The valley wind carried a chill, lifting the hem of Tomioka Giyu's dark haori.
He stood behind a boulder, his gaze fixed on the figure not far away beneath the old locust tree—Tō.
That blue-haired boy was talking with Tanjiro, holding his sword single-handedly in a stance that looked clumsy yet determined, brimming with unyielding grit.
"Tō…"
The name surfaced in Giyu's mind without warning. His heart gave a faint, painful twitch, a hollow ache spreading through his chest.
He looked at Tō's empty left sleeve, and a hazy image flickered in his memory—
a young boy gripping a sword with both hands, smiling brightly as he said,
"Giyu Sensei, I learned Water Breathing, Third Form!"
Sunlight had fallen on that boy's blue hair, shining so vividly it almost hurt to look at.
The memory came and vanished just as quickly, wiped away by an unseen hand.
Giyu frowned slightly. A trace of confusion flickered through his dark-blue, slit-pupiled eyes.
Why did that boy stir something inside him?
Why did that name feel both familiar and painful?
At that moment, as if sensing something, Tō suddenly looked up toward the cliffs.
Their eyes met.
For a brief instant, Giyu froze.
In Tō's eyes, he saw surprise, longing, and something faintly sorrowful—an emotion that cut too deep to name.
Giyu's throat tightened. He wanted to speak, but no words came out.
The mark Muzan had branded in his mind burned faintly, warning him—do not approach, do not feel.
He gripped his Nichirin Sword, turned away, and disappeared swiftly into the shadows of the gorge without looking back.
Tō stood rooted in place, fingers trembling slightly.
He had seen Giyu—he was sure of it. Those eyes, that aura—it couldn't be anyone else.
"Tō, what's wrong?"
Tanjiro came up beside him, following his gaze, but all he saw was the empty valley.
"What did you see?"
"Nothing…"
Tō shook his head, forcing down his emotions and managing a faint smile.
"Maybe I was mistaken. Let's go back. The villagers are still waiting."
Tanjiro didn't press further. He simply patted Tō's shoulder.
He understood—Tō still carried thoughts of Giyu, just as he did.
Both of them were waiting for the day Giyu would awaken again.
…
A month later, the training grounds at the Demon Slayer Corps Headquarters were alive with noise and movement.
To strengthen the members' combat ability, the Master had organized Hashira Training—
each Hashira personally instructing slayers in breathing forms, swordsmanship, and battle tactics to enhance every aspect of their skill.
The wide field was divided into sections, each overseen by a Hashira.
Uniformed slayers stood in small groups according to their abilities, training in an orderly rhythm.
"Hey, blondie! Hurry up already! The great Inosuke-sama's gonna be late for that… that… Hashira… thingy!"
Inosuke stood at the entrance, Nichirin Blades slung across his shoulders, shouting at Zenitsu.
His black training uniform clung tightly to his muscular frame, sunlight catching the fresh bruises across his face—the trophies from his last sparring session with Tanjiro.
Zenitsu yawned, rubbing his messy hair. "What's the rush… we're training from sunrise to sunset anyway. I gotta rest or I'll have no strength left to train!"
He grumbled, but his steps quickened a little, his sword dangling loosely across his shoulder, its sheath still dusted with mud.
The two stopped beneath a sign that read Mist Hashira Training Area. Around them, more than a dozen slayers were waiting silently in line.
Zenitsu glanced around and muttered, "Didn't think Tokito-san would be the one training us… He doesn't talk much. I bet his training's gonna be brutal."
"Perfect!" Inosuke's eyes gleamed.
"That's how we get stronger! Last time we sparred, I couldn't even touch his clothes—but this time, I'll knock him flying!"
Just then, a pale-blue figure approached from the far end of the field—
Tokito Muichiro, the Mist Hashira, wearing his uniform with a wooden sword in hand, moving so lightly it was as if he floated across the ground.
He stopped before the trainees, his calm blue eyes sweeping over them.
"Everyone, split into two groups of five. We'll begin with basic evasion drills."
At once, the slayers moved into position. Zenitsu and Inosuke ended up in the same group, along with three unfamiliar teammates.
Muichiro pointed to a white circle drawn on the ground. "You'll stand inside this circle. I'll attack using a wooden sword.
You must dodge without leaving the circle. If you're hit, you fail—and anyone who fails trains for one extra hour."
"What?! We can't step out of the circle and we have to dodge?"
Zenitsu's drowsiness vanished instantly, his eyes going wide.
One of the slayers muttered nervously,
"Tokito-san, that's way too hard! You're so fast—how are we supposed to dodge you?"
Muichiro didn't answer. He simply lifted his wooden sword and said to the first group, "Ready? Begin."
The instant the five stepped into the circle, Muichiro's figure blurred.
His speed was inhuman—his movements leaving faint misty trails as his strikes flowed like drifting clouds.
The trainees scrambled to evade, but within moments, several were tapped by the wooden blade.
Three failed quickly and could only sigh in frustration, stepping aside for extra drills.
"Next group."
Muichiro's voice stayed calm and steady as his gaze shifted to Zenitsu and Inosuke's team.
Inosuke jumped into the circle at once, fists clenched and eager. "Let's go! I'm ready for this!"
Zenitsu stepped in slowly, praying under his breath not to get hit.
Muichiro raised his wooden sword again—this time faster than before.
"Mist Breathing, First Form: Low Clouds, Distant Haze."
His sword traced a soft arc, aiming at Inosuke's shoulder.
Inosuke had already braced himself. He twisted left just in time, narrowly dodging the strike.
But before Inosuke could steady his footing, the wooden blade suddenly changed direction, slicing toward his waist—
a modified strike from Mist Breathing!
