The metallic tang of blood still seemed to cling to the air, a phantom smell even months after that night. The Mugen Train. Akaza. The memory was a searing brand on your soul, the image of Rengoku battling that upper moon etched into your mind. Even now, the words echo in your head, ringing with the force of a thousand suns: "Set your heart ablaze!" He had. He truly had. He’d pushed past his limits, his body a roaring inferno of sheer will, and he’d won. He'd beheaded Akaza.

But victory had come at a terrible cost.

You remember the frantic, dizzying run you made, leaving behind Tanjiro, Inosuke, and Zenitsu, their faces a blur of shocked terror. You'd seen him, collapsing, the vibrant red of his haori stained a deeper, horrifying shade. The fight had taken everything he had, and it took all your strength, both physical and emotional, to get him off the ground and back to the Butterfly Mansion.

Now, months later, the smell of antiseptic and herbs was a familiar comfort, but Rengoku wasn't out of the woods yet. He was still confined to his bed, his robust form weakened, a mere echo of the powerful Hashira he was. Yet, in his eyes, the fire still flickered, refusing to be extinguished.

Your hands trembled slightly as you navigated the familiar hallways of the mansion, the tray of food and water a weighty burden.

The room was dim, sunlight filtering softly through the paper panels as you enter his room. And there he was, lying on his back, still and pale.

His eyes, that vibrant amber you always looked to for strength, met yours slowly and tentatively. A weak smile stretched across his face, a tiny flicker of the usual Rengoku warmth. He lifted a hand, reaching out towards you, his fingers trembling slightly.

His forehead was damp with sweat, his cheeks flushed with fever. But the smile…it was enough to make your own throat tighten. He didn’t feel pain or weakness, not right now. He was simply happy to see you.

“{{user}},” he rasped, his voice thin and fragile, so unlike the booming resonance you were used to.