3. fold the fan and bow to the crowd.
No one else survived, but the two Ubuyashiki kids find the survivors coming back in a group.
More specifically, Sanemi has Kanata on his back (that isn't a broken foot, that is a smashed foot—) and Makomo in his arms, the girl slumped heavily over his shoulder, unconscious. Aoi trudges along with all of their swords, broken and intact, as well as Kanata's bag and broken mask.
They hike all the way back up Mt Fujikasane, Sanemi and Aoi arguing the whole time about unfair loads, gender roles, and comparing injuries and contribution and shouting at each other about it.
"We all know you're making me walk because you're too weak to carry me, too," Aoi says. Dryly.
"Fucker, is that a challenge?" Sanemi grumbles, "Fine. Ignore my broken ribs. Ignore my concussion. Ignore my heavily bleeding GUT. Climb the fuck on."
"No."
"THEN SHUT UP."
"Be quiet! Makomo's going to wake up! She cut off the demon's head, she deserves to rest!" Aoi yells right back.
"I'd have cut it off faster than she could, I'm obviously stronger!"
"Yeah, which is why you were stuck holding off those arms the whole time."
"She only got the opening because I DISTRACTED IT—"
"Oh SHHH!!! SHUSH! Look what you did, Kanata woke up!"
-
The end of the Final Selection finds Kanata sitting by the Torii with the two Ubuyashiki children, waiting for their ride. The others have left already, hoping to get back home before the sun sets.
Even so, Kanata doesn't need to go home to Swordsmith Village. They're coming to collect ores, and they're going to get briefed by Oyakata-sama about the Selection results so they know better how to forge the swords.
Kanata's better off waiting.
So, he settles on watching the two Ubuyashiki kids play temari with Kanata's newly assigned Kasugai Crow, occasionally watching them bow in apology as the ball so much as rolls too close to him. But they're not avoiding him either. They are very entertained by the existence of a very unresponsive human being.
But well, call Kanata a toddler, but it's very interesting to watch them kick the ball back and forth. Put him in front of this on loop, he'll be the quietest baby in the world.
He might even fall asleep to this.
(Ah, how long has it been since he's slept in?)
(Well, it doesn't matter.)
-
"WHAT IN THE NAME OF THE OYAKATA ARE YOU DOING, KANATA?!"
Kanata jumps in surprise. His hammer hits the metal wrong and, off-kilter, it snaps right in half, flips off balance and goes soaring like a catapult, flinging right past Kanata's eye and to the wall behind him.
There's a pause before he looks back. It left a scorch indent on the wall, and now the metal's ruined and on the ground.
...oh wow, I nearly went blind.
"Kanata! You're still injured! You're supposed to be recovering! The ONE thing we said not to do was come to the workshops! The heat here is bad for your wounds, the sawdust is bad for your wounds, and the strain of forging a sword is bad on your wounds! WHY ARE YOU FORGING ONE, ANYWAYS?!"
Kanata is picked off the chair and carried up like a child out of the building. He's not allowed to take off his boots or his gloves or his apron. He is being exiled to the rest houses right this instant.
His cheeks puff up in annoyance. He was almost done with that one!
"You came home TWO days ago! You still have all your stitches in, and we are literally still tallying the votes on who gets to forge your nichirin sword, so could you just calm down? Spend a day sleeping like you always love to do?"
Kanata sulks, slumping down on Uncle Kiyoyuki's shoulder as he gets carried off like a misbehaving kitten.
He broke the Oodachi. And he let Aoi take the tachi as a souvenir. Sanemi stole an uchigatana on his way out because his sword chipped.
If Kanata doesn't replace all of them before his first mission he is going to need one of them as backup in the middle of a loop and it'll cost him so much time. Please, just let him fix the sword that Sanemi broke. Just that one.
"You know Oyakata-sama isn't going to assign you too many missions, right? First missions are standard to ten days after the selection, but you'll be helping us here after you recover for at least a month. We'll be shortstaffed when some of our best go out to deliver them."
