Chapter Text
Upon official induction into the Demon Slayer Corps, you spent day and night at the residence of a safehouse thinking about the blade you would soon wield. Nobody had asked you about your fighting style. You were simply instructed to trust the swordsmith that you were assigned to, and trust in him you shall.
Nothing could have prepared you for the man who many regarded as an utter misfortune to work with. You had waited patiently with the kind old mistress of the safehouse at the front steps of the manor, and immediately upon hearing the distant melody of wind chimes, she hung her head and sighed.
“Dear me, who would have thought to match a beautiful maiden to this young man?” she lamented.
“What do you mean?” you asked, and the woman looked at you sympathetically.
“That swordsmith’s temper fuels his forge,” she replied. “A word of advice - you are young and inexperienced. There will no doubt come time for you to break your sword. When that time comes, please do not take his ramblings to heart.” She rubbed her chin in thought. “Although, even the strongest steel bends to unyielding heat … “
You curiously glanced at the approaching figure. It was impossible to glean any sort of human feature from how heavily clothed he was, and his face was obscured by a wide-brimmed hat lined with the wind chimes that effortlessly soothed your mind. You closed your eyes for a moment, and listened.
Rustling leaves. Soft breaths beside you, comforting and motherly. Singing cicadas cutting your senses, only to be mended by whimsical tinkling, glass pinging against glass, it sharpens your awareness into a singular point -
“I think … “ You bowed politely to the swordsmith as he came nearer. “Anyone who has such a gentle song to them must be pure of heart.”
The hostess threw you a surprised look and muffled a quiet laugh behind the sleeve of her kimono. “You are a lovely young woman. Protect that innocence. It is sure to win you a splendid husband someday.”
You had little time to think of an adequate response, so frazzled by her brazen statement. And that is how the swordsmith met you, catching an eyeful of your reddened face as you sputtered nonsensical words to the hostess and gripped her sleeve like a child.
Haganezuka Hotaru. Immediate threat to say nothing of his given name. You could not stop staring at his strange mask. It looked a little demonic, if you were being honest, and the undercurrent of sternness as he explained the importance of maintaining your sword’s integrity made you wonder if perhaps the warnings about him were true. But his voice was youthful and he spoke with such heartfelt passion for his craft that you felt comforted by his humanity. He could not have been much older than you, if even that - a teenager on the cusp of adulthood. Haganezuka was simply a dedicated swordsmith, and you would become a demon slayer worthy of having such a fine man supporting your endeavors.
You listened to his explanation about the construction of nichirin blades with rapt attention as you kneeled across from him.The hostess sat off to the side and politely watched from a distance. Your heart raced in anticipation as Haganezuka finally unveiled your sword, removing the protective cloth with reverent care as he handed you the sheathed blade.
“I am honored,” you earnestly said, reaching out to hold the sword with both hands. The weight felt just right, not too light and not too heavy.
“You should be,” Haganezuka deadpanned. “Take care of my precious work, you hear me? I am not a forgiving man, should something go wrong. You understand?”
The hostess audibly sighed, and you quickly answered before he became offended. “Yes, sir.”
“Good.” He waved a hand at you impatiently. “Go on, take a look!” The corner of your mouth turned upward at the sudden excitement in his voice. “The nichirin blade is also known as the color-changing sword. The metal takes on a certain color depending on who wields it.”
“The Roaring Pillar used a golden sword … “ you absentmindedly murmured as you laid the weapon on your lap. The sharp, pungent smell of lightning was permanently embedded into your memory after your first encounter. The ringing sound of the warrior’s breath style still sent shivers down your spine.
Haganezuka’s intent stare brought you back to the present. It was as if the very air itself quieted down for the unveiling. You grasped the crimson handle and pulled the scabbard away to reveal your first sword.
“Focus on your breathing while you hold it,” Haganezuka explained. “Or however you slayers do it.”
The hostess shifted imperceptibly. “Trust in your senses, child. You are attuned to sound. Use it to summon the spirit of your blade.”
And so you listened.
The blade rested comfortably against your thighs. A bird chirped beautifully from the treetops. Haganezuka’s wind chimes sang their whimsical tune. But you did not call upon these sounds. You wanted to know how the metal would speak to you.
You placed two fingertips at the base of the blade, beside the lovely handguard you had failed to admire properly. The braided grooves of the handle held your hand steady as you trailed your fingertips across the cold metal. As they moved, so too did a soothing sound come forth to greet you, and a pale blue glow crept through the path you made.
“What a beautiful color,” you breathed.
“It’s no red blade, but it’ll do the job,” Haganezuka muttered. “Then again, you don’t seem the type to … no, your aura is all wrong. Too gentle.”
You did not know whether that was a compliment or not, but you blushed all the same. “Are red swords special?”
“Yes.”
“ … “ You wanted to hear more, but the swordsmith already had his back to you as he gathered the wooden box that transported your sword. “Will you be staying the night, Haganezuka-san?” you asked with a hint of hopefulness.
“No. Too much work to be done.”
You furrowed your brows. Haganezuka was a man of either too many words, or too little, it seemed. “That is a shame,” you lamented, lifting the sword to inspect the handguard at last. “I hoped you would stay. There’s so much more I wanted to learn about nichirin blades … “
Haganezuka stilled and turned his head slightly towards you. “Why would you want that?”
“How else can I utilize a weapon without fully understanding it?”
“Ask a mentor.”
“Wouldn’t that be you?” He looked back at you fully now, the jerking motion causing the wind chimes to sing. The gormless stare of his painted eyes did not deter you. “Who better to ask than the very person who poured his soul into my blade? This sword is a part of you just as much as it is a part of me.” You smiled, sheathed your weapon, and bowed your head. “Please stay a while, Haganezuka-san.”
“You think your time is worth more than my duties?”
The unrestrained bite in his question caused your confidence to waiver.
“If you educate her properly,” the hostess piped up. “Then that would mean less chances for accidents to occur, yes?”
The effect was immediate. Haganezuka stood up so quickly that you fell back in surprise, and pointed down at you with renewed zeal. “First, I will drill it into your empty head that you should never, ever put your grubby fingers on that precious metal.” He prodded your forehead as he spoke. “And then, I will show you how to clean your sword. Then , I will teach you how to unsheathe your blade without wearing down the blade or scabbard. Then and only then will I teach you how to sharpen the edge. You will not sleep, Demon Slayer. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, sir!”
True to his word, you did not sleep. But your blade sang happily as you followed Haganezuka’s instructions during your lessons, and that had been enough to invigorate you. Metal may bend to intense heat, but the hammer of his swift tutelage removed all impurities of ignorance from your mind.