Spring peaches withered away.
Summer cicadas fell silent.
Autumn maples drifted to the ground.
Time slipped by quietly amid the monotonous, brutal training on Peach Mountain.
After nine months of relentless tempering, Yasui Ryosuke had changed beyond recognition.
He'd grown noticeably taller. Though still lean, he was no longer the brittle invalid who looked like he'd shatter at a touch. The sickly pallor had faded, replaced by a wheat-toned skin burnished by sunlight and sweat.
"Ha! Ryosuke! No way you're passing me today!"
Shota's voice rang out as he shot forward like lightning, taking the lead toward the finish.
"Huff… huff… you little brat, what're you so proud of…"
Ryosuke chased close behind, only a few steps separating them.
Rika lagged slightly farther back, her small face flushed red from exertion, yet her stride remained steady.
After training ended, Ryosuke stared at the glaring number on his system panel—83 days of lifespan remaining—and clenched his teeth.
Yes. Even after pushing his body to its limits and strengthening himself as much as possible, he had less than three months left.
At the center of the dojo, two brand-new haori lay neatly folded.
One was Shota's—deep brown, his favorite color.
The other belonged to Ryosuke. Jet black as its base, with fine lightning patterns embroidered along the hem in gold thread.
Jigoro handed a Nichirin Blade to each of them.
Rika was still too young, and as a girl her physical strength was weaker, so she would wait another year before taking the exam.
"The time for Final Selection has come," Jigoro said. "Survive on Mount Fujikasane."
He offered no further instructions—only a quiet look toward Ryosuke.
According to the original training plan, someone as talented as Shota needed over a full year to qualify.
But Ryosuke trained like he didn't care about his life.
When others ate, he trained.
When others slept, he trained.
When others trained—he was still training.
This time, with Shota alongside him, at least they could watch each other's backs.
Ryosuke said nothing. He only gripped his Nichirin Blade tightly, bowed deeply to Jigoro, and began the descent on foot.
He had to live.
A full year of desperate training had led to this very moment.
"Shota! Big Brother Ryosuke! Come back safely!"
Rika's voice faded into the distance behind them.
Mount Fujikasane was shrouded year-round in seas of wisteria blossoms.
Dreamlike cascades of pale purple poured down from the mountainside, forming a natural prison.
Deep within the mountain were demons captured by the Demon Slayer Corps.
For the Final Selection, they had to survive inside for seven days.
Beyond the wisteria forest lay darkness.
Shrill howls echoed. The stench of blood filled the air.
Every inch of this land was soaked in the despair of those who had failed.
Ryosuke didn't stick with Shota.
Having read the original story thoroughly, he knew that aside from the Hand Demon—that outright bug—most of the demons here had only eaten two or three people and were relatively weak.
Perfect targets for farming lifespan.
And more importantly—he didn't want Shota stealing his kills.
"Wraaah—!"
A shrill screech rang out as a demon burst from a pile of brush—fangs sharp, tongue lolling, its body shaped like a grotesque lizard!
It dove toward Ryosuke at frightening speed!
Ryosuke lowered his stance, blade in hand. As he drew breath, faint arcs of lightning flickered around him.
"Thunder Breathing, First Form—Thunderclap and Flash!"
The blade sang as it moved, thunder roaring in its wake.
Ryosuke vanished in a flash. By the time the blade struck, the demon's head was already severed, crumbling into ash.
[Low-level demon slain. Lifespan gained: 10 days. Remaining lifespan: 92 days.]
After a full year, the system's voice rang out once more.
Ryosuke was ecstatic—this move didn't drain him much at all.
That was the advantage of Thunder Breathing: explosive speed and destructive power.
Though difficult to master, its effectiveness was undeniable.
And most importantly—it was cool.
Ten days of lifespan from a single low-level demon!
Without pausing, Ryosuke darted toward another rustling thicket where snarls echoed.
Aside from the Hand Demon, the small fry here were his to butcher.
"Strange… where are all the demons? Wasn't Final Selection supposed to be brutal?"
A swordsman wearing a fox mask scratched his head as he walked through the forest.
Moriyama Akira had already been here for six days. Six whole days!
He'd been in a combat-ready stance since day one, yet hadn't seen so much as a strand of demon hair.
Come on, man—seriously?
Was Master Urokodaki just trying to scare me?
As the thought crossed his mind, a shadow dropped from above.
The foul stench made his pupils shrink instantly.
A hideous demon slammed him to the ground. His grip failed, and his Nichirin Blade flew three meters away.
Hey! You old monster—no honor at all! Sneak-attacking a trainee with two-and-a-half years of practice?!
The demon didn't care. The temptation of human flesh made it open its gaping maw and bite down.