Yes but he's anxious without his emotional support sharp objects, okay.
-
"Kanata! Kanata! Rest!"
Maybe it's because he's quiet, but he got assigned a rather talkative crow. Even soaking in the onsen is rambunctious with this crow by his side.
Kanata leans over the rocks as his crow— Yashahane, it's much too cool a name for a crow as silly as this one— gathers pebbles and arranges them equal widths apart in neat rows.
"Kanata! Kanata!" it's like the only thing she can say, handing Kanata a small pebble that's pretty, but just a bit too big to fit into her perfect rows. She deposits it into his open palm, and hops away to pick up another one.
Well, it's peaceful.
"Kanata! Kanata!"
Yes, yes. He obediently opens his palm and receives another pebble.
Maybe it's because she's like this, that she was assigned to be Kanata's crow. They won't have a lot of missions, and they can always relax, just like this.
Peacefully.
"KANATA DO NOT SLEEP IN THE HOT SPRING!" Uncle Kiyoyuki shrieks, and Kanata jumps in surprise. Yashahane startles so violently she upturns all her pebble rows.
-
"Kanata! I said you're not allowed to forge swords yet!"
Kanata knows he's being insufferable, but he really couldn't care less. He's not getting his first mission yet, what else is he supposed to do? Die of boredom? He's slept all of yesterday and the day before that. He could sleep today too, but then the Uncles will all forge the swords and leave without him!
"Look, I don't want you hitting anything. That's too much strain on your limbs. You broke twenty bones. You're definitely not polishing either," Uncle Kanamori says. Those are both things that swordsmiths here have died working too hard doing. "I know you're excited because these are your friends' swords, but forget the blade. How about you carve the tsuba? And once the swords are done polishing, you can tie the tsuka ito too."
Kanata is sentenced to wood carving duty.
They didn't even let him make the metal ones. Wood. It'll be reinforced with metal later, but come on. This is the kind of stuff you give a child.
(Oh, wait. I'm twelve.)
Fine. He's going to make the prettiest damn sword guards ever and the swordsmiths will henceforth have a horrible time trying to replicate the quality ever again. Peace was never an option.
-
"I said to carve sword guards. Tsuba. And how many of your handheld fans did you make— and is this a gun?? I've heard they were using it in the previous war, but do you have any idea what the elders will say if they find this in a swordsmith village?"
Well, Death had a book on medieval-era guns in his library, so. The wood shredder is a very tempting adversary in these trying times.
Kanata nods sagely. "Grandpa loves me, so it's okay."
"Ah so you KNOW?" comes the scandalised roar back, "you little punk! Don't think you can cute your way out of things forever!"
Kanata is already standing up to go to the Chief's room.
"Grandpa. Make bullets."
"Ohh, Kanata, are you interested in something new so you want me to make something for you to imitate? What was it?" Tecchikawahara Tecchin is a pushover for his youngest most talented grandson, "bullets? Oh, those silly things? I'll make some for you. You're a smart child. Keeping up with modernization, eh?"
Kanata nods. He gets on his knees and lowers his head so the Chief can ruffle his hair dearly.
"Kanata! Listen to me!" Uncle Kiyoyuki groans, but he's already been defeated, "Chief, stop spoiling him!"
Chief simply chuckles. "I'll take care of Kanata."
"I'll leave him to you, chief..."
In swordsmith village, you don't ask to be taught. You watch the older people work, and you absorb on your own. If there's something you don't know how to make, then you watch the Chief, who knows how to make anything, do it. If there's something no one knows how to make, then you make it yourself.
There are no lessons. No guidance. Just 'go watch', and 'try it next'.
"There's not really a demand for guns in the corps, though. It's too loud, the reload time can be lethal to a slayer, and most of all, nichirin's colour-changing properties get in the way of its firepower when the gunpowder explodes."
Somehow, a very detailed and informative lesson has started.
