Tokito Muichiro wanted to spar with Takeo again.
And Takeo felt exactly the same.
His reason was simple—he wanted to win, just once, in a fair and decisive manner.
The last time they sparred, it hadn't been a victory for Takeo. Muichiro had admitted defeat, but at no point had Takeo considered it a win.
Yes, Takeo hadn't lost last time—but he hadn't truly won, either.
At least, that's how he saw it.
So when he arrived here and crossed paths with Muichiro again, the thought surfaced immediately—and, as it turned out, Muichiro had the exact same idea.
Both of them wanted a rematch.
Takeo didn't particularly care what was driving Muichiro's motivation. Whether their reasons aligned or not didn't matter—as long as they could fight.
And no doubt, Muichiro felt the same.
They quickly found a spacious clearing nearby. Without a word, Muichiro grabbed a set of wooden swords and handed one to Takeo.
He had brought three in total—two for Takeo.
"You've started using dual blades?" Muichiro asked calmly as they prepared.
Takeo nodded. "Yeah."
"You've become a lot less talkative," Muichiro noted.
"…Yeah."
"Where's the girl who was always following you?" Muichiro asked, continuing his questions.
The fact that he even remembered her surprised Takeo. After all, Muichiro was known for his poor memory.
But it didn't seem like a big deal.
"..Dead," Takeo replied calmly.
"Oh."
Muichiro acknowledged the answer with a simple sound, showing no further reaction. He stepped forward, raising the wooden sword with one hand and pointing it at Takeo.
Takeo mirrored the gesture, standing opposite Muichiro as the two faced each other, red eyes and thin green pupils locked in place.
Muichiro looked quietly at the boy in front of him, and, for once, memories from their first meeting surfaced clearly in his mind.
Back then, the boy seemed more talkative, more confident. There was a normal smile on his face, and he was always accompanied by a girl—loud, energetic, always by his side.
Muichiro remembered her face and her name. He didn't remember her because she was particularly special.
He remembered her… because he remembered Takeo.
He shouldn't have cared, really. But that defeat from back then had remained buried somewhere deep in his mind.
Perhaps it was because he couldn't accept his previous loss, or perhaps because he simply wanted to continue improving himself—either way, Muichiro wanted to fight Takeo again.
For him, whether he won or lost didn't matter. The very act of fighting would bring growth.
However…
Looking into Takeo's dull, crimson eyes, Muichiro, for once, showed a rare trace of concern:
"Are you… okay?"
"…"
It was an awkward question—strangely phrased, yet somehow, Takeo understood exactly what he meant.
Muichiro wasn't asking about his injuries. He was asking whether Takeo was in the right state of mind for a spar like this.
Takeo inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly. Leaning his body forward, he gripped both swords—one in front, one behind—and slipped naturally into his breathing stance. His voice was steady.
"I'm fine."
"Then… shall we begin?"
"Alright."
The moment the words left Takeo's mouth, a thin mist instantly rose around Muichiro.
The fog veiled his figure completely, obscuring him from view. Then—without warning, without the slightest sign—Muichiro's blade pierced through the mist, stopping just a hair's breadth from Takeo's neck!
Mist Breathing, Fourth Form – Shifting Flow Slash!
A swift, decisive strike—Muichiro's signature quick-kill technique. Takeo had seen him use it before. It was this very move that Muichiro had used to kill the hand demon in an instant.
Compared to when they first met, Muichiro was now faster. His strikes were sharper, more precise, and carried significantly more weight behind them.
He had grown stronger—much stronger.
Stronger even than Takeo had been before inheriting 2B's abilities.
If this had been the Takeo from before—even with his mastery of the Hinokami Kagura—he would have likely been killed instantly by Muichiro's first strike.
But that was the past.
Now—
"Overclock."
A silent whisper echoed through Takeo's mind.
Dum!
Instantly, the world around him lost all color. In this grayscale world, time itself seemed to slow.
