When Tomioka Giyu began his journey back, dawn was just breaking.
Dew from the forest grass dampened the cuffs of his pants, carrying the cool, crisp scent unique to early morning.
He didn't rush, instead keeping a steady rhythm in his breathing, letting the flow of Water Breathing move naturally through his body.
The battle with that Lower Moon demon had ended too easily—so much so that it almost felt unreal. Yet the familiar weight of the sword in his hand and the clarity with which he'd read every motion reminded him that this so-called increase in talent was no illusion.
After walking for about two hours, he heard the sound of flapping wings overhead.
The Kasugai Crow that handled his missions descended from the sky, landing on a nearby branch. It tilted its head to preen a feather before croaking in its usual hoarse voice:
"Tomioka Giyu! Target confirmed—Lower Moon demon eliminated! Message has been sent to headquarters! Performance adequate! Maintain this efficiency!"
After giving its report, the crow flapped upward, circling twice above him as if to check his condition, then turned and flew off in the direction of Demon Slayer Corps headquarters.
Lower Moon demon.
Giyu didn't slow his steps.
In his previous life, his first time killing a Lower Moon had taken nearly six months, and it had been a desperate, near-death battle.
Now, taking down one felt as easy as slicing through water.
He knew part of it came from the improvement in his swordsmanship talent—but even more, it came from the combat experience he carried from the future.
He knew demons' weaknesses.
He knew exactly how to apply breathing techniques for maximum efficiency.
He knew the timing, the perfect instant to strike and kill in a single blow.
That kind of experience was something a sixteen-year-old body could never have achieved alone.
He didn't waste time thinking about what the headquarters would make of his report.
Praise from the Hashira or talk among other swordsmen—none of it mattered to him.
He just wanted to return to that place.
Pushing through the final stretch of dense forest, the familiar sound of a waterfall drifted through the wind.
The roar of water crashing against rock grew louder, the air thick with mist and the scent of fresh grass.
Urokodaki Sakonji's training house stood on the flat ground downstream from the falls.
The wooden house looked old, its roof covered in a thick layer of moss.
In front of it, the training yard still held several wooden posts scarred with deep cuts, and a few rusted buckets lay scattered nearby.
Everything was exactly as he remembered.
Giyu stopped before the door. His chest tightened faintly.
He thought back to the years after the battle in the Infinity Castle—when the war was over, and the Demon Slayer Corps had been dissolved.
Every now and then, he would return to visit his teacher, Urokodaki.
The old man no longer took on apprentices. His days were quiet—sitting under the eaves in the sun or meditating by the waterfall.
The tengu mask was long gone, revealing a face lined with age but peaceful and content.
He remembered arriving one evening, finding his teacher sitting at the doorstep with a bamboo fishing rod in hand, apparently just back from the river.
The setting sun bathed his white hair in a warm golden glow.
When Urokodaki heard footsteps, he turned, smiling faintly, and handed him a small bamboo basket filled with several hand-sized fish.
"Good catch today. Let's eat together."
Back then, Urokodaki's wrinkles had softened with ease—no longer the strict mentor he once was, no longer weighed down by the loss of Sabito and Makomo.
He had truly found peace.
But now, the Urokodaki Sakonji standing behind this door was still the strict teacher—still wearing that tengu mask, still carrying the silent burden of worry for his students.
Giyu took a deep breath and stepped forward, knocking softly on the door.
"Master, it's me—Tomioka Giyu."
The door slid open almost immediately.
Urokodaki stood there, face hidden behind the familiar tengu mask, dressed in a plain gray kimono, a simple hemp rope tied around his waist.
His eyes swept over Giyu from head to toe, checking for injuries. Only after confirming he was unharmed did he step aside.
"Come in."
His voice, muffled slightly by the mask, carried a deeper resonance than Giyu remembered—firm, steady, commanding.
Giyu entered the room.
The furnishings were simple: a low table, a few cushions, and scrolls and books piled in the corner—records of breathing techniques and swordsmanship.
The faint scent of ink and wood filled the air.
Urokodaki sat beside the low table, motioning for Giyu to sit.
He didn't speak right away. Instead, he poured two cups of warm tea from the kettle and slid one toward Giyu.
"Mission complete?"
"Yes," Giyu replied, accepting the cup with both hands. "I slew a demon—suspected to be a Lower Moon."
He spoke calmly, as if it were nothing significant.
But Urokodaki's fingers, resting lightly on the table, twitched slightly.
He was silent for a few moments before saying quietly, "Your Kasugai Crow already reported."
Giyu looked up, meeting the dark, unreadable eyes behind the mask.
"It said the target was confirmed—a Lower Moon demon."
Urokodaki's tone was measured, almost flat, but beneath it, there was a subtle tremor—something rare in the usually composed man.
"From the time you passed the Final Selection and became a Demon Slayer to now, it's only been a year and a half."
Giyu's hand tightened around the teacup, though he didn't answer.
"Giyu," Urokodaki said, leaning forward slightly, his voice firm.
"Do you understand what that means?"
"…Yes," Giyu said quietly.
"The strength of a Lower Moon demon is far beyond that of an ordinary one."
"Not just that."
Urokodaki Sakonji shook his head.
