Chapter 55: The Collision of Thunder and Fire
Akira raised the sakuramochi to his lips and took a light bite. The outer layer of mochi was delicately soft yet pleasantly chewy, giving way to a plump filling of sweet red bean paste. The glutinous rice skin, however, perfectly balanced the sweetness, preventing it from becoming cloying. After he swallowed, a faint, elegant fragrance of cherry blossoms lingered on his palate, leaving a wonderful aftertaste.
Whether in his past life or this one, Akira had never been particularly interested in desserts, but the sakuramochi from this little shop had single-handedly changed his mind.
No wonder that girl was eating so intently, he thought with a faint smile. Judging by the shop owner's fond reaction, she was clearly a regular—practically the shop's unofficial, and most enthusiastic, spokesperson.
Finishing the sweet treat in a few more bites, Akira turned and left, resuming his search for a place to have a proper meal. As delicious as the sakuramochi was, he couldn't bring himself to treat it as a full lunch. Though the girl in the shop was almost certainly the same sweet, powerful girl from the original story, Akira had no intention of approaching her just yet.
Filling his stomach was the priority. If anything, the small dessert had only succeeded in whetting his appetite.
He knew who she was, of course. Kanroji Mitsuri. A girl born with a divine, almost unbelievable strength, her muscles eight times denser than that of a normal person. A girl whose naturally black hair had transformed into its current vibrant pink-and-green gradient from a long-term diet consisting of massive amounts of sakuramochi.
But in Akira's eyes, none of that was what truly defined her. The most significant thing was that, in the original story, she was one of the very few members of the Demon Slayer Corps who came from a happy, loving family, with no personal grudge against demons, yet chose to join the fight anyway.
Because of her terrifying, almost monstrous strength, her unusual hair color, and her staggering appetite, Mitsuri had been rejected time and again by the men she'd tried to date. Most of them were simply insecure, their chauvinistic pride unable to accept a woman who so effortlessly surpassed them in physical power. Still, their rejections had deeply wounded the kind and innocent girl.
She had initially stumbled into the Demon Slayer Corps by accident, hoping only to find a strong man who wouldn't be intimidated by her strength, her hair, or her appetite—a man with whom she could finally have the sweet romance she dreamed of. In time, however, her inherently kind heart transformed her into a steadfast warrior, a pillar of the Corps who would ultimately give her life for the cause.
As he walked, replaying her story in his mind, Akira found a promising restaurant and stepped inside to eat.
His timing wasn't the best; the restaurant had a good reputation and was bustling with patrons. All the private rooms were occupied, so he settled for a seat at a table facing the street.
The sheer volume of food that soon piled up on his table—a full spread of steaming dishes—caused more than a few passersby to stop and stare through the window.
Akira was used to it. This was hardly his first time eating out since his appetite had grown. If people wanted to watch, he let them. It wasn't as if he was losing anything.
He had to admit, the restaurant's popularity was well-earned. The food was excellent, yet the prices were reasonable. It was the kind of place anyone living in the town could afford to treat themselves to once in a while.
After a hearty and satisfying meal, Akira paid his bill and left, continuing his journey toward the Rengoku family home. As he stepped out, however, his gaze caught a flash of familiar pink-and-green hair, nearly lost in the crowd of onlookers who had gathered.
He simply noted the coincidence with a slight shake of his head and moved on.
Leaving the town behind, he walked along a flat, well-trodden road for a short while before the Rengoku family residence came into view. The estate was built just outside the town, standing alone with no other buildings around it. Its pristine, snow-white brick walls seemed to create an invisible barrier, discouraging those who couldn't afford to live in town and resided in simple mud huts from building anywhere near it, as if they feared offending some untouchable, powerful figure.
The reason for the isolation, of course, was to avoid exposing the existence of Breathing Techniques and the Demon Slayer Corps to the general public.
Akira reached the courtyard gate and found it wide open. Inside, a young man who looked about his own age was swinging a wooden sword with powerful, focused movements. His features were a youthful echo of Shinjuro Rengoku's, as if carved from the same determined mold.
