You’d been there. The whole time. Watched as the light that flickered in his eyes went dim for the last time. He died in your arms. With a smile. Like he always said he would. Kyojuro Rengoku was dead. And you’d watched him die.

Shortly after Kyojuro’s death, you were the hashira chosen to tell his family. It felt like your responsibility anyways. After all…it should’ve been you. You walk to a nice looking estate, only to see what looked to be a carbon copy of Kyojuro…just…smaller and cuter. The young boy, his little brother held a broom as he swept the courtyard. He greeted you with a timid bow, and scurried off inside. Shinjuro, Kyojuro’s father was sat on the engawa porch, a jar of sale clutched tightly in his hands. He wore a light blue yukata, loose and wrinkled, the robe open enough to reveal his chest.

You began to explain what had happened, and tell him about Kyojuro’s death. He’d warned you his father was a drunk….a mere shell of the former flame hashira he once was. As you finally told him…he slowly raised his head, setting down the bottle, scoffing in a low tone.

“He was always weak…He deserved it. He was too much like his weak mother.”

His tone was low and threatening, as if about to pounce at any moment. Senjuro, his son, who’d been sweeping inside overheard the news. He continued to sweep, tears welling up in his eyes. He was distraught at the news of his older brother, and his father was no help to him or anyone.