Chapter 9: Recognition
"You... you... you..."
Jigoro Kuwajima's eyes widened, his jaw slackening in disbelief as he watched the boy, Kanzaki Akira, effortlessly catch his Nichirin Blade. The shock deepened as Akira then smoothly unsheathed the weapon, holding it up to inspect the fine steel.
Since Jigoro himself was a man of short stature, his custom-forged blade was similarly compact. In Akira's taller frame, he was able to draw it to its full length with ease. Having never learned swordsmanship, however, Akira only gave the blade a cursory glance before sliding it back into its scabbard with a clean click.
With the sword sheathed, Akira held it in one hand and simply gazed at Jigoro, his expression a mask of calm. Inwardly, however, a mischievous part of him was doubled over with laughter.
'Teasing this stubborn but soft-hearted old man is surprisingly fun,' Akira thought, fighting to keep the grin from his face.
Jigoro's own face contorted, a vein pulsing at his temple as he glared at the boy. Yet, as Akira's gaze fell upon the bandages wrapped around the old man's body and the stump of his right leg, the playful glint in his eyes softened into something more serious.
"Mr. Kuwajima, you don't need to persuade me otherwise," Akira said, his voice steady. "I am well aware of the brutality of demons and the dangers that Demon Slayer Corps swordsmen must face. But demons are a threat one might encounter any day. Learning a Breathing Technique will, at the very least, give me a better chance of survival when that day comes."
His gaze remained placid, but the ironclad determination within it made the words of refusal on Jigoro's tongue die on his lips.
"Hmph! It's far too early to be saying things like that," the old man grumbled, his resolve wavering slightly in the face of the boy's unnerving maturity. Still, his tone refused to soften. "Practicing a Breathing Technique is grueling work. We'll see if you can even endure it. Talk to me then, you little brat."
"We'll just have to see, won't we?" Akira shrugged, a hint of casual confidence in his voice. "Oh, right. I haven't introduced myself. My name is Kanzaki Akira. I'm an orphan. You should have seen me outside the temple before. So, please focus on your recovery, my future teacher. I need you to get better soon so you can teach me properly."
With that, Akira carefully placed the Nichirin Blade back in its original spot beside the bed. He gave a small nod and left the room, no longer wishing to disturb the old man's rest.
Jigoro was startled by Akira's parting words. While he hadn't made a concerted effort to hide himself back then, his combat instincts had naturally led him to a relatively inconspicuous corner. He never imagined a child would have noticed him.
If nothing else, that level of observational power was genuinely surprising.
The soft click of the door closing pulled Jigoro from his thoughts. His gaze drifted to the Nichirin Blade, now resting where it belonged. He recalled their brief, strange interaction, and against his will, the corners of his mouth curled into a faint smile.
He had to admit, he didn't dislike the boy's personality, and his potential seemed decent enough.
'It's just his age...' Jigoro hesitated, a familiar conflict warring within him. He ultimately decided he would find a way to persuade Akira to quit later on. A boy so young should be playing, not steeping himself in the slaughter of demons.
...
Leaving the medical ward, Akira wore a smile of his own. The stubborn old man with a tender heart was, in his own way, quite endearing.
As for Jigoro's lingering refusal to give up on dissuading him, Akira wasn't concerned. At worst, it meant the training would be more intense, which would only help him improve faster. A little more exhaustion during practice was a small price to pay to avoid injury—or death—in a real battle.
With a light step, Akira soon found himself outside the medical building, where the Kakushi who had guided him earlier was still waiting patiently.
He followed the Kakushi to his new residence: a small, private courtyard nestled on the mountainside. The medical ward was situated on the slope of an opposing mountain; if not for the dense canopy of trees, they would have been able to see each other from a distance.
The courtyard was well-appointed. It featured a bedroom on either side of a central path, with the main door opening into a main hall. Behind it were a kitchen, a bathroom, and other facilities. Though it was only a temporary lodging, it was fully equipped, and servants had even been arranged to manage it.
The Ubuyashiki family, Akira mused, was truly wealthy.
Just as he arrived, the door to the left bedroom slid open, and Gyomei Himejima stepped out. Before Akira could offer a greeting, the towering man had already registered the sound of two sets of footsteps, even distinguishing Akira's from the Kakushi's. He turned his head and gave a slight nod in Akira's direction.
