[Three days earlier — Summit of Mount Sagiri]
Moonlight fell on the snow like spilled water, painting everything in a bluish white that made the world seem like it was made of something else entirely.
Marcus sat cross-legged in his usual spot, his back against the rock, and beside him, curled up with her knees drawn against her chest, Makomo gazed at the sky in quiet peace.
They had been silent for a while.
And Makomo felt something—a kind of still electricity in the air. Turning her head toward him, she tilted it with curiosity.
"Marcus-kun... you're being weird today."
"..."
"It seems like you've got something on your mind."
Normally, Marcus would have fired off some provocative remark.
But tonight there was none of that.
"..."
He simply looked at her with an attention that held nothing playful in it.
He looked at her in silence for so long that Makomo started twisting her fingers without realizing it, unable to hold his gaze but unable to look away entirely either.
"Wh-What's wrong...? Do I have something on my face...?"
"Makomo."
It silenced her.
"Would you be willing to stay by my side forever?"
"..."
The world stopped.
Or at least that's how it felt. The breeze stopped blowing. The snow stopped shining. Even the moon seemed to hold itself back.
Makomo was completely frozen. Eyes wide open, fingers turned to ice.
Then, like a wave crashing against the rocks, color flooded her face all at once.
"MA...! MARCUS-KUN!" Her hands were trembling when she started waving them in front of her. "Wh-What are you saying all of a sudden?! You can't...! I'm just...!"
"I-I'm just a spirit... How could I—?"
"Not like that."
Marcus's voice cut her short, his gaze fixed on the sword resting at his waist. "My sword has a special ability... It can nurture souls."
Makomo stopped waving her hands. The blush was still there, but something deeper crossed her face.
Understanding.
"You mean...?" she murmured. "Like a sword spirit?"
Marcus nodded.
"That way I could be with you. Always. Accompany me in battle, protect me... and I'd protect you."
"But if you don't want to, I'll never force you. You can stay here, and whenever I have time, I'll come up to see you. Nothing has to change if you don't—"
"I accept."
Makomo didn't hesitate.
And this time it was Marcus who was left speechless.
"...Don't you want to think about it a little more?" He frowned, genuinely surprised for the first time in a long while. "Entering my sword could mean..."
"I know what it means."
Makomo cut him off again, and when she raised her face toward him, she wasn't nervous anymore.
What was there, under the moonlight, was someone who had made a decision, a smile lighting up her face.
"I'm aware. And I accept."
With those words, she raised both hands to her head and removed the fox mask.
She held it in front of her eyes for a moment.
It was the thing she treasured most in the world... The mask the master had carved for her was left behind at the Final Selection, lost along with everything else. This one she had made herself.
And she handed it to Marcus with both hands.
"It's for you..." Her voice came out small, but it didn't waver. "Carry it with you, and it'll be like carrying me."
"..."
Marcus said nothing.
He simply looked at her for a long time, and after a few seconds, he finally received it with solemnity.
And the instant his fingers closed around the mask, something happened.
!
Makomo's silhouette began to emit a faint glow. As if the moon had decided to come down and rest upon her.
But her eyes were still there, locked on Marcus's with an intensity that needed no words.
There was no fear. No doubt. No hesitation.
Only trust.
And something else she never would have said aloud, but that had been growing in silence for months between the nighttime conversations and the stolen smiles.
...Love.
Makomo smiled one last time and became light.
A brilliant, warm beam that crossed the air like a shooting star and plunged into the sword.
The scabbard trembled, like a heart beginning to beat for the very first time, as a pink halo traveled the length of the sword from tip to hilt, vibrating, and little by little settled until it was still.
Marcus lowered his gaze to the mask in his hands, then caressed the hilt.
From there came a faint warmth.
He closed his eyes.
"Welcome to my side."
...
[Now]
Urokodaki's gaze fell on the mask and didn't move from it. His hands—the same hands that had gripped a sword for decades without trembling—trembled.
"This mask... Where did you get—?"
"Master."
Marcus cut him off firmly.
"When we come back from the Final Selection, I'll tell you everything."
Holding his gaze, he added, "Everything."
"..."
Urokodaki fell silent.
His gaze went back and forth between the mask and Marcus's face.
After a long while, he nodded and put away the mask he himself had been holding.
"...All right."
...
The three days flew by... They always fly by when something you can't stop is approaching.
The morning of departure, the sky was barely beginning to lighten.
Tanjiro had put on the blue haori Urokodaki had made for him, with the patterns representing the Water Breathing, and the sun mask rested on the side of his face.
Marcus wore a white haori with pink stripes, the sword at his left side and Makomo's mask hanging on his right. Light and ready.
Urokodaki stood in front of the cabin. His Tengu mask hiding his face and his hands at his sides.
The mask concealed his expression, but Tanjiro didn't need to see it. The scent of worry emanating from his master was so thick he could practically chew on it.
"I'll take good care of Nezuko for you... for both of you. Don't worry."
"Thank you, Master!"
"Old man."
Marcus spoke up suddenly. "Don't make that face."
Urokodaki's eyes sharpened. "What face?"
"The 'I'm terrified these two are going to die and never come back' face. You've been wearing it since last night."
Urokodaki didn't respond.
Marcus chuckled under his breath. But then the laugh faded, and his smile softened.
"Relax, Master. I'll bring Tanjiro back with me."
"I've trained two years for this day. Even if one of the Twelve Kizuki were waiting for us on that mountain... I won't let you lose any more disciples."
"..."
Urokodaki stared at him for a long time... until he finally huffed: "Perverted brat. Careful you don't choke on those promises."
His voice had clearly gone soft.
"But the fact that you have that determination..." he added in a lower tone, "that already gives me comfort as a master."
!
Marcus's eyes lit up.
"Oh! Did I hear that right? The old man just called himself 'master'? Official recognition? Does that mean you finally accept me?"
He took a step toward him with a smile that Urokodaki dreaded.
"So I can introduce myself like that to everyone, right? 'Direct disciple of the former Water Pillar, Sakonji Urokodaki.' Has a nice ring to it. Very imposing."
"..."
Urokodaki clenched his fists.
But after seconds of absolute silence, he cleared his throat.
"...Ahem. Unless it's strictly necessary... it's better to keep a low profile."
Marcus chuckled under his breath.
Tanjiro couldn't hold back either, and between laughs he said, "Don't worry, Master! I won't be a burden to my senpai! I'll pass the selection and come back alive!"
The first true light of dawn crossed the mountain ridge at that moment and bathed the faces of the two young men standing before him, illuminating those smiles that didn't know what awaited them but weren't afraid of it.
Behind the mask, Urokodaki pressed his lips together.
And was grateful that no one could see his face.
"Well, we're off, Master!" Waving his hand, Marcus started down the trail.
"Mr. Urokodaki, take care of yourself!" Tanjiro bowed so deeply he nearly touched the ground with his forehead, then took off running after Marcus before he fell behind.
"..."
Urokodaki stayed where he was, watching as the two silhouettes grew smaller along the trail. How their haoris swayed with each step. How every now and then one shoved the other and the distant echo of a protest reached him.
He watched them reach the bend in the road and disappear behind it.
The trail stood empty.
The wind blew, rustling his clothes, filling the space they had just left with the only sound a mountain knows how to make: silence.
He stood there for a long, long time... not wanting to leave.
"...They have to come back... please..."
His whisper scattered in the wind, carrying with it a plea.
"I'm begging you…"
________
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