"Three, two, one—start!"
The two seemingly gentle girls—both delicate in appearance—burst into motion at once.
Chika felt the sudden surge of power through her arm and her eyes widened in shock.
Mitsuri… she's actually serious!
Her muscles tightened, and from that petite body emerged the kind of sculpted definition that would make even the most seasoned bodybuilders cry tears of envy.
For a split second, Chika swore she was no longer arm-wrestling Kanroji Mitsuri, but a towering wall of solid granite.
You've got to be kidding me!
Her arm nearly gave out on the spot—almost instantly overpowered.
But at the very last moment, Chika gritted her teeth and steadied herself. Losing before even building momentum? That would have been mortifying.
Mitsuri, seeing Chika suddenly push back with equal force, blinked in surprise—and then broke into a radiant smile.
She eats as much as I do, and she's just as strong! She's one of my kind!
Ecstatic, Mitsuri pushed harder. But Chika, now stabilized, began to increase her own strength as well.
The once-one-sided contest turned even, their clasped hands trembling between them.
Seconds turned to minutes. Neither could move the other's arm even a single centimeter closer to the table.
Mitsuri:She's amazing! I'm using my full strength already!
Chika:Eight-times muscle density… terrifying. And this is just natural power. If she actually trained for strength, no one but the Stone Hashira could compare.
In truth, Mitsuri's grip strength wasn't the strongest among the Hashira. It was only average—for her level, anyway.
Despite her absurd muscle density, she'd never done real strength-specific training.
In her early days, she'd even been self-conscious about her physical power, seeing it as unladylike. Her current strength was pure talent, not training.
Chika's lips curved into a small grin. It had been ages since she'd met someone whose power matched her own.
When she arm-wrestled Tanjiro, it always ended in an instant—snap, match over.
But this… this made her blood burn.
My strength still isn't at its limit!
A spark lit in her gaze. Mitsuri felt the shift instantly—the subtle rise of pressure through their locked hands.
Chika was pushing harder.
Not to be outdone, Mitsuri pressed her lips together, shut her eyes, and poured in more strength.
Neither woman wanted to lose.
Power met power—unrelenting, unyielding—until the inevitable happened.
A sharp crack rang out.
The stone table beneath their elbows… split apart.
CRUNCH!!!
Fissures spider-webbed across the surface, and with a deafening boom, the table shattered into dozens of pieces.
Both lost balance without the table's support, stumbling forward—and their foreheads collided with a solid thud.
"Ow—!"
"Ah—!"
They both fell back onto the ground, groaning, clutching their heads where they'd collided.
For a moment they just sat there, stunned—then their eyes met, and laughter bubbled out of them.
"Haha… you're amazing, Chika! With that kind of strength, your appetite must be even bigger than mine! Next time, we should go eat together! There's a new place in the city where you can eat all you want for a fixed price!"
Mitsuri's eyes sparkled like twin stars.
"Sure," Chika said, smiling helplessly. "Next time for sure."
The two stood up, brushing dust from their uniforms.
The table was gone, yes—but this was the Demon Slayer Corps. Break a few rocks? Hardly worth a scolding.
Still, both women felt it—the faint tremor of progress.
They had each pushed past their limits, even if just by a hair.
Fighting strong opponents really did sharpen one's edge.
It wasn't that Chika underestimated Tanjiro—far from it.
He'd mastered Total Concentration: Constant, wielded both Water Breathing and Hinokami Kagura, and had near-perfect technique.
But in sparring, their difference lay not in skill—but in temperament.
Tanjiro was too kind.
He could fight demons with killing intent, but against people, his strength unconsciously dulled.
Every sparring match between them ended the same way: Chika winning in seconds while Tanjiro smiled awkwardly.
He was a perfect training partner for teamwork, encouragement, and shared progress.
But for raw combat pressure? He simply couldn't push her any further.
As these thoughts drifted through her mind, Chika fell silent—just as a familiar voice boomed from nearby.
"Kanroji!"
Rengoku Kyojuro approached, his fiery hair blazing under the morning sun.
Chika hadn't noticed him at first, lost in thought—but Mitsuri lit up instantly, waving both arms.
"Rengoku-sensei!"
Kyojuro turned, spotting them at once. His pace quickened, his broad grin unmistakable.
"Kanroji," he said warmly, "I told you—no need for 'sensei.' You're a Hashira now, same as me."
"Hehe, I know, but… sometimes I just can't help it~" Mitsuri giggled, sticking out her tongue playfully.
Before she became the Love Hashira, Mitsuri had been Rengoku's student, training under the Flame Breathing style.
Though she lacked the precise affinity for fire, she built upon its foundation, creating her own unique form—Love Breathing—and earned the title she bore today.
Rengoku stopped beside them, his commanding presence snapping Chika out of her reverie.
She looked up, startled, eyes trembling slightly.
Rengoku Kyojuro.
Twenty years old.
177 centimeters tall.
Self-taught user of Flame Breathing, a man whose aura in battle had been described even by Upper Rank Three as "approaching the supreme realm."
Her gaze burned unconsciously, admiration flashing in her eyes.
"Rengoku-san…" she said quietly. "Do you… have a moment?"
Rengoku's lips curved into a knowing smile.
"I do have a few matters to handle—but if you're asking for a spar… those can wait!"
He laughed heartily, hand resting on the hilt of his Nichirin blade.
He could already sense it—the intent radiating from the girl before him.
And how could he refuse?
He, too, wanted to see it.
The power of the girl who had defeated a Lower Rank Demon.
A faint spark flickered in his heart.
This girl—this newly born Hashira—
might just bring a brilliant surprise to the entire Demon Slayer Corps.