The meeting ended in a strangely delicate atmosphere.
Leaving the estate steeped in the scent of medicine and wisteria blossoms, Ryosuke and Shota parted ways with Moriyama Akira.
Shota finally couldn't hold it in anymore.
"Hey! Ryosuke! What was that attitude you had in front of the Master just now?!"
Thinking back to Ryosuke's calm—borderline disrespectful—answer still made his heart race.
Ryosuke didn't even look at him. He stretched lazily.
"I just told the truth."
Shota snorted, unconvinced.
When they returned to Peach Mountain, Rika—who had been training—spotted them and immediately sprinted over.
Shota opened his arms happily, ready to receive his sister's embrace.
Rika ran straight past him and slammed headfirst into Ryosuke's chest.
Shota: (゜д゜)
The man was instantly reduced to an uncolored draft.
When did my house get stolen?!
Rika looked up, smiling brightly at Ryosuke.
"Welcome back, Big Brother Ryosuke."
Ryosuke nodded and gently rubbed the top of her head.
Truth be told, for the past half year, it had always been Rika delivering Ryosuke's medicine.
The three of them trained and grew together every day, and Shota—dense as ever—had noticed absolutely nothing.
Seeing this scene now, Shota finally exploded.
"Hey! You little brat! I'm your brother! Your real brother!"
"Hmph! You're way healthier than Big Brother Ryosuke—of course you'd come back safely!"
The girl lifted her chin proudly.
"Oh yeah? I'll show you!"
Shota lunged after her.
"Big brother is the worst!"
Rika squealed and circled around Ryosuke to dodge him.
From a distance, Jigoro strolled over unhurriedly.
Ryosuke stepped forward and bowed.
"Good that you're back," Jigoro said, patting Ryosuke's shoulder.
The days that followed were simple and ordinary—recovering from injuries, then training.
Whenever Rika wiped Ryosuke's sweat with a towel, Shota would lurk in some shadowy corner, grinding his teeth and clawing at his own hair.
He started competing with Ryosuke—consciously or not.
If Ryosuke ran fifty laps, he ran sixty.
If Ryosuke swung his blade a hundred times, he swung it two hundred.
As a fine, well-adjusted youth from the twenty-first century, Ryosuke upheld the noble principle of never engaging in pointless competition.
That one year of life-or-death training didn't count.
Now that he finally had time to rest, Ryosuke naturally ignored Shota.
Let him grind himself down—I'll lie flat a little. Nothing wrong with that.
At the same time, Ryosuke checked his system interface at the first opportunity.
One full year of lifespan—surely that was enough to happily invest a few points, right?
But the moment he looked, his heart sank.
Maxing out Thunderclap and Flash required nearly twenty-two years of lifespan!
The advanced Sixfold needed five years.
Unlocking Godspeed needed a ridiculous ten.
That left nearly seven years unaccounted for.
What the hell was he supposed to do with that?!
System kickbacks?!
Holy—hell?!
"Trash system! Get out here!"
[Trash host, why are you screaming at dawn?!]
"You—you explain this to me! Why does maxing Thunderclap and Flash still leave nearly seven years unused?!"
[You've got the nerve to ask?!]
[You dumped everything in one go your first time—making everything messy and tripling my workload!]
[Those final seven years are for the Seventh Form—Flaming Thunder God. Once Thunderclap and Flash is maxed, you comprehend it directly.]
Ryosuke's furious expression slowly melted into joy.
[Go on! Keep yelling!]
"Cough… I admit, I might've raised my voice just now."
On the thirteenth day, someone arrived from the Swordsmith Village.
The one delivering the blades was a tall swordsmith wearing a Hotaru mask, his straw hat hung with jars of unknown purpose.
The moment he laid eyes on Ryosuke, the kettle-spout-shaped mouth of his mask suddenly vented steam—and he went berserk, accelerating in a blink to Ryosuke's face!
The speed was comparable to Thunderclap and Flash.
