Shinichi couldn't help but be a little taken aback by the training methods of his disciple and his brother, the twin Hashira, Tokito Yuichiro and Tokito Muichiro.
The brothers had transformed the estate's vast, open field into what could only be described as a pure speed arena.
Yuichiro had meticulously mapped out a series of impossibly complex routes across the grounds.
It was a dizzying web of low-slung obstacles that demanded slides and leaps, sharp turns that would snap an ankle if you weren't careful, and countless tiny bells hanging from strings at odd heights.
Yuichiro himself was a blur, a living inferno of autumn leaves.
Pushing his Maple Breathing to its absolute peak, his body left crimson afterimages that streaked across the field.
Every time he pivoted, the air itself seemed to howl in protest.
He wasn't just teaching; he was a living demonstration of what the pinnacle of speed looked like.
The task for the regular Demon Slayers was simple in theory, but brutal in practice: follow Yuichiro's exact path, maintain top speed, and navigate every single obstacle without so much as rustling a single wind chime.
One mistake, one jingle of a bell, and they would earn the full force of the Maple Hashira's merciless scorn.
"Are you a fucking snail? Even a half-dead demon would have time to eat you, take a nap, and then eat you again."
"Slower than my ninety-year-old grandfather trying to stand up. I bet the demons would be more than happy to help you with your form, though the lesson would cost you your life."
"Faster! What are you doing, taking a scenic stroll? Push yourselves! Demons don't wait for you to catch your breath!"
Yuichiro's voice was as sharp and cutting as a freshly honed blade.
Despite being younger than most of the slayers he was training, the sheer force of his presence was enough to silence any complaints.
They could only grit their teeth, their lungs burning and muscles screaming, and force their bodies past their limits.
On the other side of the field, Tokito Muichiro, the Mist Hashira, was a complete contrast of his brother.
He moved like a phantom, an ethereal wisp of fog.
Under the constant influence of his Mist Breathing, his form flickered in and out of focus, one moment solid, the next a hazy outline.
His movements were weightless and utterly fluid as he weaved effortlessly between the huffing and puffing trainees.
Muichiro's training goal was even simpler than his brother's: if a Demon Slayer could manage to touch even a single thread of his sleeve, they passed.
So far, very few had even come close.
The reserved young man would patiently explain the subtle shifts in footwork and the proper breathing techniques, guiding his students on how to conserve energy while maximizing their explosive speed.
He wanted them to learn how to keep up with a ghost.
Together, the twin brothers were hammering one lesson into the Corps: speed is life, whether it's a straight-line sprint or a mad scramble across treacherous terrain.
Shinichi remembered hearing that when Muichiro first returned to the Corps and learned that his former mentor, Shinobu Kocho, had vanished, the usually quiet boy had locked himself in his room and cried all night.
Seeing him now, so focused and dedicated, was a testament to his strength.
He didn't stick around the speed trials for too long.
He just made a point to stop by the Kakushi kitchens to pick up some freshly pickled radishes—a favorite snack of the Tokito brothers—and shared a quiet meal with the brothers before heading on his way.
Next on his tour was the Love Hashira, Kanroji Mitsuri, and her special flexibility training.
As he approached, however, the sight that greeted him gave him a serious pause.
The Demon Slayers, their faces twisted in expressions of pained effort, were all wearing… well, Shinichi wasn't quite sure what to call their outfits.
"Ah! Shinichi-senpai!" Mitsuri squealed, her eyes lighting up.
"Are you here to watch my training? I'm so, so happy! Do you have any advice for me? Oh, you could even join in if you want! Iguro-san already gave it a try!"
"Wait, what!?" Shinichi's eyes went wide.
"You mean Obanai!?" He took another, closer look at the trainees.
They were all decked out in cute, bright pink yoga outfits, some holding ribbons, others clutching exercise balls.
The image of the perpetually aloof and grim Serpent Hashira, Obanai Iguro, wearing that… Ugh.
The thought alone was enough to make his hair stand on end.
"Shinichi-senpai? Shinichi-senpai? Would you like to try one on?" Mitsuri asked, her big, sparkling eyes looking at him with pure, innocent hope.
Shinichi closed his own eyes for a moment, took a calming breath and said.
"I must respectfully decline."
