Tomioka Giyu stood in the Kamado family's yard. Tanjuro had already gone back inside to rest, and the morning sun stretched Giyu's shadow long across the snow.
He raised his hand, imitating Tanjuro's opening stance from memory—right hand curled in an invisible grip, slowly lifting upward.
But halfway through, something felt wrong.
It wasn't that the movement itself was difficult—it was his breathing.
Tanjuro's breaths had been deep and steady, perfectly in rhythm with the wind. But the moment Giyu moved, his body instinctively followed the rhythm of Water Breathing—sharp inhalations, forceful exhalations—an entirely different current.
When he tried to slow it down, the motion turned stiff and awkward, like rusted metal grinding to move.
"Haah…"
He let out a long breath, chest tight.
He reset his stance, closed his eyes, and forced himself to recall every detail of Tanjuro's form—the placement of his feet, the rotation of his hips, even the faint tremor of his fingertips.
He tried again.
Right foot forward, body sinking, right hand tracing a slow upward arc.
This time, he focused on slowing his breath—drawing the air deep into his abdomen, exhaling in a controlled flow.
The movement was smoother than before, but it still felt wrong—like something thin and invisible separated him from that rhythm, that pulse that resonated with the air itself.
Sun Breathing looked simple, yet every shift hid a subtle release of power.
When Tanjuro raised his arm, his shoulders barely moved; the force flowed from his core through his arm to his fingertips, seamless and whole.
But when Giyu tried, his shoulders tensed, and the strength caught halfway, leaking away before it reached his hands.
He practiced over and over, moving from Dance to Clear Blue Sky, then to Raging Sun.
Each motion he repeated dozens of times—until his arms burned, his muscles trembled, and his breathing scattered like a dying flame in the wind. Still, he couldn't complete a single full cycle smoothly.
Sweat soaked through his back, and when the cold wind hit, it sent a shiver down his spine.
He stopped, staring at his trembling hand, brows furrowed tightly.
Was this the true difficulty of the original Breathing? He had memorized every trajectory, every breath—and yet, that effortless harmony felt out of reach.
"So it's really not that simple," he muttered under his breath.
But there was no frustration in his voice—only a quiet spark of resolve.
The harder it was, the more he wanted to master it.
Just then, a flapping sound broke the stillness above.
A black crow swooped down, landing on the woodpile in front of him. Its claws gripped a small bamboo tube.
"Tomioka Giyu! Urgent mission!" the crow croaked in its hoarse voice. "Southeast, in Hieda Town! Villagers have vanished at night—multiple cases! Suspected demon activity! Depart immediately!"
Giyu reached out, taking the bamboo tube and opening it.
Inside was a folded slip of coded paper. The message matched the crow's report—five people missing so far, the latest disappearance just last night. The only clue left was a pool of dark red blood beneath the eaves.
"Understood," Giyu said quietly.
He tucked the message into his haori and turned toward the house. He needed to say goodbye—and retrieve his Nichirin Sword.
In the kitchen, Kamado Kie was preparing breakfast. When she heard he was leaving, she hurried to pack several rice balls and pressed them into his hands. "Eat on the way. The mountains are cold—don't go hungry."
"Thank you," Giyu said, bowing slightly as he accepted them.
Tanjuro didn't come out—he was likely still resting.
Giyu slung his Nichirin Sword across his back and set off quickly down the path out of the village.
The sun had risen higher, and the snowfields glared bright white under its reflection.
He checked his bearings and started toward Hieda Town, southeast.
The journey took about three hours.
At the town's entrance stood a crooked wooden sign with the faded characters for "Hieda" carved into it, the old paint peeling away.
Unlike the other mountain villages in Echigo, Hieda was eerily quiet.
Not the dead silence that followed a massacre, but something else—an uneasy, watchful stillness.
The streets were empty. The houses were shut tight, windows barred. Not even the elderly, who usually sat outside in the sun, were in sight.
Only a few thin, starving dogs lay curled in the corners. When Giyu passed, they barely flicked their eyes open, too weary even to bark.
He slowed his pace, his right hand unconsciously drifting to the hilt of his sword.
Something was wrong.
It was too quiet—so quiet it felt deliberate, as if everyone was hiding from something.
He stopped in front of a shop with a faded sign that read "Rice Store" and knocked on the door. "Is anyone here? I'm here to investigate the disappearances."
No response.
He knocked again, harder this time. "I know villagers have gone missing recently. I've come to handle it."
Still no answer.
But Giyu could feel it—there were people breathing behind the door. More than one.
