Yasui Ryosuke's fluid movements caught Jigoro off guard.
"Oh? What's your name?"
"Ryosuke, Yasui Ryosuke."
Jigoro's expression turned serious: "Slay demons? With you looking like this?"
His voice carried undisguised doubt and cruelty.
"You'll collapse with a gust of wind, cough up blood after a few steps. Can you even hold a sword? Can you swing it once? The refinement of the Breathing Technique is the pain of crushing bones inch by inch and then reshaping them!"
"Your broken body will be ruined before you even see a demon!"
The Demon Slayer Corps is a life-and-death struggle; one might die any day.
Therefore, Trainers need to regularly cultivate new recruits, continuously supplying fresh blood to the Demon Slayer Corps to ensure their combat power doesn't falter, and time is extremely precious.
No one would waste time on a sick person with less than a year to live.
Yasui Ryosuke knew that Jigoro was speaking the truth, a bloody and cruel reality.
This body was indeed a burden.
But!
He suddenly lifted his head, his eyes bloodshot from illness, yet the flames burning in their depths were astonishingly fierce, carrying a near-insane stubbornness.
"Senior! My family was all killed by demons! I can do it!!"
Yasui Ryosuke roared: "If I can't hold a sword, I'll bite! If I can't swing a sword, I'll ram with my body!"
"As long as I can slay demons! As long as I have the strength to slay demons! I can endure any hardship!"
"If my bones break, I'll put them back together and train again! If I cough up all my blood, I'll swallow it back and fight again! Senior! Please! Give me a chance!!"
The room fell silent, with only Yasui Ryosuke's heavy breathing.
This was his only way out, a desperate resolve to survive at all costs.
The scrutiny on Jigoro's face slowly faded.
He silently watched the frail young man before him, who looked like he might die any second.
The fire in his eyes, that reckless, crazy persistence, reminded him of something... something from a long time ago.
After a long while,
Jigoro exhaled, his voice solemn: "Follow me."
He had softened after all.
Yasui Ryosuke was pleasantly surprised and followed him.
Walking through the long corridor, the sunlight was somewhat dazzling.
They arrived at an open space behind the mansion, surrounded by lush peach groves and blooming peach blossoms.
This was the Peach Mountain Training Ground, with a solid, flat ground, and some wooden stakes, stone locks, and weapon racks placed along the edges.
Inside the grounds, a pair of siblings were training.
The boy, about thirteen or fourteen, was agile, with messy brown short hair, moving as nimbly as a monkey.
The girl was a bit younger than him, with a simple bun and a graceful figure.
"Shota! Rika!" Jigoro's voice rang out.
"Jichan!"
The two stopped swinging their swords and looked over in unison.
"Jichan!"
Shota grinned, his bright eyes looking at Yasui Ryosuke: "He is?"
"Yasui Ryosuke."
Ryosuke stated his name, his voice very hoarse.
"Kiritani Shota!"
The boy responded cheerfully, pointing to the girl beside him: "This is my sister, Rika Kiritani!"
"H-hello..."
Rika shyly bowed slightly, her voice soft and gentle.
Yasui Ryosuke nodded, acknowledging the greeting.
According to his memory, neither of them appeared in the original story.
This meant they were very likely to die in the final selection on Fujikasane Mountain.
After all, the Hand Demon, an early-stage boss, was hidden there.
If it weren't for the protagonist Tanjiro... ahem, Tanjirou, who temporarily used a super headbutt and Water Breathing, he wouldn't have won.
The title of Head Pillar is well-deserved!
"Ryosuke isn't well."
Jigoro spoke, his tone direct: "But he is determined to embark on the path of demon slaying, and from today he will train with you two."
He looked around at the three of them, his voice suddenly stern: "Shota! Rika! Basic physical training, fifty laps around the grounds! Ryosuke, you..."
He glanced at Yasui Ryosuke's shaky body and pale face.
"Twenty laps! You can walk, but you must complete them! Now! Run!"
