For a moment, I almost dropped the teacup in my hand.
So, what exactly did Sumiyoshi just say?
His story?
He wants to pass down the stories I've told him to future generations?
Wait, wait, wait.
Because Sumiyoshi and Suyako were such an attentive audience, I got swept up in the moment and told them almost everything...
'Do not raise your voice. It sounds so... discordant.'
'You are slow. Slow even in the way you fall.'
'Admiration is the emotion furthest from understanding.'
Those are all lines from manga... and from characters who were trying desperately to look cool, at that.
It doesn't matter now since people of this era don't recognize the references, but the people of the future certainly will.
To have my stories—me putting on a desperate show, acting like an edgy teenager with a bad case of eighth-grade syndrome just to impress Yoriichi—passed down for generations?
That is... a bit problematic.
"There is no need for that."
I shook my head, rejecting his proposal.
"But, will it not be a problem if there are none to succeed you...?"
No, it's fine. It's really fine.
This is no different from someone taking a notebook of sword drawings I made during my chuunibyou phase and declaring it a family heirloom.
Stop it. Are you trying to make me die of sheer embarrassment?
I have to decline as naturally and plausibly as possible.
Think, Michikatsu!
"Sumiyoshi. The place where those who have mastered their paths arrive is always the same."
I moistened my throat with more barley tea, trying to relax my tense body as I continued.
"Yoriichi once said it. No matter how the times change, even if the journeys to reach that place differ, we will surely arrive at the same destination."
Of course, no one will ever surpass Yoriichi again.
But those who surpass me will spring up like bamboo shoots after a rain.
In fact, aren't there already Hashira who learn one thing and instantly master ten, chasing right at my heels?
"You seem to see me as some special human... or rather, a special Demon, but that is not the case. I only appear strong because I happened to know things a step ahead of others. My story is not something grand enough to be preserved. At best, it is a third-rate tale intended for brief amusement."
This should be enough of a reason.
As I brought the teacup back to my lips, the voices of the fools within me echoed.
'And what kind of madman rips out my hearts, eats them, and cleaves through mountains?'
A man does what he must to survive. Besides, the mountain-cleaving only happened because I became a Demon.
And I can't even do that anymore.
'His manner of speaking... brothers... truly are brothers after all....'
This bastard?
Just as I was about to snarl back at the fools inside my head...
I heard a rustling from inside the house.
The sound of blankets being folded. It seemed Suyako had woken up.
"It seems we were speaking too loudly. My apologies, Madam."
Strangely enough, Sumire remained fast asleep.
Is it because she takes after her mother?
I watched with slight surprise as Sumire slept peacefully in Sumiyoshi's arms.
"Oh, no. I was just waking up anyway..."
Suyako tidied the bedding, rubbed her eyes, and walked toward us, taking the sleeping Sumire from Sumiyoshi.
"I'm sorry for leaving you with the childcare."
"It was no trouble," I replied, waving my hand dismissively.
Suyako cast a fleeting glance at my Nichirin Blade and spoke.
"Could you... perhaps show me the sword again?"
The Nichirin Blade?
Is she curious about the color? I suppose typical katanas don't usually possess such hues.
I nodded and drew the blade about a third of the way from its scabbard. Responding to my grip, the purple blade glowed with a blistering heat, turning a vivid crimson.
Back when I was human, even with the Mark manifested, I had to concentrate all my might just to barely achieve a Crimson Blade. Now, I could manifest it simply by tightening my grip slightly.
By becoming a Demon, my grip strength had reached a level where I had truly abandoned my humanity.
"Michikatsu-san's sword only turns red when he's fighting! Why is that? It's amazing!"
As the Nichirin Blade burned red, Suyako's eyes sparkled.
"It is a unique characteristic of the Nichirin Blade. If one grips the hilt with immense strength, the blade turns red. This is what I call the 'Crimson Blade.'"
As if to demonstrate, I relaxed my hand. The glowing, scorching blade returned to its original deep purple color.
"Usually, it's purple, like wisteria or the night sky! It's so beautiful!"
"The color of a Nichirin Blade changes depending on the owner's affinity for a particular Breathing Style. For me, it is purple. For my younger brother, Yoriichi, it is a pitch-black hue, like obsidian."
"A pitch-black obsidian? I'd love to see that too!"
See? This is exactly why.
She's such a rewarding person to show things to.
I couldn't help but spill all my secrets because of that reaction.
"Then, I'd really like to see the 'Forms' of that technique you called 'Breathing'... Could you show us?"
"Hey now... Suyako..."
"I want to see, I want to see!"
Suyako displayed a childlike curiosity, while Sumiyoshi smiled apologetically, trying to placate her for her rudeness.
Watching her plead almost like a song, I was suddenly reminded of my sister-in-law.
'I want to see! Show me!'
Uta used to sing like that, asking Yoriichi to show her his swordsmanship.
Looking at Sumiyoshi trying to soothe his wife while she hummed with excitement, I was lost in thought for a moment.
