Later that evening, the Hashira gathered in a side room of the estate.
For once, there was no argument, no banter — just silence heavy enough to crush the air.
Sanemi sat with his arms crossed, scowling.
"Tch. What the hell even was that? I could barely follow his movements. It was like—like he was everywhere at once."
Obanai leaned against the wall, his pale eyes narrowing.
"It wasn't speed alone," he said quietly. "Every cut was perfect. Not a single wasted motion. Not even Rengoku at his peak could do that."
Mitsuri clutched her hands together, her eyes wide.
"It was so… beautiful! It didn't even look like fighting — it was like watching the sun move across the sky!"
Muichiro's expression was calm, but his usually distracted gaze was sharp for once.
"That was the original Breathing Style," he murmured. "Everything we do comes from that. I could feel it."
Gyomei sat cross-legged in the corner, beads sliding through his massive hands.
When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet but unshakable.
"There is no stronger warrior alive," he said simply.
The room went still.
Sanemi scoffed.
"You're saying he's that far above us?"
Gyomei's blind eyes turned toward him.
"I fought him," he said. "I did not touch him once."
The words landed like stones dropped in a pond.
Shinobu let out a slow breath.
"Eight hundred years," she said softly. "He should be long dead. And yet… he stands here now, exactly as the records describe."
Tengen whistled low.
"Guess that means we're either really lucky, or Muzan's about to have the worst night of his life."
Meanwhile, outside the meeting room, Tanjiro was still in the courtyard, struggling to complete another round of forms under Yorichi's watchful gaze. Each time he faltered, Yorichi would calmly make him start again.
"He's still at it?" Mitsuri said as they stepped outside, watching from a distance.
"Yes," Gyomei said. "And he will not stop until the form is perfect. Yorichi-dono will see to that."
For the first time in a long while, a strange stillness passed over the Hashira — not fear, but a quiet, burning resolve.
If Yorichi Tsugikuni had returned, there might truly be a chance to end this war.
The estate was quiet again in the late afternoon. The courtyard still bore the marks of Tanjiro's training — scuffed earth, sweat-stained footprints, the faint smell of heated metal and dust.
Kagaya sat in his private pavilion, calm as ever. Yorichi stood across from him, his Nichirin blade sheathed, the red mark across his brow glowing faintly in the slanting light.
"Your presence has changed much," Kagaya said softly, his fingers laced together.
"I feared Muzan's shadow would always be larger than our efforts. But now…" He paused, searching Yorichi's calm face.
"…I have hope. Hope I did not think possible after all these years."
Yorichi inclined his head slightly.
"The path forward is still long. But if humanity acts decisively, perhaps this war can end soon."
Kagaya nodded, a rare, faint smile brushing his lips.
"Then I will let the Hashira know — those who saw Tanjiro train… they will want to learn from you as well."
By evening, the courtyard filled with the Hashira once more. Each stood in silent respect, their weapons at their sides, eyes fixed on Yorichi.
"Stone Hashira," Sanemi said with an almost begrudging tone. "You're really going to let all of us learn from him?"
Gyomei's voice was calm but firm.
"We have seen what he does with Tanjiro. If there is even a chance to close the gap, we must."
Mitsuri bounced on the balls of her feet, excitement barely contained.
"Finally! We'll see the real forms of the Sun Breathing — maybe even learn something beyond our own styles!"
Obanai's eyes narrowed in focus.
"If there is one chance to become stronger… I will take it."
Even Sanemi folded his arms, scowling, but there was a spark in his eye.
"Fine. I'll do it. But don't expect me to be polite about it."
Yorichi finally spoke, his voice calm, precise."Stand."
He walked to the center of the courtyard, the sunlight catching the edge of his wooden training blade.
"Your Breathing Styles are strong — but they are incomplete. Every form, every strike, every breath is a piece of a greater whole. I will teach you not only how to wield your swords, but how to become one with the air, the earth, the flow of life itself."
One by one, the Hashira drew their weapons, facing him with a mixture of awe and determination.
