When Tomioka Giyu arrived at Kahoku Village, the sunset had already dyed the sky a deep, piercing red.
The wooden sign at the village entrance lay shattered on the ground, trampled into splinters.
The air was thick with blood—so dense it clung to the throat—mixed with that sickly-sweet stench unique to demons. Every breath burned his lungs and twisted his stomach.
He moved quickly down the empty streets. The doors and windows of every house were wide open, furniture smashed, dried blood splattered across the ground. It looked as though a storm of death had swept through only moments ago.
"Help… someone… please…"
A weak voice came from deeper inside the village.
Giyu followed the sound and stopped in front of a half-burned wooden house.
Half the roof had collapsed, faint flames still flickering among the black smoke.
A small boy sat huddled in the corner, dressed in a blood-stained white nightshirt. His face was smudged with soot, tears falling like strings of broken beads.
He clutched a tattered cloth doll to his chest—half of it soaked in red.
And standing before him was a tall demon.
The creature wore the remains of a samurai's uniform, its stomach bulging grotesquely, its mouth smeared with fresh flesh and blood.
It dangled a human arm in one hand, its gaze fixed on the boy, hunger gleaming in its yellow eyes.
"The last little snack," it sneered, licking its lips, "you hid pretty well."
It took a slow step forward.
"Don't be scared. It'll be over soon."
"Don't… don't come any closer!"
The boy's voice cracked with fear, his small body trembling like a leaf in the wind—but he didn't run. He just held the doll tighter, refusing to let go.
Giyu's chest tightened—like a cold hand gripping his heart.
Memories crashed through his mind.
A house.
A demon.
His sister's body shielding him from its claws.
Her blood on the floor, her hand limp and cold.
He'd been that same child—frozen in the corner, powerless to stop it.
Useless.
That helplessness, etched deep into his bones, rose again like a tide.
"You came just in time."
The demon finally noticed him, turning with a mocking grin.
"Another one for the slaughter? Perfect. I'm still hungry."
It swung the severed arm lightly.
"This family had good meat. The woman—tender and sweet. This little one must taste even better."
Giyu said nothing.
His eyes were ice. His right hand tightened around the hilt of his Nichirin Sword.
The energy in his body began to shift—no longer the fluid calm of Water Breathing, but the blazing, searing force of the sun.
The demon's smirk faltered as it sensed the change, unease flickering behind its eyes. "What's this? Too scared to talk? Just another pretender with a sword—"
Before it could finish, Giyu vanished.
"Sun Breathing, First Form: Dance!"
A golden arc split through the air, too fast for the eye to follow.
The demon's head fell before it even realized it had been struck.
Black blood sprayed across the burning debris, sizzling against the heat.
Its eyes were wide, frozen in disbelief, unable to comprehend how it had been killed so swiftly.
The body twitched once, twice—then collapsed, disintegrating into ash that the wind carried away.
Giyu slid his blade back into its sheath. The golden light faded, leaving behind only the lingering scent of iron and smoke.
He approached the boy and knelt down.
The child was still crying, though his trembling had stopped. He stared up at Giyu, his gaze filled with fear, confusion, and something faintly like trust.
"It's over," Giyu said softly, almost whispering so as not to scare him. "The demon's dead."
The boy said nothing—just looked at him as fresh tears streamed down his face.
Giyu rose to his feet. He had other duties; he couldn't stay.
But then—a small hand grabbed his pant leg.
He looked down. The boy was staring up at him, face streaked with dirt and tears, but eyes bright and determined.
"Samurai-san… please teach me how to use a sword!"
Giyu froze.
"I want to learn!"
The boy's voice broke, trembling but fierce.
"I'll kill all the demons! I'll avenge my parents!"
Giyu's heart gave a painful throb.
In those eyes, he saw his own reflection from long ago—alone, helpless, clinging to revenge as the only thing left to hold onto.
"I don't take students."
His voice came out rough, but the edge was dulled—he couldn't bring himself to sound harsh.
"I can learn! I'll work hard!"
The boy's grip tightened, knuckles white.
"As long as you teach me, I'll do anything! I won't slow you down!"
Giyu was silent for a long time.
If Urokodaki Sakonji hadn't taken him in back then, he might have died nameless and forgotten.
Finally, he said quietly, "If you can keep up with me…"
His tone was calm, but there was a faint softness beneath it.
"…then I'll teach you."
He turned and started walking toward the edge of the village.
This time, he didn't use any Breathing technique. He walked at an ordinary pace, slow and steady.
He knew a nine-year-old boy could never match a swordsman using Breathing—but he wanted to give him a chance.
And maybe, in some quiet part of himself, Giyu wanted a reason to look back.
The boy froze for a moment, then quickly wiped away his tears and ran after him.
"Wait for me! I can keep up!"
His small feet pounded against the dirt, his silhouette stretched long under the setting sun—stubborn, determined, refusing to stop.
