Tanjiro's certainty about Ren Kuroda's strength went back to something that had happened only a few days earlier.
Until then, he'd only met one officer from the Paranormal Crimes Division—Tomioka—and had no idea how other demon hunters measured up. But fate had introduced them to a yokai who bragged openly about having killed multiple Division officers.
At first, Tanjiro panicked.
This yokai was powerful enough to slaughter trained hunters. Ren had fought Tomioka to a standstill—so how could he possibly handle a monster who'd already killed several of them?
But he quickly learned…he couldn't have been more wrong.
The yokai who had boasted so proudly of its kills didn't even touch Ren.
In hindsight, Tanjiro wasn't sure the word "fight" applied at all. "Massacre" felt more accurate—and even that sounded too gentle.
What unsettled Tanjiro the most wasn't the result, but the transformation he saw in Ren.
Ren Kuroda with a sword in hand was elegant, composed, and frighteningly skilled—like a legendary swordsman appearing in the flesh. Every movement was refined, decisive, and controlled. Tanjiro couldn't help but admire him.
Ren Kuroda without a sword?That was something entirely different.
When Ren fought bare-handed—claws ripping through flesh, tearing yokai apart with feral efficiency—he radiated a violence that chilled Tanjiro to the bone. The grin he wore as he shredded the yokai piece by piece was brutal, arrogant, and utterly cruel.
The yokai had begged for mercy, but Ren tore it apart anyway, smiling like a devil pleased with his handiwork.
Tanjiro would never forget that smile.
It was in that moment he truly understood:
Ren Kuroda wasn't an ordinary human. He wasn't even a normal half-demon. He was something far more dangerous.
Even Nezuko—already a yokai—had cowered when she saw that murderous side of him.
For his part, Ren wasn't exactly proud of it. If he had a choice, he'd have preferred a clean, elegant finish—something befitting a swordsman, not a blood-soaked predator. But with no weapon worthy of his technique, his elegant style was unusable.
He certainly wasn't about to try fighting with Tanjiro's tiny hatchet. That would only make the carnage messier.
Because of this, whenever they encountered yokai along their journey, Ren insisted that Tanjiro and Nezuko stay outside while he handled things alone.
Without a blade, he lost nearly seventy percent of his combat finesse. He feared no opponent one-on-one—but dragging Tanjiro or Nezuko into the chaos introduced variables he couldn't control.
Nezuko would survive. But Tanjiro…He was strong for a human, but still far too weak to stand against a real yokai.
"BOOM!"
Tanjiro flinched so hard he nearly dropped his hatchet. A deafening crash erupted from inside the mansion, followed by splintering wood. A moment later, a blue-skinned, fanged yokai's head burst straight through the wall and sailed into the courtyard.
The yokai tumbled across the dirt, scrambling upright in terror.
"H-hey, hey, HEY—!" it sputtered, spinning around. "Where's the—where did he—?! That freak—where—?!"
Its panicked eyes finally landed on Tanjiro.
Under normal circumstances, the yokai would have licked its lips at the sight of a human boy standing alone. But right now, it was trembling so violently that its knees nearly knocked together.
That thing inside… the madman who had blindsided it mid-meal…The yokai didn't even feel hungry anymore. It only wanted to run.
"You! Kid!" the blue-faced creature snarled, pointing a trembling finger. "Move. Now. I'm in a generous mood, so I won't eat you. But if you stay here… hah… your fate'll be worse than being eaten."
Tanjiro raised his hatchet defensively.
The yokai cackled, utterly unimpressed.
"That toy? Please. I could use that thing to clean between my fangs."
It lunged—not because it wanted Tanjiro, but because it needed a distraction. Behind it lurked Ren Kuroda—the monster who had ambushed it mid-feast, ripped its limbs apart as casually as snapping twigs, and smiled while doing it.
That lunatic wasn't normal. The yokai had never felt fear like that—not even from high-ranked monsters. If the creature had possessed any sigils or markings of the Twelve Demon Moons, the yokai would've believed it.
But no—Ren was just a monster on pure instinct, a predator without restraint, a beast who didn't care about prey or hierarchy.
And the yokai had made the fatal mistake of eating the people Ren had presumably come to "claim."
Demons didn't share meals.That's why Ren was furious.Or so the yokai desperately rationalized to itself.
If it threw Tanjiro to Ren—If Ren took the bait, even for a second—It might have a chance to flee.
And revenge?The yokai didn't even dare entertain the idea.
It roared toward Tanjiro—
—only for something white and slender to appear in its vision.
A leg.
A bare leg.
A pale, impossibly strong girl's leg.
It shot out from behind Tanjiro and stomped directly onto the yokai's face.
CRUNCH.
The yokai's skull caved in like wet clay.
The demon didn't even have time to scream.
Tanjiro blinked.
The yokai blinked—well, would have, if its face were still intact.
And standing behind Tanjiro, one foot still planted on the shattered head, was—
Nezuko.
Her expression was blank.Her eyes were burning.And she was clearly not in the mood to be anyone's sacrifice.