The trainee candidates who had been talking all turned their heads toward Zenitsu, their gazes unfriendly. Especially the one who had just been punched—his eyes burned with anger.
"You looking to die or what?!"
"I was wondering who it was—turns out it's another piece of trash," another sneered. "Lord Kuwajima really has it rough. Kurosaki Rei, that useless guy, can't learn Thunder Breathing at all, and you only know First Form. Hahaha."
Zenitsu was filled with fury. Not caring that he was outnumbered, he charged straight at them and started brawling.
But because he held back—afraid of seriously injuring them—and because there were simply too many opponents, it didn't take long before two fists were no match for four hands. He was beaten until his face was swollen and bruised.
"Trash will always be trash. Letting Lord Kuwajima teach you was really a waste," the buzz-cut youth who had been punched first said disdainfully. After knocking Zenitsu to the ground, he spat on him, jealousy hidden deep in his eyes.
"Let's go. There's no point talking to him," another person said, pulling at the buzz-cut youth who looked like he wanted to keep beating Zenitsu. He felt it was enough already—if this continued, something bad could happen. No matter how unpleasant Zenitsu was, they were all Demon Slayer trainees with tragic pasts, destined to fight demons together one day.
Arguing and scuffling was one thing, but seriously injuring Zenitsu would be going too far.
"Tch. I'll let you off today," the buzz-cut youth said as he turned to leave.
But he couldn't take a step.
Because Zenitsu had grabbed his ankle.
"Apologize…"
Zenitsu's voice was hoarse, his face battered.
"Huh? What are you saying? Are you sick or something?" The buzz-cut youth tried to yank his foot free, but couldn't. Confusion flickered in his eyes—since when did Zenitsu have this much strength?
"I… I want you to apologize. Don't… don't talk bad about my Senior Brother Rei…"
Zenitsu spoke weakly.
"Hah? Looks like you haven't been beaten enough!"
The buzz-cut youth raised his sword sheath and smashed it down toward Zenitsu's head.
"Don't—!"
His companion tried to warn him, afraid he might kill Zenitsu, but the blow was already falling.
Just as they thought they were about to witness a tragedy, the sheath stopped—two inches above Zenitsu's head.
A hand had come down from above, faster than the sheath itself, and firmly grabbed it.
The buzz-cut youth froze. He pulled hard, but the sheath didn't budge. Shocked, his gaze followed that hand upward, until he saw the face of the one who had arrived.
Under the setting sun stood a man in a pitch-black haori. His masculine, handsome features were dark with fury, and the fleeting killing intent in his eyes seemed to lower the surrounding temperature by several degrees.
The buzz-cut youth tugged again at the sheath, but it still wouldn't move.
"Th-this is impossible… you're supposed to be—"
Kurosaki Rei didn't say a word. He simply let go.
Because the youth had been pulling with all his strength, he immediately toppled backward, landing hard on his butt.
The others, suppressed by Kurosaki Rei's invisible aura, stood frozen in fear. They couldn't understand how Kurosaki Rei—the so-called most useless disciple under Kuwajima, the one who hadn't learned Breathing in ten years—could be this terrifyingly strong.
Kurosaki Rei helped Zenitsu to his feet. His cold gaze swept over the group as he spoke calmly:
"Get lost."
The few who had been rooted to the spot fled without another word. The buzz-cut youth on the ground was even worse—his legs went limp, and he couldn't get up at all. A puddle spread beneath him.
"Senior Brother Rei…"
Zenitsu's voice was weak, his expression full of guilt.
Kurosaki Rei supported him and walked toward the other side of the street.
"Do you think I didn't help you vent your anger?"
"How could I… I just wanted to say, I didn't mean to start a fight," Zenitsu said with his head lowered. He was afraid his senior brother would blame him for causing trouble.
"Then why did you fight them in the first place?" Kurosaki Rei asked.
"I… it's really nothing…"
Zenitsu hesitated, then forced a smile. "It's my fault. Just a verbal dispute."
