When Tomioka Giyu returned to his base, the moon was already high overhead. Silver light spilled across the courtyard, making the stone tiles gleam coldly.
He slid open the door—the room was pitch dark. Only a faint spark burned in the oil lamp on the table. Tō wasn't inside.
Frowning slightly, he was about to light the lamp when the distant sound of a blade cutting through the air reached his ears—sharp, rhythmic, and steady.
Carrying the lantern, Giyu followed the sound to the backyard—and stopped in his tracks.
Under the moonlight, Tomioka Tō was soaked with sweat. His training clothes clung to his back, his hair stuck to his forehead, his face smudged with dust and sweat.
In his hands, he gripped an ordinary katana and practiced the motion of Water Breathing, First Form: Water Surface Slash again and again.
He wasn't using Breathing techniques, only the raw repetition of his body's memory—refining each strike with pure physical effort.
Every swing cut through the air sharply, each sound ringing clearly in the still night.
Stones were scattered across the ground—markers for his targets. Every strike hit precisely at the same spot beside the stones, leaving shallow and deep cuts perfectly aligned.
His arms trembled from exhaustion, yet he didn't stop. Sweat dripped from his chin, soaking into the ground and forming small dark spots.
"Tō."
Giyu's voice was soft, echoing quietly through the courtyard.
Tō's body stiffened, nearly dropping his sword.
He turned, eyes wide in surprise, then quickly lowered his head, flustered. "Shishou… you're back."
"Enough. You should rest."
Giyu walked over and set the lantern on the stone steps nearby.
"Your clothes are drenched. If you keep training like this, you'll catch a cold."
"I…"
Tō gripped his sword tightly, his voice hoarse.
"I just wanted to train a little more. I'm still too weak. If I don't push harder, I won't be able to help you in the future."
He lifted his head. His eyes shone in the moonlight, filled with stubborn determination. "I don't have your kind of talent, Shishou. So I can only work harder than others—so that I can stand beside you, and not drag you down in battle."
Giyu's chest tightened.
How could he not recognize the boy's talent? From the way Tō could draw the sharpness of Wind Breathing out of Water Breathing's defensive flow, and how he'd already mastered the basics of both styles and begun merging them—his skill was undeniable.
He had even asked Shinazugawa Sanemi to guide Tō personally in Wind Breathing. Sanemi was rough-tempered, but his understanding of the form was unmatched. Giyu knew he could teach Tō the purest technique.
Now, Tō could already combine Water Breathing, First Form and Wind Breathing, First Form seamlessly. His speed and power far surpassed most swordsmen of his level. Yet, he still felt he wasn't good enough—always pushing for more.
"You're already doing well."
Giyu placed a hand gently on his shoulder.
"But you need to rest too—and give it time."
Tō looked up at his master's calm eyes, then nodded at last. He set down his sword, his arms trembling faintly from overuse.
Giyu took off his haori and draped it over the boy's shoulders. The large fabric wrapped around his small frame, still carrying his master's warmth.
"Go wash up, then sleep," Giyu said, picking up the lantern and heading toward the house.
Tō followed close behind, holding the edge of Giyu's haori, warmth blooming in his chest.
He knew his teacher wasn't one to say much—but he always cared deeply.
The next morning, just before dawn, Giyu had already packed his things.
He was heading out for patrol in the western region—a long trip that would take most of the day.
"Shishou, will you be back tonight?"
Tō stood by the door, clutching his clothes, a faint trace of worry in his eyes.
Giyu knelt down to fix the boy's collar. "I'll be back as soon as I can. I should make it by tonight."
Then, remembering something, he added, "I'll bring you dorayaki when I return."
Tō's eyes lit up instantly. The tension in his face melted away, and he nodded eagerly. "Okay! I'll wait for you to come back!"
Giyu ruffled his hair, then turned and left.
Tō watched his master's back disappear down the mountain path, then let out a breath of relief.