This, naturally, was Rengoku Kyojuro.
Just as Akira saw him, the other boy spotted Akira standing at the gate.
"Excuse me, sir! Is there something I can help you with?" Kyojuro immediately set his wooden sword aside and strode over. His voice was bright and full of energy, yet his manner was impeccably polite, his enthusiasm genuine rather than overbearing.
"My name is Kanzaki Akira," he replied with a small smile, looking at the not-yet-fully-grown Kyojuro. A flicker of complex emotion crossed his eyes. "I've come to visit Senior Shinjuro Rengoku. I sent a letter ahead to announce my visit."
In his past life, the clip that had first drawn him into the world of demon slayers was from the Mugen Train arc. The "Big Brother" who had protected the lives of every single person on that train, sacrificing only himself, had left an indelible mark on his soul.
Fortunately, it's still early, Akira reminded himself, a quiet resolve hardening within him. There's still time to change things.
The tragedies that had befallen Master Urokodaki's disciples and the Kocho family had already been rewritten. In the future, he was certain he could change even more.
"You're Senior Kanzaki?" Kyojuro's eyes lit up with recognition and awe. "Please, come in!" He quickly moved to lead Akira into the house, his tone growing even more respectful. It wasn't just because of Akira's status as a Hashira, but out of genuine admiration for the talent and strength he represented.
"Father! Senior Kanzaki has arrived!" Kyojuro called out as he guided Akira inside, his voice carrying toward the backyard where Shinjuro was also practicing.
"Haha! Young Kanzaki, you've finally arrived! I've been looking forward to this for a long time!"
The moment Kyojuro finished speaking, Shinjuro's powerful figure came jogging over from the back, a wide, booming grin on his face.
"As long as Senior Rengoku doesn't mind the intrusion," Akira said with a polite bow.
"Eh, no need for all that formality with me!" Shinjuro waved a dismissive hand. "Come, come! Let's go spar a bit. I'm very curious to see the strength of the genius that old Kuwajima praised to the heavens."
In private, Shinjuro was even more boisterous and informal than he had been at the Hashira Meeting. He completely ignored the usual pleasantries, grabbing Akira by the arm and pulling him toward the backyard. Akira was more than happy to oblige; he had never been fond of excessive etiquette or restrictive rules in either of his lives.
"Kyojuro, you come watch, too," Shinjuro called over his shoulder. "See for yourself what a true genius looks like!"
"Yes, Father!"
Arriving in the spacious backyard, Shinjuro handed Akira a wooden sword and took one for himself, immediately stepping back to create distance and settling into a powerful stance.
"Young Kanzaki, are you ready?" he asked, his eyes gleaming with anticipation.
"Come, Senior Rengoku."
"Good!"
"Flame Breathing, First Form: Unknowing Fire!"
With a deafening roar, Shinjuro lunged. The technique was a charging thrust, similar in principle to Thunder Breathing's First Form. While it lacked the absolute, blinding speed of Thunderclap and Flash, it more than compensated with its superior attack range and explosive, overwhelming power. Wreathed in a vortex of imagined flames, Shinjuro crossed the several meters between them in an instant, his blade aimed straight for Akira's chest.
"Thunder Breathing, Second Form: Rice Spirit."
Akira had no intention of dodging. Relying on his preternatural vision, he met the attack head-on, swinging his own wooden sword not with brute force, but with surgical precision, aiming for the single weakest point in Shinjuro's power delivery.
The five rapid, arcing strikes of Rice Spirit met the singular, powerful thrust. The very first blow intercepted Shinjuro's blade, the sharp crack of wood on wood disrupting his forward momentum. Akira's follow-through was instantaneous, a fluid counterattack that instantly reversed their roles, turning him from defender to aggressor.
However, Shinjuro had sparred with Jigoro Kuwajima before and was intimately familiar with the principles of Thunder Breathing. Though his attack had been broken and he was suddenly on the defensive, he showed no sign of panic. Instead, his eyes widened with a fierce, appreciative grin.
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