Yasui Ryosuke's actions flowed smoothly, catching Jigoro off guard.
"Oh? What's your name?"
"Ryosuke, Yasui Ryosuke."
Jigoro's expression turned serious. "Slay demons? With your condition?"
His voice carried undisguised doubt and cruelty.
"You'd fall over with a gust of wind, cough blood after a few steps. Can you even hold a blade? Can you swing a sword? The training of Breathing Techniques is pain that crushes your bones inch by inch before reshaping them!"
"With that broken body of yours, you'll collapse before even seeing a demon!"
The Demon Slayer Corps faced near-certain death, and anyone could die at any time.
Therefore, trainers had to regularly cultivate new recruits, continuously supplying fresh blood to the Corps to maintain its combat strength. Time was extremely precious.
No one would waste time on a sickly person with less than a year to live.
Yasui Ryosuke knew Jigoro was telling the truth—a bloody and cruel reality.
This body was indeed a burden.
But!
He suddenly raised his head. His eyes were bloodshot from illness, yet the flames burning within them were astonishingly fierce, carrying an almost insane obsession.
"Senior! My family was killed by demons. I can do it!!"
Yasui Ryosuke roared, "If I can't hold a blade, I'll bite with my teeth! If I can't swing a sword, I'll ram them with my body!"
"As long as I can slay demons! As long as I can gain the power to kill them! I can endure any hardship!"
"If my bones break, I'll set them and keep training! If I cough up all my blood, I'll swallow it and keep fighting! Senior! Please! Give me a chance!!"
The room fell into complete silence, broken only by Yasui Ryosuke's heavy breathing.
This was his only path to survival, his desperate resolve to live at any cost.
The scrutiny on Jigoro's face gradually faded.
He silently looked at the frail boy before him, who seemed as though he might stop breathing at any moment.
The fire in those eyes, that reckless and desperate obsession, reminded him of something… something long forgotten.
After a long while,
Jigoro let out a breath and spoke solemnly, "Follow me."
He had softened.
Yasui Ryosuke was overjoyed and followed him.
They passed through a corridor, the sunlight glaring.
They arrived at an open space behind the estate, surrounded by flourishing peach trees in full bloom.
This was the Momoyama training ground. The earth was firmly packed and level, with wooden posts, stone weights, and weapon racks placed along the edges.
A pair of siblings were training inside.
The boy was about thirteen or fourteen, agile in build, with messy short brown hair. His movements were as nimble as a monkey.
The girl was younger, her hair tied in a simple bun, with a delicate figure.
"Shota! Rika!" Jigoro called out.
"Grandpa!"
They stopped swinging their swords and looked over in unison.
"Grandpa!"
Shota grinned, his eyes bright as he looked at Yasui Ryosuke. "Who's he?"
"Yasui Ryosuke."
Ryosuke introduced himself, his voice extremely hoarse.
"Kirigaya Shota!"
The boy responded cheerfully, pointing to the girl beside him. "This is my younger sister, Kirigaya Rika!"
"H-hello…"
Rika bowed slightly, her voice soft and gentle.
Yasui Ryosuke nodded in greeting.
According to his memories, the two of them did not appear in the original work.
That meant they would most likely die during the final selection at Mount Fujikasane.
After all, the Hand Demon was hiding there as an early boss.
If not for the protagonist Tanjirō suddenly using a powerful headbutt and Water Breathing to cut off its head, victory would have been impossible.
The title of Head Hashira was well deserved.
"Ryosuke is in poor health," Jigoro said bluntly. "But he is determined to walk the path of demon slaying. From today onward, he will train with you."
He looked at the three of them, his voice suddenly turning stern. "Shota! Rika! Basic physical training—fifty laps around the field! Ryosuke, you…"
He glanced at Yasui Ryosuke's swaying body and deathly pale face.
"Twenty laps! You can walk if you must, but you must finish! Now! Start running!"
Shota and Rika were already used to this.
