The Nichirin blade had arrived, and the Corps uniform had been issued.
It was time to leave.
The Demon Slayer Corps did not enforce strict, rigid constraints on its swordsmen, when off duty, they were permitted free movement.
Hajime had no intention of staying on Mt.
Momoyama.
He wanted to grow stronger, and remaining there would never achieve that.
He needed to leave.
Jigoro did not try to hold him back.
As a Master, he had known all along that his disciple would eventually become independent.
He wanted to prepare a table of Hajime’s favorite dishes, but Hajime refused, unwilling to exhaust his master.
Jigoro was the first person to treat him so well after arriving in this world.
Calling him family without blood ties was no exaggeration.
His master was old and his legs were inconvenient.
Hajime felt deeply guilty and could never bear to let his master busy himself on his behalf.
No more words were exchanged.
The master and his two disciples turned in for the night in the wooden cabin.
Hajime woke abruptly in the middle of the night.
Inside the cramped cabin, only he and Jigoro remained, Kaigaku was nowhere to be found.
Hajime’s gaze narrowed in thought.
He dressed in silence, moving with careful, deliberate steps.
The black uniform of the Demon Slayer Corps went underneath.
Crafted from special fibers, it was breathable, resistant to moisture, and difficult to ignite.
Over the Corps uniform, Hajime wore the same red haori as before.
Otherwise, he would stand out far too much.
Reaching for his sword, he hesitated.
In the end, he chose the rusted blade that had accompanied him through those seven days on Mt.
Fujikasane, leaving behind the newly delivered Nichirin blade.
Leaving the wooden cabin, Hajime headed into the woods until he found a figure drenched in sweat in a clearing ringed by a peach grove.
Under the frigid moonlight, Kaigaku stood with his practice sword, drilling swing after swing.
The dead of night held nothing but the whistle of steel through air.
“Funny.
Your mouth complains, but your body doesn’t quit.”
Kaigaku stopped mid-swing and turned at Hajime’s mocking words.
He spotted Hajime dressed for travel and frowned.
“You’re leaving now?”
“Yeah.
Wanted to see you before I go.
Are you feeling touched?”
With no one else around, Kaigaku dropped the act entirely.
His face twisted with contempt.
“Don’t pull that ‘Senpai’ crap on me.
What’s so great about you?
You just joined before I did.
If the old man would finally teach me Thunder Breathing, I’d have left you in the dust already.”
Just as expected.
A textbook backstabber in the making.
His Kouhai had serious grudges about being stuck with nothing but Suburi.
In Japanese swordsmanship, Suburi, the motion of raising and swinging the blade repeatedly, formed the foundation.
You couldn’t walk before you could run, and Kaigaku wanted to sprint.
“Kaigaku, do you know where I’m headed?”
“Hah?
What the hell does that have to do with me?”
“At Final Selection on Mt.
Fujikasane, I performed well enough to be chosen as Tsuguko by the Flower Hashira herself, Lady Kanae Kocho.”
Hajime watched Kaigaku’s face while dropping the words in an especially envious, longing tone.
“You probably haven’t heard of the Flower Hashira.
True to the name, she’s a gentle, beautiful older sister.
Becoming her Tsuguko, even if it meant training to death, countless men would leap at.”
Kaigaku, recently taken in by Jigoro, knew nothing of the Demon Slayer Corps structure.
But he didn’t doubt a word Hajime said.
It never crossed his mind that Hajime would deliberately lie to him.
Chosen as Tsuguko by a Hashira, and such a gentle, beautiful one at that?
‘Damn it.’
Kaigaku turned green with envy, his whole body practically radiating it.
Still, he forced himself to look indifferent.
“Hmph.
Nothing special.
Once I pass Final Selection, I’ll become someone’s Tsuguko too.”
“Oh, really now?”
“What’re you getting at?”
“Kaigaku, do you really still not understand?”
The plain words, flat tone, and indifferent expression sent shockwaves crashing through Kaigaku’s mind.
He didn’t understand?
What was there to misunderstand?
Or rather, what exactly was he supposed to grasp?
Why hadn’t Hajime waited until dawn, instead leaving in the dead of night?
Why had he sought him out in the cold darkness just to say all this?
Kaigaku couldn’t figure it out.
He genuinely couldn’t piece it together.
