Chapter 136: Teacher Kanzaki
Ignore the wounded slayers groaning in the Medical Department—most of whom were practically drowning in jealousy anyway. Shinobu, having just met Mitsuri for the first time, immediately took a liking to the pink-haired girl. She grabbed Mitsuri's hand, cheerfully pulling her down the hall to pick out her future bedroom. Kanae and Makomo followed close behind, their soft laughter echoing through the corridors as the four women bonded instantly.
Sawaki, meanwhile, avoided the others' gaze. She shot Akira a fierce, warning glare—a silent demand to behave himself—before turning on her heel and marching toward the Medical Department alongside Hanako and Aoi.
Even though Shinobu was officially on leave, the estate's clinic still required capable doctors on duty. Hanako and Aoi had their hands full organizing the daily triage and managing the influx of recovering slayers.
Thanks to Akira's gentle persuasion a few days prior, Aoi had finally learned to delegate. She stepped back from breaking her back over every minor chore, focusing instead on her role as a head medical assistant. Her serious, fiercely responsible attitude remained completely intact, but the sheer intensity of her physical labor had dropped to a healthy level. Underneath her strict exterior, she was surprisingly receptive to good advice.
As the lively group dispersed into the sprawling estate, the once-bustling entrance fell quiet. Akira stood near the doorway, blinking in mild amusement. He looked down. Kanao looked up. They were the only two left.
Without a moment's hesitation, the quiet girl gave a small, happy hop, launching herself directly into his embrace.
Akira's mind was still trying to process how he had been so swiftly abandoned by the older girls, but his arms moved on pure instinct. He caught Kanao's petite frame, pulling her securely against his chest. Feeling her small hands grip his haori, he decided he couldn't be bothered to overthink his sudden abandonment. He glanced up at the twilight sky. The sun was dipping below the horizon, casting a warm orange glow over the courtyard. It was just about time for dinner. Adjusting his hold on Kanao, he carried her straight toward the dining hall.
Since he had given the kitchen advance notice of their new guest, the evening's feast was exceptionally lavish. The massive square dining table groaned under the weight of the food, the plates stacked two layers high in some places. Steam curled off perfectly glazed fish, rich stews, and towering bowls of white rice. Taking in the vibrant colors and mouth-watering aromas, Mitsuri sat frozen in her chair. Actual tears of pure, unadulterated emotion—and perhaps a bit of drool—pricked the corners of her mouth.
Whether the girls had secretly coordinated it beforehand or simply shared a mutual understanding, Mitsuri naturally found herself seated right next to Shinobu, the two already chatting like old friends.
Akira took his place at the head of the table. His gaze drifted over his growing family, briefly lingering on the empty chairs beside Aoi. A soft smile touched his lips as he imagined the future. Soon enough, the three little ones—Sumi, Kiyo, and Naho—would arrive at the Butterfly Mansion, filling those last remaining gaps. A packed table, a room echoing with laughter, everyone eating and sharing their day. This was exactly it. This was the warm, bustling family he had sworn to protect.
Early the next morning, the crisp mountain air filled the courtyard. Akira and Mitsuri stood facing each other in the center of the estate's open training grounds, the morning dew still clinging to the grass.
"Since you've officially decided to join the Demon Slayer Corps," Akira began, his tone shifting into a calm, authoritative cadence, "you need to choose a Breathing Style that perfectly suits your physique. Until your strength and control reach a standard I deem acceptable, I absolutely forbid you from facing demons in actual combat."
"Yes! Teacher Kanzaki!" Mitsuri chirped, snapping a crisp bow.
Whether she was just in a playful mood or genuinely taking the master-student dynamic to heart, she had completely dropped 'Brother Kanzaki'in favor of'Teacher Kanzaki.' Akira found it mildly amusing, but it hardly mattered. He let the new title slide without comment.
He drew a wooden training katana from the rack. "I currently have mastery over four distinct Breathing Styles: Thunder, Flame, Water, and Sun. I am going to demonstrate the foundational forms of each one, step by step. I want you to watch closely, try to mimic my movements, and pay attention to how your muscles react. Pick the one that feels the most natural to your body. That will be your starting point."
Before he even finished his sentence, literal stars seemed to sparkle in Mitsuri's wide green eyes.
She had already read up on the basic theories of Total Concentration Breathing. She knew that mastering even a single style required years of blood, sweat, and agonizing effort. The fact that Akira casually admitted to knowing four completely blew her mind. The sheer admiration bubbling in her chest threatened to overflow.
"Are you listening, Mitsuri?" Akira's dry, amused voice cut through her awe.
Caught daydreaming, Mitsuri jolted. Like a student caught sleeping in class, she stiffened, pressing her hands to her sides. "Understood, Teacher!"
Nodding, Akira stepped back. He raised the wooden blade, adjusting his grip, and began a slow-motion demonstration of the forms.
While the primary goal was to let Mitsuri observe and choose a Breathing Style, this deliberate, agonizingly slow execution was actually a core part of Akira's own daily training regimen.