"In the entire Demon Slayer Corps, a swordsman who can slay a Lower Moon within a year of becoming a slayer is something that happens once in a hundred years. Even the current Stone Hashira, blessed with immense natural strength, took three whole months."
Tomioka Giyu froze for a moment.
He knew his speed this time had been far beyond reason, but he hadn't expected it to reach the level of being once in a century.
So this was the combined result of his enhanced talent and the experience he'd brought from the future.
"Have you fully mastered all the forms of Water Breathing I taught you?" Urokodaki asked.
"Every form is proficient," Giyu replied truthfully.
In his previous life, at this point, he had only just mastered the Fifth Form. Now, with his deeper understanding of the essence of breathing, his progress had far surpassed before.
Urokodaki was silent for a long time—so long that Giyu almost thought he wouldn't speak again.
Then he finally said, voice tinged with rare emotion, "Good. Very good."
After a pause, he continued, "Your Kasugai Crow also said your swordsmanship is calm and mature—completely unlike a novice. Your draw speed is exceptional, your strikes precise, and you're able to avoid a demon's counterattack in an instant."
Giyu's chest tightened.
He realized that what he'd shown in Nanae Town had indeed exceeded what a sixteen-year-old swordsman should be capable of. Suspicion would be natural.
But Urokodaki didn't press the matter. He simply sighed softly. "Giyu, you've never disappointed me."
Something constricted in Giyu's throat.
"From the first time you picked up a wooden sword," Urokodaki said quietly, "I knew you were a gifted child. But I never imagined you would grow at this pace."
He lifted his hand, as if to pat Giyu's shoulder, then hesitated—and let it fall.
"You are my pride."
The words struck Giyu's heart like a heavy stone.
In his previous life, he had never heard his teacher say anything like that.
The old man had always been strict. Even after Giyu became the Water Hashira, his comments had been limited to "Not enough" or "Keep improving."
He had always assumed, deep down, that in his teacher's eyes, he could never match the perfection of Sabito.
But now, those words—clear, firm, and sincere—came from behind the mask.
Giyu lowered his head, staring at the tea rippling in his cup. "…Thank you, Sensei."
Urokodaki seemed to smile. Though the mask hid his expression, Giyu could feel the faint warmth in his tone.
"Headquarters will likely act soon," Urokodaki said. "With your current strength and the record of slaying a Lower Moon, it won't be long before you're summoned there—and appointed as a Hashira."
The Water Hashira.
Giyu wasn't surprised.
If his strength already matched the rank, the promotion was only natural.
Becoming a Hashira meant access to the Corps' core operations—information, authority, and the power to protect those he had once lost.
"Yes," he said evenly.
"Water Hashira…"
Urokodaki murmured as if recalling old memories.
"Once, I held that title too. But compared to you, my talent was nothing remarkable."
Giyu lifted his gaze, about to speak, but Urokodaki interrupted him.
"You know, Giyu," his voice turned distant, like speaking across time, "your talent has reached a level that even I can hardly comprehend."
"When I was young, the elders used to tell stories of the Sengoku era. Back then, the Demon Slayer Corps overflowed with prodigies—swordsmen whose brilliance shook the world. The breathing styles we use today are the legacy they left behind."
"I always thought those days were long gone. That no one would ever reach such heights again."
His gaze fell on Giyu—measured, but filled with awe.
"But now, I see that I was wrong. You… remind me of those legends. Your talent is something that could stand beside the heroes of the Sengoku era."
Giyu's heart skipped a beat.
He had never expected such words.
In his past life, his strength had come from relentless discipline, not raw genius.
But now—thanks to that mysterious "gift"—his talent had been magnified to the extreme, enough for his teacher to compare him with the most legendary swordsmen in history.
It made him uneasy… yet also quietly confident.
With this talent—and his knowledge of the future—perhaps he really could change things.
"You praise me too much, Sensei," he said softly.
Urokodaki waved a hand, dismissing the subject.
"Enough of that," he said, rising and walking toward the window. The steady roar of the waterfall filled the silence.
"You've just returned. Rest for today. Tomorrow, I'll resume your training—and make it even stricter. You may be strong, but you're still a step away from truly being a Hashira."
"Yes."
Giyu stood, bowed deeply. "Thank you, Sensei."
Urokodaki didn't turn around, only lifted a hand slightly in acknowledgment, signaling that he could go.
Giyu stepped outside, sliding the door shut behind him.
Sunlight spilled over the courtyard, and the waterfall roared on as always.
He stood under the eaves, gazing at the forest glowing gold in the morning light, and drew a deep breath.
To become the Water Hashira…
That meant he would soon meet the other Hashira—Rengoku Kyojuro, still young and blazing with passion; Kocho Shinobu, still alive; Himejima Gyomei, unwavering as ever; and Uzui Tengen, his ever-competitive rival.
He wondered how they would react to seeing someone so young already stand among them.
But it didn't matter.
He had only one thought now—become stronger.
Strong enough to protect everyone important to him this time.
Giyu walked to the clearing before the house and drew his Nichirin Sword.
The sunlight struck the blade, sending a cold gleam through the air.
He assumed the starting stance of Water Breathing, inhaled deeply.
The path of the flowing water appeared in his mind, every motion perfectly clear.
First Form: Water Surface Slash.
The blade flashed—swift as lightning.
This time, he swore, there would be no regrets left behind.