He noticed young Tanjiro among the group, also looking slightly mortified by the outfit.
But then, a look of determination crossed the boy's face.
The thought that this bizarre training would make him stronger—strong enough to protect Nezuko and his friends—was apparently enough to fill him with a sudden burst of vigor.
While Mitsuri's methods looked a bit silly on the surface, with all the gymnastic poses and dance-like movements, there was a deadly purpose behind it all.
In another training area, she had constructed an obstacle course out of what she called "soft" traps.
Giant, specially-made elastic bands were strung up like a spiderweb, and nets woven from flexible vines hung from the trees.
The trainees had to contort their bodies into impossibly flexible angles, almost as if they were boneless, to twist and weave their way through without snapping a single band or vine.
All the while, they had to dodge simulated attacks—heavy sandbags swinging from ropes and soft whips cracking through the air—and strike designated targets hidden within the course.
"Come on, my little cuties~" Mitsuri cheered, demonstrating with a smile.
"Your bodies need to be as soft and flexible as this! But your strikes must be as fast and fierce as a whip!" Her own body folded and twisted in ways that defied anatomy, and her unique, whip-like Nichirin Blade, the "Love Blade," darted out like a serpent, striking a target with pinpoint accuracy through a tiny gap in the elastic web.
Her training was designed to turn the Slayers' bodies into the most flexible and lethal weapons possible, making them adaptable to any situation.
When it was time for Shinichi to leave, the ever-enthusiastic Mitsuri gifted him a massive box of delicious sakura mochi.
The first thought that popped into Shinichi's head was that Obanai would absolutely love these.
It was a popular rumor that Mitsuri's hair was originally black and had turned its current pink-and-green shade because she ate so much sakura mochi.
Could a snack really change your hair color?
It was a strange thought, but in this world, who knew?
Finally, he arrived at the training grounds of the Serpent Hashira, Obanai Iguro.
The place was just as cold and severe as the man himself.
Just stepping inside the estate felt like walking into a freezer.
Iguro's training ground was a masterclass in chill and lethality.
He had taken over a series of abandoned, dilapidated buildings and turned them into a treacherous maze.
The traps were vicious: spring-loaded pieces of softwood that shot out like blades, heavy sandbags that dropped from the ceiling without warning, and "poison needles" that were actually just darts coated in a harmless but offensively bright paint.
Worse yet, Iguro himself was a part of the trap.
He lurked somewhere within the maze, a phantom who would launch sporadic ambushes from the shadows.
The Demon Slayers had to navigate this deathtrap without any protective gear, relying solely on their Nichirin Blades and their instincts to find and strike the practice dummies scattered throughout.
"Demons never announce themselves," Obanai's cold, disembodied voice would hiss from the darkness.
"Be wary of your own shadow. Listen to the whispers of the wind. Question every unfamiliar scent."
His mismatched eyes would watch the flustered trainees from a hidden perch, completely devoid of emotion.
Any trainee who was hit by a trap or marked by the paint was instantly disqualified.
And those who were eliminated? They were immediately repurposed.
Iguro would have them tied up next to the wooden effigies that represented demons, using them as human shields.
This forced the remaining Slayers to find a way to strike the target without harming their comrades.
It sounded cruel because it was cruel.
Many trainees hesitated, afraid of accidentally cutting a friend, and that hesitation would be their downfall.
Soon enough, they too would become one of the bound obstacles that others had to navigate.
Iguro's training was designed to sharpen a Slayer's vigilance and reaction time to a razor's edge, but it also served to burn away their hesitation.
Against a demon, you strike without faltering, or you die.
Shinichi and Iguro got along well enough, though they weren't exactly chatty.
They mostly stood in silence, watching the trainees struggle while Iguro would occasionally let out a derisive scoff at a particularly poor performance.
The real surprise came when Shinichi offered Iguro the box of sakura mochi from Mitsuri.
He casually mentioned her flexibility training and for the first time, Shinichi saw an uncharacteristically flustered look on the Serpent Hashira's face.
"I was just… helping her test the course," he stammered.
"I didn't, I didn't wear..."
"Wear what?" Shinichi asked, a smirk playing on his lips.
"...."
Obanai said nothing, but the killing intent radiating from his glare was answer enough.
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