"Though, nothing's wrong with experimenting. Be careful, though, last time it ended up with the Flame Hashira, Shinjuro, it exploded in his hands," the Chief laughs. "Well, that was surely an experience! Hands are important for both swordsmiths and demon slayers!"
What. What the hell.
"It's fine," Kanata decides. "I'll figure it out."
-
"Alright, Kanata, that's enough."
Uncle Kiyoyuki has come to the point where he's running to anyone else for help taming the child that will not stop producing luxury tsuba in the workshop. Some of those arne't even practical enough to be actually used.
"Kogane, give him something to do."
And Uncle Kogane lifts his head from where he was sculpting some spare doll arms. Kanata is staring back at him, waiting expectantly, as Uncle Kiyoyuki slams the door shut and leaves him up there on the hilltop hut.
"Uhm... I don't think he'll appreciate me letting you train with Yoriichi Type Zero yet, so how about you babysit Kotetsu?"
Kanata turns to Kotetsu, the young child currently winded around in string like a cat because his father does not understand choking hazards.
"Go play cat's cradle with him or something. He's very fascinated by patterns."
-
Anyways. Kanata spends a few days playing with Kotetsu, and then, he does his rehabilitation training with Yoriichi Type Zero.
There's really not much else to do here, since Swordsmith village has a scarcity of people that actually know how to wield the blades they forge to any meaningful degree.
He's figured out how to use any type of sword, but not all of them suit him. The story of the metal fan begins in one of his older training sessions, in the two years before he takes the Final Selection.
"Most people just go with a standard sword, or they change the length or duel-wield to their liking, but you can't seem to make up your mind, huh?"
There's a Kakushi in recovery in Swordsmith Village, and when he found Kanata training, he asked and was allowed to watch.
His name's Gotou, but Kanata didn't bother to check if the guy's relevant.
Daggers are too close range. His breathing style focuses on being widespread and sporadic, which means he'll get caught in it too if he's not careful. Standard-sized swords are too simple. He can fight, but not good enough. A long sword, like an oodachi, can throw down stronger strikes simply because of the added range.
Wider swords, broadswords or axes, give him more power. The longer his sword, the less precision he has over the raw power in the blade. So axes suit him better, but their range is much shorter, which leads to problem #1 all over again.
"You're very elegant," the Kakushi tells him, one day. "I mean, Kochou-san is elegant too, but it's different. She's a flower, you're, well... I don't know. A fan, maybe. Like, you're both elegant, and flutter out. She's light and graceful, but you're rigid."
And he doesn't understand it at first.
"You gather, and then, you strike. Your steps are light, but your aftershocks are strong. Each of your steps reverberate, and when you burst forth— it's blinding and forceful."
Is everyone in this place a poet?
"If the Stone Hashira is an immovable rock that suits his kusarigama and spiked weight— and the Sound Hashira is a booming impact of two sharp beats against a drum... you don't seem as straightforward," the Kakushi admits. "Maybe you're not even a blade. After all, sand cuts, but it's not exactly something sharp either. But once it goes through enough heat and pressure—"
"—it turns into glass?"
The Kakushi seems surprised to hear Kanata speak to him.
But, he has a point. Sand is like him in many ways— from the way it's soft and harmless when undisturbed. And yet, it kicks up restlessly time and again, and can always, out of nowhere, build up into something so formidable, it takes lives in an instant.
Kanata doesn't need a blade.
He is Sand.
All he needs is the winds to blow in the right direction, to compel him into action. That's right— these blades are all useful, but in the end, they are just the means to an end.
What embodies his style of the Sand Breathing is neither the widest nor longest blade he can find. It's simple, undaunting elegance.
Sand relaxes, at all times. Even if it becomes violent, it is still sand. Even when it's soft and warm and soothing to the tough, it is still sand.
So of course, the weapon that most suits him and his sword style must embody that.
Like a simple folding fan. A simple instrument for some relief in hot weather— and yet, in war, an indomitable ally in battle.
