24 Demon Slayer: Floating Comment

A carrier crow flapped its wings against the clear sky, soaring over Tokyo Prefecture.

At the headquarters of the Demon Slayer Corps, Kagaya Ubuyashiki set down his medicine bowl after taking a sip. The crow perched gracefully on his shoulder, delivering its urgent message.

"Lower Moon Three, Wakuraba, has been defeated. Slayer: Demon Slayer Corps swordsman of the Kanoe rank—Haruto Takanashi."

(T/N: Kanoe is the fourth rank of the Demon Slayer Corps)

Kagaya's hand paused mid-motion. He smiled only after the crow repeated the report twice.

Meanwhile, atop Sagiri Mountain, Giyu Tomioka, bare-chested, severed several thick wooden logs with one swift strike. When Kanesaburō relayed the news, Giyu froze for a moment.

"Killing a Twelve Demon Moons… does this mean he can become a Hashira now?"

Beside him, Makomo carefully rewrapped a strand of wisteria vine around her blade's hilt. She murmured with a hint of awe, "As expected of Haruto."

Elsewhere in a village near Tokyo, Sabito stroked the head of his crow, silver eyes gleaming with curiosity.

"A Twelve Demon Moons…"

In the Swordsmith Village, Gyōmei Himejima's crow brought the news to the monks and smiths. Gyōmei clasped his hands together in prayer, a rare smile gracing his face.

"It seems the ranks of the Hashira are about to grow stronger."

Only one man frowned. Gotokawa's head dipped briefly before he quietly asked, "And… is Haruto alright?"

Haruto was not alright.

The Kakushi had arrived just in time. They pried his Nichirin blade from a splintered tree, gathered the remains of the slain cleric, and carried the unconscious Haruto to the nearest Wisteria Manor.

His body was a mosaic of injuries, a shattered doll barely holding together. His bones felt as if a train had smashed into him. His chest? A ruin of fractured ribs, barely intact.

The puncture wounds from the demon's vines were even more daunting. The barbed, plant-like tendrils clung stubbornly to his muscles, refusing to let go.

The doctors had no choice. To prevent infection, they cut away flesh alongside the embedded vines.

The surgery lasted all night, blood soaking through over a dozen sheets.

"If not for his mastery of breathing techniques, Takanashi-san would have already died," the doctors murmured grimly.

For a week, Haruto lay in a limbo between life and death, his pale complexion as ghastly as a corpse. Only the faintest rise and fall of his chest testified that he still clung to life.

On the seventh day, his eyes fluttered open to find Sora (the parrot) sitting by his bedside.

"If you're not dead yet," Sora said plainly, "then Oyakata-sama requests your presence at headquarters once you're healed."

Footsteps echoed outside. A boy with rose-pink hair poked his head in, grinning mischievously.

"Hey, you're awake."

Haruto could barely breathe, every inch of his body screaming in pain. He forced himself to inhale, letting the oxygen soothe his battered body. But even breathing tugged at his broken ribs, making him feel as though he were being crushed anew.

"Why is it always you?" Haruto rasped, his voice hoarse. "Do you work part-time at the Wisteria Manor or something?"

Sabito raised his heavily bandaged arm with a smirk.

"Show a little gratitude, will you? I'm injured too, yet I came all this way to check on you. Now spill—how did you take down a Twelve Kizuki?"

The weight of his achievement finally settled over Haruto. His gaze drifted to the ceiling as he exhaled shakily.

"He devoured a cleric… one with rare blood."

The memory surged back: the demon's speed, its unnerving power, the bizarre and deadly Blood Demon Arts…

"If not for the rare blood weakening him from within, even with three retries, I wouldn't have won."

Sabito caught the note of despair in Haruto's voice. He chuckled warmly and sat at the bedside.

"A swordsman's strength is forged through battle. This time was tough, sure. But next time? When you face someone like that again, you'll cut them down with ease. That's how the Hashira got where they are—breaking their limits in real fights. You're already leagues ahead of others in your rank."

The encouragement brought a faint smile to Haruto's lips.

A knock interrupted the moment. The doctor entered with a tray of medicine.

"Takanashi-san, it's time to change your bandages."

Sabito pointed at himself. "Should I step out?"

"You can head downstairs. Lunch preparations are underway," the doctor replied politely. She turned to Haruto as Sabito's eyes sparkled with interest.

"Lunch?"

"Yes, the village sent us black pork today. We're deciding whether to make pork cutlet bowls or grilled pork—"

Sabito flinched, slapping a hand over his face to muffle a groan.

"—or maybe braised pork for ramen…"

Haruto's eyes widened, sparkling with sudden hunger.

"Black pork."

His whisper grew louder.

"BLACK PORK."

Sabito threw his hands up in despair.

"Calm down! You can't even chew, let alone eat!"

Haruto's hoarse voice broke through. "I… want… food."

"Do you have any idea how painful chewing and swallowing will be?"

"I don't care. I WANT FOOD."

Sabito resorted to his final argument.

"Fine, but what about digestion? Who's gonna—" He motioned to his injured arm. "I can't help you. Are you gonna make this lovely doctor deal with… that?"

Haruto slumped in defeat, muttering curses under his breath as the doctor began changing his bandages.

The wounds made even Sabito grimace.

"Those puncture wounds avoided his vital organs, but just barely…" the doctor remarked, replacing the soaked cotton.

"If it hurts, don't hold back. Cry out if you need to," she said softly.

Sabito glanced at Haruto and winced. For once, his sharp tongue stayed silent.

Days passed, and Haruto's remarkable healing ability finally began to show. Once his injuries stabilized, Giyu arrived to escort him back to Sagiri Mountain.

Haruto insisted they hurry. Makomo was about to take the Final Selection, and he wouldn't miss it for the world.

"Haruto!"

Makomo dropped her firewood and raced toward them the moment she spotted them.

"Easy, Makomo!" Sabito caught her mid-charge with a well-aimed slap to the head. "Go prep a bed first!"

Haruto grabbed onto Urokodaki's blue haori weakly.

"Master Urokodaki…"

The tengu mask turned toward him.

In a faint but determined voice, Haruto whispered,

"Black pork. I need to eat black pork."