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As the two Hashira walked away, Tanjiro quickly checked the boy for injuries. Finding only minor scrapes, he breathed a sigh of relief.
"You okay? I'm Tanjiro, by the way. What's your name?"
"Kotetsu. Thanks for helping me, Tanjiro. Who was that white-haired guy?"
"That's Kaidō—he's also a Hashira in the Demon Slayer Corps. He's actually really amazing..."
BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!
A massive crash echoed from deeper in the forest. Both of them sprinted toward the sound.
Neither of them noticed the figure hiding behind a tree, watching them leave.
Hotaru Haganezuka had heard everything.
━━━━━━━━
Muichiro and Kaidō stood facing each other in an open clearing, weapons drawn, no techniques activated yet—just pure swordsmanship.
Kaidō charged forward, his greatsword arcing downward in a devastating overhead strike. Muichiro leaped into the air, his blade flashing toward Kaidō's exposed back mid-flight.
In one fluid motion, Kaidō spun and brought his greatsword up in a defensive guard. Muichiro's eyes narrowed; he did not hesitate. He used the momentum of the block to touch down, plant his right foot, and launch himself forward again.
All of this happened in the span of three heartbeats.
CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!
Steel rang against steel in a relentless rhythm. The two fighters blurred through the clearing—attacking, defending, never stopping, never slowing.
One black figure, one white. High-speed movement. Flashing blades. The shockwaves from their clashes tore through the surrounding grass and splintered nearby trees.
When Tanjiro and Kotetsu arrived, they could barely process what they were seeing.
"Is this... what a fight between Hashira looks like? They're so fast! I can't even track them! They're both smaller than most people, but the power they're putting out is overwhelming!" Tanjiro's mind raced, struggling to keep up.
Kotetsu watched in awe, something hardening in his chest. He turned to Tanjiro with newfound resolve. "Tanjiro-kun, thank you for standing up for me earlier. I really appreciate it."
"So I've decided—I'm going to train you using that doll. We'll work hard together, and one day you'll beat that emotionless black-haired brat. I'll do everything I can to help you, hehehehe!"
"Uh..." Tanjiro felt a chill run down his spine for reasons he could not quite explain.
TING!
Muichiro's blade snapped in half.
He stared at the broken sword in his hand, expression unreadable. "Your weapon is unusual. You're smaller than me, shorter than me, but you can swing something that heavy around like it's nothing."
Kaidō did not react to the first part of that statement. The second part, however, struck a nerve.
'Oh, he did not just—'
"Muichiro, if you want to keep sparring, I'm more than happy to oblige. After all..." His smile turned dangerously sweet. "I'm very petite, aren't I?"
He emphasized "petite" with so much venom it could have killed a Lower Rank.
The truth was painfully clear: Kaidō was the shortest person in the entire Demon Slayer Corps. Combined with his delicate features and Kanae's relentless dress-up sessions, he had developed a deep-seated complex about the word "petite."
Every single time: "Oh my! What adorable little girl is this? Want to come home with big sister?"
And then came the candy bribes.
Kaidō was not a child who could be bribed with candy.
So Kanae brought an entire basket of candy.
"No need. My sword's broken—I have to get a replacement forged. I'll use a backup weapon in the meantime." Muichiro turned and walked away, broken blade in hand, heading off to find his swordsmith.
"Ugh. Even Shinobu's taller than me. Why am I so... so..." Kaidō sighed in frustration and started walking in the opposite direction.
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"I feel like I've seen this doll somewhere before..." Tanjiro stared at the six-armed mechanical training puppet, déjà vu washing over him.
"Wait—you've seen the Yoriichi Type Zero before, Tanjiro-kun?"
"Ah! I remember now—it was in a dream! I saw him in my dreams."
"But the Yoriichi Type Zero was built by my ancestors based on a legendary swordsman from the Sengoku period. How could you have dreamed about someone from three hundred years ago?"
"Three hundred years? And the doll's still intact?" Tanjiro's jaw dropped. He had never seen craftsmanship that could survive centuries.
"Yeah. The techniques they used back then are way beyond anything we can do now. They say the builder needed six arms just to capture how ridiculously strong that swordsman was." Kotetsu's voice grew quieter. "My father passed away, and I don't have any brothers. I was supposed to inherit his work, but... I don't have the talent for building these things..."
"I'm so sorry, Kotetsu-kun. I didn't mean to bring up bad memories."
"No, no. What you experienced was probably ancestral memory—passed down through your bloodline. It's not just appearance; the dreams you have are echoes of your ancestors' lives."
Kotetsu's enthusiasm returned. "Anyway, let's fire up the Yoriichi Type Zero and get you training. You're going to get strong enough to wipe the floor with that black-haired jerk."
"But wait, I don't think—"
WHOOSH!
Before Tanjiro could finish, the mechanical doll's wooden practice sword came whistling through the air and sent him flying across the clearing.
Thank goodness Kotetsu had swapped out the real blades for wooden ones. Otherwise, Tanjiro would have been sliced into deli meat instead of just getting launched.
