Yasui Ryosuke's sequence of actions was so smooth and fluid that it caught Jigoro completely off guard.
"Oh? What is your name?"
"Ryosuke. Yasui Ryosuke."
Jigoro's expression turned serious. "Slay demons? Looking like that?"
His voice carried undisguised skepticism and cruelty.
"You look like you'd fall if the wind blew, and you cough up blood after running a few steps. Can you even lift a blade? Can you even swing a sword? The tempering of Breathing Styles involves pain akin to crushing one's bones inch by inch and reshaping them!"
"With this broken shell of a body, you'll become invalid before you even see a demon!"
The Demon Slayer Corps was a place of near-certain death; anyone could die on any given day.
Therefore, Cultivators needed to regularly train new recruits to constantly pump fresh blood into the Corps to ensure their combat power didn't falter. Time was extremely precious.
No one would waste time on a sickly invalid with less than a year to live.
Yasui Ryosuke knew that Jigoro was telling the truth. It was the bloody, cruel reality.
This body was indeed a burden.
But!
He suddenly raised his head. His eyes were bloodshot from the pain of his illness, but the fire burning deep within them was scorching, carrying a paranoia bordering on madness.
"Senior! My family was killed by demons. I can do this!!"
Yasui Ryosuke roared, "If I can't lift the blade, I'll use my teeth! If I can't swing the sword, I'll ram them with my body!"
"As long as I can slay demons! As long as I can gain the power to kill them! I can endure any kind of suffering!"
"If my bones shatter, I'll set them and train again! If I cough my blood dry, I'll swallow it back and keep fighting! Senior! I beg you! Give me a chance!!"
The room fell into a dead silence, filled only by Yasui Ryosuke's heavy panting.
This was his only way out, the desperate resolve to survive at all costs.
The scrutiny on Jigoro's face slowly faded.
He silently watched the frail boy before him, who looked as if he might breathe his last at any second.
That fire in his eyes, that reckless, crazy persistence... it reminded him of something... something from a long time ago.
After a long while,
Jigoro exhaled, his voice solemn. "Follow me."
In the end, his heart softened.
Yasui Ryosuke was overjoyed and followed him.
Passing through the long corridor, the sunlight was somewhat blinding.
They arrived at a wide, open clearing behind the mansion, surrounded by a lush peach forest where blossoms were in full bloom.
This was the Momoyama (Peach Mountain) Training Ground. The ground was tamped flat and solid, with wooden stakes, stone locks, and weapon racks placed along the edges.
In the field, a pair of siblings was training.
The boy was about thirteen or fourteen years old, with a vigorous build and messy short brown hair. He moved as nimbly as a monkey.
The girl was a bit younger than him, her hair done up in a simple bun, her figure petite and delicate.
"Shota! Rika!" Jigoro's voice rang out.
"Gramps!"
The two stopped swinging their swords and looked over in unison.
"Gramps!"
Shota grinned, his bright gaze landing on Yasui Ryosuke. "Who is this?"
"Yasui Ryosuke."
Ryosuke announced his name, his voice terribly hoarse.
"Kirigaya Shota!"
The boy responded cheerfully, then pointed to the girl beside him. "This is my little sister, Kirigaya Rika!"
"H-Hello..."
Rika bowed slightly, seemingly a bit shy, her voice soft and thin.
Yasui Ryosuke nodded, acknowledging the greeting.
According to his memories, these two did not exist in the original work.
This proved that there was a high probability they would lose their lives during the Final Selection at Mt. Fujikasane.
After all, the Hand Demon, that early-game boss, was hiding there.
If it weren't for the protagonist Tanzi... cough, Tanjiro, improvising a Super Headbutt plus a Water Surface Slash at the last minute, he really wouldn't have won.
The title of "Head Pillar" (Hashira) was truly well-deserved!
"Ryosuke is in poor health," Jigoro spoke up, his tone direct. "But he is determined to walk the path of demon slaying. From today on, he will train with you."
He looked around at the three of them, his voice suddenly turning stern. "Shota! Rika! Basic physical training, fifty laps around the field! Ryosuke, you..."
He glanced at Yasui Ryosuke's teetering body and pale face.
"Twenty laps! Walking is fine, but you must finish! Now! Run!"
Shota and Rika were already used to this.
