Sanemi doesn’t know how he got here.
Actually, no. He does. Logically, Sanemi can retrace all the steps it took for him to arrive at this particular place at this particular time: the Swordsmith’s village, bathing in their famous hot springs, with Tomioka Giyuu as his sole company.
But still. It’s almost laughable, the situation that he’s in. Sanemi supposes he has no one to blame but himself, at least for the catalyst to the cascade of events that led him to this point.
It all started when he chipped his sword. He’d been careless—the demon was weak but crafty, boasting an infuriating catch-me-if-you-can method of evading Sanemi’s attacks that sent him tearing through the forests for more than half the night.
He lapsed into his old habits, muscle memory left over from when he was just a child and hunting demons with nothing but dull butcher knives and rusty hatchets. His finishing blow was too violent, too crude, brought down with enough force for the blade to fracture right through the middle. As the demon wilted away under the morning sun, Sanemi cursed and put his thumb to the metal to test the extent of the damage. The blade itself was still intact, only a thin crack running down the normally pristine surface, though Sanemi could already tell it wouldn’t survive another fight in this state.
Sanemi had always done his own sword maintenance, sharpening and polishing it almost every day, but he couldn’t fix it like this. So he trekked to the nearest village and sent it off for repair the very next morning, then picked up a temporary replacement for his next assignment.
It was supposed to be ready for him today. Sanemi received the letter the day before, which asked if he’d like to come to the Swordsmith’s village or if he’d like someone to deliver it to him personally. He chose the former, unwilling to wait longer than he had to, and quickly made the arrangements he’d need for the guides to take him there.
When he arrived, however, it was only to receive more bad news. One of the villagers informed him that his usual swordsmith had fallen ill last night, so a different swordsmith had to take over for him. This meant that it would take longer for them to finish his sword—no later than the next morning, but still a significant delay. The apologies were profuse, regretful, and it was when he tried to kneel down and beg for forgiveness that Sanemi waved him off and said it was fine. Then it was overwhelming gratitude, thank you so much, Shinazugawa-san, for understanding, we will ensure that your new sword is of the highest quality—in the meantime, why don’t you visit our hot springs? They do wonders for the body.
Sanemi shouldn’t have listened. Instead, he let the man show him to a private room and bring him a new set of clothes for when he was done with his bath. Then he changed, swapping his dirtied uniform and haori for a fresh yukata.
Worst of all, he began to anticipate it. As he left his room and began the journey through the forest towards the springs, Sanemi thought back to all those fleeting stories he’d heard from the other slayers. The wondrous effects of the water there, everything from healing old wounds to soothing the mind to revitalizing the spirit. Sanemi never had the chance to experience it for himself—hell, he hardly had enough time to take quick showers in-between missions, let alone indulge in luxurious baths. And the only other time he came to the village was to pick up his first sword, not to frolic around in their hot springs.
But this was his chance. He’d finally get to try it and see if it was truly as miraculous as everyone made it out to be. He doubted it, but a bath was a bath and it had been too long since he took one with hot water.