"You! It was you! How the hell did you use the sword?!"
"It broke! It broke! Do you know that?!"
Haganezuka roared as he jabbed Ryosuke's forehead with his finger.
The finger moved so fast it left afterimages.
Ryosuke's lips twitched.
So this was what Tanjiro felt like.
Shota snickered from the side, while Rika hurried over to pull Haganezuka away.
With a cold snort, Haganezuka followed Jigoro inside and placed the two swords on the table.
Shota could barely contain himself. He drew his Nichirin Blade at once.
The blade was plain, with a reassuring weight.
He inhaled deeply, thumb pressing against the guard—and pulled!
The blade shifted color, turning a lightning-bright gold. The light was pure and razor-sharp.
"Good! Good! Excellent color!"
Haganezuka's eyes bulged behind the mask as steam blasted from the kettle spout.
He was so excited he pounded Jigoro's shoulder with his fist.
"Did you see that?! Did you see that?! Such a beautiful color! My blade! The one I forged!"
Jigoro staggered slightly from the blow, shooting him a glare—yet a trace of satisfaction flashed in his eyes.
This kid really had inherited his legacy.
Shota was ecstatic, swinging the blade a few times on the spot.
"Big Brother Ryosuke! Hurry! Draw yours too!"
Rika tugged at Ryosuke's sleeve, eyes full of anticipation.
Ryosuke lowered his gaze, gripping the hilt as he slowly drew the blade.
A deep, muted hum echoed—not as clear and ringing as Shota's, but heavier, like a sound rising from the depths of a still pool.
No blazing golden lightning appeared.
As the blade revealed itself, the color gradually settled—into white.
Not the cold white of snow.
Not the pale glow of moonlight.
But a jade-like white—warm, gentle, quietly enveloping the entire blade.
"…White?"
Haganezuka stepped closer, disbelief lacing his confusion.
"Strange… too strange! I've forged blades for decades—never seen such a pure white!"
His voice brimmed with manic curiosity—and a hint of bewilderment.
A Thunder Breathing swordsman… with a white Nichirin Blade?
Ryosuke fell silent.
He stared at the blade in his hand, fingertips slowly tracing the spine.
Cold to the touch—yet resonating with something deep inside him.
Yes.
This was his blade.
Not violent lightning.
Not raging flames.
Not flowing water.
But the luminous white born from clinging to life at the edge of death—burning oneself away just to exist.
"It's beautiful. I like it."
Ryosuke finally spoke, sheathing the blade. "Thank you, Mr. Haganezuka."
"Beautiful? Like it?"
Haganezuka seemed to choke on the words.
He lunged forward, the Hotaru mask nearly smashing into Ryosuke's face, hot breath reeking of iron.
"You know nothing about beauty! Nothing about liking!"
His hands clamped down like iron tongs on the backs of Ryosuke's and Shota's necks.
"Listen well, you brats! A sword is a partner! A second life! Your only reliance against demons—especially you!"
He glared straight at Ryosuke.
"If you ever let my blade break, crack, or chip again like on Mount Fujikasane—I'll toss both of you into the forge! Understood?!"
Cold sweat poured down Shota's face. "Y-yes! Mr. Haganezuka! Absolutely! I swear!"
Ryosuke nodded calmly.
With a snort, Haganezuka turned and left.
Rika scampered up to Ryosuke, eyes sparkling.
"Big Brother Ryosuke, your white blade looks just like jade! It's so pretty! Way prettier than my brother's shiny gold one!"
Her innocent words landed with surgical precision.
"Hey! Rika! What nonsense are you spouting?!"
Shota protested instantly.
"Hmph! It's true!"
She stuck out her tongue at him.
Just then, a streak of deep blue swept overhead, followed by a sharp cry.
"Caw! Yasui Ryosuke—Kasugai Crow directive! A man-eating demon has appeared at Hinodeyama, Tokyo Prefecture!"