"Tanjiro-kun, you need to get stronger so you can crush that black-haired brat. Then you can say things like: 'Is that all you've got, loser? What's with the hair—saving it for a funeral? Stubby little legs. Go commit seppuku, you embarrassment!'" Kotetsu's insults flowed like poetry.
(Muichiro: "Achoo? Why am I sneezing?")
And thus began Tanjiro's hellish training regimen with the Yoriichi Type Zero.
THUD!
Tanjiro went airborne again, his forehead hitting the ground first. He skidded several meters, his skull carving a shallow trench in the dirt.
"Gah! It's impossible! I can't fight six arms at once—I'm getting destroyed here..."
"Tanjiro-kun, you keep acting on instinct instead of thinking. You need to observe your opponent first, then react—do you understand that or not? And your fundamentals are absolute garbage. I honestly have no idea how you're still alive. @%#&@#..."
Kotetsu's verbal barrage was relentless. Ever since his father's death, he had been in a dark place, but his natural talent for savage criticism had not dulled.
The kid was only ten years old, but his analytical skills were frighteningly sharp. He knew he lacked the technical ability to build dolls like his father, but what he did have was an almost supernatural ability to identify weaknesses and exploit them without mercy.
"So I'm going to completely overhaul your trash-tier technique. And until you meet my standards, no food for you."
"Y-yes, sir..."
━━━━━━━━
For days, Tanjiro endured a gauntlet of verbal abuse and mechanical violence.
Get hit. Stand up. Fight again.
No food, because he had not met Kotetsu's standards yet.
"Tanjiro-kun, hang in there. Today is day five. Tomorrow I'm swapping the wooden blades for real ones."
"PLEASE DON'T! I'LL DIE!"
"Then no dinner for you tonight either."
Tanjiro was operating on zero food, zero water, and zero sleep. Pure suffering, distilled into training form.
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Meanwhile, Kaidō had been patrolling the village perimeter for days, that ominous feeling in his gut refusing to fade.
'Something's wrong. This whole trip feels off. I've been scouting nonstop and haven't found anything, but...'
The unease clung to him like a second skin.
"Forget it. I'll call it here for today and resume tomorrow. Kuroha, let's head back."
"Caw! Understood!"
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Back at the training ground, something clicked in Tanjiro's mind.
"What is this scent? It's different from the Opening Thread... left side of the head, neck, right chest, left leg... here it comes!"
SLASH!
The Yoriichi Type Zero's blade came screaming toward Tanjiro's throat in a horizontal arc.
Tanjiro reacted instantly, dodging the strike and countering with his own blade, landing a solid hit on the doll's body. His follow-through, however, was sloppy, and he face-planted into the dirt, his chin kissing the ground.
"You landed a hit. Not bad, Tanjiro-kun. Zero power behind it, but good enough—you can eat now."
"FOOD! I NEED FOOD! Rice balls with pickled plums! And premium gyokuro tea!"
The moment he heard he could finally eat, Tanjiro abandoned all dignity and stuffed rice balls into his mouth like a starving animal.
Through days of brutal training, he had developed a new ability—predicting his opponent's movements through scent alone. The smell reached him faster than even the Opening Thread, giving him a split-second advantage.
After a brief rest, Kotetsu forced him back into combat. This time, Tanjiro moved with newfound confidence—dodging, predicting attack trajectories, and finally swinging his blade toward the doll's neck.
At the last second, he hesitated.
'If I break the doll, Kotetsu will be devastated...'
"Tanjiro-kun, do it. Cut it down. Even if it breaks, I'll fix it—I promise. You're too kind for your own good. You can't hesitate like this in a real fight!" Kotetsu's voice cracked with emotion. "But that's exactly why I don't want you to die. That's why I want you to become stronger than anyone else."
TING!
CRACK!
The doll's head separated cleanly from its body. Tanjiro's sword snapped in half at the same moment.
As the mechanical head shattered, something tumbled out from inside the doll's chest cavity.
A blade. Ancient, timeworn—a sword that had transcended centuries.
Both of them stared at it in stunned silence, then scrambled to retrieve it. When they pulled it free, disappointment crashed over them like cold water.
The sword was covered in rust, its edge dull and pitted.
THUD. THUD. THUD.
Thunderous footsteps echoed from deeper in the forest. A mountain of muscle emerged from the trees—Hotaru Haganezuka, shirtless and radiating intensity.
"Haganezuka-san??"
"I heard everything. Leave the rest to me." Haganezuka tossed Tanjiro a freshly forged blade, then scooped up the rusted sword.
The three of them started bickering over the ancient weapon until Tetsunomori appeared and ended the argument by tickling Haganezuka's armpit.
Tetsunomori explained that Haganezuka had been holed up in the mountains, training specifically to forge Tanjiro a better weapon, because he did not want the boy to die.
"He did that... for me?"
"Yes. Haganezuka-san isn't well liked by other swordsmen—many have refused to work with him. But you and the Dragon Hashira kept requesting him to forge your blades. I think that made him genuinely happy. He just won't admit it."
After a moment, Haganezuka sprang to his feet, clutching the rusted sword. "This blade is mine now. I'll restore it using the Haganezuka family's generations-old techniques."
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