Chapter 142: If Given Three Days of Sight
If Natsuya had felt slightly unsatisfied with his technical victory over Gyomei,
Igarashi Uzen was experiencing something far worse: total, soul-crushing
depression.
In the fifth match, the Storm Hashira had taken his third consecutive loss.
His final opponent had been the Blind Monk himself. The two had mutually agreed
to forgo Total Concentration and fight using only standard forms. Even so,
Igarashi was forced onto the back foot almost immediately, darting across the
courtyard to dodge the relentless whistling of Gyomei's spiked iron flail.
He tried a direct frontal blitz, but nearly had his ribs caved in by three rapid
counter-strikes. When he switched tactics to probe for openings...
It seemed Gyomei had absorbed data from his bouts with Shinjuro and Natsuya. The
microscopic flaws in the monk's defensive perimeter had dwindled to almost
nothing.
Through Natsuya's HUD, Gyomei's [Tech] stat had visibly ticked upward across
those two previous matches. Even with the monk's stamina slightly depleted,
Igarashi couldn't breach his guard to land a decisive blow.
Mindful of the Master's delicate health watching from the veranda, Igarashi
eventually tapped out.
A clean 0-3 sweep.
Even with his usually calm, scholarly temperament, a visible cloud of dark gloom
began to hover over the Storm Hashira.
"Don't sweat it, Senior. Ranked matches are always like this," Natsuya consoled
him with breezy detachment as he prepared for the final duel.
"You win some, you lose some. Most of the time, it's not even a skill issue—it's
just terrible matchmaking and bad matchup compatibility."
Igarashi pushed his glasses up in silence. The lens reflection hid his eyes
completely.
Natsuya, utterly blind to his Senior's mood, kept rambling.
"Look at me. I have zero attachment to winning or losing in casual spars. If you
win, it was meant to be. If you lose, hey, you download the replay data, analyze
the tech, and apply it to the next matchup."
Igarashi: (≡ — ≡) Natsuya... does your conscience not throb in agony when you
spout such hypocrisy?
Ten minutes later...
Natsuya returned to Igarashi's side, huffing with irritation.
"That old fossil! He literally only won because he has twenty years of muscle
memory and three more inches of reach!"
Natsuya crossed his arms, clicking his tongue. "Pulling veteran feints against a
junior... tsk. Typical Flame Hashira nonsense."
Listening to his Junior Brother's utterly unconvincing saltiness, a very subtle,
profoundly satisfied smirk spread across Igarashi's lips.
Ah. Truly my Junior. Such open-minded sportsmanship. Such zen detachment.
"Natsuya," the Storm Hashira murmured warmly, "this defeat will surely serve as
valuable data you can apply to the next matchup."
The Luminary Hashira froze. Is it too late to take back what I said earlier?
Across the courtyard, Shinjuro stood catching his breath, trying to project a
stoic, dignified aura while nursing a lingering cold sweat.
"Good form today, Kokonoe," Shinjuro called out, keeping his voice level.
That was way too close, the Flame Hashira thought, his heart still hammering. I
almost got flattened.
He finally understood how Natsuya had managed to parry Gyomei's flail with a
blunt smithing hammer. In a state of Total Concentration, the boy's raw physical
output briefly out-scaled even the Stone Hashira.
Where is that scrawny frame hiding so much kinetic force? If I hadn't relied on
my deeper form variations and veteran ring awareness, I would have eaten dirt
today.
If Shinjuro had known what an online lobby was, he would have reported Natsuya
for running cheat engines on the spot.
With that, the spontaneously organized [First Demon Slayer Budokai] officially
concluded.
Excluding the referee who had spent the entire afternoon dodging work, the four
combatants had established an official internal leaderboard:
- Flame Hashira: 3 Points (Undefeated)
- Luminary Hashira: 2 Points
- Stone Hashira: 1 Point
- Storm Hashira: 0 Poi—
"Oyakata-sama," Igarashi coughed loudly, smoothly cutting in before Takizuki
could read the final tally aloud. "Regarding the deployment schedules and safety
inspections for the upcoming Final Selection, perhaps we should use this
opportunity to discuss the specifics in detail?"
By the following morning, the visiting Hashira had begun their goodbyes,
preparing to return to their respective territories. The Ubuyashiki estate
returned to its customary serenity.
Gyomei Himejima had gathered his prayer beads and was about to begin his journey
back to the Kansai region when Natsuya stepped into his path, wearing an
unusually solemn expression.
