Tanjiro's father's smile felt close enough to touch—he always looked at him gently, like a quiet wild orchid blooming into spring.
The little home ahead would still be guarded by Father; the larger world outside… Roy tightened his grip on the blade and swept across—"Water Breathing: Fourth Form: Striking Tide!"
River water coiled into a whipping band and surged at Tomioka Giyu.
Hearing "father," Giyu thought of his sister—she, too, had watched him with the softness of water. He pinched a falling bead of spray between his fingers, stepped out of the falls, and met Roy's cut with the same Striking Tide—the two waves collided.
Everyone protects different things: women keeping house and tending the young and the old, men bearing the burden of livelihood to feed the family, the Demon Slayer Corps hunting demons to guard one corner of the world…
Everyone is fighting to live.
Clang-clang-clang…
Steel sang like pearls flung on a jade tray, ringing without end.
Blade-light devoured everything around—felling trees, splitting the lake, shattering greenstone.
Shinsuke, Fukuda, Shimizu, Watanabe—wide-eyed—tried to keep up; even with eyes stretched to the limit, the pace outstripped their sight. It grew harder and harder to follow…
"Too fast. Giyu-nii being a Hashira makes this power easy to understand—but what is Roy?"
Hacking at posts was one thing; crossing blades with a master hammered the truth home.
They had planned to take Roy down a peg when they heard Giyu was coming—to dull his edge before he left the mountain so he wouldn't suffer for arrogance later. Now they glanced at each other—
Who was educating whom?
Key point—"Roy hasn't even used Breathing." Makomo forced herself to track the rise and fall of Roy's chest—steady, not as heaving as Giyu's. The boy was fighting purely on the strength of his body.
"Water Breathing: Third Form: Flowing Dance… Fifth Form: Blessed Rain After the Drought… Eighth: Waterfall Basin… Ninth: Splashing Water Flow…"
Form after form crashed together. The duel burned white-hot. Giyu's breathing grew visibly heavier.
Sabito, strongest among their juniors in life and trained in Breathing—though not to Giyu's Constant—saw it first. When he noticed Giyu begin to pant, his eyes tightened, feelings tangled—approval of Giyu's power, shock that Roy had held even this long without slipping, and a swell of quiet pride.
"They're both the real thing." He opened his mouth to call a halt; the "test" had no need to go further. But— as a swordsman, he couldn't. He knew too well what it meant, when equals met over the board.
Both were flush now, techniques coming faster, sharper—evidence enough.
"Water Breathing: Tenth Form: Constant Flux…"
"Roar!"
Blade drew water; water became dragon—Roy and Giyu, as if by mutual accord, loosed their cuts at once; two water dragons howled at each other and crashed.
Ping—
A shriek of metal pierced the air and tore outward.
They split in the same instant—each alighted on the tip of a birch.
Boom! The waterfall split along their axis, blasting apart.
Spray exploded and sifted down like a passing rain, soaking a stretch of earth and sky.
"Haa…" Giyu let out a long breath and looked across at the boy. Roy's heartbeat was calm; his breath unhurried; composed, effortless—in far better shape than Giyu himself.
By rights, the "test" needn't continue. To fight a Hashira to this point—Giyu could already imagine the Master's face when he heard. He would likely wear his usual slight smile—but Giyu knew his heart would not be so still.
The falls knitted themselves back together. Giyu drew a steady breath, reset his guard, and locked gazes with Roy. His voice was low.
"Roy… for your age—I, Tomioka Giyu, would call you the strongest."
"Brother is joking." Roy held the short blade in one hand, tip angled down, and looked at Giyu with genuine respect. This senior's heart was not nearly as cold as he wore it. In the canon of his memory, Giyu and Urokodaki stood surety to protect Tanjiro and Nezuko; though times were different, Roy would honor that debt.
"I never joke," Giyu replied, dead serious. He tightened both hands on the Nichirin, the point likewise slanting down.
"I have one more cut. Will you see it?"
"The Eleventh?"
"Yes."
"Hey—hey—don't just talk among yourselves!" the ghosts squeaked. They'd trained Water Breathing for years under Urokodaki—hadn't there only ever been ten forms?
"When did an Eleventh appear?"
"Likely Giyu's own creation," Sabito said, complicated fondness in his eyes. The crybaby had grown beyond even Sabito's sight. "When it comes, even Master won't know how to meet it."
Makomo hurried to patch for Urokodaki. "Master's age—not matching Giyu-nii is normal. He's the current Water Hashira, after all."
Sabito smiled and fell silent, looking to Roy.
The boy's gaze stayed easy. In truth, he'd wanted, for some time, to witness the form that had hewn off Lower Five Rui's head—Nagi—to see just how brilliant it was.
He smiled wide. "If Brother wants me to watch, of course I will. And…"
Roy set the short blade down, letting the tip kiss his toe, and narrowed his eyes. "Your junior has a cut as well. I ask Brother to critique it."
"…Hah?" Shinsuke slapped Fukuda. "Did I hear that right?"
Slap—slap… Fukuda gave him two back. "You heard right."
They stared at Roy, neither sure if the boy was stirring Giyu's mind with big talk—or if he meant it. They just gaped, dumbstruck.
Makomo poked Sabito—wide-mouthed. Even he blinked, took a long beat, and then shared a look with her—equally stunned.
~~~
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