Demon Slayer: Taking Care Of Tanjuro's Wife And Daughter

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Boom.

The two palms collided mid-air, releasing a resounding shockwave that rippled outward. The courtyard trembled under the sheer force of the clash, sending gusts of wind that stung the eyes of anyone nearby.

Tanjirou Kamado, standing a short distance away, shielded his face instinctively. His vision blurred as he fought to keep his balance. When he finally reopened his eyes, the sight before him made his breath hitch.

Opposite each other stood the towering form of Himejima Gyomei, the Stone Hashira, and Ryuji, a man whose strength defied all expectations. The battle that ensued seemed almost unreal.

Gyomei, known for his unparalleled physical prowess, took a staggered step back after their palms clashed. His usually stoic face showed the faintest hint of surprise, a subtle blush creeping up his cheeks.

In his mind, Gyomei was astounded. How is this possible? He thought. Ryuji's strength has grown exponentially since our last encounter.

"Come again," Gyomei rumbled, his deep voice resonating through the courtyard as he adjusted his stance. The hint of seriousness in his milky-white eyes was unmistakable.

"That's exactly what I wanted!" Ryuji grinned, his fists tightening as he leaned forward.

The two surged toward each other like forces of nature. Gyomei's sheer size and experience contrasted sharply with Ryuji's youthful agility and raw strength. Neither carried a weapon—this was a battle of fists, a test of pure physical might and technique.

Their strikes echoed through the courtyard, sending dust and debris flying. Each blow was calculated, sharp, and devastating. Tanjirou clenched his fists, his heart pounding as he struggled to follow the blur of movements. At first, he could make out their forms—Gyomei's solid, deliberate strikes countered by Ryuji's swift, unrelenting attacks. But as the pace quickened, their movements became a whirlwind, too fast for the untrained eye to perceive.

"So strong," Tanjirou murmured, awe etched across his face. His gaze flickered to Ryuji, a man he had underestimated until now. Uncle Ryuji… just how powerful are you?

As the fight raged on, Gyomei's mind churned with thoughts. Ryuji's physical abilities were astounding—his strength, speed, and endurance rivaled even his own. However, Gyomei's years of training and experience gave him an edge. With each exchange, he noted the gaps in Ryuji's technique.

Dodging a fierce palm strike, Gyomei countered with a precise blow to Ryuji's back.

"Boom!"

The impact sent Ryuji stumbling forward, his feet digging into the dirt as he struggled to regain balance. He fell to one knee, panting heavily. After a moment, he pushed himself upright, shaking his head in resignation.

"I lost," Ryuji admitted, his voice steady despite the defeat.

Gyomei lowered his arms, clasping his massive hands together. "Your strength has grown tremendously, Ryuji," he said, his tone both impressed and firm. "But strength alone is not enough. You lack the ability to harness it fully."

Ryuji nodded solemnly, the frustration evident in his furrowed brows. "I understand. In the fight, it felt like you could predict my every move… no matter how fast or hard I tried to strike."

"That's because your movements lack intent," Gyomei explained, his voice calm but unyielding. "You have raw power, but your attacks are unfocused. Against weaker opponents, it may suffice. But against someone of equal or greater strength, you'll falter."

Gyomei paused, letting his words sink in before continuing. "Strength without skill is wasted potential. If you cannot refine your abilities, you'll never reach your full power. And if this were a fight to the death, you wouldn't have survived the second exchange."

Ryuji's jaw tightened, but he lowered his head respectfully. "Thank you, Master Gyomei. I see my shortcomings now."

The Stone Hashira regarded him with a faint smile, a rare expression of approval. "You've come far, Ryuji. With proper training, you can become an invaluable asset to the Demon Slayer Corps. I hope you'll consider joining us."

Ryuji's eyes widened slightly, the weight of Gyomei's words sinking in. He had always admired the Corps from afar, but hearing this from the legendary Hashira himself stirred something within him.

"I'll do my best to live up to your expectations," Ryuji said with determination.

"Good." Gyomei nodded, the finality in his tone signaling the end of the sparring session.

As they walked back toward the main house, Gyomei shared insights on Ryuji's technique, offering guidance and advice. Ryuji listened intently, absorbing every word.

Tanjirou watched them from the courtyard, his admiration for both men growing even stronger. He silently vowed to push himself harder.