He didn't want his senior brother to know that others had called him useless—that would only hurt him. Zenitsu felt indignant, but fighting was wrong, and in the end he had even lost. His senior brother had to step in to save him.
Kurosaki Rei reached out and ruffled Zenitsu's golden hair.
"I didn't step in to beat them up because I believe you'll win in the future. You're just too kind."
Zenitsu's eyes lit up.
"I… I'll win? Really?"
"You will. Whether you beat them back, or make them acknowledge you and apologize—that's all victory."
Kurosaki Rei smiled.
In truth, he had arrived a few seconds earlier and had heard some of what was said during the fight. He could roughly guess what had happened.
Seeing Zenitsu, battered and bruised, still grabbing onto those people and demanding an apology for himself—it struck a chord deep within Kurosaki Rei.
For a moment, he was reminded of his own childhood. He, too, had once had a sect, senior sisters, and fellow disciples. The sincere bonds between them had been truly beautiful. Zenitsu made him recall those memories.
At that moment, he genuinely developed affection for this kind-hearted junior brother. From then on, protecting Zenitsu would no longer be just for the sake of a mission.
"If Senior Brother says so… then I'll try my best," Zenitsu said, smiling.
He had no intention of getting revenge on those people. He simply wanted them to acknowledge him, to acknowledge Grandpa's judgment, and stop saying that Grandpa taught nothing but useless disciples.
Kurosaki Rei took Zenitsu around the town to buy plenty of snacks. On the way back, while supporting Zenitsu, he quietly used Healing Dao to stabilize his injuries.
In truth, Zenitsu's injuries weren't serious to begin with. His attributes were what they were—those other trainees, even with Breathing, probably only had base attributes of eight or nine points, far inferior to Zenitsu.
Zenitsu hadn't been unable to fight them. He was just too kind, subconsciously holding back and refusing to strike hard. In reality, their punches and kicks had only caused superficial injuries.
Since explaining would have been troublesome, Kurosaki Rei only treated the injuries that healed slowly—reducing the swelling on Zenitsu's face. The rest would be fine after one night's sleep with Zenitsu's physique.
"What happened to you two?"
Seeing Kurosaki Rei and Zenitsu return, Kuwajima set down the ladle and frowned in confusion.
Zenitsu had only gone down the mountain—how did he come back black and blue? It couldn't have been demons. Mount Sagiri was a cultivation site, extremely well hidden. Given demons' intelligence-gathering abilities, they shouldn't know about this place.
"Grandpa… I…"
Zenitsu opened his mouth, embarrassed. He wasn't good at lying.
"Zenitsu practiced First Form too fast and accidentally ran into a tree," Kurosaki Rei said from the side, giving Zenitsu a look.
"Huh? Oh… that's how it is… I'm sorry, Grandpa. I'm just too stupid," Zenitsu said. Lying to his grandfather filled him with guilt, but he didn't want Grandpa to know why he had fought.
Kuwajima stared at the two of them for a few seconds, then relaxed.
"Come eat. The porridge smells wonderful today."
He could tell the two children were hiding something, but adults didn't need to know every secret children had. What mattered was that the two senior brothers looked happy right now—and that was enough.
Inside the small wooden cabin, the three sat around the fire. Steam rose from the hanging pot, warming the slight chill of early spring.
Kurosaki Rei, Zenitsu, and old Grandpa Kuwajima each held a bowl of porridge. Zenitsu kept switching hands because the bowl was hot. Kuwajima smiled as he watched him. Kurosaki Rei gently blew on the surface of his porridge, stirring faint wisps of steam.
For a moment, Kurosaki Rei felt dazed.
Once upon a time, he had also sat like this around a fire with his master and senior sister—his stomach rumbling as he waited for the food to finish cooking, his senior sister always ladling out the first bowl for him.
But they were all gone now.
🌟 The story is already written… waiting to be unleashed.
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