Kyojuro would never forget the earnest words his mother spoke to him by her bedside when she was critically ill. "Helping the weak is the duty of those born strong."
"And Kyojuro, your mission is to shoulder this responsibility and fulfill it."
What is weak, and what is strong?
His mother, Ruka, did not explicitly tell him, but Kyojuro knew that people like himself and his father, Shinjuro, were definitely not "weak" compared to ordinary people struggling to survive in a cruel era rampant with evil demons.
Kyojuro also knew that his father had read the Book of Past Flame Hashira and he had heard him complain with anger and dejection: "Human ability is determined at birth. Geniuses are few and far between, and the rest are just worthless trash without any value."
At one point, Kyojuro thought so too. It was true for his younger brother Senjuro, and for those so-called "genius swordsmen" who wanted to be his Tsuguko. They lacked "sword talent," but... that did not mean Senjuro and the others couldn't contribute their share of strength to the demon-slaying cause in other ways.
Kyojuro Rengoku gripped his sword and pushed open the door, stepping into the small courtyard. Vaguely, he could see the past versions of himself and his brother playing there, catching butterflies with their mother, and being patted on the head by their father. He took a deep breath, drew his blade, and pointed it directly at the man sitting on the wooden corridor holding a wine jar, shouting loudly: "Father, please pull yourself together."
Fire is meant to burn, and one must be straightforward. Hearing the door sound, a smaller version of Kyojuro peeked out from an angle; he looked over timidly. Shinjuro threw his head back to take a swig of wine and looked over coldly. "Get lost."
Kyojuro Rengoku took a step forward. Aura attached to his Nichirin Sword, surging with flames, and his gaze was firm as he said, "Father, please pull yourself together."
Smash. The wine jar flew over, grazing past Kyojuro's ear and smashing against the wall behind him, shattering on impact.
The liquor soaked the wall. Shinjuro glared at Kyojuro in annoyance and cursed, "Do you think you're something special just because you became a Hashira relying on a few torn pages?"
"Senjuro, bring me your sword."
The alcohol surged with his anger. Shinjuro stood up coldly. In that instant, he seemed to recover some of his former imposing manner.
Senjuro clung to the doorframe, looking carefully at his older brother, then at his father. Born with a worried face, his expression immediately crumpled into distress.
"Give it to him," Kyojuro turned his head and smiled kindly. "Trust me."
"Yes." Senjuro swallowed nervously, handing his sword to Shinjuro with no small amount of worry.
Shinjuro grabbed it. It felt so strange. He swung it a few times, gradually finding the feeling. Kyojuro waited quietly like this until Shinjuro stopped his hand movements, took three steps in two down the wooden corridor, and slashed at him with a casual strike wrapped in flames. For the first time, Kyojuro understood why, in that Wisteria flower forest outside the Master's estate, Eiichiro-sama had been so indifferent to the "sword technique" Kyojuro had swung with all his might. It was too weak, too slow, and the temperature of the flames was too low.
Kyojuro Rengoku was very disappointed. With [Ten] covering his body, facing Shinjuro's angry strike meant to teach him a lesson, he slashed back. With a backhanded strike, he casually knocked the sword out of Shinjuro's hand and, following the momentum, placed his Nichirin Sword against Shinjuro Rengoku's neck.
"This..."
The confrontation ended in an instant.
In Senjuro's view, his brother's sudden "admonition" would definitely be met with a strong backlash from their father's anger. But the result told him... Father had actually lost.
Although it is said that disciples need not be inferior to their teachers, and teachers need not be more virtuous than their disciples... Senjuro, who had been taught hand-in-hand by Shinjuro since childhood, had a deep-rooted belief in his father's strength. He was a former Flame Hashira, a true Flame Hashira who had fully learned all the sword forms of Flame Breathing.
Not a half-baked one like his brother who taught himself Breathing Style from three torn pages.
Yet, it was this "half-baked" one who today, in a head-on confrontation, defeated their powerful father in a single round.
"Hiss..." A servant who secretly witnessed this scene widened their eyes in disbelief.
In the courtyard, two highly similar faces looked at each other, one disappointed, one shocked.
The latter seemed to finally recover a sliver of his senses, speaking with a dry, hoarse voice: "You are not the son I know."
Shinjuro Rengoku seemed to forcibly summon a bit of spirit from his depression, looking at Kyojuro with burning eyes. "Your strength, your fire, is not a level that Flame Breathing can achieve."
"Who... who taught you?"
The reason Shinjuro had been depressed all these years, aside from the death of his wife Ruka, was mostly because... he clearly knew the upper limit of Flame Breathing. It was fundamentally insufficient to oppose Muzan Kibutsuji. Facts had proven it, and the Book of Past Flame Hashira also recorded it... even if Flame Breathing was practiced to the limit, it couldn't even kill some powerful Upper Moons. This was another major reason that dealt a heavy blow to Shinjuro's soul after Ruka.
"It was the sun." Kyojuro sheathed his sword, pressed his palms together, and looked up at the sky. In the evening, the sun was slanting west, not yet fallen into the abyss of the horizon. The brilliant sunset dyed half the sky red, draping him in a coat of rosy clouds.
The young man smiled and said to the stunned Shinjuro, "Father, I saw the sun."
Shinjuro: "..."
It was like a fishbone stuck in his throat; he was speechless for a moment.
Whoosh.
The wind tousled the yellow hair of the father and two sons. The courtyard fell into a long silence once again.
A moment later, Shinjuro asked, "What is the name of the sun?"
Kyojuro answered truthfully, "Kamado Eiichiro."
The ends of his white haori were dipped in red. Kyojuro Rengoku smiled and passed on the words Roy had gifted him to Shinjuro: "The sun can also be me, be you, be him, be everyone who harbors justice and positivity in their heart."
After a long while, Shinjuro laughed. To the side, Senjuro was stunned. Since their mother died, this was the first time the boy had seen a smile on his father's face. Shinjuro laughed louder and louder, more and more heartily, until finally, he laughed with his hands on his hips, tears even springing from the corners of his eyes.
"Interesting, too interesting. Kyojuro, ask him, can I really do it too?"
"I can, you can, and Senjuro certainly can."
"Hahaha..."
On this day, a few cheerful vibes were added to the atmosphere over the Rengoku household. The servants, knowing the situation of the main family, looked as if they had seen a ghost, dizzy and feeling it was unbelievable.
They whispered to each other or quietly inquired about that Lord Kamado Eiichiro.
Little did they know, the mysterious Lord Kamado Eiichiro they spoke of had already stepped onto a speeding train.
It was night.
Passing through the colorful dream passage, he arrived at the familiar Cognitive Sea.
Without stopping, he pushed open the "Demon Slayer" door directly, entering the Demon Slayer world again. Following the clues provided by Ubuyashiki Kagaya, he arrived at Car 7 and sat down directly opposite Enmu, Rui, and... Upper Rank Three, Akaza.
Smiling, he looked at the three and said, "Gentlemen, mind if I take a seat?"