From his pocket, he pulled out a neatly folded letter—it had arrived yesterday, delivered by Kocho Shinobu's kasugai crow.
In delicate handwriting, it read:
"To Tō—Tomorrow is Tomioka-san's birthday. Oyakata-sama has informed everyone, and we plan to gather at the base tonight to celebrate. Please keep it a secret, and confirm whether he will return this evening so we can prepare."
Tō couldn't help but grin as he read it.
He quickly grabbed pen and paper, writing a reply in neat strokes:
"Shishou said he'll be back tonight and bring dorayaki. I'll clean the place and get everything ready before you arrive."
He tied the note to the crow's leg and sent it off, then got to work immediately.
He cleaned the rooms, swept the courtyard, and moved the tables outside for the evening celebration.
Not long after, footsteps sounded outside the gate.
Tō ran to open it and saw Kocho Shinobu and Kocho Kanae standing there.
Kanae held a food box in her hands, while Shinobu carried several neatly wrapped gifts.
"Tō, how's everything coming along?" Kanae asked with a warm smile.
"All done!"
Tō nodded quickly, then looked curiously at Kanae's box. "Kanae-nee, is that a cake?"
"It is. We had the Butterfly Mansion's kitchen make it. Tomioka-san should like it."
Kanae opened the box—a small, delicate strawberry cake with a few candles on top.
"Oh, right. Shinazugawa-san wanted to come too, but he said he doesn't like crowds. He asked me to give this to Tomioka-san."
She handed Tō a small wooden box. "He said it'll be useful for both you and your master. You can open it when he's back."
Tō took the box, feeling its light weight, unable to guess what was inside.
Shinobu placed her own gifts on the table, pointing them out one by one. "This one's from Uzui-san—he said it's something to help 'relax body and mind.' That black iron ball is from Himejima-san—for arm strength training. And that cloth bag is from the Rengoku family—it's full of dango. Kyojuro-san said Giyu-san trains too hard and should eat more sweets to regain energy."
Tō's eyes widened as he looked at the growing pile of gifts on the table.
The package from the Sound Hashira looked like it contained a musical instrument, the iron ball from the Stone Hashira was heavy and solid, and the bundle from the Rengoku family gave off a faint, sweet aroma.
"And Oyakata-sama," Kanae added, "sent some money and fresh premium salmon. He said Tomioka-san doesn't pay much attention to his meals and should eat better to stay healthy."
At that moment, Shinobu took out a small pendant from her pocket and handed it to Tō. "I made this myself. I hope Tomioka-san will like it."
The pendant was shaped like a water droplet, carved from light-colored wood. Its surface was polished smooth, and a dark cord was tied to it. It looked delicate and refined—something meant to hang at the waist.
'Shishou will definitely be happy when he sees all these gifts.'
Before long, Rengoku Kyojuro and his younger brother Senjuro arrived as well. Kyojuro carried a large bag filled with homemade dried meat, while Giyu's subordinate Suzuki returned to help set up the courtyard—hanging lanterns, laying out tablecloths, and arranging everything busily.
By sunset, the courtyard was completely prepared.
Lanterns hung from tree branches, casting a warm glow. On the table sat the strawberry cake, dango, dried meat, and a variety of side dishes. All the gifts were neatly stacked to one side, waiting for Giyu's return.
Tō kept running to the gate, peeking out with nervous excitement, afraid his master might be late.
Meanwhile, Giyu was hurrying down the mountain path, carrying a small paper package.
The patrol had gone smoothly, so he finished early—just to make it back before the dorayaki shop closed.
Unfortunately, by the time he arrived, the store had already shut its doors. He had to knock repeatedly and convince the owner for quite some time before they agreed to reopen and sell him a few freshly made dorayaki.
They were still warm in his hands as he walked. Thinking of Tō's expectant face waiting for the treat, he couldn't help but let a faint smile tug at the corner of his lips.
