  He turned to Sanemi, the Wind Hashira, and said calmly:

  “Sanemi… your anger is understandable. But the judgment is not yours alone. This boy faced the strongest demon and survived—not because he was blind, but because he knows something about the future. My decision is to keep him in the Corps, but under Tengen’s supervision. He will train him and prepare him, because I will have the boy and his friends go on the next mission with Tengen. I want him to be stronger and not fail the Corps. Giyu will take responsibility, and if he fails, the consequences will be clear. But I will give him a chance to prove himself.”

  Everyone appeared astonished by Master Kagaya’s decision, but none spoke, even though Sanemi was furious. Tengen looked at the boy and said:

  “You didn’t die on the train—that doesn’t mean you’re strong. Do not waste our time. If you want to survive and protect those around you, especially your sister, you will follow me and train like never before.” He gestured outside, where rugged mountains, hard rocks, and powerful waterfalls awaited. Then he smiled at the boy and said:

  “The training will be extraordinary.”

  The boy whispered to himself: I will become stronger, Rengoku… I will become stronger. I swear I will take revenge. I swear I will continue your path without hesitation, and I will repay that wretch for every strike he nded on you.

  Once again, the feeling from the train battle returned: the feeling of strength, of transformation, of a true journey finally beginning.

  “Do you think Tanjiro will be able to face what’s coming, or will his fate repeat itself once again? I want to know your opinion—what should the boy have done after all of this?”