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Time passed quietly, and the calm atmosphere of the courtyard was interrupted by soft footsteps. Standing at the door were two women, both dressed in white mourning clothes.

One was slightly taller, with a serene expression and an aura of quiet dignity. Her purple eyes were lowered, carrying an unmistakable air of elegance. The other, shorter in stature, radiated a fiery spirit, though her red and swollen eyes betrayed recent tears.

The resemblance between them was striking—the same delicate features, the same purple eyes—but their demeanors couldn't have been more different.

Tanjirou, standing nearby, noticed them immediately and approached with a polite but curious expression. "Excuse me, may I help you?" he asked gently.

The taller woman raised her head slightly, her voice soft and warm like spring sunlight. "We're looking for Mr. Himejima Gyomei. Does he live here?"

Tanjirou blinked, nodding quickly. "Ah, yes! You mean the master. He's here, speaking with my uncle."

The shorter woman stepped forward, her voice stronger, though tinged with urgency. "Can we meet him? It's important."

Tanjirou hesitated for a moment, then offered an apologetic smile. "Let me go ask him first. Please wait here."

The taller sister bowed slightly, her gentle demeanor unwavering. "Thank you for your trouble."

Tanjirou shook his head quickly, waving his hands in embarrassment. "It's no trouble at all!" He hurried back into the house.

Inside, he found Gyomei sitting cross-legged on the floor, his massive frame seeming almost too large for the room. Nearby, Ryuji sat quietly, his face thoughtful as he absorbed the wisdom of his mentor.

"Master Gyomei," Tanjirou began hesitantly, "there are two girls outside asking to see you."

Gyomei's hands, clasped together in silent prayer, stilled. He let out a soft sigh, his blind eyes lifting slightly toward Tanjirou's voice. "Tell them… tell them I am unwell and cannot meet with them."

Tanjirou frowned, confusion flickering across his face. "But Master—"

"Please," Gyomei interrupted, his deep voice carrying a tone of finality.

Reluctantly, Tanjirou nodded and turned to leave.

Once the boy was gone, Ryuji tilted his head, studying Gyomei's calm expression. "Master, why refuse to meet them? They must have come here for an important reason. Shouldn't you at least hear what they have to say?"

Gyomei remained silent for a moment, his face unreadable. Finally, he spoke, his voice heavy with emotion. "I already know why they've come. They seek to walk the path of the Demon Slayer."

Ryuji raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued.

"But that path," Gyomei continued, "is not one to tread lightly. It is a road stained with blood and suffering, where cruelty overshadows hope. They are too young to understand the price they would pay."

Ryuji crossed his arms, his gaze steady. "Master, you don't seem as indifferent to children as you pretend to be. In fact, you seem rather protective of them."

Gyomei's lips twitched into the faintest of smiles. "Perhaps," he murmured.

His tone grew somber as he clasped his hands together once more. "But… I cannot face children the way I once did."

Ryuji's eyes softened, sensing the weight of an unspoken memory.

Gyomei's voice dropped to a whisper, filled with pain. "There was a time when I fought with every fiber of my being to protect a child from a demon. I succeeded, only to be accused of being a murderer by the very child I saved."

The room fell into a heavy silence, broken only by the distant rustling of leaves outside.

"That moment," Gyomei said, his eyes closing as if to shut out the memory, "is one I cannot forget. It changed me. Even now, the scars remain."

Ryuji said nothing, the sincerity of Gyomei's words leaving no room for argument. Instead, he bowed his head respectfully. He understood now—this was not rejection born of indifference, but of deep-seated pain and wisdom gained through unimaginable hardship.

Outside, Tanjirou returned to the two women, relaying Gyomei's message with a bowed head.

The taller sister's face fell slightly, though she recovered quickly. "I see. Thank you for letting us know."

Her younger sister, however, clenched her fists, frustration and sorrow warring in her tear-streaked face. "We'll come back," she said firmly, her voice quivering with determination.

The taller woman placed a calming hand on her sister's shoulder, her gentle touch soothing the younger girl's anger. With a nod of gratitude to Tanjirou, the two women turned and walked away, their mourning clothes fluttering softly in the breeze.

From the shadows of the house, Ryuji watched them go, a thoughtful expression crossing his face.

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