With that disdainful snort, Nezuko couldn't even be bothered to look again at the bleeding arm.
She turned around and, unhurriedly, crawled back into the wooden box.
Then—
Bang.
A small, pale hand reached out from inside and briskly pulled the lid shut, cutting off that nauseating stench of blood completely.
That soft click was like an invisible slap across Sanemi Shinazugawa's face—and it also snapped the courtyard's taut atmosphere in half.
…It was over.
Completely, utterly over.
Whether it was the clash of strength or the duel of convictions, the Wind Hashira had lost in a way that left nothing to salvage.
"Hehe…"
Kagaya Ubuyashiki let out a gentle, pleased laugh. "It seems Nezuko has proven herself as well. Sanemi—can you accept it now?"
"…"
Sanemi clenched his fist, staring at the tightly closed box, then flicking his gaze to Yoriichi, who stood not far away with an unruffled calm.
Humiliation. Frustration. Rage… a storm of emotions churned inside his chest.
But under the Master's mild gaze, he could only grit his teeth and force out a low growl from his throat.
"…Tch."
He didn't say another word. He spun around, yanked his Nichirin blade from where it had lodged in the wall, tore off a strip of cloth and wrapped his wounded arm with rough, impatient movements, then disappeared into the shadows without looking back.
For someone as volatile as the Wind Hashira, that was already the greatest concession he could make.
"By the way…"
A booming voice cut in.
"Master! Since the matter of this demon has been settled, I won't press it further! However—"
The Flame Hashira, Kyojuro Rengoku, stepped forward. His bright eyes burned with a fervent curiosity as he fixed them on Yoriichi.
"Kamado boy, there is something I must ask you, no matter what!"
"That strike just now—the scorching sword aura that erupted in that instant—was neither Flame Breathing nor anything Wind Breathing could ever compare to."
Rengoku's expression sharpened into solemn intensity. "That sensation… reminded me of what our family records describe as the 'origin.' Tell me, boy—what Breathing Style did you use?"
At those words, the other Hashira's gazes turned more focused—more invested.
A sword technique that could disarm the Wind Hashira in a single exchange.
That was what mattered most to them as swordsmen.
Even Sanemi, still simmering in the corner, lifted his head and stared at Yoriichi.
Under the weight of so many eyes, Yoriichi didn't answer immediately. He lowered his gaze to the battered old Nichirin blade in his hand and fell silent for a moment.
Then he looked up, meeting Rengoku's eyes with calm steadiness.
"Breathing…?"
He shook his head.
"It isn't a Breathing Style."
"…?"
Rengoku blinked.
Tengen Uzui's eyes widened. "Hah? Not a Breathing Style? Are you kidding me? That power and speed—and you're telling us it wasn't Breathing?"
Shinobu Kocho smiled. "Tanjiro, I watched you with my own eyes on the road—how you cut down demons. Are you saying you don't even understand Breathing Techniques?"
Yoriichi paused too, then replied softly, "It really wasn't a Breathing Style. I simply… followed the flow of my body, matched it to the rise and fall of my lungs, and swung a blade naturally."
He hesitated, as if searching for words that would make it clearer.
"People breathe to live, don't they? When you swing a sword, naturally you swing in rhythm with your breathing. Isn't that… just how it should be?"
"…"
A brief silence sank over the courtyard.
Every Hashira present had endured hellish training to master Total Concentration Breathing: Constant—to reach the pinnacle of swordsmanship.
In a very real sense, Breathing had given them a second life.
The moment he drew his blade, nearly all of them had been thinking the same thing:
What Breathing Style is that?
And yet the answer they received was so far beyond expectation it left them suspended in disbelief.
…What did he mean, he had no Breathing Style?
But looking at the boy's face—so earnest, so free of any trace of deception—Tengen's mouth twitched.
"…What an infuriating guy," he muttered despite himself.
