Chapter 161: The Flexible Blade and Sweet Affection
After thoroughly testing Kanao's combat capabilities, Akira found himself fully supporting her ambition to become an official member of the Demon Slayer Corps. To ensure her foundation was rock solid, he temporarily relocated his base of operations to Gyomei's estate.
His daily routine quickly settled into a rigorous, three-pronged instructional schedule. First, he systematically dismantled and rebuilt Kanao's Breathing Technique, correcting the various dangerous habits and minor flaws she had displayed during their previous skirmishes. He carefully planned out her daily regimen, pushing her step by step toward mastering Total Concentration: Constant.
Second, he acted as the ultimate supervisor for the group's physical conditioning. Left to their own devices, the overly energetic overachievers, Tanjiro and Muichiro, would have gladly trained themselves into the ground. Kanao, with her quiet but stubborn rebellious streak, was no better. Akira paced the training grounds daily, forcing them to rest, hydrate, and recover before they could burn out their young muscles.
Third, he designed an entirely new, highly specialized training program for Mitsuri. He interspersed advanced Breathing Technique exercises directly into her heavy physical conditioning, periodically pulling her aside for intense practical sparring sessions. He needed to see exactly how far her self-created Love Breathing had evolved in a live combat scenario.
One brisk afternoon, while the four younger trainees were taking a mandatory rest break, the center of the dirt courtyard was completely taken over by Akira and Mitsuri.
Because of the highly unorthodox nature of Mitsuri's combat style, standard weaponry was completely useless to her. Logically, only fully recognized swordsmen of the Demon Slayer Corps were permitted to wield custom-forged Nichirin blades. However, Akira simply bypassed the red tape, using his authority as a Hashira to directly commission a specialized weapon from the Swordsmith Village.
He requested a uniquely forged, triple-folded flexible blade. The weapon demanded an absurdly high level of craftsmanship, requiring the steel to maintain the fluid flexibility of a whip without compromising the lethal sharpness of a katana. The requirements were so demanding that the head of the Swordsmith Village personally took over the commission, spending nearly a month hammering and folding the steel to perfection.
The weapon had only arrived a few days prior, delivered by a masked swordsmith right in the middle of Mitsuri's morning stretches. Upon unsheathing it, the unique Nichirin blade immediately drank in her aura, shifting into a brilliant, one-of-a-kind cherry blossom pink. The swordsmith had left the estate nodding in absolute satisfaction.
Before receiving this weapon, Mitsuri had been unable to properly gauge the lethal effectiveness of her forms. Forced to channel her excess energy entirely into her basic breathing exercises, she had accidentally mastered Total Concentration: Constant far ahead of schedule. Now, she finally had the fangs to match her strength.
"Love Breathing, First Form: Shivers of First Love..."
Mitsuri lunged forward, her body a blur of motion. Akira noted the similarities between her technique and Kanae's. Both of their self-created Breathing Techniques used a powerful lunging strike for their first form. However, unlike standard breathing styles that delivered a linear, straightforward thrust, Mitsuri's attack was wildly unpredictable. Relying on the whip-like nature of her new blade, the pink steel coiled and lashed out, whipping toward Akira's entire body even as she closed the distance.
Despite looking paper-thin and light in her hands, the dense steel actually weighed over a hundred pounds. Swung with Mitsuri's terrifying, superhuman muscle density, the kinetic force concentrated at the very tip of that blade was something even Akira refused to take head-on.
It was not that he lacked the strength to block it, but simply that doing so was entirely unnecessary. The purpose of this spar was to test her offensive pressure, not to give himself numb wrists.
Before the lethal tip could snap toward his neck, Akira stepped directly into her guard. He struck the flat of her blade midway down its length, violently disrupting the path of force transmission. The kinetic energy at the tip instantly dispersed, and he neutralized the remaining momentum with a deft flick of his wrist.
Her opening strike broken, Mitsuri did not pause or show a hint of surprise. She immediately pivoted on her heel, her muscles coiling for the next strike.
"Love Breathing, Second Form: Love Pangs of Agony..."
Her figure darted rapidly around Akira in a tight circle. The flexible pink sword lashed out, looping through the air in a vicious, strangling posture meant to sever him from all sides simultaneously.
"Thunder Breathing, Fifth Form: Heat Lightning..."
Akira easily possessed the speed to step out of the encirclement before the steel loops closed around him, but evading completely defeated the purpose of the lesson. Instead, he planted his feet and unleashed a crackling wave of offensive defense. Every single time his Nichirin blade clashed against her pink steel, he intentionally struck at an angle, deflecting her blade outward. He prevented the coiling force from concentrating on any single vital point, completely shattering her strangling net without yielding an inch of ground.