The two responded with a shout and immediately dashed out, their speed fast and their footsteps light.
Yasui Ryosuke took a deep breath and followed behind them.
One lap around this training ground had to be five hundred meters.
Twenty laps... ten kilometers...
Forget this life, he hadn't even run that far in his previous life.
Very quickly, before even half a lap was done, a stinging pain radiated from his lungs, and his steps became unsteady.
But to survive, Ryosuke gritted his teeth and took another step. Sweat poured out instantly—not the sweat of exertion, but a cold, sickly sweat.
Shota and Rika lapped him again and again.
When Rika ran past, she even looked at him with worry.
Three laps... four laps...
Yasui Ryosuke felt that if he took one more step, he would explode!
Sweat blurred his vision, and his ears were filled only with the sound of his heart beating like a drum.
He had only one thought in his mind.
Finish it! I must finish it! This is the first step!
Sunset, twilight.
When Shota and Rika had finished their day's training and returned to the house for dinner, Ryosuke was still running.
In the end, he practically crawled across the finish line.
Ryosuke trembled all over, half-kneeling on the ground. His face was the pale green of a corpse, and his broken coughing sounded like it was tearing his body apart.
Inside the house, Rika couldn't help but look at Jigoro.
"Gramps, is Ryosuke-nii really going to be okay?"
Jigoro was also scrutinizing the boy outside.
"It's fine. You two eat first."
"But..."
Shota was about to say something when he saw Ryosuke actually stand up in the training ground.
His eyes were fixed dead on a wooden sword on the weapon rack. Dragging legs that felt like they were filled with lead, he moved, stumbling step by step.
"Hey! He..."
Shota was dumbfounded.
No way!
Does this guy have a death wish?!
Jigoro didn't speak. He only nodded slightly, the corner of his mouth curving upward for a fleeting second.
Ryosuke gripped the wooden sword. Its dull weight felt like it was going to snap his wrist.
He stood firm, spreading his feet.
Mimicking the movements he remembered Shota and the other practicing, he raised the wooden sword over his head.
"Haaah—!"
The blade swung down, smashing into the empty air. The force was clumsy and weak, the posture laughably crooked.
But Ryosuke didn't stop.
The wooden sword in his hand swung down, raised up, and swung down again!
This was a battle to the death between his will and his frail flesh.
Shota and Rika froze where they stood, forgetting to eat, forgetting to speak, simply watching in shock at the boy swinging the sword in the yard.
Late at night, silence reigned.
The pain brought on by the training made it impossible for Ryosuke to sleep.
At that moment, the door opened.
Jigoro entered carrying a bowl of medicinal brew and a jar of medicinal oil.
There was no lamp lit in the room; only the cold moonlight spilled in through the small window.
Ryosuke was about to say something, but Jigoro put down the medicine bowl, covered his hands in the oil, and began to gently massage Ryosuke's cramping, trembling leg muscles.
The force was heavy, and the technique carried a strange rhythm. It instantly kneaded open the stiff muscles, simultaneously grinding the bone-deep pain right into them.
"Ugh—!"
Ryosuke's teeth chattered, his breathing rapid.
Moments later, a strange heat permeated the soreness, bringing a sense of comfort.
After an unknown amount of time, those hands finally stopped.
Ryosuke lay paralyzed on the mat, completely drained and covered in sweat.
"Drink it."
Jigoro held the bowl to his lips.
The medicine was atrociously bitter, and Ryosuke swallowed it with difficulty.
"Mas... Master..."
Ryosuke's voice was hoarse. He paused.
In his previous life, his parents had died early, and he had survived in the cracks of society as a corporate slave and an otaku.
Jigoro's sudden care touched something in Ryosuke.
"Can I... can I call you Grandpa, like they do?"
After a long silence,
Jigoro gave a few dry coughs, feigning impatience.
"Suit yourself, call me whatever you want! So annoying!"
Jigoro grabbed the empty bowl and stood up to leave.
However, the moment he turned his back to Ryosuke, the atmosphere changed completely.
The old man's face instantly turned kindly, and the air seemed to fill with anime-style peach blossom bubbles.
Ryosuke watched his disappearing back, a warmth surging up inside him.
He buried himself in the blankets, his shoulders shaking silently a few times.