When Ume was thirteen, the turning point in the siblings' tragic fate finally arrived, a cruel twist of destiny.
While working at a brothel, Ume drove a hairpin into a samurai's eyes after he insulted her beloved older brother, Gyutaro. The metallic taste of violence filled the air as the samurai screamed, clutching his bleeding face.
Such an act required tremendous courage, something that most women, let alone a young girl, would never possess. But for Ume, hurting those who threatened her loved ones seemed as natural as breathing. There was no hesitation in her movements and no tremor in her hands.
Growing up under Gyutaro's fierce protection had shaped her into someone who was both beautiful and dangerous. Her graceful figure and delicate features could captivate any man with a single glance, fueling her increasingly unruly and domineering nature. The siblings no longer lived the hunger-gnawed existence of their early years.
Gyutaro had become a notorious debt collector, and his reputation spread like poison through the district. His once crushing inferiority had bloomed into twisted pride because of his sister's power over men. He discovered something that made his heart race with dark joy: the fearful looks people gave him when he walked the streets or committed his brutal acts in broad daylight.
His savage methods and grotesque appearance, once sources of shame, suddenly became badges of terrible honor. He reveled in every frightened gasp and hurried step away from him.
But karma is a patient hunter, and every action demands its price.
Just as fate had written in another timeline, while Gyutaro was collecting debts with his usual brutality, the injured samurai and the brothel owner exacted their revenge. They dragged Ume into the daylight and set her ablaze; her screams echoed through the district like a demon's wail.
Not a single person living along the Rashomon River stepped forward to stop the horror or warn the siblings. The reason was sickeningly simple: they despised the brother and sister equally.
When Gyutaro returned, his world shattered like glass.
The sight of Ume's burned body struck him like a physical blow. His legs gave out; his mind refused to process what his eyes showed him. A samurai attacked him from behind, his blade sliding between Gyutaro's ribs. But the small, wiry man exploded with desperate fury. Armed with only a rusted sickle and a rage that knew no bounds, he fought back like a cornered animal.
Both the samurai and the brothel owner fell to his wild strikes, their blood painting the ground crimson.
Oboro remained hidden in the shadows, watching every moment unfold with calculating eyes. He watched Gyutaro cradle Ume's broken body and heard his anguished cries pierce the night air. The young man's soul was gradually changing, becoming something foul and twisted.
"Sir," Chiyoko whispered beside him, covering her mouth in sympathy.
She felt genuine pity for Gyutaro's suffering and understood his pain deeply. Oboro had arrived at the Rashomon River well in advance and observed everything from the darkness. He could have intervened and prevented this tragedy, but he chose not to.
This young man's misery ran deeper than Zechuan's had. After all, they had watched Gyutaro grow up, making his anguish all the more heartbreaking.
"WHY?!" Gyutaro's voice tore through the night like a blade. "Why?! I have nothing left, yet you still want to take the one thing I treasure! Why?!"
His words carried the weight of a lifetime of suffering. "Why have my sister and I lived in darkness since birth? Why do those worthless pieces of trash get to live happier lives than us?"
"Do gods truly exist in this world? What do you want from us?"
The long street echoed with his desperate roars, each word dripping with unbearable resentment. Gyutaro's name meant "debt collector" in the local dialect, and as a collector, he gathered not just worldly debts but also the debts owed by the entire world and all of humanity.
In Gyutaro's twisted worldview, existence itself was malice incarnate. This belief gave birth to his infamous philosophy: Even after death dragged him to Hell, he would choose to become a demon again and again, never regretting his path of destruction.
"Hello? Is anyone there?" His voice cracked as he moved from door to door, cradling Ume's cooling body. "Please save my sister."
But the silence that greeted him was deafening. These families weren't asleep; some knew exactly what was happening outside their doors. Yet, they chose to turn away, refusing even the smallest act of kindness to the siblings who had been outcasts of society since birth.
Snowflakes began drifting from the dark sky, growing heavier with each passing moment. Gyutaro collapsed to his knees beside his sister, feeling her flesh grow cold beneath his trembling hands. His tears fell like rain on her burned face.
Oboro didn't emerge immediately. According to the original timeline, Doma Upper Rank Two should have appeared at this crucial moment, so he waited patiently. However, the butterfly effect had changed everything. Doma never came to this district, allowing fate to take a different course.
Gyutaro had sunk completely into the abyss of despair when footsteps finally approached through the snow.
He looked up and saw two familiar figures: an elderly woman with silver hair and a man whose expression remained eternally calm. Recognition flickered in his pain-dulled eyes.
He hadn't seen Oboro and Chiyoko in years, though he'd never truly forgotten them. He'd once considered bringing Ume to Oboro's mansion, knowing she could live a proper life there. But his selfishness had won; he couldn't bear to part with his only source of light.
Things might have been different if he'd swallowed his pride from the beginning. Deep in his heart, he knew that Oboro would have agreed to care for Ume without hesitation.
Gyutaro had never known genuine happiness. Every good thing seemed to slip through his fingers like water, except for Ume. Now, even she had been torn away.
The only warmth left in his world stood before him: the one person who had never looked at him with disgust or discrimination.
Chiyoko held a paper umbrella over Oboro's head, shielding him from the falling snow.
"Does it hurt?" Oboro asked, his voice carrying unexpected gentleness as he gazed down at the broken young man.
"Please," Gyutaro whispered. "Save her."
"For her, you would give everything, wouldn't you?" Oboro crouched down and draped his black haori over Gyutaro's shivering shoulders, a gesture that carried profound meaning.
Gyutaro nodded without hesitation. "It doesn't matter what you ask. I just want her to live."
There was something almost supernatural about Oboro's presence. Despite Ume's seemingly inevitable death, Gyutaro found himself believing that Oboro possessed the power to perform miracles. Just as before, when the entire world had abandoned him, only Oboro had reached out to pull him from the darkness.
With Gyutaro, there was no need for manipulation or false promises. The destiny of these siblings was written in blood and suffering; they were born to carry out Oboro's will.
There was no complex reason for Oboro's interest in Gyutaro. If he had to choose someone to inherit the mantle after Muzan's demise, Gyutaro was the most suitable candidate based purely on potential, ignoring the advantages of being a plot character.
With three lifetimes of experience and wisdom, Oboro's judgment was rarely wrong.
Without warning, he reached out and pulled Gyutaro into an embrace.
Only two people had ever received Oboro's black haori: The first was Tanjiro Kamado, whose family preserved it alongside the earrings and the improved Sun Breathing technique that Oboro had taught them. These treasures would pass from generation to generation, keeping hope alive.
The second recipient, Gyutaro, now knelt before him, broken and desperate.
These two individuals represented different paths and futures. No other inheritor or member of the Demon Slayer Corps had ever received this treatment.
"Remember this," Oboro whispered, his words carrying the weight of absolute truth. "There are no gods in this world. The only one you can rely on is yourself."
"Since this world has been unfair to you, perhaps it's time to return that cruelty. Turn the world into hell itself; you are not the one who is wrong."
His final words hung in the air like a curse. "No one deserves happiness."