Shota and Rika were already used to it.
They both responded and immediately dashed off at high speed, their steps light.
Yasui Ryosuke took a deep breath and followed behind them.
One lap of this training ground must be five hundred meters.
Twenty laps... ten kilometers... not to mention this life, he hadn't run that far in his previous life.
Soon, less than half a lap in, his lungs immediately felt a sharp pain, and his steps were unsteady.
But to survive, Ryosuke gritted his teeth and took another step, sweat instantly breaking out—not hot sweat, but cold sweat.
Shota and Rika passed him again and again.
Rika even looked at him with concern as she ran past.
Three laps... four laps... Yasui Ryosuke felt like he would explode if he took another step!
Sweat blurred his vision, and all he could hear was his heart pounding like a drum.
He had only one thought in his mind.
Finish! Must finish! This is the first step!
Sunset.
When Shota and Rika finished their day's training and returned home for dinner, Ryosuke was still running.
Finally, he practically crawled across the finish line.
Ryosuke trembled all over, half-kneeling on the ground, his face deathly pale, his broken coughs seeming to tear his body apart.
Inside the house, Rika couldn't help but look at Jigoro.
"Jichan, is Ryosuke-nii-san really okay?"
Jigoro was also observing the young man.
"He's fine, you two eat first."
"But..."
Shota was about to say something, but then he saw Ryosuke in the training ground actually stand up.
He stared intently at the wooden sword on the weapon rack, dragging his leaden legs, moving one step at a time, staggering towards it.
"Hey! He..."
Shota was dumbfounded.
No way!
Is this guy crazy?!
Jigoro didn't speak, only nodded slightly, the corners of his mouth curving upwards for a moment.
Ryosuke gripped the wooden sword, its dull weight almost breaking his wrist.
He stood firm, feet apart.
Mimicking the movements Shota and Rika practiced from his blurred memory, he raised the wooden sword above his head.
"Ho ah—!"
The sword fell, striking the air, its power clumsy and weak, its posture comically crooked.
But Ryosuke didn't stop.
The wooden sword in his hand swung down, lifted, and swung down again!
This was his will fighting desperately against his frail body.
Shota and Rika froze in place, forgetting to eat, forgetting to speak, only watching in shock the young man swinging the sword in the training ground.
Late at night, everything was silent.
The pain from training kept Ryosuke from sleeping.
At this moment, the door opened.
Jigoro came in with herbal medicine and a jar of medicated oil.
There was no lamp lit in the room, only the cold moonlight streaming in from the small window.
Ryosuke was about to say something when Jigoro set down the medicine bowl, his hands covered in medicated oil, and gently massaged his cramping, trembling leg muscles.
The force was heavy, the technique had a peculiar rhythm, instantly loosening the stiff muscles, and also grinding in an icy, sharp pain.
"Ugh—!"
Ryosuke's teeth chattered, and he gasped for breath.
A moment later, a strange warmth permeated the soreness, bringing a sense of comfort.
After an unknown amount of time, those hands finally stopped.
Ryosuke lay slumped on the mat, exhausted and drenched in sweat.
"Drink this."
Jigoro held the medicine bowl to his lips.
The medicine was incredibly bitter, and Ryosuke swallowed with difficulty.
"Ma-master..."
Ryosuke's voice was hoarse, then he paused.
In his previous life, his parents died young, and he, as a corporate slave and shut-in, survived in the cracks of society.
Jigoro's sudden concern touched Ryosuke a little.
"C-can I call you Grandpa, like them?"
After a long while,
Jigoro coughed a few times, with a deliberately impatient tone.
"Whatever you want, call me whatever you like! Nagging!"
Jigoro snatched the empty bowl and got up to leave.
However, the moment he turned his back to Ryosuke, the atmosphere suddenly changed.
The old man instantly looked benevolent, with screens full of peach blossom bubbles.
Ryosuke watched his disappearing back, a warmth welling up inside him.
He buried himself under the covers, his shoulders silently twitching a few times.
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