The invisible arc of Muichiro's sword became crystal clear to Takeo's eyes—its angle, speed, and trajectory all laid bare.
In a flash, both of Takeo's swords shot upward. One wooden sword clashed against Muichiro's, locking it in place, while the other thrust toward Muichiro's chest like a streak of lightning.
Wolf Breathing, First Form – Wolf Fang: Modified.
A variation of the standard Wolf Bite form—this version was designed for dual blades. One sword handled defense while the other delivered a relentless flurry of slashes aimed at the opponent's vital points.
It was a form Takeo had refined himself after adopting a two-sword style—perfect for simultaneous offense and defense.
The wooden blades collided with sharp cracks. Despite the sudden counterattack, Muichiro's expression remained as calm and indifferent as ever.
This might have been exactly what Muichiro expected.
The mist thickened once again, and Takeo's sword sliced through it, seamlessly shifting into a new stance.
Muichiro's figure vanished into the fog. When he reappeared, it seemed like he was far away—only to disappear again the very next second, his silhouette swallowed by the haze.
Takeo couldn't see him. He couldn't track him.
It was as if Muichiro's presence had merged completely with the mist, and every glimpse of him felt like a phantom—an illusion.
But Takeo knew. He knew this wasn't magic—it was a manifestation of Muichiro's sheer speed. Every flash of his figure was most likely a feint.
That's why Takeo didn't strike recklessly.
Instead, he activated [Overclock] once more, his breaths turning into visible plumes of flame, flaring with heat and intensity.
"Mist Breathing, Seventh Form—"
"Wolf Breathing, Sixth Form—"
From within the swirling fog, a massive flaming wolf materialized, its body composed entirely of fire and wind.
The blazing heat of the fire wolf surged outward, scattering the mist in a sudden explosion of heat—and there, Muichiro's form was revealed!
Blades hidden in the fog met flaming fangs mid-air as the two clashed—Muichiro stepped forth, blade gleaming like silver silk.
"—Obscuring Clouds."
"—Flame Wolf!"
As though whispered by the wind itself, both unleashed their strongest techniques simultaneously.
Swoosh—! Boom!
In the next moment, the fog and the flaming wolf collided with a deafening bang!
…
"Ah, sparring, are they?"
Amidst the onlookers, a figure suddenly appeared beside Kyojuro and Giyuu.
It was as if she had materialized out of nowhere—Insect Hashira, Kocho Shinobu.
With her usual gentle smile, she looked toward the two figures locked in battle within the training grounds.
"It's good for them to spar," she said softly, "but they should be careful not to go too far. If either of them gets injured, it'll be troublesome for me."
As the head of the Butterfly Mansion—the Demon Slayer Corps' medical facility—Shinobu was not only a Hashira but also an exceptional pharmacist and healer. Medical treatment for injured Demon Slayers ultimately fell under her jurisdiction.
In other words, if Takeo and Muichiro ended up hurting themselves in this fight, the responsibility for patching them up would land squarely on her shoulders. Not that she minded—after all, both were the Corps' rising stars.
Even though Takeo had declined the title of Hashira for now, it was clear to everyone that—barring an untimely death—it was only a matter of time before he officially took the position.
At least half of the current Hashira already quietly acknowledged him as one of their own.
Shinobu Kocho was one of them.
"Hah! You really are just a brat—full of energy," came a loud, flamboyant voice as another figure arrived. "And your swordplay… it's downright flashy! Gorgeous, even! Not bad, not bad!"
It was Tengen Uzui, the Sound Hashira—the same Hashira who had found Takeo during his mission to eliminate the Shadow Demon.
Standing at the edge of the field, Tengen Uzui watched the two figures clashing in the center and commented with his signature flamboyant grin, "Truly gorgeous!"
Indeed, regardless of the actual destructive power, the sheer visual spectacle of fog and flames colliding was more than enough to be a feast for the eyes.