They responded and immediately rushed out at great speed, their steps light.
Yasui Ryosuke took a deep breath and followed behind.
One lap of this training ground was about five hundred meters.
Twenty laps… ten kilometers…
He had never run such a distance in this life, nor even in his previous one.
Very soon, before even completing half a lap, a stabbing pain came from his lungs and his steps became unsteady.
But to survive, Ryosuke gritted his teeth and kept moving. Sweat instantly poured out—not from heat, but from weakness.
Shota and Rika passed him again and again.
When Rika ran past, she even glanced at him worriedly.
Three laps… four laps…
Yasui Ryosuke felt that taking one more step would make him explode.
Sweat blurred his vision, and the only sound in his ears was the pounding of his heart like a drum.
There was only one thought in his mind.
Finish it! I must finish it! This is the first step!
At sunset.
When Shota and Rika finished their day's training and returned inside for dinner, Ryosuke was still running.
In the end, he practically crawled across the finish line.
Ryosuke's entire body trembled as he half-knelt on the ground, his face deathly pale, his broken coughs sounding as though they would tear his body apart.
Inside the house, Rika couldn't help looking at Jigoro.
"Grandpa, is Ryosuke really going to be okay?"
Jigoro also observed the boy.
"He's fine. You two eat first."
"But…"
Just as Shota was about to say something, he saw that Ryosuke in the training field had actually stood up.
His gaze fixed on the wooden sword on the weapon rack. Dragging his leaden legs, he staggered forward step by step.
"Hey! He…"
Shota was stunned.
Isn't this guy risking his life?!
Jigoro said nothing, only nodded slightly, the corner of his mouth curling upward for a moment.
Ryosuke gripped the wooden sword. Its heavy weight nearly crushed his wrist.
He steadied himself, feet apart.
Using blurred memories, he imitated the movements he had seen Shota and Rika practice, raising the wooden sword above his head.
"Hah—!"
The blade swung down, striking empty air. The force was clumsy and weak, the posture crooked and almost laughable.
But Ryosuke did not stop.
The wooden sword fell, rose, and fell again!
His will was fighting desperately against his frail body.
Shota and Rika stood frozen, forgetting to eat, forgetting to speak, simply watching in shock the boy swinging his sword in the field.
Late at night, all was silent.
The pain from training made it impossible for Ryosuke to sleep.
At that moment, the door opened.
Jigoro entered carrying a bowl of medicine and a jar of medicinal oil.
No lamp was lit in the room; only the cold moonlight flowed in through the small window.
Just as Ryosuke was about to speak, Jigoro set down the medicine, his hands coated in medicinal oil, and pressed them onto Ryosuke's convulsing, trembling leg muscles.
The force was strong, his technique carrying a peculiar rhythm that instantly loosened the stiff muscles while grinding in a piercing pain.
"Ugh—!"
Ryosuke's teeth chattered as he breathed rapidly.
After a moment, a strange warmth seeped through the soreness, bringing a sense of comfort.
After an unknown amount of time, those hands finally stopped.
Ryosuke collapsed onto the mat, completely drained, drenched in sweat.
"Drink."
Jigoro held the bowl of medicine to his lips.
The medicine was unbearably bitter, and Ryosuke swallowed it with difficulty.
"M-Master…"
Ryosuke's voice was hoarse as he paused.
His parents had died early in his previous life, and he had struggled to survive alone as a social outcast.
Jigoro's sudden care moved him somewhat.
"C-can I… call you Grandpa, like they do?"
After a long silence,
Jigoro coughed a few times, feigning impatience.
"Do as you like. Call me whatever you want! So noisy!"
Jigoro grabbed the empty bowl, stood up, and left.
However, the moment he turned his back on Ryosuke, his demeanor completely changed.
The old man instantly looked gentle and kind, as if surrounded by blooming peach blossoms.
Watching his departing figure, a warmth welled up in Ryosuke's heart.
He wrapped himself in the blanket, his shoulders trembling silently a few times.