In the weeks following the accidental fire, Henry Jekyll did not seek out a traditional master. Instead, he retreated into the quiet of the training grounds, his scientific mind obsessing over the "rhythm" he had felt in his chest. It was a pulse that didn't belong to his heart alone—it was a cadence that seemed to vibrate from the very core of the earth and the heat of the sky.
"It is a frequency," Henry whispered, his eyes closed as he stood in the center of the courtyard. "A harmonic resonance between the oxygen in my blood and the kinetic energy of my movements."
He began to move, not with the calculated steps of a fencer, but by following that universal rhythm. His feet traced circular patterns, and his strikes became fluid, continuous loops. Without knowing he was recreating the lost forms of the original Sun Breathing, Jekyll simply allowed the heat to flow.
With every swing of his training katana, the air ignited. Unlike the static sparks of Flame Breathing, Henry's fire was a living thing—swirling, golden, and relentless.
"I shall call it Wildfire Breathing," Henry decided, a small, weary smile Touching his lips. The name was a humble nod to the charred porch he had nearly leveled, a reminder that this power was as dangerous as any chemical reagent.
From the shaded veranda, two pairs of eyes watched the boy.
Sanemi Shinazugawa, the Wind Hashira, crossed his scarred arms, his brow furrowed in a permanent scowl. He watched as Henry executed a perfect, high-arcing slash that left a trail of shimmering solar heat in the air.
"Tch," Sanemi spat, his voice rasping with irritation. "Look at him. It's just another variation of Flame Breathing with a different grip. The brat thinks he's a genius because he can make a few sparks fly. He's sloppy, Western-trained, and he's going to get himself killed trying to be flashy."
Beside him, Kanae Kocho, the Flower Hashira, watched with a much softer expression. She didn't see "sparks"—she saw the way the air seemed to bow to Henry's movements. She was deeply impressed by the sheer speed at which this "British doctor" was adapting to the combat arts of Japan.
"Oh, Sanemi, don't be so grumpy," Kanae said with a light, melodic chuckle, her butterfly-wing haori fluttering in the wind. "Look at the fluidity of his transitions. To invent a style that produces such pure heat in less than a month... it's quite remarkable. Our little doctor might have a talent for more than just medicine."
Henry finished his set, his chest heaving as the golden flames dissipated into the morning mist. He wiped the sweat from his brow, his expression once again becoming that of the solemn, focused gentleman.
He didn't realize that Sanemi's anger was born of a hidden respect for the boy's raw power, nor did he realize that Kanae saw the potential for a new kind of hero. He only knew that the rhythm was becoming easier to hear—and that deep inside, Edward Hyde was starting to hum along to the tune.
******
The atmosphere at the Demon Slayer headquarters shifted from serene to electric as the Hashira—the elite pillars of the Corps—arrived to deliver their periodic reports. However, the air was quickly thick with rumors. News of the "Great Solar Incident" at the Master's residence had spread like a brushfire.
The Hashira rushed toward the main veranda, their faces etched with concern. "Master!" Kyojuro Rengoku, the Flame Hashira, boomed with his usual boisterous energy. "We heard reports of a sudden conflagration! Are you and the children unharmed?"
Kagaya Ubuyashiki sat calmly, his scarred face bearing a tranquil smile. "Peace, my children. It was merely a small accident during a training session. No one was injured, and the wood is already being replaced."
"Accident my ass!" Sanemi Shinazugawa barked, stepping into the light of the courtyard. He crossed his scarred arms, his eyes narrowed in a permanent scowl. "The new recruit nearly leveled the porch with a breathing style he has no business wielding. He's just a child playing doctor that Gyomei dragged in from the woods. Some arrogant American brat who thinks he can reinvent the wheel."
Kanae Kocho, standing nearby with a graceful poise, let out a soft, correcting hum. "Now, now, Sanemi. Accuracy is important for a Slayer. Henry is British, not American. His manners are far too refined for the colonies."
Sanemi scoffed, dismissively waving a hand. "British, American—what's the difference? They're all loud-mouthed Westerners with too much curiosity and not enough respect for the blade."
The mention of a "Western kid" who could produce flames powerful enough to scorch the Master's own home sent a ripple of intrigue through the assembled Hashira.
"A foreigner who uses fire?" Rengoku's eyes widened, his interest piqued. "If his spirit burns bright enough to ignite the very air, I must meet him! A doctor who wields the flame... how unusual! How magnificent!"
Tengen Uzui, the Sound Hashira, leaned against a pillar with a smirk. "Burning down the Master's house on your first week? That is certainly... flamboyant. I'd like to see if his 'Wildfire' looks as good as it smells."
Even the stoic Giyu Tomioka looked up, his silent gaze suggesting a rare spark of curiosity about this boy who carried both a medical bag and a sun-like heat.
Henry Jekyll, currently in the infirmary re-stocking his bandages and checking his Sodium Iodide levels, had no idea he was the primary topic of the highest-ranking warriors in Japan. He only knew that the "rhythm" was getting louder, and the test God had set for him was about to get much more difficult.