The morning sun bathed the courtyard in golden warmth as our protagonist stood side by side with Lady Tamayo. Their presence together felt natural, like comrades who had fought long wars shoulder to shoulder, their bond forged not in battle but in shared vision.
Across from them, gathered in formation, were the future of the Demon Slayer Corps.
The master of the estate sat under the shaded veranda, his young son Kagaya watching with wide, glimmering eyes full of curiosity and awe. Arika stood poised, calm but eager. Today she would not be alone.
The new lineup included:
Shinjuro Rengoku, father of the future Flame Hashira, his stern gaze fixed on the demonstration to come, arms crossed over his haori.
Urokodaki Sakonji, former cultivator of water breathing, silent behind his tengu mask but ever observant.
Hazuki Souma, a calm and elusive man who spoke with his sword more than his voice.
Kanzaki Raito, a quick-tempered yet sharp-eyed swordsman with a fast footwork technique.
Hanamura Kei, a graceful woman known for her agility and her dual-blade style.
Each of them had been summoned at the request of the master, and each had agreed without hesitation—rumors of new knowledge and ancient breathings reborn, had already begun to spark fires in their hearts.
Today, they would be tested.
The first part of the day was difficult. Total Concentration Breathing, the technique once thought to be myth, demanded absolute control of the body, breath, and mind. Muscles cramped. Breath slipped. Some even grew dizzy from the effort. But the determination of warriors facing extinction pushed them past their limits.
By late afternoon, two figures stood out among the rest—Shinjuro and Urokodaki.
They sat cross-legged, breathing steady as stone, a mist of exertion trailing their bodies like steam. Five minutes. No shake. No flutter. Controlled.
"Well done," our protagonist said, arms behind his back. "From here, you will each choose a path."
Behind him, laid on low wooden tables, were the breathing manuals. Each was marked with a simple emblem and a short inscription:
Flame Breathing: Unrelenting offensive force. Wide arcs. High spirit.
Water Breathing: Adaptability and fluid motion. Defensive counters.
Wind Breathing: Aggressive with unpredictable momentum. Requires fast footwork.
Thunder Breathing: Explosive bursts of speed and power. Requires strong legs and lungs.
Beast Breathing: Instinctive, unorthodox. For those who trust their senses above all.
Flower Breathing: Beauty in motion. Blends grace with fatal precision. Forms flow like dance.
Stone Breathing: Steadfast and unyielding. Powerful and defensive.
Mist Breathing: Elusive. Obscures rhythm, confuses opponents.
Sound Breathing: Rhythmic and disruptive. Uses tempo to unbalance enemies.
Serpent Breathing – Unpredictable patterns. Vicious curves.
Love Breathing – Powered by passion. Whip-like movements.
Insect Breathing – Precision. Piercing speed and poisoned strikes.
Moon Breathing – Shifting phases. Arc-heavy counters.
Sun Breathing
Each manual opened with an explanation of philosophy, focus points of form, and even basic training drills to follow once a practitioner could maintain constant breathing.
As the warriors approached the manuals, Arika stepped back beside our protagonist.
"Do you think they're ready?" she asked, her eyes glancing toward Hazuki, who studied the Mist manual with a knowing gaze.
"No," he replied honestly. "But they will be."
Arika smirked. "And me?"
He glanced sideways at her, his eyes calm.
"You're already ahead of them."
----------------------------------------------
For two weeks, the stone courtyard had known only the sound of labored breath, the hum of drawn blades, and the rhythmic crash of body against earth. From sunrise until the stars claimed the sky, the five Hashira trained with religious dedication, stopping only to eat, sleep, and rise again.
Their opponent?
Adam.
Not just Adam in stance or restraint — but Adam in motion, in full control of his body and mind. Sometimes he fought barehanded, moving through them like a specter. Other times, he wielded the crimson mock-blade formed by Blood Manipulation, a technique that confounded even seasoned eyes. To the Demon Slayer Corps, it resembled a Blood Demon Art, yet the man was not a demon. He walked beneath the sun. He bled like them. Breathed like them. But fought nothing like them.
Despite their talent, the Hashiras were humbled by him daily.
Still, day after day, they returned to their feet. Stronger. Sharper.
Shinjuro Rengoku was the first to complete two forms — his chosen Flame Breathing awakened something dormant in him, his swings becoming broader, hotter, and filled with roaring will.
Urokodaki Sakonji, disciplined and tireless, moved like water down a mountain, his calm presence an anchor to the others as he mastered the first two forms of Water Breathing with patient precision.
Hazuki Souma, with his soft step and distracted gaze, embraced Mist Breathing as though it had always been a part of him. His blade blurred more each day, movements vanishing into nothingness before striking from impossible angles.
Kanzaki Raito chose Sound Breathing, surprising all. Where his movements had once been erratic, now they carried rhythm — a deadly, pulsing tempo that struck through distraction and chaos.
Hanamura Kei, the most agile among them, flourished with Wind Breathing. She turned its wide, sweeping slashes into something balletic — beautiful, devastating, and unpredictable.
Their chosen styles began shaping their personas further. Each man transformed beneath Adam's guidance, becoming not only stronger but tuned — their breathing and swordplay now a mirror to their spirit.
Arika, however, had yet to be given a style.
Not because she lacked potential — in fact, she absorbed knowledge faster than any of them. But Adam saw something different in her. Something still growing. She needed grounding, a wider view, and most importantly — combat experience.
So she became his sole sparring partner during the nights, when the others rested.
He tested her with relentless assaults, both with his bare hands and his blood-formed blade, teaching her not only to defend but to feel the rhythm of battle. To anticipate, react, and endure.
To her, his blood manipulation still seemed otherworldly — red arcs that split through the air like dancing threads, whipping, stabbing, binding. More than once she wondered if he was truly human.
But even so, she never faltered. Every bruise became a lesson. Every knockdown a fire that pushed her higher.
And he watched her evolve.
Faster footwork. Stronger core. Steadier blade. She wasn't ready yet for a breathing style, but she was close — so close he felt a flicker of something rare in her growth.
When not training Arika or the Hashira, Adam turned his attention to Tamayo.
Now fully immune to sunlight and enhanced far beyond her previous self, her path had only just begun. He helped her refine her original Blood Demon Art as well as her new one, elevating it further, her floral and plant-based toxins now moved through the air like drifting pollen — invisible, graceful, and merciless.
He also began teaching her Insect Breathing — not for offense, but for agility and flow. Each step lighter. Each movement faster. Insect Breathing helped her weave through danger rather than crush it head-on, creating a terrifying synergy with her poisons and new strength.
Where once Tamayo was a scholar in hiding, now she began to resemble a ghost orchid in bloom — beautiful, rare, and undeniably dangerous.
By the fifteenth day, as the sun dipped behind the mountains and the torches flickered to life around the courtyard, the five chosen warriors stood aligned, sweat-soaked and breathing steady — each of them having mastered the first two forms of their breathing styles.
They bowed before the scrolls. Then to Adam.
"Let this be your first step in the fight againts darkness" he said, arms folded behind his back.
In the distance, little Kagaya clapped, eyes wide with hope, cheeks flushed with excitement.
And at his side, Lady Tamayo watched too, a small smile curling her lips, her crimson irises glinting in the firelight, fill with pride.