Gyomei halted, his blind, clouded eyes turning toward the boy. "Lord Kokonoe, is
there something else you require of this monk?"
Natsuya's usual casualness had receded, replaced by the clinical focus of an
experienced physician.
"Lord Himejima, there is an experiment I'd like to attempt."
He paused, leaning in slightly. "Your eyes... you can't see out of them at all,
right?"
"If you're willing... I'd like to try treating them."
To Natsuya, using his [Medicine] skill to unlock hidden side-quests and rare
stat payouts was already proven meta. Faced with an ally who had an obvious
physical debuff, Natsuya naturally wanted to test the System's upper limits.
From yesterday's tournament data, veterans like Shinjuro and Igarashi were
already bumping against their natural ceiling. They were ships of the previous
generation—solid, but nearing the end of their progression curves.
Gyomei, however, was different. Even completely blind, the twenty-year-old was
already competing toe-to-toe with the veteran Flame Hashira.
If I can patch his optic nerves and give him 20/20 vision, I'll have an absolute
God-Tier SSR tank for future raid content.
Gyomei stood entirely frozen.
My... eyes?
In his infancy, a relentless fever had burned away his sight. He wasn't trapped
in total pitch-blackness; he could vaguely perceive blurry patches of light and
shifting shadows, but it was light-years away from true vision.
Yet it was precisely because of that loss that his remaining four senses had
sharpened into something superhuman.
"Oyakata-sama... has sought out physicians for this monk's eyes in the past,"
Gyomei murmured, tears welling up as he instinctively clasped his hands in
prayer.
"Yet whether they were doctors of the Western discipline or traditional
herbalists of our homeland, none could alter my condition."
"I am moved beyond words by your kindness, Lord Kokonoe. But there is truly no
need to waste your precious time on an impossibility."
Natsuya waved a dismissive hand. "It's no trouble. It's just an experiment."
"Besides, the doctors the Boss hired in the past..."
He snorted. "In my professional opinion, they were mostly quacks."
Kagaya's family curse went unmanaged. Lady Ruka was left to slowly waste away.
And this mountain of a man's vision was deemed hopeless.
If they aren't quacks, what else do you call them?
Gyomei froze again. Q-Quacks? The imperial physicians and renowned scholars
hired by the Master... described as quacks by this teenage Pillar?
"Is your optical damage truly more complex than Lady Ruka's systemic organ
failure?" Natsuya pressed, full of confidence.
Gyomei remained skeptical. Though he lacked formal schooling, he understood the
distinction: Lady Ruka suffered from an unidentified internal illness, an
elusive ailment with no known cure. His blindness, however, was caused by
permanent nerve necrosis that had settled nearly twenty years ago.
He had long since adapted to his body. He often forgot his lack of sight was
even considered a disability.
Yet, sensing the absolute sincerity beneath Natsuya's blunt words, the Stone
Hashira couldn't bring himself to reject the gesture.
"If Lord Kokonoe insists..."
Gyomei bowed slightly, a faint, resigned smile gracing his scarred features.
"Then let us attempt it according to your will. Whatever the outcome, this monk
shall remain deeply grateful."
"Follow me."
Natsuya led him back toward his guest quarters.
Inside the room, the tools Natsuya had gathered the night before were already
laid out in surgical order: dozens of acupuncture needles of varying calibers,
stone jars of crushed medicinal powders, a small clay burner simmering with a
pungent brown decoction, and a row of sterilized Western metal instruments.
Natsuya pulled up the [Medicine LV.4] diagnostic layer in his HUD.
Post-febrile optic neuropathy, secondary corneal clouding, localized nerve
atrophy...
The medical jargon was dense, but the core takeaway was clear: the eyeballs
themselves hadn't suffered complete tissue necrosis, nor had they been
surgically removed. And according to Gyomei's testimony, he still retained trace
light perception.
It had missed the optimal clinical window by two decades, but between a
level-capped modern skill and the System's physics-defying logic...
There's definitely room for a clutch save.
"Sit cross-legged, Lord Himejima," Natsuya instructed.
Outside the sliding screen doors, Kagaya Ubuyashiki and several Kakushi had
gathered in complete silence. Clearly, word had leaked, and everyone was holding
their breath to see if the young "Miracle Doctor" could forge another
impossibility.
Natsuya brought up his planning interface, the blue light reflecting in his
focused eyes.
System, boot up the mini-game. Time to go to work.
☆☆☆
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