Just as Moriyama Akira was about to cry out—
Thunder boomed in the distance.
In an instant—a flash of lightning tore through the dark!
A youth in a jet-black haori appeared at Moriyama's side.
The blade slid back into its sheath.
The demon's head split apart, turning to ash.
Long, ink-black hair danced in the wind. The youth's presence was striking.
[Low-level demon slain. Lifespan gained: 10 days. Remaining lifespan: 156 days.]
Moriyama scrambled to his feet and bowed repeatedly.
"Th-thank you… My name's Moriyama Akira."
"Ryosuke. Yasui Ryosuke."
Ryosuke sheathed his sword, then twitched when he noticed the fox mask.
"Y-your master is… Urokodaki Sa—Mr. Urokodaki?"
Moriyama nodded.
Years ago, it was Urokodaki Sakonji who had captured the Hand Demon and sealed it here.
Because of that, the ugly thing held a special hatred for his disciples—seeing a fox mask was like seeing an old enemy.
Instant berserk mode. No conditions required.
Judging by the timeline, Sabito and Tomioka Giyu should still be in training.
This guy was from the batch before them.
Ryosuke patted Moriyama on the shoulder and turned to leave.
"Be careful."
"Thank you—again."
Moriyama thanked him once more.
Ryosuke had only taken two steps when an overwhelming, sinister presence crashed down upon them!
"ROOOAR—!!!"
A deafening bellow tore through the night.
The ground trembled.
In the distance loomed a monster the size of a small hill—blue-gray skin covered in dozens upon dozens of grotesque, twisted arms!
The Hand Demon's neck was wrapped tight in massive limbs. Its eyes locked onto Moriyama's fox mask.
"Urokodaki! Another fox brat trained by Urokodaki! Gahahahaha!"
Its shrill laughter was sharp and venomous, dripping with hatred.
"I'll eat you all! Tear you apart! And return the pain of being imprisoned here by Urokodaki—tenfold! A hundredfold!!"
See? I told you.
Moriyama froze in terror, instinctively gripping his blade as he stumbled back.
"N-no way… how can a demon like this be here?!"
"Urokodaki trapped me here for thirty-nine years! Since the Edo era—the Keio years!"
The Hand Demon roared, countless arms slamming into the ground.
"Unforgivable! Unforgivable! Damn you, Urokodaki! Urokodaki! Urokodaki!!"
The pressure was suffocating, like sinking into a swamp of fear.
Ryosuke pushed his thumb against the guard, sliding his blade free. His breathing grew long and steady.
"If you don't want to die—move!"
The moment the words left his mouth, Ryosuke became a streak of light, slashing through countless arms as he charged straight for the demon's neck!
Moriyama reacted instantly. Moisture gathered around him.
"Water Breathing, Third Form—Flowing Dance!"
Their blades intertwined, forming a combined assault.
The Hand Demon roared in fury. Severed arms regenerated instantly, lashing out like whips.
A massive force sent both of them flying.
Ryosuke clutched his chest and spat out a mouthful of blood.
Moriyama's vision went black—he collapsed on the spot.
Seriously?! You're out now?!
Demon Slayer Corps, I'm reporting this—someone's throwing the promotion match!
The Hand Demon's flesh bulged as several more arms shot forward.
At the critical moment, thunder roared once more.
A figure appeared in front of them.
"Thunder Breathing, Second Form—Rice Spirit!"
Lightning burst outward, blade flashes striking like thunderbolts. Five rapid slashes tore apart the Hand Demon's assault.
Shota glanced back at them.
"You okay?!"
"Not dead yet."
Ryosuke forced himself up, charging forward alongside Shota once more.
Lightning raged. Severed arms flew everywhere.
Though they managed to suppress the Hand Demon for the moment, exhaustion quickly crept in.
"This won't work—we have to cut its neck!" Shota shouted coldly, blocking another strike.
Ryosuke rolled his numb wrist. He knew it too.
A demon like the Hand Demon—one that had eaten nearly thirty people—possessed terrifying regeneration. Without severing its neck, it simply wouldn't die.
But its neck was shielded by massive arms, tough as iron, with countless limbs blocking any approach!
Shota reacted a beat too slow.
A giant arm swept in and smashed brutally into his side!
Shota vomited blood as he was hurled into a massive boulder. His Nichirin Blade flew from his hand. His deep brown haori tore open, blood spreading rapidly.
"Hehehehehe…"
The Hand Demon laughed madly as it advanced on Shota and the unconscious Moriyama.
Countless arms writhed like vines of death, lunging toward them.
"Damn it—!"
Ryosuke spat blood, a ruthless resolve flashing in his eyes.
If he didn't kill it, none of them would survive the night.
"System! Pump me full—now!"