At first, he managed to follow Giyu's pace, gasping for breath but still pushing forward, step after step.
But it didn't last long.
The rough road tore through the soles of his thin shoes. Pain shot up from his feet, sharp and raw.
His breathing grew ragged, his chest tight as if it might burst, his legs trembling under him.
Giyu's figure grew smaller in the distance.
He wanted to call out—but no sound came.
So he kept running, kept chasing, nails digging deep into his palms until blood welled up between his fingers.
"Why… why am I so weak…"
His legs gave out, and he crashed to the ground.
His knees and hands scraped against the dirt, blood mixing with soil into a dark, messy smear.
He lay there, staring at Giyu's back fading farther and farther away, tears spilling down again.
They mingled with the dirt and blood on his face, turning it into a wet, muddy mess.
"I just… wanted to be stronger… why…"
He pounded the ground with his fists, his voice raw with pain and frustration.
He hated the demons who'd destroyed his family. But more than that, he hated himself—too weak to protect them, too weak to even follow the man who'd saved him.
Then—he saw it.
A flash of deep blue fabric appeared before his eyes.
The boy looked up sharply.
Giyu stood before him, silent, looking down from above.
"If you can't keep up, don't force yourself," Giyu said. His tone was calm—not mocking, not cold.
Tears spilled faster down the boy's cheeks. He tried to stand, but his legs gave out, and he fell again.
"I… I can still run… I can keep up…"
Giyu crouched down and reached out, lifting him gently by the arm.
The boy's knees and hands were bleeding, his feet a mess of raw skin and torn flesh.
"Don't run anymore," Giyu said quietly.
"But… you said… if I kept up, you'd teach me…"
"I'll teach you."
The boy froze. His tears stopped instantly as he looked up, wide-eyed. "You… you mean it?"
"I'll teach you," Giyu repeated, his voice steady as ever.
"First, we'll return to base and treat your wounds."
He bent down and picked the boy up.
The child was light—so light it startled him.
He could feel the faint tremor in his small body. Not fear—something closer to joy.
"Samurai-san…" the boy whispered, "why… did you change your mind?"
Giyu didn't answer.
He just kept walking, the boy in his arms, toward the direction of the base.
The sunlight bathed them in gold, their shadows stretching long behind them—like a line connecting what had been and what was yet to come.
When they reached the base, Suzuki Jiro had already tidied up the place.
Seeing Giyu return with an injured child, he blinked in surprise, then quickly fetched the medicine box.
"Giyu-sama, this is…?"
"My disciple," Giyu said simply, setting the boy down on a chair.
Suzuki's eyes widened, but he didn't question it. He quietly began tending to the boy's wounds.
Once the bandages were set, Giyu spoke. "I'll send you to my teacher. He's a good man—he can teach you proper Breathing and swordsmanship."
That had been his plan.
Urokodaki Sakonji was patient, wise—far better suited to train a child.
But the boy shook his head firmly. "I'm not going. I want to learn here—with you."
"I'm busy," Giyu said. "I might not have time to teach."
"I can wait! When you're on missions, I'll practice on my own. When you come back, you can teach me again!"
The boy's tone was stubborn, unwavering.
"I only want to learn from you."
"My teacher is also a Hashira-level swordsman."
"But I want to learn from you."
Giyu looked at him for a long time, silent. Then, at last, he nodded once. "Alright."
"Thank you, sensei!"
The boy jumped up in excitement, almost tripping over his own feet.
Giyu caught him quickly and asked, "What's your name?"
The boy's eyes dimmed for a moment, then brightened again with resolve.
"I used to be called Kahoku Tō," he said, lifting his head.
"But from today, that weak, useless Kahoku Tō who watched his family die—he's gone."
He clenched his small fists tight. "You're Tomioka-sensei. Then I'll be Tomioka too."
"My name… is Tomioka Tō."
Giyu stared at him—this nine-year-old boy who had already lost everything, yet still refused to give up.
Something stirred quietly inside him.
Like a small seed taking root in frozen soil.
"Alright," Giyu said softly. "Tomioka Tō."
A bright smile broke across the boy's face—clear, radiant, cutting through the grime and weariness like sunlight after rain.
Giyu watched that smile and, for a moment, saw pieces of his past reflected in it—Tanjiro, Shinobu… and the part of himself that once longed for warmth.
Maybe taking this disciple wasn't such a bad thing after all.
He turned toward the window. The sky outside was fading into twilight.
The road ahead was still long—still full of struggle.
But now, for the first time in years, someone stood beside him. Someone who needed him.
Giyu took a slow breath and tightened his grip on the Nichirin Sword at his waist.
He would teach Tomioka Tō swordsmanship. Breathing. The way to survive in a world filled with demons.
And more than that—he would teach him this: even when you've lost everything, you don't have to walk alone in the dark.
Because now, someone would walk with him.