Chapter 155: If You Are Well, Then It Is A Sunny Day
The sun dipped below the horizon at Mt. Momoyama, casting long, golden shadows across the quiet courtyard. Inside the modest home, a grandfather and his surrogate grandson sat around the low dining table, enjoying a hearty dinner after a grueling day of training.
Agatsuma Zenitsu had performed exceptionally well today. Relying on his naturally acute hearing, the blonde boy was finally able to anticipate and parry the slightly held-back sneak attacks from his master, Kuwajima Jigoro.
Setting aside the absolute anomaly that was Kanzaki Akira, for a boy who had known absolutely nothing about combat to grow enough to survive ambushes from a former Thunder Hashira in just a few short months was an incredibly rapid progression. Because of this milestone, Jigoro had called an early end to the day's regimen, allowing them to sit down for their meal before the sky had even fully darkened.
To reward his student's rare diligence, the old man had gone out of his way to prepare a spread of Zenitsu's favorite dishes. A warm, quiet smile touched Jigoro's weathered face as he watched the boy practically inhale his food.
Since retiring to become a Cultivator, he had taken on three distinct disciples in succession.
The first, Kanzaki Akira, had been far too sensible and mature for his age. His innate talent was so absurdly overwhelming that it left Jigoro feeling as though he hadn't actually done much teaching at all. The boy had simply absorbed everything like a sponge.
The second was Uzui Tengen, brought in on Akira's recommendation. When it came to respecting his master and the martial path, the flamboyant shinobi was vastly superior to Akira—a brat who could rarely stay serious for more than three seconds. Throughout Tengen's entire tutelage, his manners were impeccable, and his dedication to learning was beyond reproach. However, Tengen already possessed a rock-solid foundation in the shinobi arts; his study of Thunder Breathing was primarily to adapt its principles into his own style. That teaching process had been remarkably brief, once again leaving Jigoro feeling more like an advisor than a true master.
Then came the third: Agatsuma Zenitsu. This was a disciple Jigoro truly had to mold from the ground up, guiding him hand-in-hand through every agonizing step. Even though the blonde boy would cry, scream, and complain endlessly, he always gritted his teeth and pushed through the grueling training tasks.
Perhaps Zenitsu still had his glaring personality flaws, but the deep-seated kindness and stubborn resilience etched into his very bones were second to none. Watching Zenitsu stumble, fall, and slowly grow step by step finally gave Jigoro the fulfilling experience of being a true master.
Jigoro's chopsticks hovered over his bowl, his thoughts drifting far beyond the dining room.
His mind wandered back to his very first meeting with Akira in the Medical Department. He remembered a boy who appeared flighty and carefree on the surface, yet harbored an incredibly sharp, unwavering goal in his eyes.
Come to think of it, the last time he had spoken face-to-face with his eldest disciple was over two months ago.
Back then, Zenitsu had been drowning in frustration over his inability to grasp the other forms of Thunder Breathing. Akira had taken time out of his demanding schedule to visit Mt. Momoyama, checking in on his old master while offering some much-needed guidance to his struggling junior brother.
Since that day, Jigoro hadn't seen his pride and joy. He had no idea what Akira was so busy with lately—whether it was intense training, endless patrols, or something else entirely.
The Demon Slayer Corps boasted several Hashira-level combatants now; logically, the boy shouldn't be swamped with work. Yet that ungrateful brat couldn't carve out a single afternoon to visit his master. Did he not realize that an old man with a wooden leg found it terribly inconvenient to trek all the way to the Butterfly Mansion?
Well, his leg wasn't actually that bad. Back when Jigoro first discovered that Akira had been shamelessly courting multiple women at once, the old man had chased the brat for several miles across the mountain, swinging his cane with lethal intent. During that furious sprint, his wooden prosthetic hadn't slowed him down in the slightest.
The real issue was that showing up unannounced at headquarters without knowing if Akira was free felt intrusive.
Regardless, there was no urgent crisis. Whenever Akira finally caught a break, he would surely return home. Despite his endless teasing, the kid possessed a deep sense of filial piety.
Besides, with Zenitsu constantly buzzing around the house, Jigoro hardly had the chance to feel lonely. He knew full well that keeping his master company was half the reason Akira had brought Zenitsu to Mt. Momoyama in the first place.
Still, the old man couldn't help but miss the brat sometimes.
Just like right now—watching Zenitsu's ravenous, utterly unrefined way of eating brought back vivid memories of Akira's early days on the mountain. It wasn't just Jigoro being overly sentimental, projecting his eldest student's shadow onto the blonde boy sitting in front of him.