It was like fighting a terrifyingly strong player in a game, going all out, taking their equally crushing counter—and then, unable to help yourself, asking what that move was… only to be told it was just a basic attack.
In the end, Kagaya Ubuyashiki was the one who broke the suffocating quiet.
"I see…"
His voice was still gentle, but something like light seemed to bloom behind his sightless eyes. "Breathing that follows nature… perhaps that is what talent truly is."
Then he grew slightly more formal.
"Kamado Tanjiro. Since you possess such ability, and you carry the wish of returning your sister to humanity… then, on behalf of the entire Demon Slayer Corps, I formally invite you to join us."
"Please lend us your strength—and sever this chain of tragedy that has continued for centuries."
As his words settled, all the Hashira looked to Yoriichi.
The wind whispered through the courtyard. Leaves rustled softly.
Yoriichi fell into a small silence and turned his gaze deeper into the estate.
There—faintly—he could sense his family's presence.
Shinobu had told him: it was the Master who had ordered his family placed safely in a wisteria house, even assigning doctors to care for them.
To Yoriichi, that was no less than a profound debt.
And besides… though his soul carried swordsmanship that had once reached the summit, the body he wore now was still that of a fifteen-year-old charcoal seller—malnourished, hardened by labor, not yet fully grown.
When he subdued the Wind Hashira earlier, he had used the breathing rhythm he once wielded long ago.
To outsiders it looked effortless.
But for a body like this, that instant eruption of heat had already burned away a significant portion of his stamina.
Now, his stomach was completely empty.
In the mountains, even filling your belly was a problem.
Here…
Here, at least, that wouldn't be.
Having settled it in his mind, Yoriichi lifted his head.
He bowed with flawless etiquette.
"Since you place such value in me, Master… I will remain here. Until… Muzan is cut down completely."
At that reply, a smile finally surfaced on Kagaya Ubuyashiki's pale, sickly face.
And then—
"Grrrk—"
A sudden sound—pure hunger—escaped from Yoriichi's abdomen.
The solemn atmosphere collapsed instantly. Everyone stared at his stomach as if they'd been struck dumb.
Yoriichi lowered his head and looked at himself with serious contemplation, as though analyzing a problem.
Then he looked up at the Master, his tone sincere and grave.
"Master, this body has expended most of its glucose after days of travel and multiple engagements. If I don't replenish energy immediately, my muscles may begin breaking down tissue to maintain function."
Not only the Hashira—Kagaya himself froze for a beat, and then laughed softly, with a warmth that felt lighter than anything before.
"Hehehe… It seems I have been negligent. If you're joining the Demon Slayer Corps, we certainly can't have our swordsman go hungry."
He turned his head slightly and instructed the white-haired attendant beside him.
"Take Tanjiro to the Butterfly Mansion for a meal. Tell the kitchen to prepare the highest standard of food… no—prepare enough for ten people."
…
Half an hour later.
At the dining table in the Butterfly Mansion.
Aside from the solitary Giyu Tomioka—and Sanemi Shinazugawa, whose pride had taken a direct hit—the other Hashira had gathered around the table.
They stared, dumbfounded, at the scene before them, as though witnessing a creature they'd never seen in their lives.
The red-haired boy sat properly at the table.
His manners weren't crude—if anything, they were elegant.
And yet his eating speed was so fast it left afterimages.
Rice balls, tempura, miso soup, grilled fish… it vanished as if he'd been starving for a decade.
Before long, the empty bowls piled in front of Yoriichi had become a wobbling little mountain.
"Amazing…!"
Mitsuri Kanroji cupped her flushed cheeks with both hands. Her bright green eyes sparkled with adoration. "This is the first time anyone's beaten me in appetite! And he still eats so prettily! Tanjiro-kun, next time—want to see who can eat more sakura mochi?"
"Mm—delicious!!!"
