Especially since the old man's strictness and dedication weren't just directed at him, Cheng Mo.
They also included the good-for-nothing Zenitsu and the dark-minded Kaigaku.
Kuwajima Jigorō might yell and roar at Zenitsu's wailing, but he never truly gave up on him.
Time and again, he would pick him up from where he collapsed on the ground, almost forcibly making him continue his practice.
As for Kaigaku, the old man didn't relax his demands just because he was diligent; instead, he watched him even more closely.
He pointed out his flaws of overly vicious exertion and an impatient mindset, trying to guide him back to the right path.
This impartial dedication touched a rarely accessed corner of Cheng Mo's heart.
"He... genuinely hopes that all of us can succeed and survive in battle."
This thought first emerged in Cheng Mo's mind after a late-night training session when he saw the light still on in the old man's room and the hunched figure reflected on the window paper, carefully cleaning and maintaining his disciples' training equipment.
A true respect, transcending utilitarian calculations, quietly blossomed in his cold heart, which was accustomed to weighing gains and losses.
However, it was this very respect that caused an inexpressible sense of stagnation in him regarding the known outcome.
He knew Kaigaku's fate; he knew that this narrow-minded, intensely jealous fellow disciple would eventually betray them.
And this strict yet kind old man before him would ultimately commit seppuku in grief over having taught such a disciple.
Should he just say it?
Impossible.
He couldn't explain the source of the information, and he would more likely be seen as a petty person trying to sow discord.
But he couldn't completely stand by and do nothing.
Once, after Cheng Mo perfectly demonstrated the technique of stably wrapping his wooden sword with energy, Kuwajima Jigorō showed a rare, more obvious expression of approval.
"Excellent! Cheng Mo, your control over 'Thunder' is improving day by day! At this rate, mastering Constant Total Concentration Breathing will not be difficult!"
Kuwajima Jigorō wiped away his sweat and, in a rare gentle tone, sighed, "To see each of you grow and master the power to slay demons, this old man will be content. Power, after all, is for protection."
Cheng Mo was silent for a moment.
His gaze seemingly casually drifted towards the distant mountains, and he spoke in his usual, straightforward merchant's tone.
"Teacher Jigorō's dedication to teaching his disciples is truly admirable."
He subtly shifted the topic, as if casually sharing an observation.
"It's just... in my past travels as a merchant, I've seen all sorts of people. I always feel that if a person's nature is inherently greedy and impatient, even if they fortunately gain power, they are extremely susceptible to being blinded by it and straying onto the wrong path. Ultimately, it often backfires on them, and can even... implicate those close to them whom they trust."
His tone was calm, as if he were merely stating a common social phenomenon.
"I've witnessed more than one such incident. Therefore, I believe that when imparting skills, one must pay extra attention to discerning character and be extremely cautious."
Kuwajima Jigorō paused his wiping motion, and his cloudy yet sharp eyes looked at Cheng Mo, seemingly pondering the meaning of his words.
The old man slowly sighed, "The complexity of the human heart truly cannot be simply measured by the strength of power, and your concerns are not unfounded. As a teacher, one must constantly guide disciples to uphold righteousness."
But then he shook his head, his tone firm: "However, how can one abandon a course of action for fear of a potential future mishap? If I were to stop teaching with all my heart out of fear that a disciple might go astray in the future, wouldn't that be putting the cart before the horse?"
"All this old man can do is teach with all his heart, constantly admonish, and hope that they can discern right from wrong and hold onto their true selves."
Cheng Mo said no more, only nodding slightly: "Teacher is absolutely right."
He knew the old man had his own persistence and beliefs.
Another day, Kaigaku lost control of his emotions after failing yet another attempt at Total Concentration Breathing, slamming his fist hard against a tree trunk.
His knuckles were bloody, but he seemed oblivious, only staring fixedly at Cheng Mo's steadily swinging figure, his eyes bloodshot and filled with resentment.
He growled in a low voice: "Power... I need stronger power! Faster! Why can't I do it!"
His posture, his gaze, the obsession and greed within them were almost undisguised.
After finishing his practice, Cheng Mo walked to Kuwajima Jigorō, who was examining the fist mark Kaigaku had left, and offered him a clean cloth to wipe his hands.
His voice was very soft, almost blending into the mountain wind.
"Teacher."
Kuwajima Jigorō turned his head.
Cheng Mo looked at the injured tree, his tone carrying a faint trace of indifference, as if it had nothing to do with him.
"Those who are overly obsessed with power itself, forgetting why they pursue power..."
He paused, his gaze calmly meeting Kuwajima Jigorō's.
"Perhaps they are more terrifying than the demons down the mountain."
Kuwajima Jigorō's hand, reaching for the cloth, froze in mid-air.
The old man didn't look at Cheng Mo; he just gazed for a long time at the blood-stained indentation on the tree trunk and the direction Kaigaku had left, his wrinkled face shrouded in a deep shadow and weariness.
After a long while, he let out a heavy sigh, his voice much lower: "...This old man understands."
He didn't question why Cheng Mo said these things; he just clutched the cloth tightly in his hand.
Cheng Mo said no more, bowed, and quietly withdrew.
All he could do were these unintentional, seemingly casual reminders.
Generalizing his concerns, not specifying, yet precisely hitting upon potential hidden dangers.
The rest was up to this weathered old man to decide for himself.
Kuwajima Jigorō tightened his grip on his cane, his brows deeply furrowed, as he watched Cheng Mo walk away, remaining silent for a long time.
The dim sunset stretched his shadow long, and his thin prosthetic leg appeared particularly stark.
The old man ultimately just let out a heavy sigh, but the complexity and worry in his deep eyes were even more profound than before.
The mountain wind rustled through the peach grove, bringing with it a soft sound, like a silent sigh.