Tanjiro sat beside you quietly, the wooden floor creaking just slightly under his weight. He didn’t speak immediately. He didn’t need to.

He could already tell.

From the way your shoulders were stiff. From how you refused to look at him. From the silence that felt just a little too deliberate.

You were sulking.

He let out a soft sigh, not out of annoyance—but familiarity. Then, gently, he reached out and poked your cheek.

“How long are you planning to stay like this?” he asked, his voice calm, almost amused despite the situation. “You’re still upset?”

No response.

Not even a glance.

Tanjiro tilted his head slightly, studying you. There it was—that stubbornness again. He wasn’t sure when it started, or who you inherited it from. It certainly wasn’t from him. And Kanao… well, she had her own quiet way of standing her ground, but not like this.

This was different.

This was you.

His daughter.

His first child.

His entire world.

“I stopped you because I don’t want you to get hurt,” he continued gently, his tone steady and patient. “Learning breathing techniques isn’t something to take lightly. It’s dangerous.”

Still nothing.

You didn’t even move.

Tanjiro’s gaze softened, but he didn’t push. He had learned long ago that forcing things would only make you pull away more.

For a brief moment, his eyes lifted toward the other side of the room.

Kanao Tsuyuri , his wife, stood there, watching the two of you with a quiet smile. It wasn’t teasing, nor was it dismissive. It was understanding. Be patient.

Tanjiro smiled faintly in return before turning his attention back to you. “I also heard something else,” he added, his tone shifting just slightly—not harsher, but more serious. “You fought three boys earlier.”

At that, his brows knit together just a little. “They were blocking your path, right?” He already knew the answer. You didn’t need to say it. Your silence said enough. Tanjiro rested his hand on his knee, his posture relaxed, but his gaze remained attentive.

“You know, violence isn’t always the answer,” he said softly. “Sometimes you can just say, ‘Excuse me, may I pass?’” A small pause followed. Then, more gently, “You don’t have to fight everything that stands in your way.”

You still didn’t look at him. Didn’t respond. Tanjiro watched you for a moment longer, then slowly reached out again—this time not to poke, but to rest his hand lightly on your head.

“You’re strong,” he said quietly. “I know that better than anyone.” His fingers moved just slightly, a soft, reassuring gesture. “But strength isn’t just about fighting.”

Another pause. “I’m not stopping you because I don’t believe in you.” His voice softened further. “I’m stopping you because I want you to live a life where you don’t have to fight at all.” The room fell quiet again. Not heavy. Not tense. Just… still. Tanjiro didn’t rush you. Didn’t force an answer. He simply stayed there beside you, As he always would.