Seated at his desk, Sakonji Urokodaki carefully recorded every sensation he had experienced upon awakening the Demon Slayer Mark, ensuring that future generations would never again lose this power to the passage of time.
Not only the Mark, but also the Bright Red Nichirin Sword—he wrote it all down in detail, preserving knowledge that had been lost for centuries so it could finally return to the Demon Slayer Corps.
As for the Transparent World, he had yet to fully grasp it. Still, he could faintly sense that realm, as though it lay just within reach. And yet, there remained a subtle barrier—something just beyond his grasp—which left him with a quiet sense of regret.
Only after documenting how he had awakened the Mark, how he had achieved the Bright Red Nichirin Sword, and his own thoughts regarding the Transparent World did Urokodaki place his tengu mask back on, concealing both his face and the mark upon his forehead.
He looked up just as his Kasugai crow returned from delivering a message. Placing the newly written letter into the small metal container tied to the crow's leg, he prepared to send it off once more. But this time, the aging crow did not immediately take flight. Instead, it tilted its head, gazing at him as if reluctant to leave.
"Haha… old friend," Urokodaki said softly, patting the bird's head, "no gathering lasts forever. The time to part always comes."
He gave it one last gentle tap before adding in a low voice, "Go on. Deliver this. The information is important."
The crow let out a mournful cry, hesitating for a moment before finally beating its wings and flying off into the distance, reluctance evident in its movements.
After finishing all this, Urokodaki returned inside. He donned the uniform he had not worn in many years—the attire of the Water Hashira—and draped over his shoulders the haori that symbolized his former title.
As his fingers brushed against the fabric, a certain figure came to mind—Kyojuro Rengoku's father, Shinjuro Rengoku.
Both of them had once stood as Hashira, veterans of the Demon Slayer Corps, having fought side by side in the past. Though they had not been in contact for many years, the bond between them had never truly faded.
When did we stop contacting each other?, he wondered…
Perhaps it was when Shinjuro abandoned his duty as the Flame Hashira and sank completely into a life of drinking and despair.
Urokodaki had felt disappointed by his old friend's choice, yet at the same time, there had been a trace of understanding. If one could return to the life of an ordinary person, perhaps that, too, was a kind of peace.
And yet…
Even after relinquishing his role as a Hashira, the demons had not spared him.
He had been killed just a few nights ago.
When Urokodaki first heard the news, disbelief struck him, followed by anger—and then a deep, suffocating sense of helplessness.
He knew Shinjuro's strength better than most. Even if years of neglect had dulled his skills, he had once possessed the power to slay a member of the Twelve Kizuki.
And yet… he had still died.
According to the reports, a member of the Kakushi had overheard that Upper Rank Three had offered Shinjuro the chance to become a demon—but Shinjuro had refused without hesitation.
Urokodaki understood well that his old friend had long since lost hope in the Demon Slayer Corps' ability to eradicate demons. He had believed that victory was impossible, and having already abandoned his role as the Flame Hashira, it would not have been surprising if, when faced with certain death, he had chosen to become… a demon.
But in the end, Shinjuro had not wavered.
Even in his final moments, he upheld his duty as a Hashira. Even in death, he shone as a guiding light for those who came after him, never retreating even a single step.
And yet…
For someone of Hashira rank to fall at the hands of an Upper Rank demon was a devastating blow to the Demon Slayer Corps. Even Urokodaki himself had faltered that day, lost in doubt.
Would there ever truly come a day when demons were eradicated?
After all, if even Upper Rank Three was beyond the reach of a Hashira, then what of Upper Rank Two… Upper Rank One… and ultimately, Muzan Kibutsuji himself?
In that moment, he had felt utterly adrift—trapped in the same despair that had once consumed Shinjuro, his vision of the future shrouded in darkness.
But now…
Having experienced the power brought by the awakened Mark, Urokodaki once again felt hope ignite within him—a belief that the eradication of demons was not beyond reach.
He pushed open the door.
Outside, in the clearing, young boys and girls trained with fierce determination, their movements brimming with energy and resolve.