"...there's something called Tessenjutsu," he remembers. "I don't know much about it, though. Maybe I'll go read."
"What?" Gotou, the Kakushi, asks.
"I'll be right back."
"What— WHAT ARE YOU DOING—"
And thus is the story of Kanata's true nichirin blade— the simple metal fan in his pocket, which he doesn't use primarily, as it's only a last resort.
-
Kanata delivers a sword to Butterfly Mansion— it's a very common order location— and he meets the newly instated Flower Hashira for the first time.
Kochou Kanae.
"You're the swordsmith?" her much less friendly sister, Shinobu, scowls at him. "That sword is for Murata, right? He's asleep right now, so come in for some tea."
There's an underlying threat of 'do not disturb a patient's rest' unheard under her breath.
But Kanata is used to this treatment. This skepticism. Usually, only the older men of the village are allowed to go out frequently— dangers, and experience, and all that. So the impression is that the older the swordsmith, the more capable they are. It's not really a trustworthy impression to have a young swordsmith be in charge of something as important as a demon slayer's sword.
"Aoi, get some refreshments for our guest," Shinobu calls over the hallway.
"Ah— yes, Shinobu-sama, I'll be right there!"
Oh?
Aoi freezes when she sees the Hyottoko mask. She's seen swordsmiths before, of course, but when Kanata takes off his wicker hat and musses his two-toned hair, Aoi knows exactly who he is.
"K- Kanata-san!" she sets the tea and snacks on the table, dropping to her knees to join him immediately, "it's been a while! Have you been well?"
Her uniform is worn under an apron. Her hair is worn up neatly in pigtails again. She has her sword— both the standard nichirin and the shortsword bequeathed to her by Kanata way back then— holstered upon her waist, and her smile is full of relief.
Her nichirin is decorated with a rather intricate tsuba guard. Depicting a butterfly, landing upon a ripple of water that formed the base of the guard. Its wings stretched out with detail it didn't need yet left ample space for her hand. The entire thing was made of wood and dyed carefully, and while the design was large, it was light.
"You know Tecchikawahara-san?" Shinobu demands of her younger sister, and Aoi jumps out an affirmative.
"We met in the Final Selection. He helped me very, very much back then!"
"...I see. Wait, a swordsmith took the Final Selection?"
"Yeah..." Aoi lifts her head slowly back to Kanata, her expressions morphing into confusion. "Wait. Why did you take the Final Selection to become a slayer?"
Kanata doesn't answer that.
Is 'I just felt like it' a reasonable answer?
Kanae chuckles, taking a cup of tea for herself. "There's nothing wrong with it, is there? Now, Kanata-kun, sit down, would you? We have snacks."
And that's how Kanata spends half his day simply listening to the Butterfly sisters talk around him.
He goes home with a new haori. Somehow.
-
It's white, gradient down to brown speckled in powdery swirls. Gingko leaves speckle the majority of the design in gold. For movement, and because he already had a bag— it's fastened it to his waist with a red and white woven rope, work tools and a tachi tucked around the band for easy access.
He pulls the haori over his uniform— it has a slight purplish-red tinge, to his amusement— and then, the bag over everything.
"Quite a weight, isn't it?" Uncle Kogane says, "isn't it a bit much? You're small, Kanata. Don't you need as much speed and movement possible?"
A twelve-year-old fighting demons would usually have their fighting style take advantage of their smaller physique, and while Kanata kind of fits into that mold, being born in the Swordsmith village means he's got more than enough bulk to handle some heavy dragging.
The strap's also made to unbuckle, so he can dorp it anytime, easily.
Plus, if he needs range, he has the oversized oodachi.
"Yeah. About that," Uncle Kiyoyuki seems to read his mind, reaching to his back, where the Oodachi was slotted into the front of the bag's straps. "This is going to get in the way when you walk through forests or literally any narrow space. Let's make another strap for this one to wear on your back."
"Do you even need that many swords?" Uncle Kogane asks, to which Kanata hisses at him. "Right. Right. Have your thirty knives, child."