But Shinobu Kocho and Tengen Uzui weren't the only ones drawn here.
The Love Hashira, Kanroji Mitsuri, had actually arrived earlier. She originally came intending to speak with Takeo—Kyojuro's prodeje and her fellow junior under the Flame Hashira.
However, first Kyojuro, then Giyuu, then Muichiro—all approached Takeo one after another, leaving her no chance to interrupt. Helplessly, she stood off to the side, nervously twisting her fingers, looking somewhat like a wronged child.
It was as if someone had bullied her.
High above her, perched on the trunk of a tree like a coiled serpent, was the Snake Hashira, Iguro Obanai. His heterochromatic eyes—one yellow, one turquoise—watched the duel intently, as cold and sharp as a snake about to strike.
Not far from him stood the Wind Hashira, Sanemi Shinazugawa. Arms crossed, he grinned with that fierce, savage smile of his, looking every bit like a villainous thug rather than one of the pillars of humanity's last line of defense.
In fact, with that face, you wouldn't be blamed for mistaking him for a villain!
Without anyone noticing, nearly all the Hashira who had just finished the meeting had gathered here—except for the Stone Hashira, Gyomei Himejima.
Every one of them silently observed the two youths locked in combat in the field.
They were assessing their strength, weighing their abilities, and further evaluating whether they were truly qualified to stand as Hashira.
And judging from what they were witnessing… Swoosh! Woosh! Boom! Slash! Boom!
There was no doubt. Regardless of anything else, based on sheer skill and strength alone, both Takeo and Muichiro were more than qualified to become Hashira.
Yet, completely unaware of the audience they'd drawn, the two in the middle of the battlefield remained utterly focused on each other. Neither paid any mind to what was happening around them.
There was only each other in their eyes.
After their strongest techniques collided and neutralized each other, both fighters staggered back, momentarily halting their assault.
They adjusted their stances, facing each other once more. Muichiro quietly said:
"You've gotten stronger."
"The same goes for you," Takeo replied.
Muichiro's pale green eyes narrowed slightly. "Your talent might actually be greater than mine… because my Breathing Technique isn't something I created myself."
He continued in his usual calm tone.
He had always believed that his strength was the result of inheriting the natural talent of his ancestors—an exceptional gift unmatched in this generation.
But now, standing face-to-face with Takeo once again, Muichiro realized that the boy before him might possess a talent even greater than his own.
Who else could develop an entirely new set of sword forms—a complete Breathing Style—in such a short time?
The first five forms of Takeo's Wolf Breathing somewhat resembled Wind Breathing in sharpness and rhythm.
But that sixth form—Flame Wolf—while visually reminiscent of Flame Breathing, upon closer inspection, was clearly distinct.
The movement, the rhythm, the nature of the attack... it wasn't just different; it was entirely unique.
It was a strange yet brilliant form of swordsmanship.
What's more, not long ago, Takeo could only barely keep up with him in their sparring. Yet now, Takeo stood shoulder to shoulder with him, evenly matched.
Muichiro was certain of one thing—Takeo's talent wasn't just real.
It was extraordinary.
Because even Muichiro himself had never once stopped growing… yet Takeo had closed the gap.
No—he might have already surpassed him.
"…It doesn't matter."
Takeo replied softly, his breathing steady.
He recalled how he had sought out Muichiro back then because he wanted to develop his own Breathing Technique. Looking back now, he realized how naive that had been.
In the end, whether it was an original Breathing Style or an inherited one—it didn't matter. As long as it could kill demons, the method didn't matter.
He had simply been too fixated on the idea before.
It felt a little late to come to that realization now.
"Then… let's decide this with the final strike."
Sensing that Takeo had no intention of continuing the conversation, Muichiro dropped the subject and spoke calmly.
Takeo gave a small nod, a flicker of flame briefly flashing from his nostrils as he inhaled.
The next moment—
Both of them shot forward at the same time!
_________
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