"Yeah—what's wrong with that?"
Kazuki replied matter-of-factly when he saw Tanjiro's reaction.
To him, it was something anyone could do. But his words nearly scared Tanjiro out of his wits.
Is Yō planning to dissect me…?
"Isn't that… impossible?" Tanjiro asked seriously.
Kazuki was the one who looked confused now. He asked back, genuinely puzzled,
"Isn't it something you can do as long as you concentrate enough? You observe the flow of blood, the operation of the organs, the contraction and expansion of muscles—then you can predict the opponent's next move."
Tanjiro was completely lost. He had no idea what Kazuki was talking about.
Seeing the confusion still written all over Tanjiro's face, Kazuki finally sensed that something was off.
…Don't tell me other people can't do this?
"You can't see it?" Kazuki continued.
"You can't see the internal structure of my body, the things I just described? It's like entering a transparent world—where the essence of all living things becomes perfectly clear to your eyes.
"And at the same time, your own presence fades, becoming hard for others to sense."
A transparent world… presence fading…
Hearing those words, something stirred in Tanjiro's memories.
"You saw it, didn't you?"
A familiar voice echoed from deep within his mind.
Fragments of the past surfaced.
Under a moonlit sky, facing a massive bear nearly nine shaku tall, Tanjūrō held an axe and leapt high into the air. In the freezing winter night, his breath formed a white arc in the air.
In the next instant—accompanied by the soft jingle of bells—the bear's head dropped onto the snow with a dull thud, followed by its body collapsing heavily to the ground.
Tanjūrō landed calmly.
From beginning to end, Tanjiro remembered, his father never wavered. There was no fear, no hesitation—no killing intent at all. He stood there quietly in the snow, like a plant rooted in the earth.
"You saw it, didn't you?"
Tanjūrō had turned to him and said.
"Never forget what you just saw."
What was Dad trying to show me back then?
He was never the type to show off his strength.
Could it be… what Yō is describing now is exactly what Dad wanted me to see?
Was he teaching me how to see that transparent world?
"Tanjiro! Tanjiro!"
Kazuki waved his hand in front of Tanjiro's eyes, calling his name loudly.
Ever since he'd finished speaking, Tanjiro had been standing there motionless, completely unresponsive. Kazuki was starting to think Tanjiro had gone into some kind of trance—and was seriously considering slapping him awake.
Looks like there's no choice… Tanjiro, don't blame me. This is for your own good.
Kazuki slowly raised his right hand, steeling himself.
Just as he was about to swing—
"Yō, what are you doing?"
Tanjiro snapped back to his senses and looked at Kazuki's raised hand in confusion.
"Oh, you're awake—that's good. I was just about to help you wake up,"
Kazuki said, relieved, lowering his hand.
How exactly were you planning to 'help' me wake up?!
Tanjiro felt a wave of delayed fear.
"Yō… the world you see is different from ours," Tanjiro said seriously.
"So you really can't see what I was talking about?" Kazuki asked.
Tanjiro nodded, then continued,
"My father… he seemed able to see the same transparent world as you. He could also make his presence fade—like a plant that no one notices.
"There was one time…"
Tanjiro told Kazuki about the memory he had just recalled.
"I think what my father wanted me to see back then was exactly that transparent world you're talking about," Tanjiro said, his voice tinged with regret.
"But even now that I understand it… I still can't do it."
After hearing Tanjiro's story, Kazuki realized that his ability to see the Transparent World was a matter of innate talent. It wasn't something everyone possessed.
And because of that, even if he wanted to teach Tanjiro how to see it, he simply couldn't.
"I believe that someday, you'll definitely be able to see that world too,"
Kazuki said, patting Tanjiro on the shoulder in consolation.
"Yeah!" Tanjiro replied at once, his spirit reignited.
"I'll work even harder! I'll master everything my father taught me!"
"Then show me Hinokami Kagura now," Tanjiro said.
"I'll demonstrate it for you."
"Alright. If I notice anything, I'll tell you," Kazuki nodded.
Tanjiro walked to the center of the training ground and was just about to draw his blade when he suddenly remembered—
"…My Nichirin Blade broke during the battle on Natagumo Mountain."
He scratched his head, looking at Kazuki with an embarrassed smile.
"Use mine for now," Kazuki said, understanding immediately, and handed over his Nichirin Blade.
"Thank you," Tanjiro said, taking it and drawing the sword.
Kazuki stood to the side, his gaze fixed on Tanjiro, observing his condition.
Recalling the Kagura dances and breathing technique his father had taught him, Tanjiro closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
At that moment, Kazuki—observing Tanjiro's body through the Transparent World—felt a jolt of surprise.
This breathing pattern… why is it so similar to mine?
There are differences, but only very subtle ones.
Kazuki kept the thought to himself for now. Tanjiro had only just begun—there were still too many unknowns.
Unaware of Kazuki's inner reaction, Tanjiro entered his state and began to perform Hinokami Kagura.
With Tanjiro's breathing, crimson flames surged up along the obsidian-black blade, enveloping the entire sword.
"Hinokami Kagura—Enbu!"
Tanjiro slashed forward, releasing a flaming arc of fire. The scorching heat warped the air itself.
That's it… Sun Breathing.
It's fundamentally the same as my breathing style—the manifestation is identical.
And—
What exquisite swordsmanship.
Simple, practical, perfectly mobilizing the entire body to maximize power—while remaining beautiful in motion.
The one who created these forms was without question a peerless powerhouse, standing at the very pinnacle.
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