Chapter 156: Is It Too Late to Go Back?
The morning sun cast long, slanted shadows across the dirt courtyard. Dust motes danced in the crisp air between Kanzaki Akira and Zenitsu, who stood several meters apart, wooden training swords gripped tightly in their hands.
"Come on," Akira said, resting the tip of his wooden blade against the ground. "Let me see the results of your training."
Zenitsu offered a solemn, tight-lipped nod. He slid his right foot back, dropping his center of gravity low to the earth, and leaned his upper body forward like a coiled spring. His breathing rhythm shifted instantly. A faint wisp of white mist curled from his lips, dissipating into the cool morning air.
"Total Concentration."
Sparks seemed to crackle in the space around him.
"Thunder Breathing, First Form: Thunderclap and Flash."
The ground beneath Zenitsu's feet cracked. In a fraction of a second, he vanished, transforming into a blinding streak of yellow lightning that tore straight toward Akira's chest.
Clang.
A sharp crack of wood striking wood echoed through the courtyard. Akira had barely shifted his stance, merely turning his shoulder slightly and bringing his sword up vertically. He caught Zenitsu's blinding strike with absolute precision, stopping the blade dead in its tracks.
But the younger swordsman did not freeze.
Using the recoil from the blocked strike, Zenitsu rushed past Akira, his boots skidding against the dirt as he violently pivoted his momentum. He launched himself back toward Akira's blind spot.
"Thunderclap and Flash, Two-Fold."
Akira's eyebrows rose a fraction of an inch. He genuinely hadn't expected this. In barely half a year of training, the boy had already managed to chain the explosive movements of Thunderclap and Flash together. More, Akira's kinetic vision caught the subtle shifts in Zenitsu's muscle fibers. The two-fold strike wasn't his limit.
Curiosity piqued, Akira gracefully sidestepped, using a soft, circular motion with his wrist to deflect the heavy incoming blow, redirecting Zenitsu's momentum past him. He waited, watching the boy's footing.
"Thunderclap and Flash, Three-Fold!"
Zenitsu rebounded off a nearby tree trunk, tearing through the air for a third consecutive assault.
This time, Akira did not dodge. He met the wooden blade head-on, catching it firmly. At the exact same moment, his free hand shot out, clamping down on Zenitsu's forearm. With a smooth, calculated tug, Akira absorbed and dissipated the massive kinetic impact, bringing the boy to a safe, immediate halt.
Akira could clearly see the strain. Zenitsu had spent far too little time conditioning his body for the Breathing Techniques. His physical durability simply couldn't keep up with the explosive output. After three consecutive bursts, the boy's legs were violently trembling, completely drained of strength. Had Akira not forcibly stopped that third strike and absorbed the shock, Zenitsu likely would have torn his own muscles or shattered a bone.
The moment the forward momentum ceased, Zenitsu went entirely limp. His Total Concentration Breathing broke, and he began gasping desperately for air, his chest heaving like a bellows. He only remained standing because Akira was holding him up by the arm.
"To be able to push yourself to this level in just a few months," Akira said, easily supporting the exhausted boy's weight. "Not bad at all."
"Hehe..."
A smug grin tugged at the corners of Zenitsu's mouth. He tried his hardest to look reserved and modest, offering only a quiet chuckle, but the sheer pride radiating from his slumping posture was impossible to hide. His chest puffed out, and his chin tilted upward.
Akira watched him with dry amusement, reasonably suspecting that Zenitsu's laughter was only restrained because his lungs were currently burning. For a beginner, maintaining Total Concentration Breathing through three consecutive, explosive bursts was a massive toll on the cardiovascular system. Zenitsu was still wheezing heavily; a full, arrogant laugh would probably make him pass out from hypoxia.
"However," Akira noted, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, "the continuous bursts of Thunderclap and Flash place quite a heavy burden on your frame. Do you want to quickly improve your physical fitness?"
Zenitsu's golden eyes immediately lit up. He stared at Akira, practically vibrating with renewed energy. "Senior Brother has a way?"
He was incredibly active when it came to getting stronger. Zenitsu had always looked up to Akira as an absolute role model, quietly harboring the dream of standing shoulder-to-shoulder with him on a real battlefield.
But a split second after asking the question, a sudden, icy chill crept up Zenitsu's spine.
His extraordinarily sensitive ears twitched. He picked up a subtle shift in Akira's heartbeat and the micro-rhythms of his breathing. It wasn't malicious intent, exactly, but rather a distinct, terrifying flavor of schadenfreude.
His ears were screaming at him: Run! The guy standing in front of you is absolutely going to mess with you!