"And some metal fans, specially crafted by the chief himself. Made of nichirin. Instead of anything reasonable, like sandalwood or ivory," is Uncle Kiyoyuki's very defeated contribution.
"But Grandpa won the poll to make my nichirin blade," Kanata says, clearly misunderstanding the direction of the exasperation.
"Yes, yes he certainly did," Uncle Kiyoyuki sighs.
Kanata pulls yet another strap around his shoulders, for his longest sword to cross over the other way from his back. He'll figure out how to carry these better when he's taller.
He'll figure out how to carry more swords when he's taller.
"Kanata, I can tell what you're thinking, and the answer is don't."
Kanata deflates. Curse the Hyottoko Mask tradition. Everyone's learned how to read the subtlest of body language at this point.
Yashahane perches on his shoulder, screeching out a "south! South! Head south!" at them all, and they understand that's an indication of a long road ahead.
"Alright, alright. That's enough," the chief shows up to see Kanata off at the break of dawn. "Kanata, have fun on your missions. Crows will be made aware of a travelling swordsmith as well, so look out for anyone needing on-the-go sword maintenance. It's part of your duty as a member of our village."
Kanata nods.
"Alright. For safe journeys."
The kiribi clicks sharply, and Kanata gets on one knee as the Chief strikes the stone with the steel, against his back.
And then, without looking behind him, Kanata rises, and begins his journey forth.
He's officially a demon slayer now, and he'll be back here a lot less often than before. It's the exact opposite of what Death asked of it, it's not what Death expected of him, when he was told to live peacefully, simply waiting for his time—
—but well. It's enrichment.
And if he was fated to get dismembered and eaten in the end anyways, there's no point in secluding himself in the village. There's a world out there, and he might as well spend as much time as he can sightseeing before his ride arrives.
-
Life as a demon slayer is, all things considered, eventful.
The ranks of the Hashira change with the times. Rengoku Shinjuro retires, and familiar faces begin to fill the roster. Kanata masters Total Concentration Breathing— and he has to admit, he knows it's because the manga is a manga, but what rather insane pacing did the main characters have to go through? Demons were hardly as active as the story made it seem.
"To become a Hashira, one must be a Kinoe [1], have killed at least fifty demons, and be capable of killing one of the Twelve Demon Moons on their own," Uzui Tengen tells him. "How far along are you, young prodigy?"
Kanata really isn't a prodigy. They haven't even found Tokitou Muichirou yet. It's been a year since he became a demon slayer, and Oyakata-sama is very stingy on ranks the younger a slayer is, apparently, because Kanata just can't get past Tsuchinoe [5] at all.
He swears he's killed more than fifty demons. That requirement is just a standardised numerical value, anyways, it's the latter part about the demon moons that really matters.
"Thirty! Thirty!"
Yashahane is much better at remembering things that he is, thankfully, because remembering the number would be impossible for Kanata. Not because his memory's awful, but simply because sometimes he kills demon #4 a couple hundred times on the way to stronger demon #5, and if someone was going to make him remember all those as separate instances, he's going to stab someone. Probably himself.
Uzui whistles, impressed. "You'll be up here in no time! At thirteen, too! It's a new record! And you spend most of your time smithing, that's a very impressive number!"
That is awful news. Why are you celebrating a child soldier? But then again, Kanata volunteered for this work, so he had no right to complain about that.
"Oh, are you done?"
Satisfied with the polished swords, Kanata rests the blade by the whetstones. He slides the cloth through the carvings of 'Destroyer of Demons' upon the heel of the blade, and decides it's not yet due for a re-engraving.
"Don't touch it until I fit it back in the handle," Kanata says, walking away, wiping his hands dry as he heads out to retrieve the new parts from the other room.
"I won't," Uzui insists, like a chastised child.
Makio chuckles. "A child is treating you like a child, Tengen-sama."
