Staring at the small boy before him, Masao couldn't help but let out a bitter smile.
How could he possibly bring himself to fight a child who looked only three or four years old?
Yoriichi gripped the hilt of the blade tightly. This sword was completely different from the bamboo blade Shinnobu had handed him before—it was sturdier, lighter, and far better balanced. Even without much effort, he could wield it with ease.
Taito, meanwhile, stared in disbelief at the pile of empty dishes stacked high on the table.
Just how long had this kid gone without eating…?
The corner of his eye twitched. Yoriichi had eaten almost twice as much as he had. Watching him, Taito genuinely feared the boy might burst his stomach.
Yoriichi stretched contentedly and patted his belly.
This was the first time in his life he had ever eaten his fill—and such delicious food, too.
This place… it's like heavenly.
For a brief moment, he felt the urge to stay.
—but no.
I still have to find Grandpa.
Yoriichi shook his head hard, forcing the thought away. His grandfather was the kindest person in the world to him. He couldn't abandon him just for comfort.
Such a good child…
If Ryōtarō were here, he would've definitely reached out and patted the boy's head.
"Yoriichi," Masao said with a faint smile as he assumed a warrior's stance. "If you can withstand three of my moves, you'll be able to eat meals like this from now on."
"That stance—!"
Taito's eyes widened in disbelief.
Iaijutsu?!
Was this man really planning to use a quick-draw sword technique against a child?!
Has he completely lost his conscience?!
Meanwhile, Mifune remained perfectly composed. He lowered his gaze, lifted his teacup, and took a slow sip. The fragrance of the tea filled his mouth as he enjoyed this rare moment of calm.
"I'll do my best!" Yoriichi said firmly, nodding.
Masao smiled slightly. He had already decided to hold back. If he won too badly, the child might cry—and none of the rough men present knew how to deal with children.
Children were troublesome.
Yoriichi took a deep breath.
The faint markings on his forehead slowly began to ripple again.
"Begin!"
Taito gave the signal.
In an instant—
The air seemed to ignite.
Mifune's teacup shattered in his hand as his eyes widened in shock.
—
Sun Breathing – First Form: Dance (Enbu)
Yoriichi vanished.
A blazing blade descended from above, the heat warping the air itself.
Masao felt his blood run cold.
That wasn't an illusion.
A blade was coming down on him.
He drew his sword in a panic, barely managing to block the strike—but the force behind it was monstrous. It felt as if he were clashing with a seasoned master rather than a child.
Before he could recover—
Yoriichi twisted midair, exhaling a searing breath that shimmered with heat.
Sun Breathing – Second Form: Clear Blue Sky.
Using his small frame, Yoriichi swung upward in a blazing arc. The flaming crescent slammed into Masao's armor at his chest.
Taito shot to his feet, eyes locked on the strike.
Another flawless sword technique.
A blade engulfed in fire… it was—
Beautiful.
Mifune wore the same stunned expression. Even seated indoors, he could feel the overwhelming heat of that attack.
Bang!
Masao was sent flying, crashing heavily to the ground—unconscious.
Yoriichi stood frozen in place.
The sword in his hands crumbled into blackened fragments.
He stared blankly, his heart pounding.
I… hurt him.
The man had treated him kindly, fed him, protected him… and yet he had injured him.
Guilt flooded his chest.
He hadn't meant to do it.
He only wanted to knock the sword away.
But once he gripped the hilt, the techniques had poured out on their own.
Mifune stood frozen in shock.
The porcelain teacup he treasured slipped from his hand and shattered on the floor.
That swordsmanship…
In all his thirty years, he had never seen anything like it.
There was no chakra in it.
And yet, its power surpassed anything he had encountered—even on the borders of the Land of Iron, where he had fought countless shinobi.
Incredible…
It's like the legendary Susanoo himself…
Taito nearly jumped in place from excitement, like a drunk gambler who had just hit the jackpot.
Their reactions were only natural.
In the shinobi world, no one had ever heard of breathing techniques.
And in Yoriichi's original world, he was the man who created them.
...
Breath of the Sun.
The origin of all breathing styles.
Every other form was merely a derivative.
Even if Yoriichi disliked fighting, this power was etched into his blood.
Something that could never be erased.
"Mifune-sama…" Taito called softly.
Mifune finally snapped out of his daze and quickly ordered the servants to carry Masao away for treatment. Then he stepped into the courtyard himself.
He looked down at the small boy before him.
For the first time, he truly observed Yoriichi.
Messy red-black hair hung loosely behind his head, tangled from long neglect. His crimson eyes were filled with unease.
The boy looked terrified.
He didn't know if he had done something unforgivable.
After all, his grandfather had always told him. 'Violence was never the solution.'
Yoriichi clenched his fists.
He felt like crying.
He wasn't afraid of pain.
He wasn't afraid of suffering.
But he was afraid that if his legs were broken, he'd never find his grandfather again.
He had seen what happened to beggars who crossed samurai—crippled and left to starve.
"Someone," Mifune said calmly, "take him to be washed. Give him clean clothes… red ones."
Yoriichi obediently followed the attendants away.
...
Once the boy disappeared from view—
Mifune finally exploded.
"A GENIUS!! THAT BOY IS A GENIUS!!"
Years of restraint burst forth at once.
After venting his emotions, he slowly calmed down.
"Where did you find him?" he asked.
"Furnace Alley," Taito replied respectfully. "He was being bullied by the Hirota clan's second son… I was going to intervene, but then—"
That flaming arc of sword light flashed through his mind again.
"Bullied?" Mifune twitched.
That kind of swordsmanship… bullied?
"…What are your intentions?"
"I want you to adopt him as your successor."
Mifune nodded slowly.
He wasn't surprised.
He had no wife. No children. Though Taito was his student, the two were teacher and student—not father and son.
Perhaps once, he had considered grooming Taito as his successor.
But now—
"That's fine," Mifune said firmly.
"I'll take the boy."