Zenitsu swallowed hard, trying to rationalize his rising panic. He is my Senior Brother. My big brother. How could he possibly harm me?
"Senior Brother..." Zenitsu stammered, taking half a step back. "Is this method you mentioned... normal?"
"Of course it is. It's just some basic physical conditioning. Very simple." Akira smiled warmly, throwing an arm around Zenitsu's shoulders and patting his chest with reassuring confidence. "Before you, three other boys about your age were already training this way. I did it too. When it comes to building raw physical strength, everyone who tries it says it works wonders."
Akira's smile widened. "Would your Senior Brother lie to you?"
Zenitsu hesitated, his gaze darting around nervously. Finally, his absolute trust in Akira won out over his survival instincts. He gave a slow, reluctant nod. "Then... I guess I should try it."
"Perfect. But this method requires some specialized equipment, which we don't have lying around here. Come with me to a certain place. Coincidentally, those three little guys are currently there, so you'll have plenty of company."
Akira turned his attention toward the porch of the main house, where Kuwajima Jigoro sat quietly observing them. "Old Man, I'm taking Zenitsu out for a bit. I'll drop him back off after a while."
"Go, go," Jigoro said, waving his hand dismissively. He took a slow sip of his tea, keeping his expression entirely neutral.
Internally, the old master felt a sharp twinge of pity. He knew exactly what 'method' Akira was referring to. The Stone Hashira's muscle conditioning was infamous throughout the entire Demon Slayer Corps. Even Rengoku Shinjuro, the Flame Hashira, had openly described Himejima Gyomei's regimen as pure, unadulterated torture. Jigoro had never seen it firsthand, but the rumors alone were enough to make grown men weep.
Still, with Akira keeping an eye on things, Zenitsu wouldn't suffer any permanent damage. He would just have to endure a little taste of hell. It would be good for the boy. Breaking down his physical limits would polish his cowardly character, forcing the hidden resilience in his bones to the surface.
Most, Jigoro reasoned as he took another sip of tea, this was entirely Akira's idea. When Zenitsu inevitably started crying and complaining, he would direct all his grievances at his Senior Brother. Jigoro's hands were completely clean.
After a few days of travel, Akira led Zenitsu up a winding mountain path toward Gyomei's secluded residence.
Long before they even saw the estate, Zenitsu's ears twitched violently. He stopped in his tracks. Through the dense forest, he could hear horrifying, unnatural sounds. The crushing vibration of massive boulders grinding against the earth. The wet, heavy thuds of exhausted footsteps. Ragged, agonizing gasps for air, and faint, desperate shouts that sounded less like training and more like prisoners crying out for salvation.
The ominous dread that had been festering in Zenitsu's chest suddenly exploded into full-blown panic.
"Senior... Senior Brother," Zenitsu squeaked, his pace slowing to a terrified crawl. He reached out, desperately gripping the hem of Akira's haori. "Is this really okay?"
"Of course it's fine. It's just a little workout." Akira didn't even look back. "Don't worry. With me here, you won't die."
Before Zenitsu could process the horrifying implication of the words 'won't die', Akira's hand clamped down on his wrist.
Akira surged forward, accelerating to a blinding speed. Zenitsu's feet left the ground entirely. He was dragged through the air like a kite caught in a hurricane, the sheer velocity wiping every single thought from his screaming mind.
By the time Zenitsu's boots finally touched solid ground again, his vision was spinning. He blinked away the dizziness, finding himself standing in the center of a massive, torn-up training ground. Three boys, all roughly his age, paused their agonizing labor to cast curious, pitying glances in his direction.
Zenitsu didn't even notice them. His wide, trembling eyes were locked onto the environment around him. Massive logs suspended over roaring fires. Boulders the size of small houses.
He couldn't tell if these were meant to be training tools or medieval execution devices. Cold sweat poured down his forehead, stinging his eyes. Only now did he fully comprehend what Akira meant when he promised he wouldn't die.
A heavy, defeated silence hung in the air.
'Is it too late for me to say I want to go back now?' Zenitsu thought, his soul practically leaving his body.
Akira patted his shoulder firmly, his voice entirely too cheerful. 'You're already here.'Across the yard, the towering figure of Gyomei paused his own prayers, listening to the new arrival's terrified heartbeat.'Should I consider switching to running a nursery?'the giant mused quietly.'Why can't it be a gym?' Akira countered aloud, a bright smile on his face.
From beneath a massive, crushing log, Tokito Yuichiro glared at the two of them, his muscles screaming in agony. 'What kind of gym uses life-risking torture devices?!'
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