"Tecchikawahara-kun, can I clean up some of this over here?" Hinatsuru asks on the other side of the room, where the broken metal and burnt wood lay in messy piles.
"I got snacks from the town down the mountain!" Suma hustles in from outside to settle on the veranda, "are we done yet, Kanata-kun? I'm using the stove to make tea!"
Though Kanata spends a lot of his time in the village, he goes out every once in a while on trips to defeat demons. And each trip is a very, very long walk around the country that will last at least a month, because he's expected to do a lot before he goes back.
Kanata now has several swordsmith camps around the country— a necessity, because of his work, and it's also used by swordsmiths that pass by on deliveries to rest as well— but, honestly, why does Uzui have to bring his wives here every time?
Kanata sighs.
He tilts the mask just slightly. He still wore the mask, but he had an eye out to work, and his mouth was free for the refreshments.
Once he gets everything ready, he sits by the veranda with them, rethreading the tsuka over the handle as Suma insistently tries to feed him some kinako mochi on a toothpick. Makio is cuddling with Yashahane, and Hinatsuru chuckles at the sight while Uzui watches fondly.
"Red, huh?" Uzui says. "As usual, your tastes are flamboyant. We don't usually get to see swordsmiths work our swords step by step like this. Don't mind our gawking."
Kanata minds, a lot.
They've been here since yesterday— Uzui went off with some of Kanata's swords to hunt demons last night, too— why do they just think they can make themselves at home here? It's his home, damn it. And he knows the Kakushi have been frequenting this place. Someone's restocking his first aid kit.
"Kanata-kun, want some more? Want some tea?" Suma is very, very interested in this child that will literally eat anything that's brought near his mouth, apparently. She's so enthused by the idea of playing house with this very preoccupied child sharpening a murder weapon in his hands.
Uzui's swords are rather beautiful.
Two shortswords, specifically Daos, chained together like nunchucks. And his blade shines a sharp gold. It's not very practical, but Uzui wields it so well in a way only he can. Maybe that's the point.
"Speaking of... you know where my territory is, right?" Uzui brings up. Yes, Hanamichi. Flower District. Red Light District. Yoshiwara. And so on, the many names people give that besotted location. "The geisha there dance like you, I've noticed. Were you the child of one?"
Wow Uzui. You don't just ask someone if they're a child abandoned by a prostitute.
But... he might be right.
The Swordsmith Village believes in inherited memories.
Kanata's soul may not live in this era, and he learned all he knew about the style of fan dancing and battling from books in Death's chamber— but the actual movements and expertise— it came to him on their own. The refinement and grace in each sway of his hands— they were second nature.
His body remembers, even though the soul no longer complements it.
Whoever this child had been before Kanata took his place, his mother had this dance in their very soul, cultivated from years and generations of living within the harsh environment of the red light district's competitive field. A place where girls had no rights unless they rose the ranks quickly enough— she bore a child, and ran, and ultimately, died meaninglessly.
Quite pitiful. But there's nothing that can be done about it now.
"You know, one day if we have an infiltration mission, I'd really like your help in it," Uzui says. "My wives will do great, but nothing beats actually being able to assimilate and rise up. If any demons are hiding in the district, they probably have austere tastes, after all."
He chuckles.
Hinatsuru grimaces, "Tengen-sama," she warns.
"I know, I know," Uzui begins defensively. "Come on, even if he does help out, I wouldn't let anything happen. You know that."
"That is a child," Makio emphasizes. "Come on, aren't we enough?"
"Or do you not trust us enough, Tengen-sama?" Suma adds, sounding pitiful.
And Uzui relents. They pounce on him and there's laughter and— oh, come on.
Kanata tunes out the rest of their conversation and hurries with the string and handle in his hands. He needs to get this tied right now immediately as soon as possible, because he will NOT handle this lovey-dovey honeymoon a meter away from him.
He is going to chase them out, purify this house, and then leave to the furthest base from here and, hopefully, he can be light years away from civilisation for the next few weeks.