One of the boys noticed him, immediately stopping his training and running over with respect etched across his face.
"Urokodaki-sensei!"
"You're Saito Hiroyuki, aren't you?" Urokodaki asked gently from behind his mask.
"Yes, Urokodaki-sensei. Lately, during my training, my breathing feels… off somehow…"
The boy explained the problem he had been encountering during his training.
Urokodaki understood his situation almost at a glance. With calm patience, he guided the boy through the issue, carefully explaining the principles behind it while helping him find a path forward.
Before long, the boy's confusion cleared. Gratitude lit up his face as he bowed deeply. "Thank you, Urokodaki-sensei!"
"Now go on—return to your training." Urokodaki said gently, placing a hand on his shoulder.
Watching the boy run off with renewed energy and youthful vitality, he felt as though he were seeing his own younger self reflected in him.
But people…
As time passed, they would inevitably grow old. They would weaken. And eventually, they would reach their end.
Especially now, after awakening the Demon Slayer Mark, he could clearly feel his already limited life force accelerating toward its conclusion. And if he were to enter battle, that loss would only grow faster.
His death was drawing nearer.
Yet when it came to death, Urokodaki held no fear. If there was anything left in him, it was only regret—and the lingering attachments he still could not fully let go of.
Walking with his hands clasped behind his back, he looked over Mount Sagiri, once so quiet and secluded, now filled again with life and noise.
For a moment, it reminded him of the days when he had first retired here. Back then too, the mountain had been lively in its own way—children wearing the fox masks he had personally crafted to ward off misfortune, laughter echoing through the air just like now.
"New buds are beginning to bloom…"
He murmured softly, a faint smile touching his lips.
Before long, he arrived at a small field. There, a petite girl wearing a fox mask with closed eyes was crouched down, using a small hoe to loosen the soil. The moment she noticed him, she quickly set the tool aside and approached with light, graceful steps.
"Sensei…"
Makomo stopped in front of him, tilting her head slightly as she studied him with curiosity.
It had been a long time since she had seen him wearing the haori of the Water Hashira.
"Are you going somewhere far away, Sensei? Did the Master of the Corps summon you again? But… even when you met him before, you didn't dress this formally."
There was something different about him today. With the haori draped over his shoulders, he carried an air of quiet authority—more imposing than usual, almost unfamiliar.
"I am heading out on a journey," Urokodaki replied gently. "This time… I may be gone for quite a while."
"Ah, that's fine," Makomo said with an easy smile. "As long as you come back when the rapeseed flowers bloom."
She gestured toward the field with a hint of excitement. "I promised you, remember? When the flowers bloom, we'd watch them together. I'm planting the seeds now—I haven't forgotten what I said."
Clenching her small fist with determination, she added, "Makomo never breaks her promises."
It was a vow she had made before departing for Mount Fujikasane. Back then, Urokodaki had quietly feared that when the next blooming season came, she might not return to keep that promise.
But now…
It seemed that the one who might fail to keep it—
was himself.
"Yes… I'll be back."
Urokodaki smiled gently. He stayed with her a while longer, helping tend the small patch of land, planting the rapeseed seeds together with his own hands.
He could feel it—the faint vitality within those tiny seeds.
He could almost see it: the moment they would sprout, transforming this once barren patch into a field of golden blossoms.
The very flowers his disciple loved most.
After smoothing the last layer of soil with the hoe, Urokodaki set it aside and looked at Makomo.
"Makomo… take good care of yourself from now on."
She blinked, tilting her head again. "What's with you today, Sensei? You're being unusually sentimental. You never used to say things like that… it feels a bit strange."
She placed her hoe down, gazing at him—at the teacher she respected more than anyone.
"Perhaps when people grow old… they start talking more."
"You're still perfectly healthy, Sensei!" she huffed lightly.
Urokodaki chuckled.
Behind the tengu mask, his eyes lingered on her for a moment longer. Then, with a quiet farewell, he turned and began walking into the distance.
Makomo remained where she stood.
Through the fox mask, her gaze followed his retreating figure as it slowly disappeared from view.
Silently, her fingers tightened around the handle of the hoe.