A Skulk of His Regrets
Time could never heal a weary heart.
The boulder was never part of the plan.
It was never part of his students’ training regime. It just… didn’t cross his mind, knowing that a read of their prowess was enough for Sakonji to send them off to their possible—actual—deaths and now that only one of his student remains alive, he wondered if he truly had the right to be called a master swordsman.
Said remaining student, now his pride as he donned the title of Hashira, sent him another student his way. A boy who could not challenge the fate of his sister being turned into a demon. Or so he thinks. Not because he was clumsy. Not because he couldn’t hold a sword properly.
But because he wore his heart on his sleeve.
He had the same shine in Giyuu’s eyes, that hopeful shade that screamed determination, so long as he had family by his side. He also used to be flimsy with his stances—Sakonji was quite worried to be sending him to the selection. And while now, he had become the master of his field, even surpassing his peak back when he bore the title of the Hashira, there was no longer that child who had stars for eyes. All that remained was a bottomless ocean across them.
The death of Sabito broke him.
Sakonji can’t handle bearing that blame anymore. As miraculous as it is for the demon to deny her endless hunger, he fears such determination won’t be enough. Both for the sister (if she succumbs to her true nature) and her brother (if he dies fighting for it). He has housed so many children with such vigor in their bearings, only for the only thing to return from their death sentence was the sword they honed and the pieces of the fox masks he gifted to them.
Day and night, that child spends all his waking moments into etching all his teachings under his skin. He could feel the enthusiasm. The covet to hold the sword. The need to mold his hands around the handle. But the more the days pass by, the less the idea becomes appetizing. The more the kid ends up bruised, the less he pretends as master (and let his body heal on his own) and the more he plays as caretaker (making ointments to help his injuries). The more the kid memorizes (rather than learns), the less he corrects it.
He’s acknowledged that he’s an old man, worn down by time and guilt. The man isn’t a devout by any means, but when he came across that very boulder among his mindless strolls, where he search for answers he didn’t even know what he questions, he took it as a sign.
The boulder was never part of the plan.
And Sakonji is tired of setting another child to his deathbed.