A child with hanafuda earrings and a woman with the heart of a young girl.
Yoriichi and Uta were exactly the same.
How truly strange.
In this very house where those two once lived, we have gathered like this once again.
It seems this house has come full circle to find masters who resemble those of the past.
"Michikatsu-san?"
Sumiyoshi's quiet prompt broke my reverie. Returning to reality, I gave a small, faint smile.
"It won't hurt me to show you. Very well, I shall."
@@@
That evening.
As promised, Michikatsu-san said he would demonstrate the Breathing. He headed to a small clearing near the house that he had scouted out, and Sumire and I followed him.
It was dark, making it difficult to see, so he mentioned it might be poorly lit. He placed twelve torches in a circle at the edge of the clearing, lit them, and then stepped into the center.
And then.
Kuoooooo.
The demonstration of his Breathing Forms began.
Chiiiiiiik.
As the blade was drawn from the scabbard, the metal responded to his will, staining the purple blade a deep crimson.
Michikatsu-san swung that red blade.
I watched his every movement from the first form to the twelfth, without blinking a single time.
First, a beautiful arc like a sunrise was drawn as the sword swung vertically.
Then, tracing a circle like the silhouette of the sun, he painted the blue heaven above.
He swung with perfect symmetry, left and right, as if drawing the symbol for infinity.
His body twisted in a rapid rotation, vanishing for a split second.
He reappeared mid-air, flipping his body and spinning like a waterwheel as he struck down.
Then, the flames of a scorching sun flared like surging waves.
Leaping high into the air, he delivered a rapid thrust, sharp as the sting of morning sunlight.
Following that, he slashed diagonally, and the tip of his blade seemed to stretch and shimmer like a heat haze.
Once more, he spun his body, performing a mid-air somersault to flip upside down, this time slashing horizontally.
Then, swirling flames rose fiercely, enveloping his body.
Finally, a fire dragon emerged from his Crimson Blade, let out a roar, and began to dance.
As the dragon's dance concluded, he brought the sequence to a close by swinging vertically once more—completing the cycle back to the beginning—and then finished with a final horizontal sweep.
The forms of the Breathing he spoke of were so beautiful they took my breath away.
Breathtakingly exquisite.
As he wielded the Crimson Blade within the circle of twelve torches, he looked not like a man or a Demon, but like a spirit of the earth.
It was clearly the middle of a dark night, yet the sun was right before my eyes.
"It's so beautiful! Michikatsu-san!"
Suyako and Sumire, who was on her mother's back, were delighted and thrilled. He looked back at them with a smile.
But why did I feel this way?
I felt a strange sense of regret. His forms were undoubtedly beautiful, but I couldn't escape the feeling that he was forcing them.
"This is called 'Sun Breathing.' It is one of the means to defeat the King of Demons. You unfold the techniques from the first to the twelfth form, and when the twelfth is finished, you begin again with the first. It is a cycle."
He sheathed the sword and continued.
"It is meant to keep the immortal monster pinned until dawn, so that the sunlight can destroy him. Or so my brother said. Of course, he—the original owner of this style—likely has no need for such tactics..."
"Yoriichi-san? He's truly amazing!"
However...
"But, that isn't your true Breathing, is it, Michikatsu-san?"
The thought slipped out of my mouth before I could stop it.
Michikatsu-san looked at me with surprise, then let out a soft chuckle.
"You have sharp eyes. You are right; this is not my Breathing. It belongs to Yoriichi. As you suspect, the Breathing I use in actual combat is different."
"Then why..."
"Did you not say you would pass down the stories?"
The story?
But that promise...
He scratched his cheek and went on.
"My story is undoubtedly 'third-rate,' but this Breathing is different. It is the origin of all breaths. Every Breathing style in our Demon Slayer Corps is derived from this one. My own is no exception."
He gently patted Sumire's head as he spoke.
"Did I not tell you? Those who master their path always arrive at the same destination. This is because, though each person's stride may be different, we are all walking the same road."
"Even so, I am just a charcoal burner..."
"But you have good eyes."
He looked directly into my eyes.
"We do not stop walking, even if we leave no trace behind. That is what it means to be human. Therefore, I entrust this story to you. I would like you to pass down this 'Breathing'—this story—to future generations in your own way."
He entrusted me with a story.
"Do not make this a heavy burden. I showed it to you only once for this very reason. It does not matter if you forget it."
The fact that he entrusted something so precious to someone who is just a charcoal burner...
I was grateful for that.
However...
Sir, your story is by no means third-rate.
I wished you would not belittle yourself in such a way.
The Sun Breathing you showed me is a grand tale, to be sure.
But the life you have built is also a magnificent story.
And so.
"Then, please show us your Breathing as well, Michikatsu-san."
I will preserve the life you saved, for the sake of those who come after us.
Not just the story of the Sun that you handed me, but your story as well.
And I will tell them.
That the story you built was never, ever third-rate.