Realizing her prolonged ground assault was failing to breach his defense, Mitsuri shifted tactics. Her powerful legs kicked off the dirt, launching her high into the air. Using the combined force of gravity and her own spinning momentum, she unleashed a terrifyingly fierce aerial offensive.
"Love Breathing, Fifth Form: Swaying Love, Wildclaw..."
The high-speed, spiraling blade descended upon Akira like a storm of pink ribbons. Because of the weapon's extreme flexibility and the erratic way she wielded it, the single blade effectively transformed into a dozen simultaneous points of attack, tearing the wind apart.
"Thunder Breathing, Eighth Form: Boyu Rika..."
Whenever faced with a multi-point, area-of-effect barrage, this custom form was always Akira's optimal counter. He held back his raw physical power to avoid shattering her weapon, relying instead on pure, blinding speed. His blade became a dense, rain-like blur of steel. The sheer frequency of his intercepting strikes perfectly compensated for the restrained power behind each individual parry.
Sparks showered the courtyard as Mitsuri's aerial assault was forcefully halted in mid-air. The high-speed spinning momentum of her pink blade ground to a complete stop against Akira's impenetrable defense.
Yet, before gravity could drag her back to the earth, Mitsuri's eyes flashed with determination. She unleashed her final, desperate strike while still suspended in the air.
"Love Breathing, Third Form: Catlove Shower..."
The vibrating pink blade fractured into streaks of blinding light, resembling a flurry of massive, tearing cat claws. The lethal arcs of steel plummeted directly toward Akira's head, with Mitsuri's falling body following right behind them.
"Thunder Breathing, Second Form: Rice Spirit..."
Akira's grip shifted. Originally, he could have easily maintained his previous form to shred this incoming attack. However, Mitsuri was falling far too closely behind her own blade lights. If he continued his dense, piercing counterattack, the residual lightning and sharp steel would inevitably lacerate her.
Left with no other choice, Akira instantly aborted his stance. He stepped sharply to the side, swinging his blade upward from below her attack trajectory. He caught the brunt of her strike and forcefully redirected the entire storm of pink blade lights into the empty dirt beside him, tearing a deep trench into the courtyard.
Having neutralized her final offensive, Akira immediately dropped his sword arm, stepped forward, and opened his arms wide.
Mitsuri, having exhausted her momentum and balance in the air, fell directly toward him with her arms completely spread open. Akira caught her securely against his chest, pivoting smoothly on his heel to completely dissipate the heavy kinetic impact of her fall.
A bright, triumphant smile bloomed across Mitsuri's flushed face.
Akira raised his hand and delivered a swift, merciless chop to the top of her head.
"Mmm..."
Mitsuri let out a soft yelp of pain. She immediately covered her head with both hands, shrinking back slightly as she looked up at him with a deeply wronged expression. Her large, leaf-green eyes watered slightly, staring at him with a silent, pouting accusation that clearly read: Kanao was allowed to rush into your arms at the end of her spar, why am I getting hit?
Akira read her expression perfectly. He kept his face completely stern, refusing to let his amusement show.
"I am holding a live, razor-sharp blade in my hand, Mitsuri. What if I hadn't shifted my grip in time and accidentally cut you?, you threw yourself into a freefall with your arms wide open, completely abandoning your guard. What if I had tripped? What if I hadn't caught you? Hitting the packed dirt from that height with zero defensive posture would have easily broken your ribs, do you understand?"
He sighed, the stern facade melting away as he looked down at her pouting face.
"You can have a hug whenever you want. There is absolutely no need to pick such a reckless, dangerous moment in the middle of a live combat drill to ask for one."
As he spoke, Akira wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her flush against his chest, and raised his hand to gently massage the spot on her head he had just chopped.
The young woman who used to blush furiously just from holding his hand when they first met had grown incredibly bold. She was now more than willing to seek out his affection in broad daylight, completely unashamed.
Perhaps the sheer number of exceptional women surrounding him had finally triggered a sense of urgency in her heart. Looking at the very names of her sword forms, it was obvious she longed for a pure, fairy-tale romance. Akira knew his presence in her life had given her the intoxicating sweetness of love she craved, but his complicated lifestyle had inevitably added a bitter edge of competition to it.
A wave of quiet helplessness and deep affection washed over him.
Sensing the subtle shift in his emotions and the lingering guilt in his heart, Mitsuri stopped pouting. She leaned forward, gently rubbing her cheek against his chest like a contented cat. Her hands slid down to grip his forearms, squeezing them tightly as she pulled his wandering thoughts back to the present moment.
She tilted her head up, flashing him a brilliant, sunlit smile that completely chased away the shadows in his mind.
A few yards away, sitting by the water buckets, the four younger trainees stared blankly at the scene unfolding in the center of the courtyard.
'No one told us,'they all thought in perfect, exhausted unison,'that this hellish physical training camp also included being forced to watch them be disgustingly affectionate every single afternoon.'
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