“What are you trying to say?”
“It’s not about what I want to say, it’s about what you’re thinking.
You’re a smart man.
You know exactly what I mean.”
Kaigaku frowned.
For a brief moment, he suspected Hajime was messing with him on purpose.
But he immediately thought better of it.
That couldn’t be it.
His Senpai was always polite and kind, easygoing but incredibly serious in his work.
He rarely joked around, let alone played tricks on people.
Unlike those who spouted bullshit without a shred of truth, Hajime never spoke without reason.
He always had something substantial to say.
‘Wait.
Could it be-‘
Kaigaku’s mind raced back over the past two months.
Since becoming a disciple under Jigoro, the old man had taught him only the most basic conditioning and sword swings.
He’d worked so hard, yet the Master refused to touch on the fundamentals of any Breathing Style.
Once, when Kaigaku had asked on his own initiative, he’d been scolded and told not to overthink things.
Doing what was expected was supposedly enough.
Kaigaku’s eyes turned cold.
‘Could this be what Hajime meant?’
Just as he thought.
That old man, was doing it on purpose.
He was deliberately withholding Total Concentration Breathing and the Sword Forms of Thunder Breathing from him.
Hajime watched Kaigaku’s shifting expressions, guessed he’d drawn his own conclusions, and spoke up.
“What, still haven’t figured it out?”
Kaigaku looked up at Hajime as if staring at his father’s killer.
To Kaigaku, who felt his entire future had been severed, his hatred for Hajime ran bone-deep.
It made the hand gripping his scabbard tremble.
He was dying to draw his blade and slash at him right then and there.
But Kaigaku held himself back.
Even though he resented those more capable and always measured the hearts of honorable men with his own petty mindset, he was not an idiot.
He knew full well that Hajime, already learnt of Total Concentration Breathing and all the Sword Forms of Thunder Breathing, was someone he could not handle.
Drawing his sword now meant he’d only be struck down.
Step back further.
Even if Hajime let him go and spared his life, if the old man found out, he’d be driven off Mt.
Momoyama for good.
He would never be taught anything again.
Kaigaku took a few deep breaths, forcing down the fury burning in his chest.
“Kaigaku.
Do you want to learn a Breathing Style?
Do you want to learn real Sword Forms?
Do you want to become a swordsman?”
Kaigaku paused.
“What do you mean?”
“I’m about to set off and leave Mt.
Momoyama to receive personal instruction from the Flower Hashira at Demon Slayer Corps Headquarters.
However, for the sake of our fellow discipleship, I could consider doing you a favor.”
Kaigaku stared in silence.
Hajime didn’t wait for an answer.
“The Demon Slayer Corps has several Hashira.
At Headquarters, apart from the Flower Hashira, you’d definitely have the chance to meet others.
I could take you with me.
If you’re lucky, you might become a Tsuguko for one of them.”
“You might not know this, but the condition for becoming a Tsuguko isn’t necessarily passing the Final Selection.
If someone has potential and catches a Hashira’s eye, they first become a Tsuguko.
Only after receiving careful instruction do they go on to participate in the Final Selection.”
“Of course, for a successor, the Final Selection is just a formality.”
“Naturally, I can only offer you one bit of help.
Whether you actually succeed in the end depends on your own fortune.
After all, a master opens the door, but training is up to the individual.”
Doubt filled Kaigaku’s mind.
He half-believed the words, but Hajime’s proposal tempted him far more than he wanted to admit.
He just didn’t trust Hajime.
His absolutely selfish nature made him incapable of placing faith in others.
Kaigaku looked sullen.
“Why are you helping me?”
Hajime smiled warmly.
“I’m your Senpai.
It’s only natural for a Senpai to look out for his Kouhai.”
But Kaigaku still didn’t buy it.
He refused to believe such a good thing could exist.
He asked himself, during the two months he had spent with Hajime, while their relationship wasn’t completely frozen, it was far from warm.
Especially earlier.
When Hajime was leaving to slay demons, Kaigaku had believed it was inevitable that Hajime would be killed by one.
He saw no need to keep up the facade, so he tore away all pretense between them.
Logically, Hajime had no reason to help him.
“Don’t believe me?
Fine.
You have to walk your own path anyway.
Suit yourself.”
Do you like it?