It was simply a universal truth: after a day of bone-breaking, high-intensity training, any normal human ate exactly the same way. The concept of eating slowly and chewing carefully ceased to exist. "Wolfing down" didn't even begin to cover it; they ate with such ferocious desperation it looked as though they were trying to swallow the ceramic bowls whole.
Just as that fond thought crossed his mind, Jigoro's breath hitched. He thought he heard the faint, rhythmic crunch of familiar footsteps approaching the porch.
For a split second, he assumed it was merely an illusion born of nostalgia. But then Zenitsu, who had been entirely focused on inhaling his rice, suddenly snapped his head up. His cheeks were still stuffed like a chipmunk's, but his wide eyes sparkled with sudden, joyous recognition.
Master and disciple exchanged a quick, knowing glance before turning their attention toward the entryway.
The very next moment, a loud voice shattered the evening quiet.
"I'm back!"
Framed by the bleeding orange hues of the setting sun, Kanzaki Akira kicked the sliding wooden door open, flashing a brilliant, unapologetic grin at the two people inside.
However, before Akira even had the chance to lower his foot, a sharp, ominous crack echoed through the room. The wooden door he had just kicked aside groaned in protest. Under the stunned gazes of all three men, the hinges gave way, and the entire door crashed flat onto the floorboards with a deafening clatter.
Silence descended upon the room—heavy, absolute, and completely unexpected.
Zenitsu froze, completely forgetting to chew the massive bite of food stuffed in his cheeks. Three frantic impulses warred inside his brain: jump up and greet his senior brother, swallow his dinner, or desperately find a way to defuse the suffocating awkwardness.
Ultimately, basic human instinct made the choice for him. With a loud, exaggerated gulp, Zenitsu swallowed his food.
The sound of that gulp seemed to break the spell. Jigoro stared down at the broken wooden door—a poor, battered thing that had finally succumbed after years of Akira's dramatic entrances. The old man slowly lifted his gaze to Akira, who was still standing frozen like a statue with his foot suspended in mid-air.
Jigoro let out a long, heavy sigh, caught perfectly between bubbling anger and utter helplessness.
"It's fine," Jigoro muttered, rubbing his temples. "If you are well, then it is a sunny day."
Akira blinked, smoothly lowering his leg as a charming smile returned to his face. "Master is as magnanimous as ever! Then I will just..."
"But if you are not well..."
Jigoro stopped there, his voice dropping an octave. He didn't finish the threat. Instead, he simply leveled a dark, piercing glare at his eldest disciple that clearly screamed, 'Figure out how to fix it yourself, or else.'
Message received. Akira immediately spun on his heel and bolted toward the utility shed next door.
Inside, he quickly located the woodworking tools Jigoro had recently purchased. The old man had bought them specifically to hand-carve a few wooden toys for Zenitsu—a blatant display of favoritism that had made Akira secretly jealous for weeks.
But there was no helping it. The blonde crybaby followed Jigoro around like a lost duckling, sweetly calling him "Grandpa" with every other breath, coaxing the old man into a state of absolute joy.
It was a stark contrast to a certain brat who, from their very first meeting, had never once acted his age and constantly spat out sarcastic remarks that gave the old man heart palpitations. The only reason Akira hadn't been pinned down and beaten black and blue by his master was simply because he had mastered his Breathing Technique far too quickly.
He had learned Thunder Breathing so well, in fact, that he could run fast enough to ensure Jigoro could never actually catch him.
Akira's logic had always been infuriatingly sound: 'I told you Thunder Breathing was the best, right? It's the ultimate technique for running away from an angry master.'
Jigoro's usual response involved a string of unprintable curses.
Fortunately, the door wasn't completely shattered; the ancient iron nails had simply rusted and given way under the force of the kick. Akira fiddled with the hinges, hammered in a few fresh nails, and quickly reinstalled the sliding door onto its tracks.
"All done!"
Dusting off his hands, Akira put the tools away and flashed a bright smile at Jigoro, who was just walking out of the kitchen.
The old man had slipped away while Akira was working to whip up a few extra dishes. He knew perfectly well that the meager leftovers currently on the table wouldn't even be enough to pad Akira's bottomless stomach.
"If it's fixed, then sit down and eat," Jigoro grumbled, setting the steaming plates onto the table. "You are a dignified Sound Hashira now. Stop acting so recklessly. If you keep behaving like a wild boar, what will happen if you set a bad example for the rest of the Demon Slayer Corps?"
He tapped his cane lightly against the floorboards. "Those in high positions must lead by example. Do you understand?"
Akira chuckled warmly, taking his seat beside a beaming Zenitsu. "Yes, Master..."
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