Beside her, Rengoku held his bowl and praised loudly, eyes shining as he looked at Yoriichi. "A powerful stomach creates a powerful body! Young man, the spirit in your eating is admirable! I like you!"
As a doctor, Shinobu didn't join the chatter.
She simply stood to the side with a smile, watching the boy devour food at an impossible pace—her gaze thoughtful.
As someone who understood medicine and the human body better than anyone there, she could see more than the others.
She could clearly see it: as food entered his body, the faint pallor in his face was fading at a visible speed, returning to a healthy warmth.
Even his bodily presence grew steadier—more settled.
The efficiency of converting food into energy… was it one hundred percent? No—perhaps even higher.
"What a terrifying metabolism…"
Shinobu murmured, her voice edged with disbelief. "With enough food… could he fight indefinitely? This is… more monstrous than a demon."
Finally.
As the last rice ball disappeared.
Yoriichi set down his fiftieth empty bowl, feeling strength refill his limbs, and let out a satisfied breath of warm air.
"Thank you for the meal."
…
Night deepened.
"Alright. You've eaten and drunk your fill—about time you rested."
As members of the Kakushi carried away the mountain of empty bowls, Shinobu's smile looked… slightly more complicated than usual.
But she said nothing. She only stood and gestured lightly.
"Come with me. I'll take you to a guest room."
Yoriichi shouldered the wooden box and followed the petite girl through the Butterfly Mansion's winding corridors.
The night breeze was cool. Only insects chirped in the courtyard grass.
When they passed an open training ground, a crisp, rhythmic whistle of air being cut quickly caught their attention.
Yoriichi stopped and turned his head.
Moonlight flowed like water—clear as frost.
At the center of the training ground, a small figure swung a Nichirin blade tirelessly.
It was the girl he'd seen earlier.
She wore a specially tailored Demon Slayer uniform. A white cape fluttered with each movement.
Every swing was precise and sharp. Sweat slid down her pale cheeks, yet her tempo remained unwavering—like a finely tuned machine.
Seeing Yoriichi stop, Shinobu halted as well.
Following his gaze, her eyes softened with a hint of pride she didn't try to hide.
"Ah. That's Kanao."
"Kanao Tsuyuri."
Shinobu spoke her full name softly, then turned to Yoriichi with a smile. "She is my tsuguko—my successor."
"Successor…?"
Yoriichi repeated the word.
He didn't yet fully understand the Corps' system, but after today he'd grasped the basics.
A successor was someone personally trained by a current Hashira—a designated heir, groomed to become the next Hashira. An honor reserved for the few.
"Yes. This child is very talented."
Shinobu clasped her hands behind her back and leaned forward slightly, her tone carrying a teasing, boastful edge. "Before you arrived, she was the most promising candidate of this class to become a Hashira."
Yoriichi didn't respond to the playful jab.
He simply stood beneath the corridor eaves, those dark red eyes focusing—depth within them shifting like light.
The Transparent World.
In that state, he could see clearly: with every breath Kanao took, great quantities of oxygen flooded into her blood, keeping her body in an exceptionally active condition.
That was Total Concentration: Constant.
"At her age, she can maintain Total Concentration around the clock?"
Yoriichi withdrew his gaze and gave a quiet evaluation.
"She truly is talented."
Even in the Warring States era centuries ago, swordsmen who could do this at such an age were rare.
And it wasn't only her breathing.
Yoriichi noticed her pale violet eyes.
At the instant of each strike, the blood in her body seemed to concentrate in a particular pattern toward the optic nerves.
With eyes like those, the world around her likely slowed dramatically in her perception.
And yet—
After watching her for a long moment, Yoriichi's brow creased faintly.
"What is it?"
Sensing the shift at once, Shinobu's smile narrowed slightly. "Do you see something… off?"
"Too tense."
Yoriichi stared at the girl who trained without fatigue, fell silent for a beat, then said softly—
"Her body… and her heart… are crying out in agony."
-------
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