As soon as the words left Shishu's mouth, the entire space fell silent.
With keen eyes, he noticed something subtle—Yoriichi's body had just trembled slightly. It was a small, nearly imperceptible reaction, but it revealed everything.
Yoriichi did not wish for Shishu to learn the Breathing Techniques.
Or rather, he didn't want him to learn them too soon.
This was not because Yoriichi wished to hinder his disciple. Quite the opposite—it was his way of protecting him.
The path to strength was not paved with ease. It was treacherous, lined with pain and sacrifice. As his master, Yoriichi simply wanted his disciple to grow up safe, healthy, and happy.
After all, to study the Breathing Techniques meant to embark on the path of power. And the moment one stepped onto that path, trials would follow.
To become strong meant to qualify for trials. And once one passed the trials, they became an official member of the Demon Slayer Corps. That status came with a terrifying price—hunting demons.
Yoriichi had seen the fate of far too many demon slayers. He knew what awaited Shishu at the end of that road. He did not wish for his disciple to face that suffering, especially not yet.
If it were up to him, he would rather Shishu lived a normal life, free from bloodshed, full of joy and peace.
But it was already clear—Shishu would not live according to someone else's plan.
Yoriichi's momentary loss of composure faded quickly. His breathing calmed, and his expression returned to the stillness of a calm lake.
His lips parted, as if about to deny the request.
"I'll pretend I didn't hear th—"
"No. I must learn the Breathing Techniques!"
Shishu's voice cut through his words like a blade.
His expression was solemn, and his eyes burned with determination.
"This is the request of my life."
Faced with such unwavering will, Yoriichi finally relented.
"You may… but I will test you first."
As he spoke, he reached to the nearby rack and pulled down a wooden sword.
"I will not use the Breathing Techniques. You and I will spar."
"The condition for passing is simple—cut my clothing."
On the surface, the trial sounded easy.
But Shishu knew better. It was anything but.
He had never crossed blades with Yoriichi, but he understood his master's strength.
Even without using the Breathing Techniques, Yoriichi was terrifying.
His strength came not only from his innate talent and the mark on his body, but from decades of experience and mastery. Every movement he made carried precision honed through endless battles.
A single mistake could result in serious injury—or worse.
This was not just a test. It was a battle that brushed against the edge of life and death.
And yet, standing in the face of that danger, Shishu smiled.
"To die is a small price. What's there to fear?"
A quiet life held no appeal for him. He longed for a life of fire and steel.
To spar with Yoriichi was to draw a blade against the strongest swordsman in the world.
His blood surged with excitement.
Gripping his wooden sword tightly, Shishu stepped into a fighting stance.
The atmosphere shifted. It was invisible yet undeniable. The air itself seemed to grow heavier.
A droplet of dew rolled from a leaf nearby, tracing a path down the green surface.
It fell.
"Plop."
The moment it touched the earth, Shishu moved.
With a sharp burst of speed, he launched himself forward, body low like a drawn bow released.
The strike came fast and true.
"Slash!"
A pale white arc of sword energy surged toward Yoriichi's chest.
Yoriichi did not move. His expression was unchanged, still as a statue.
His wooden sword rose, and with a movement so refined it defied understanding, he struck the precise weak point of the incoming slash.
"Clang. Clang. Clang. Clang. Clang."
Five crisp sounds rang out. The pale arc shattered like glass, dispersing into the wind.
Shishu's pride in his attack vanished instantly, but he did not falter.
This was only the beginning.
With a flash of movement, Yoriichi closed the distance.
He always preferred close combat.
Raising his wooden sword high, he brought it crashing toward Shishu's right shoulder.
The swing tore through the air, creating a chilling sound that hissed near Shishu's ear.
There was no hesitation, even against his own disciple. This was a real battle.
If that strike landed, it would leave a massive welt across Shishu's shoulder.
Reading Yoriichi's intent, Shishu tilted his blade horizontally.
"Bang!"
The wooden swords clashed violently, producing a deep, thunderous thud.
In that instant, Shishu knew—he could not overpower him.
Yoriichi's strength far surpassed his own.
Gritting his teeth, Shishu held the sword firmly with both hands and began retreating, letting his body absorb the force while sliding backward to reduce the impact.
"Thud. Thud. Thud."
Each time his feet touched the ground, a groove was carved into the earth. He stumbled back dozens of steps before crashing against a thick tree.
The trunk shook, and the clash finally ended.
Breath heavy and muscles burning, Shishu's blood simmered with fire.
Without hesitation, he charged again.
This time, he aimed not at the body, but at Yoriichi's right hand.
Better to break one finger than to bruise ten. If he could force his master to release the weapon, his chances would rise significantly.
Yoriichi's eyes lit briefly with approval.
He leaned slightly, then slammed his left elbow into Shishu's abdomen.
The blow struck like a hammer.
The force shattered the tree behind him, sending debris flying and smoke curling into the air.
Shishu's body flew backward, swallowed by the rising dust cloud.
"It's over."
There was no disappointment in Yoriichi's tone. In truth, he was proud.
But just as he lowered his sword, a voice rose from within the cloud.
"It's not over yet!"
The cry was followed by a figure surging forward—bloodied, battered, but unbowed.
Shishu roared, sword raised.
"One more slash!"
Disregarding the screaming pain in his body, he poured every ounce of strength into the attack.
Even from a distance, Yoriichi heard the tearing of muscles.
The white flash of energy tore through the air with a shriek, filled not with power, but with resolve.
This was the spirit of someone who refused to give up.
For a fleeting moment, Yoriichi's composure faltered.
Even so, he raised his sword again and countered.
"Clang!"
The slash shattered once more. Yoriichi's sword swept down, striking Shishu's arm.
"Arrrghh!"
Shishu shouted with all his might.
"I have to win!"
He used his wooden sword to block, crossing it between his shoulder and wrist.
But the sword was fragile, worn thin from countless battles. It could not hold.
With a crack, it snapped.
"Damn it!"
His heart sank. At the most critical moment, his weapon had failed.
Yoriichi exhaled softly. The chance of Shishu passing had already been slim. Now, without a weapon, it was nearly impossible.
Still, the blow he delivered was controlled.
"Thump. Thump."
Two sharp impacts landed on Shishu's wrist, knocking him back.
The pain pulsed, but Yoriichi's strike was expertly measured. Bones were spared, though large welts were already forming.
Shishu clutched his wrist and stumbled back.
Seeing his disciple unable to continue, Yoriichi dropped his sword.
"It's over. You lo—"
"No."
Shishu's shout cut him off.
"I won!"
The expression of frustration vanished from his face. He pointed at Yoriichi's robe.
A tear had appeared near the edge of the sleeve.
A clean cut.
Somehow, somewhere during the flurry of attacks, his blade had done what was required.
Shishu had passed the test.