He frowned and turned toward another shop. The result was the same. No matter how hard he knocked or called out, the people inside pretended no one was there.
Now and then, a window would crack open just a sliver, revealing a wary pair of eyes. The moment they spotted the sword at his waist, the window would snap shut again.
It was strange.
Not like the terrified villagers he'd seen in other towns, nor like the desperate ones who begged for the Demon Slayer Corps' help. This was… rejection.
As if his presence was more terrifying than the demon's.
Giyu walked on. At the center of the town stood a water well, a bucket still resting by its edge, damp and recently used.
He stood beside it, glancing around, and suddenly remembered something Shinobu once said.
"Giyu-san, everyone always seems to dislike you, huh?"
She had said it in that teasing tone of hers after bandaging up a wounded slayer. "At every Hashira meeting, no one dares talk to you much, you know?"
He had stayed silent back then, but deep inside, a faint irritation had stirred.
Was it the same now?
He looked down at his reflection in the well—the deep-blue haori, the cold, distant face. No warmth there at all.
But he was here to save people. So why were they treating him like this?
"I'm not hated," he muttered softly, as if trying to convince himself.
His voice was quiet, but stubborn.
He stopped trying to talk to the townsfolk and started his own search.
According to the report, the last missing person had vanished near the western alley of the town.
Giyu headed straight there.
The alley was narrow, the walls on both sides scarred and cracked.
On the ground, faint drag marks stretched across the dirt, as if someone had been pulled into a nearby house.
He stopped at the door of that house—it was half open, the interior swallowed in shadow.
When he pushed it wider, a damp, moldy smell rolled out.
Inside was nothing but a few broken chairs, a low table, and a pile of dry straw in the corner.
He searched carefully but found no bloodstains, no scent of a demon.
That was odd.
Where demons lingered, the air always carried a faint sweetness of blood and decay—even if cleaned, traces always remained.
But here—it was spotless. Too clean.
He checked several other sites where victims had disappeared. Each one was the same.
No demonic aura. No struggle marks. Not even signs of resistance. It was as if the people had vanished willingly.
Standing on a slope at the eastern edge of Hieda Town, Giyu looked down at the village.
The sun was already dipping westward, but the place remained eerily silent. Every door and window was still shut tight. Only thin trails of smoke from the chimneys showed that people still lived here.
This demon was clever.
It not only snatched victims without a sound—it erased every trace.
And the villagers' behavior was even stranger. They were hiding something—or perhaps fearing something—something greater than the demon itself.
Giyu touched the rice balls tucked in his haori. He hadn't eaten. He decided to wait another night.
Demons moved best under darkness. And if this one specialized in stealth, it would surely appear after midnight.
He climbed onto a rooftop, finding a shadowed spot to conceal himself.
As night fell, even the smoke from the chimneys disappeared, and the town sank into total darkness.
No lights. No sound. It was like a dead city.
Time passed slowly. The moon rose high overhead, spilling cold silver light over the roofs.
Giyu stayed still, senses sharpened to their limit, alert to the faintest movement.
The wind. The insects. The distant roar of beasts from the forest.
But not a single sign of a demon.
By the time the horizon brightened with the first trace of dawn, the night had remained utterly silent. Not even a suspicious insect had stirred.
Giyu leapt down from the rooftop, landing softly on the frost-covered ground.
His brows furrowed deeper.
No demon.
That didn't make sense.
Given the pattern of disappearances and the signs left behind, the demon should still be nearby.
He cast one last look over Hieda Town. The place was waking—faint noises, doors opening just a crack, eyes peering out at him, only to slam shut again the instant they met his gaze.
That rejection felt stronger than before.
He turned and left without another word.
He needed to return to headquarters. Tanaka Hei and the others could dig into the town's background.
This place was too strange. There was definitely a secret buried here.
And the truth behind this demon—whatever it was—might be far more complex than it seemed.
His hand brushed the cold sheath of his Nichirin Sword.
He hadn't found the demon, but there was an unease in the air he couldn't shake.
Like a hidden current beneath a calm surface—something moving, unseen.
He picked up his pace. There was still much to do.
He couldn't pause his training in the Dance of the Fire God. The demons in Echigo weren't yet eradicated. He needed to keep an eye on Kocho Kanae's region too.
His path was still long, and time was short.
And this mystery in Hieda Town—it was just one of many knots that needed unraveling.
Someday, he would return.
He promised himself silently.
When that day came, he would uncover the truth—about this village, and the demon hiding within it.