Just as he had previously instructed Mitsuri on how to rein in her abnormal muscle density, moving at a fraction of normal speed was the ultimate test of bodily control. It forced the muscles to stabilize without relying on momentum. More, to access the See-Through World, a swordsman required absolute, flawless command over their own internal state.
By observing his own biomechanics in slow motion, he could gradually tune out external distractions. He discarded his superficial senses, using his 'heart' and mind's eye to map every twitch of his muscle fibers, the flow of blood in his veins, and the expansion of his lungs. First, he had to see himself with absolute clarity. Only then could he extend that perception outward to see the world in its purest, transparent form.
As he cycled through the forms, Akira naturally slipped into that peculiar, hyper-focused state. His presence seemed to vanish. To Mitsuri, watching from the sidelines, it felt as though her teacher had physically merged with the wind, the grass, and the morning sunlight. He was there, yet entirely unreadable.
His breaths were long, drawn-out, and continuous. His movements were slow, but carried a heavy, crushing weight behind them. Even with his eyes fully closed, his footwork was immaculate. He transitioned from the explosive stances of Thunder to the flowing arcs of Water without a single micro-hesitation, instinctively stepping around the dazed Mitsuri as if he possessed a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree field of vision.
Mitsuri only allowed herself to be awestruck for a minute. Shaking her head to clear it, she grabbed her own wooden sword from the rack. Gripping the hilt tightly, she stepped onto the grass and began mimicking Akira's fluid motions.
Thanks to her extensive background in gymnastics and her unique muscle composition, Mitsuri possessed incredible bodily awareness. After a brief period of clumsy discomfort, adjusting to the rigid stances of swordsmanship, her innate flexibility took over. She smoothly shadowed Akira's forms, her body bending and twisting to match his tempo.
Time slipped away beneath the rising sun. By the time Akira finally completed the final, grueling kata of Sun Breathing, the morning mist had entirely burned off, and the midday sun was beating down on the courtyard.
"How does it feel?" Akira asked, exhaling a long plume of white vapor. He lowered his wooden sword, withdrawing from the See-Through World, and turned his dark, observant eyes toward his panting student.
Mitsuri wiped a bead of sweat from her forehead, her brow furrowing in deep thought. "Um... I feel like the movements from the second style you showed me felt the most natural to my body. But... there were still some parts that felt really stiff and awkward when I tried to swing."
"Flame Breathing, huh..." Akira murmured, a knowing glint in his eye.
The second style he had demonstrated was indeed Flame Breathing. Even though the circumstances of her recruitment were entirely different in this timeline, it seemed fate had a way of correcting itself. Mitsuri was still going to walk the path of a Flame Breathing disciple, eventually mutating it to fit her bizarre flexibility. It was exactly what he had expected.
"Then we have our starting point," Akira declared, tossing her a towel. "You will learn the foundations of Flame Breathing from me. As for the forms that feel awkward or restrictive, don't force your body to conform to them. Modify the angles. Change the footwork. If the traditional strikes feel completely unsuitable, you can simply create your own Breathing Style derived from the Flame branch."
Mitsuri caught the towel, her jaw dropping. "Create my own Breathing Style? Me? You think I can do something like that?!"
"Why not?" Akira countered smoothly. "Breathing Styles have been passed down for centuries, but they are not sacred, unchangeable laws. A sword technique is only useful if it fits the wielder. What suits your body is what's best. If that weren't the case, everyone would just force themselves to learn Sun Breathing—the strongest progenitor style—and the other branches would have died out centuries ago."
It was a simple truth. Even Akira, who had successfully unlocked the legendary Sun Breathing, never once considered abandoning his Thunder Breathing. He had honed his lightning-fast strikes for years. While Sun Breathing possessed unmatched raw destructive power against demons, it simply didn't align with Akira's natural combat rhythm as flawlessly as Thunder Breathing did.
The other Hashira operated on the exact same logic. They viewed Sun Breathing as a deep reference point to refine their own specialized styles, not as a replacement. While the derivative Breathing Styles couldn't match the sun's absolute intensity, they had evolved over generations to achieve absolute superiority in niche aspects of combat.
Thunder Breathing offered unmatched, explosive leg strength and blinding speed. Flame Breathing maximized cardiopulmonary output for devastating, heavy strikes. Wind Breathing used erratic, sweeping upper-body strength to shred enemies. Stone Breathing demanded absolute core stability for crushing, defensive power. And Water Breathing provided an all-around, fluid balance—much like Sun Breathing itself—but was far easier to learn, boasting an incredibly high ceiling for mastery.
The five fundamental styles had all branched off from the sun, mutating to fit the unique strengths of their creators. ultimately, a Breathing Style was merely a tool. The true power always lay within the swordsman wielding the blade.
"The Flower Breathing that Kanae uses right now?" Akira added, offering an encouraging smile. "She created it herself by modifying Water Breathing to suit her lighter frame. If you ever get stuck or have ideas on how to adapt your forms in the future, you should talk to her. She knows exactly what it takes to forge a new path."
Mitsuri clutched the wooden sword to her chest, her green eyes shining with newfound determination. "Yes! I will, Teacher Kanzaki!"
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