At Rengoku Kyojuro's gesture, the crowd quieted down.
"This child… he's an exceptional seedling," Kyojuro murmured under his breath.
"If nothing goes wrong, he has the potential to become a Pillar one day."
"I'll report this to Oyakata-sama. He's worth keeping an eye on."
Nodding with satisfaction, Kyojuro's eyes settled on Sishu, filled with admiration and approval.
"Still… why does he seem so familiar?" he muttered to himself.
Kyojuro's lecture and demonstration were undoubtedly useful, but to Sishu—who had already reached a certain level—they were only part of the puzzle. The improvements they provided were no longer monumental.
"9,360… 9,380… 9,400…"
"Host's current knowledge and experience are insufficient to further level up breathing techniques."
"Detected: Host has self-trained and improved by 400 points. As a reward, the system grants an additional 300 points."
"Current Level: Novice Breathing Technique (9,700 / 10,000)"
The notifications faded, and Sishu slowly opened his eyes.
The moment he did, he could feel the strange looks being cast his way from every direction.
"Huh? Why are you all looking at me like that? What—do I have a flower growing on my face?"
The absurdity of his statement broke the tension like a needle popping a balloon. Even Kyojuro couldn't hold back his laughter, and soon, the entire square erupted into laughter.
After the chuckles died down, Kyojuro approached him.
"What is your name?"
Rising to his feet, Sishu replied calmly, "Sishu."
Kyojuro nodded in approval.
There was no arrogance, no bootlicking, no signs of inferiority. The boy—only around seven or eight by appearance—carried himself with the composure of a seasoned warrior. He had more poise than many grown swordsmen.
His assessment of Sishu rose once more, and Kyojuro let out a hearty laugh.
"With that, today's lecture is concluded. Everyone, take some time to reflect on what you've learned."
Hearing this, Sishu turned to leave.
Though Kyojuro's lessons hadn't pushed him into the "proficient" tier of Total Concentration Breathing, they had still earned him a decent chunk of progress.
Even mosquito meat is still meat—if he accumulated a few more sessions like this, he might just break through.
But just as he took a few steps away, the system's voice rang in his mind.
"Mission: Leave the Demon Slayer Corps training grounds and head northwest into the forest to hunt demons."
A glimmer lit up in his eyes, and a smile tugged at his lips.
Just as he was thinking about putting his training into practice, the system handed him a mission on a silver platter.
Truly, the system knew him well—always ready with a pillow when he was about to doze off.
Although someone his age technically wasn't allowed to leave the grounds without permission, Sishu had his own ways around such rules.
No time to waste—he would head back, gather some essentials, and set off.
But before he could move—
"You there, kid. Want to have a match with me?"
The voice cut through the murmurs of the dispersing crowd.
Even Kyojuro, who had been preparing to leave, paused and turned around.
Sishu turned as well and saw a boy, perhaps twelve or thirteen, standing with his arms crossed.
The boy was broad-shouldered, with a scar across his forehead that looked like it came from a blade. A wooden sword hung at his waist, and a confident smirk sat on his face.
"You're talking to me?"
Sishu pointed at himself, slightly exasperated.
Since arriving in this world, he had done everything possible to keep a low profile.
Sure, he was the disciple of Yoriichi Tsugikuni—but no one in the Corps seemed to know that.
Yoriichi, being Yoriichi, didn't exactly go around bragging about it. And Sishu didn't care to advertise it either.
So why was someone picking a fight with him out of nowhere?
The boy, whose name was Chizhong, saw Sishu's silence as a sign of fear.
A mocking sneer spread across his lips.
"Scared? Just say so. I'll let you off—so long as you don't go crying to your wimpy master afterward."
The moment he spat those words, Sishu turned around, his expression instantly changing.
"Random Mission Generated: Defeat Chizhong. Rewards vary depending on how long the match lasts."
That was all the motivation Sishu needed.
Not only had Chizhong insulted his master, but now there was a system reward involved.
The air around him seemed to grow colder. Even Chizhong, cocky as he was, felt a sudden jolt of unease.
"What's the matter? Changed your mind?"
Sishu's eyes narrowed, glinting with a trace of icy sharpness.
"If you're so desperate, I'll give you what you want."
"As for a judge—what better than to have Flame Hashira Rengoku Kyojuro himself officiate?"
He turned toward Kyojuro.
Startled at first, Kyojuro then broke into another laugh.
"Very well. I shall preside over this match!"
Under Kyojuro's direction, the crowd quickly made space.
A rough circle was drawn on the ground to serve as the arena, and the two participants took their places at opposite ends.
Kyojuro surveyed both boys, then spoke clearly.
"This will be a controlled spar. No excessive force. No intent to injure."
"If a participant is incapacitated or leaves the circle, it will count as a loss. Do either of you object?"
Sishu / Chizhong: "No!"
"Then—begin!"
Kyojuro's hand chopped down as he announced the start of the match.
With his level of strength, he had no fear of being caught in the crossfire. He remained in the arena to ensure their safety in case things went south.
The instant Kyojuro spoke, Chizhong sneered coldly.
"I'm older than you by a few years. Been training breathing techniques for two."
"I'll be generous—I'll let you take the first move."
The onlookers were visibly impressed.
"Chizhong is amazing—he's letting the other guy attack first!"
"Exactly! That kid must be shaking in his shoes."
"Chizhong's swordsmanship is top-notch among his peers. That little guy is out of his depth."
Basking in the attention, Chizhong grinned with pride.
He had been ready to impress the Flame Hashira today—only for his spotlight to be stolen by a kid he'd never seen before.
Kyojuro's praise. The crowd's admiration. That should have been his.
The memory of Sishu's performance only deepened the bitterness in his heart.
"Come on. Let's see what your swordsmanship is worth."
Sishu shook his head, unfazed by the taunts.
"You said it yourself. I won't hold back."
He picked up the wooden sword and began walking forward—unhurried, casual, composed.
Chizhong's heart began to pound.
"He's just walking… Is this a bluff?"
"Is he trying to mess with my focus?"
"What kind of attack will it be? A downward slash? A horizontal sweep? An upward strike?"
His grip tightened on his sword. Sweat gathered on his palms. He swallowed hard.
And then—just three steps away—Sishu moved.
His wooden sword flashed like a bolt of lightning.
A clean strike landed directly on Chizhong's neck.
Bang.
Still mid-swallow, Chizhong didn't even have time to react.
He felt a sudden, tremendous force slam into his throat.
"Ugh—!"
His body froze, air caught in his lungs. His eyes rolled back, and he collapsed like a felled tree.
Thud.
The solid mass of his body hit the ground with a dull thump, completely limp.
No one had anticipated such an outcome.
No cheers for the victor. No jeers for the defeated.
Only silence—stunned, heavy silence—hung in the air like fog.
Sishu stood motionless, lowering his wooden sword.
And in that breathless quiet, a system prompt lit up in his mind.
Mission Complete: Chizhong Defeated.
Combat Duration: 3.7 seconds.
Evaluating Performance… Rewarding System Points…