Finally, the glow of lanterns from the base came into view.
At the gate, he paused, took a deep breath, and straightened his slightly rumpled haori before sliding open the door.
"Happy birthday!"
"Tomioka-san!"
"Giyu!"
"Shishou!"
"Water Hashira-sama!"
A chorus of cheerful voices rang out. Warm lantern light filled the courtyard. Kanae, Shinobu, the Rengoku brothers, Tō, and Suzuki all stood around the table, smiling brightly at him.
Giyu froze, the dorayaki nearly slipping from his hands.
He looked at the scene before him—the cake, the gifts, the glowing lanterns, and the expectant faces of his friends.
A warmth surged through his chest, washing away all the exhaustion of the day.
He had never celebrated a birthday before. In his previous life, he spent every one training or on missions, always alone. No one ever remembered—not even himself.
But now, there were people waiting for him, celebrating for him. The feeling was overwhelming yet deeply comforting.
"Shishou! You're finally back!"
Tō ran up, taking the dorayaki from his hands and passing him Shinobu's pendant.
"This is from Shinobu-nee! And everyone brought you gifts too! You have to open them!"
Giyu took the pendant. His fingertips brushed the smooth wood, and warmth spread quietly through his chest.
He looked up at everyone, and a genuine smile slowly appeared on his face—clear, warm, and real.
"Thank you," he said softly, but his tone carried deep sincerity.
Kanae smiled and handed him the wooden box. "Open Shinazugawa-san's gift first. He didn't come, but he made me promise you'd open this one before the others."
Giyu accepted the box and lifted the lid. Inside was a hand-bound book titled Wind Breathing: Detailed Analysis.
Each page was filled with notes—descriptions of every form, the breathing rhythm, and Sanemi's own battle insights. Rough sketches of techniques were drawn in the margins.
He understood immediately—Sanemi knew he was teaching Tō Wind Breathing and experimenting with combining techniques.
So, he'd written down his full understanding of the form as a guide—a personal gift.
That rough, loud-mouthed Wind Hashira was, at heart, a kind man.
"Next, open Kanae-nee's!"
Tō handed him a fabric-wrapped parcel.
Giyu untied it, revealing a set of new clothes—a moon-white outer robe made from a light but flowing fabric.
The collar was embroidered with a faint red maple design, subtle but elegant.
Underneath was a dark ink-colored undershirt with narrow sleeves—fitted for training—and a deep pine-green woven belt with faint cloud patterns. At the end hung a jade ornament carved in the shape of a crescent moon, cool and smooth to the touch.
"I noticed you always wear dark blue," Kanae said with a smile. "So I had a new outfit made for you. You can wear it while training or going out. I hope you like it."
"I do. Thank you."
Warmth spread through Giyu's chest again. He could tell she had put great care into every detail.
Next came Uzui Tengen's gift—a beautifully crafted flute with a bright, clear tone.
Himejima's iron ball was as heavy as it looked, perfect for arm training.
The Rengoku family's dango were sweet but not overpowering—something to share with Tanjiro and the others later.
Oyakata-sama's salmon was fresh, and the money pouch weighed pleasantly in his hands.
Lastly, he took Shinobu's water-drop pendant and tied it at his waist. It fit perfectly against him, as if it belonged there.
The courtyard grew lively as everyone gathered around the table, eating cake and dango.
Kyojuro spoke animatedly about his latest training stories, Senjuro listened quietly with a gentle smile, Shinobu chatted softly with Tō—reminding him not to overwork himself—and Kanae poured tea for everyone.
Sitting among them, Giyu held a dango skewer in one hand, his heart filled with a quiet peace and warmth he had never known.
Moonlight spilled over the courtyard, and the lantern light reflected off every smiling face.
The simple joy of the evening shone like a soft light, piercing through all the years of blood and sorrow, and in that moment, Giyu silently made up his mind—
No matter how hard the future became, he would protect this warmth, and protect everyone within it.