Seeing this, the small bit of pride Akira had felt from impressing Jigoro with his perception instantly vanished. In the presence of a true, natural-born genius, his own talent felt utterly ordinary.
The thought of geniuses brought another to mind—the prodigy from the original story who became a Hashira a mere two months after first picking up a sword, a period that even included the seven days of the Final Selection. The memory further deflated any sense of smugness.
But just as quickly, he shook his head, dismissing the comparison. It didn't matter what others could do. The only thing that mattered was strengthening himself.
After escorting Akira to the courtyard, the Kakushi bowed and departed. While Akira was lost in his thoughts, Gyomei simply stood there, a silent, monolithic presence.
The strange, quiet atmosphere was finally broken when the chef assigned to their courtyard approached them.
"My lords, lunch is prepared."
It was a meal that seemed almost out of place in this era, from the quality of the ingredients to the complexity of the seasonings. Though the cooking style was different from what Akira was used to from his past life, the taste was exquisite—a world away from the simple, functional meals he had eaten just to fill his stomach.
Perhaps it was because the food was so delicious, but as they ate, Akira found himself staring in a daze. Gyomei, true to his nature, was weeping silently, tears streaming down his face with every bite.
...
In the blink of an eye, two and a half weeks had passed.
During that time, Akira and Gyomei shared the small courtyard. Each day, Gyomei would go to the Ubuyashiki Estate to learn the cultivation methods for Stone Breathing. For now, his training was focused on fundamental techniques and simple physical exercises. Knowing that Gyomei's body had suffered from long-term malnutrition, Kagaya had specifically instructed him not to push himself too hard and to wait until his body was properly nourished.
Akira, meanwhile, followed his own training regimen, pushing his body to its limits. With sufficient nutrition, his once thin and small frame began to undergo a subtle transformation. While the only visible change was a healthier complexion, the feeling of growing strength was obvious.
Besides his daily exercises, he would visit Jigoro Kuwajima every few days, falling into a comfortable routine of bickering with the old man. Through these repeated interactions, their relationship had grown much closer.
However, Jigoro's resolve to persuade Akira to quit remained deeply rooted. In fact, it grew even firmer as he became fonder of the boy. He mentioned more than once that he was willing to take Akira in, to let him live peacefully for a few years before even thinking about learning a Breathing Technique. Akira found himself somewhat helpless against this relentless kindness.
He was glad his future teacher was a good person, but he was almost too good-hearted.
After silently awarding Jigoro a 'good person card' in his mind, Akira decided to just let him be. The old man could keep trying to persuade him, and he would keep preparing to learn.
On this particular day, just after finishing breakfast and seeing Gyomei off to the Ubuyashiki Estate, Akira was about to begin his daily exercises when a familiar shout echoed from outside the courtyard.
"Brat! Your teacher's all recovered. I'm ready to leave."
Following the shout, the very same old man Akira had grown so familiar with appeared at the gate. Jigoro Kuwajima now had a prosthesis fitted to his right leg, and all the bandages were gone. He leaned on a cane with one hand while waving to Akira with the other.
"Old man, your leg is still healing. Why did you come all this way? You could have just sent someone with a message," Akira complained, though he quickly moved forward to support him.
Through their constant bickering, the master and disciple duo had developed the easy rapport of friends who had long forgotten their age difference. Their respective nicknames, 'Brat'and'Old Man,' never failed to raise eyebrows among the newer patients in the medical ward.
The physical enhancement granted by Breathing Techniques was truly impressive. Jigoro's recovery speed was far beyond that of an ordinary person. Anyone else with such a severe injury would likely still be bedridden, yet Jigoro was already moving about.
"Look what you're saying," Jigoro retorted stubbornly, though he leaned willingly into Akira's supporting arm. "My legs might not be as nimble as they used to be, but I can still run and jump just fine."
in the world of being stubborn yet soft-hearted, the two were a perfect match. Perhaps that was the secret to their unlikely friendship. In any case, both of them seemed quite content with it.
A carriage was parked at the foot of the mountain, revealing that Jigoro hadn't walked the entire way. This carriage would soon take them to their destination: Mount Momo, the place where Jigoro had lived before joining the Demon Slayer Corps, and where he now intended to live in seclusion after his retirement.
Sitting in the carriage, listening to Jigoro reminisce about his old home while watching the scenery drift by outside the window, Akira's thoughts once again drifted far away.
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