Gyomei bowed his massive head.
"I will follow your instruction, as I have seen you instruct the boy."
Tanjiro watched from the sidelines, exhausted but wide-eyed, still processing his own training.
"I can't believe… they're going to be taught by him too," he whispered to himself.
Yorichi's calm gaze swept the group.
"Then we begin next morning"
later-
The courtyard of the estate had never looked so alive. By morning, all available Hashira were assembled, their swords gleaming in the sunlight, muscles tense with anticipation.
Tanjiro had already been training nearby under Yorichi, sweat still streaking his face, but even he paused to watch the Hashira take their positions.
Yorichi spoke first, calm and unwavering:
"Your styles are your own. Sun Breathing is not for you. It is only an example — a key to understanding the flow, the rhythm, and the connection between breath, body, and mind. Observe, learn, then apply it to yourself."
He unsheathed a wooden blade, stepping into the center.
First Demonstration:
He moved fluidly through several forms of Sun Breathing — the First Form: Dance, the Fourth Form: Rising Sun, even the Twelfth Form: Flame Dance. His movements were not attacks but lessons — subtle shifts, correct angles, precise timing.
Every Hashira could see the flow of energy, the perfect harmony of body and breath, and how even their own strongest techniques could be refined by the principles he demonstrated.
Obanai was the first to step forward, focusing on sword alignment and stance, while Yorichi corrected small details mid-motion — a slight tilt, a micro-adjustment of foot placement, a subtle shift in breathing — enough to make Obanai's strikes sharper and faster.
Sanemi gritted his teeth, furious at the constant corrections, yet his cuts became cleaner, stronger, more precise with every repetition.
Mitsuri giggled in disbelief, her muscles screaming from the intensity, but her swings now had both grace and power, blending her natural strength with the rhythm Yorichi showed.
Gyomei, massive and imposing, followed suit. Yorichi made him pause mid-stance, demonstrating how even brute strength could harmonize with flow — the large man's movements became almost effortless, yet infinitely more lethal.
Watching From the Sidelines:
Tengen leaned against the fence, observing the training with a mixture of awe and envy. Though retired, he studied every detail, noting subtleties in breathing and stance.
Giyu, Shinobu, and Muichiro were absent, Yorichi noted with a flick of his eye. A Kakushi messenger explained they were on missions: Giyu patrolling northern villages, Shinobu managing medicinal supplies and scouting, and Muichiro investigating a recent demon sighting. Yorichi nodded — only those present could train, but the absent would not miss his lessons entirely.
Advanced Compound Techniques:
Yorichi began showing advanced combinations: linking forms seamlessly in multiple directions, fluidly switching from offense to defense without breaking rhythm.
He performed an example compound sequence, blending multiple Sun Breathing forms into a continuous cycle — not for attack, but to show how each movement connects.
The courtyard seemed alive with motion: swords sliced, feet pivoted, breaths matched the rhythm of Yorichi's demonstration. Even the strongest Hashira were pushed to the edge of exhaustion.
Final Demonstration of Hidden Forms:
For a brief, fleeting moment, Yorichi executed a hidden form of Sun Breathing — a motion so fast, so seamless, that the air shimmered. The Hashira froze. Even seasoned warriors couldn't fully grasp it.
"This is not for you to copy," Yorichi said calmly. "It is a guide — a standard of mastery. Apply it to your own Breathing, become one with your style, and you will surpass even what you think possible."
By the end of the day, the courtyard was littered with exhausted warriors. Their swords were slick with sweat, their breaths ragged, but their eyes were brighter — sharper.
Mitsuri laughed weakly, still panting.
"I feel like I can actually see my style now!"
Sanemi grunted, reluctantly nodding.
"Yeah… maybe he's right. This isn't about copying anyone — it's about becoming better."
Gyomei, ever calm, simply stated:
"The gap we felt with Tanjiro… it has widened for all of us. But now we know the path forward."
Yorichi stood silent, calm, serene — the sun glinting off the wooden blade in his hand. His presence alone had changed everything.