"Damn it!"
He bent sharply at the waist as the wooden sword grazed his back, stirring a gust of wind.
Just as he straightened up, he saw the blade swing toward Zenitsu and shouted, "Blondie! Watch out!"
Zenitsu had been staring in Inosuke's direction, completely unaware of the attack.
In the blink of an eye—just as the strike was about to hit—his body moved on instinct.
"Thunder Breathing, First Form: Thunderclap and Flash (Simplified)!"
It wasn't as fast as his usual Godlike Speed, but it was quick enough. In an instant, he dodged to the other side of the circle.
Muichiro's expression flickered slightly, but he didn't stop. The wooden blade flowed again, weaving between the trainees like drifting fog.
Zenitsu and Inosuke fought to keep up, dodging with all their strength. The other three trainees were quickly struck and forced to step aside, leaving only the two of them standing.
"Not bad."
Muichiro lowered his sword to his side.
"Your reactions are sharp—especially you, Zenitsu. Your instinctive evasion is impressive, but you lack active prediction.
Inosuke, your power is solid, but you charge too recklessly, which exposes your openings."
He lifted his wooden sword and demonstrated calmly.
"The essence of Mist Breathing is concealment. You must move in ways your opponent can't predict.
Evasion doesn't rely only on speed—watch the shoulders and neck.
Before every swing, there's always a small motion there. Catch that, and you'll dodge before the strike even comes."
Both of them listened intently. Muichiro's movements were minimal, but his explanation was sharp and precise.
Zenitsu tried observing the subtle shifts around Muichiro's neck and shoulders—and sure enough, he noticed the faint dip of the right shoulder before each swing.
Inosuke, meanwhile, worked on controlling his impulses, adjusting his steps based on those subtle signs instead of dodging blindly.
For the next two hours, they drilled evasion and prediction.
Zenitsu still grumbled from time to time, but he no longer slacked off. Each dodge became cleaner, sharper.
Inosuke reined in his wildness, gradually mastering preemptive reads—occasionally even dodging two of Muichiro's consecutive attacks in a row.
By midday, during their break, the two sat under a tree, eating rice balls from their packs.
Cheers rose from the direction of the Storm Hashira Training Area. They both turned to look.
There stood Tō, dressed in the Storm Hashira's uniform, sparring one-handed against a trainee.
His movements were far more refined than a month ago. His footwork was light, his blade precise—each swing both evasive and countering, flowing in rhythm.
It was clear he'd mastered Uzui's musical score technique well.
"Didn't think Tō would actually become the Storm Hashira," Zenitsu murmured.
"He lost an arm… but he's even stronger now."
"Of course!" Inosuke said proudly through a mouthful of rice.
"That blue-haired idiot fought beside us! When I perfect my prediction, I'm challenging him next—see who's really stronger!"
Zenitsu chuckled and shook his head, his gaze shifting toward the Flame Hashira Training Area.
There was no Kyojuro there—only Shinjuro, holding the Flame Hashira's Nichirin Sword as he guided other trainees.
Zenitsu's chest tightened for a moment at the sight, but he took a steady breath.
They were training now—for Kyojuro's sake, to make sure his sacrifice was never in vain.
In the afternoon, the focus turned to sparring.
Trainees paired off, wooden swords clashing across the field. Muichiro observed quietly, stepping in occasionally to correct their forms.
Zenitsu and Inosuke were matched together—speed versus strength, each challenging the other with equal intensity.
Zenitsu no longer relied purely on reflexes; he used shoulder and neck cues to anticipate attacks, sometimes countering with Thunderclap and Flash.
Inosuke no longer lunged blindly, tempering his force to find Zenitsu's openings.
"Good. You've both improved," Muichiro said as he approached them.
"Zenitsu, your Thunder Breathing can still move faster. Once you predict the strike, don't wait for the attack—strike first.
Inosuke, your Beast Breathing can integrate more footwork—your attacks will flow better that way."
He paused, then glanced toward Tō training in the distance.
"You can both learn from Tō's new musical score. Record the rhythm of your opponent's attacks, shape it like a musical score.
Once you can read the rhythm, you can handle anyone—no matter who they are."
Zenitsu and Inosuke nodded firmly, each with renewed determination.
By evening, the day's training drew to a close.
Everyone was exhausted, yet the air was full of energy. Smiles and laughter rippled across the field.
Tō approached them, smiling lightly. "How was training today? Don't tell me you slacked off, Zenitsu?"
"I did not!" Zenitsu shot back, puffing his chest.
"I've mastered evasion now—next time, I'll beat you for sure!"
Inosuke stood up and raised a fist. "Tō! When I finish this training, we're fighting again! And I'm not losing this time!"
Tō laughed. "Alright, I'll be waiting."
He turned toward Muichiro and bowed respectfully.
"Thank you, Muichiro-san, for training them."
Muichiro gave a slight nod, saying nothing, before walking off toward the headquarters—he still had his own sparring with the other Hashira to attend.
Zenitsu and Inosuke followed Tō toward the Butterfly Mansion.
The sunset stretched their shadows long across the ground. The field quieted, leaving only the sound of wind brushing through the trees.
Zenitsu glanced at his friends and smiled softly. For the first time, he thought—training might be exhausting, but it was fulfilling.
…
Far away, in the Infinity Castle, Tomioka Giyu stood within a vast dojo, blades clashing with Kokushibo.
His swordsmanship grew sharper by the day—yet every so often,
he would see that blue-haired boy's eyes again in his mind,
and the sunlight beneath that old locust tree.
He didn't understand what that feeling was.
He only knew that, step by step,
he was drawing closer to the person once called Tomioka Giyu.