"Snow Falling."
This was the second form of the Yukishiro Breathing Technique. Just like the first, its name was deceptively simple, only two words, but its effect was anything but ordinary.
Yukishiro rushed straight toward Kanzaki Aoi, his body wrapped in a haze of chilling air. Under the pressure of his breathing technique, the moisture in the air crystallized, scattering into glittering shards of ice.
Wherever he moved, a drifting veil of white mist followed, cloaking him in an ethereal shroud. Even his wooden sword, once plain and brown, gleamed with frost, its surface dusted with ice chips.
Before he reached her, the cold already pricked at Aoi's skin. The chill clawed at her lungs, making each breath heavier than the last.
Through the white haze, Aoi could barely see his silhouette closing in. She knew that once he entered striking distance, drawing breath would only harm her further. If she wanted to survive this, she had to finish her breathing before the mist swallowed her completely.
"Ice Breathing: Third Form – Flowing Dance!"
Her voice was sharp, steady. With a fluid twist of her body, she slipped into her technique, each step curving gracefully like water weaving between stones. Her sword trailed behind her like a rippling stream as she surged into the mist, closing the distance.
Yukishirou's strike came down in a swift arc, slicing through the snowfall with cold precision. The air whistled as the blade cut toward her. Aoi caught the blow on her wooden sword, the clash reverberating up her arms. Using the momentum of her Liuliu Dance, she spun, her movement carrying her to his blind side.
Now!
Her sword swept toward the back of his neck. The previous strike had been nothing but a feint, designed to set up this exact opening. So close, so certain—if the wooden edge struck, Yukishiro would collapse.
Even if he lived, the blow would end his fight.
"Aoi's lips curled with grim satisfaction. It's over, you reckless boy. You've fought well, but skill alone won't save you."
She poured her strength into the swing—
And then the target before her suddenly dropped.
"Broken Rain."
The name of the technique whispered against her ears a split-second before the counter came.
Her eyes widened. Squatting low, Yukishiro twisted his wrist unnaturally, swinging upward from below. From the arc of his blade burst shards of ice as thick as thumbs, each riding a gust of freezing wind. They shot toward her chest, her throat, her face—mercilessly precise.
At such a close distance, she couldn't block them all. The sudden reversal left her no time to think. In desperation, she forced herself to breathe, lungs screaming with cold.
"Water Breathing: Fourth Form – Twisting Vortex!"
Her body spun, sword whirling in a tight cyclone. A miniature whirlwind howled around her, shredding the incoming icicles and scattering the mist. The shards exploded harmlessly against her technique, though the force rattled her grip. The veil of snow parted, revealing Yukishirou crouched on the ground, blade still raised.
But the damage was done. The sudden breath tore at Aoi's chest, her lungs burning from the cold. Her body quivered with the strain, movements sluggish. If he pressed her now, she would not be able to withstand it.
"Ice Breathing: Third Form – Flowing Dance!"
Desperation drove her to move again. Aoi retreated with her flowing steps, trying to escape the suffocating mist and widen the gap.
But a sting of pain flared across her shoulder and the side of her neck. Though her vortex had shattered most of the ice, several shards had slipped through, grazing her flesh with their freezing bite.
Yukishiro did not relent. Unlike before, he refused to give her the space to recover.
As she danced backward, his palm struck the ground, propelling himself high into the air. Under the pale glow of the moon, his figure rose above her.
He gripped the sword with both hands, raising it overhead.
At once, the air turned frigid. The courtyard's temperature plunged so sharply that their breath fogged in the night. Snowflakes spiraled from the sky, though the season was far from winter.
The yard seemed trapped in another world.
"Be careful, Sister Koi!"
From the corridor, the three Butterfly House girls cried out. They had cheered with confidence at first, expecting Aoi to put the arrogant boy in his place. Yet the tide had turned so quickly—too quickly. Now, instead of dominance, Aoi was struggling to survive.
She barely had time to glance up before the words thundered down from above.
"Icefall."
The blade descended, trailing a cascade of white, as though a frozen waterfall had burst from the heavens.
"Another strange technique—!"
The crushing force bore down on her, relentless. Already suffocated by the cold, already weakened from her earlier breaths, Aoi's body screamed in protest. She had no choice but to resist.
"Water Breathing: Seventh Form – Shizuku Ripple Thrust!"
Her sword darted upward, its tip piercing toward the falling blade. This technique was Water Breathing's sharpest thrust, fast enough to pierce through most defenses.
But the instant their weapons met, dread sank into her heart.
No—it was wrong.
The Shizuku Ripple Thrust excelled when it met equal force point-to-point. But against this? Against the unstoppable weight of a waterfall crashing down? It was like bracing a bamboo stick against a collapsing glacier. Her sword trembled violently, her arms straining.
Yukishiro's technique reminded her of Water Breathing's Eighth Form—Takitsubo. Both borrowed the momentum of descent, amplifying their crushing power to overwhelm. Even if dodged, the impact alone would wreak havoc on the surroundings.
The pressure crushed her. It was as though she stood beneath a falling mountain, the chill seeping into her bones. Her arms ached; her knees threatened to buckle. There was no room to retreat, no space to dodge.
This… this can't be happening.
The thought clawed at her chest. She, a trained member of the Demon Slayer Corps, was being forced to the brink by a boy who hadn't even undergone formal training. Last time, she could excuse it—ignorance of his breathing technique had caught her off guard. But this time? She had fought with her full strength, yet she was still overpowered.
"Is he… truly stronger than me?"
The realization pierced her heart more deeply than any blade.
Aoi's breath faltered. The weight of her own failures pressed against her chest, heavier than the boy's sword. She thought of her years in the Corps—years where she had hidden from true combat, clinging to safety within the Butterfly Mansion.
She had never slain a demon, never even dared face one directly. Compared to the likes of Tanjiro, brave enough to carry the burden of others… compared to this strange boy who wielded his cold breath as though born with it… what was she?
"Am I nothing more than a coward? A stain on the Demon Slayer Corps?"
Her fighting spirit flickered, threatening to die out completely.
From the corridor, Shinobu Kocho shot to her feet, her hand already pressing the hilt of her blade. Her keen senses caught the shift in Aoi's breathing, the surrender in her spirit.
Losing the will to fight in the middle of battle—that was the surest path to death. Against demons, hesitation was fatal.
Shinobu's eyes narrowed. Aoi's rude demeanor, her quick temper—these were masks, fragile covers for the gentleness and timidity she hid inside. Beneath it all was a girl who feared bloodshed, who lacked the heart to face death directly.
Not everyone could be like Tanjiro, with his unfaltering resolve and keen sense of smell. Not everyone could be like Zenitsu, with his sharp hearing and hidden potential. And not everyone could be like this boy, Yukishiro—born with lungs carved by ice, perception honed by the chill of snowfields.
Some people were simply born warriors. They were shaped for battle, destined to stand against the darkness.
For the Demon Slayer Corps, their presence was no accident.