Mount Momo slept under a blanket of spring.
The March wind, as gentle as a mother's touch, caressed the groves that spanned the peaks. Petals drifted in the air like a kaleidoscope of butterflies, rising and falling in a silent, fragrant dance.
Beneath the shade of a sprawling peach tree, a single pink petal drifted down, settling on the bridge of a young man's nose. He lay with his hands pillowed behind his head, his breathing deep and rhythmic. A thin trail of drool escaped the corner of his mouth as he let out a muffled, sleepy mumble.
"Wife Shinobu... so soft... hehehe..."
His brow furrowed slightly as his dream shifted. "Idiot Muzan... take this. A wisteria-soaked whip... Crimson Red Blade... scorching sunbath for you..."
It was another beautiful afternoon, and Tendo Feiyuzhen was doing what he did best: daydreaming. With his short, dark red hair and fair complexion, he looked entirely harmless—a picture of youthful tranquility.
"You little rascal! Slacking off again? Are you trying to drive your Master to an early grave?!"
A roar like a thunderclap shattered the peace. From the verdant branches in the distance, a wooden sword whistled through the air, propelled by a surge of Qi that sent thousands of petals swirling into a miniature cyclone.
Just as the wood was about to crack against his skull, Tendo tilted his head by a mere fraction of an inch. The sword thudded into the trunk of the peach tree, vibrating with the force of the impact. Tendo's eyes—a brilliant, piercing gold—slid open slowly. He stretched with a long, theatrical yawn.
"Old Man, it's always the same few moves," Tendo drawled, his voice thick with feigned boredom. "What am I even supposed to practice? I could do that set in my sleep." He glanced at the sword embedded deep in the wood next to his ear. "Also, are you sure you're my Master? You're playing for keeps here."
"If I'm not your Master, who is? I'm the one who plucked you off the dirt twelve years ago and kept you fed, aren't I?"
A small, sturdy man stepped into Tendo's line of sight. He stood no taller than the twelve-year-old boy, but he carried a presence that commanded the mountain. With thick eyebrows, large eyes, and a long, drooping white mustache, he looked like a guardian deity carved from stone. He leaned heavily on a crutch, his right leg replaced by a wooden prosthetic.
This was Kuwajima Jigoro, the former Roaring Pillar of the Demon Slayer Corps.
The Old Man didn't know that the infant he had rescued over a decade ago carried a soul from another world. He only knew that the boy possessed a terrifying, almost divine aptitude for the blade—if only he would stay awake long enough to use it.
"You have the gift, brat, but if you don't sharpen the tool, it rots!" Jigoro barked, pointing a finger at the boy. "Go. Practice. Now."
"Old Man, let's negotiate," Tendo said, flashing a piteous, winning smile. "Maybe later? My perception is feeling a bit... clouded today."
"No. If you don't swing that sword a thousand times, there is no dinner. The foundation is everything! If the base isn't solid, the blade will never stay true—"
Knowing the lecture would last longer than the sunset, Tendo scrambled to his feet. "Actually, I finished my morning sets already! It's officially break time. Bye-bye!"
He bolted.
Jigoro's mouth twitched. He looked toward the hilltop, where a scarecrow dressed in Tendo's spare clothes was currently holding a wooden sword. It took a moment to realize the "scarecrow" was actually vibrating—a crude but clever mechanical dummy.
"Trying to trick me with a puppet?!" Jigoro's face flushed. "You've got talent for mechanics, I'll give you that, but if you don't use it for your training, I'll beat it out of you!"
A golden streak erupted through the grove. Even with a crippled leg, the old Pillar moved with the speed of a lightning strike, leaving a vivid trail of light in his wake.
"Old Man! You're cheating! Using Breathing techniques on a kid?" Tendo yelled over his shoulder, his heart hammering against his ribs as the golden light gained on him.
"Catching a slippery eel like you requires a bit of thunder!" Jigoro countered. He closed the gap in an instant, his hand clamping down on Tendo's shoulder with the weight of a mountain.
Tendo immediately pivoted to his ultimate defense: The Art of Leg-Hugging. He collapsed, clutching the Old Man's knees, his eyes brimming with crocodile tears.
"Master! I've been yours since I was a baby! If you kill me now, who will take care of you? Who will give you a proper burial when you're old and gray?"
Jigoro paused, his wooden sword hovering mid-swing. "You... you're already planning my funeral?"
"I'm thinking of your legacy, Master! My kind, strong, handsome, legendary Master!"
"You brat... you don't have a single good wish for me, do you?" Jigoro's grip tightened, a vein throbbing in his temple. "Today, I'll show you exactly what a 'strict master' looks like! Thunder Breathing, First Form: Thunderclap and Flash!"
"AH! OW! MURDER! ARSON!"
The screams echoed through the peach trees. Tendo tumbled and dodged, his body moving with an instinctive, inhuman grace that even Jigoro found startling. Every strike the Old Man landed was calculated—not to injure, but to force a reaction, to sharpen the boy's senses until they were as keen as a razor.
"Old Man, if you keep this up, I'm telling everyone about you and Granny Yamamoto drinking tea in town!" Tendo wheezed, narrowly avoiding a strike to his backside.
"I was helping her carry her groceries! She was thanking me!" Jigoro roared, his face turning a shade of red that rivaled the sunset. His sword moved faster, the air humming with the static of his technique.
"It's okay! I don't mind a Master's Wife! Granny's cooking is better than yours anyway!"
"Thunder Breathing, Second Form!"
The chase continued until the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the peach blossoms in a layer of deep, crimson frost. On the hilltop, the two shadows finally came to a halt. Tendo plopped down onto the grass, his chest heaving, his stomach let out a thunderous growl of its own.
He looked up at the Old Man and, with the genuine, soft-eyed innocence of a child, whispered, "Grandpa... I'm hungry. I was wrong."
The wooden sword froze in mid-air. Jigoro stared at the boy, his feigned anger melting away at the word 'Grandpa.' He let out a long, weary snort, turning his head to hide the small smile tugging at his mustache.
"Hmph. I'll beat you twice as hard tomorrow. Let's go home and eat."
Jigoro turned and began the slow trek toward the wooden house halfway up the mountain. Tendo watched him go, a smirk playing on his lips. The Old Man was a classic tsundere—tough as nails, but soft-hearted when it counted. 'Grandpa' worked every single time.
He patted the dirt off his trousers and stood up, looking out over the darkening valley. His mind drifted to the future—to the bastard Kaigaku and the tragedy that awaited this mountain.
I only need one junior brother, Tendo thought, his golden eyes narrowing. And his name is Zenitsu.