Tomioka Giyu was practicing Sun Breathing in the courtyard when he heard a familiar sound—footsteps heavy with aggression.
He stopped mid-motion and turned.
Standing at the gate was Shinazugawa Sanemi. His short, silver-white hair gleamed coldly in the sunlight, and the scars across his face twisted with tension, making him look even fiercer.
The Nichirin Sword at his waist radiated a sharp, violent aura—it was clear he hadn't come for a friendly visit.
"Tomioka Giyu."
Sanemi's rough voice carried a sharp edge of challenge.
"Our last spar doesn't count."
Giyu didn't move, his grip steady on the sword. "What do you mean?"
"I wasn't used to the Hashira-level intensity back then."
Sanemi strode into the courtyard, each step hitting the ground with a solid thud.
"In the past month, I've killed three demons in Echigo. My strength's leveled up. Let's fight again."
Giyu studied him carefully.
Sanemi's presence was stronger—his Wind Breathing had become more refined. The wildness was still there, but now it carried precision and restraint.
It seemed the Echigo missions had honed him well.
"No time," Giyu said simply, turning away to resume training.
"You scared?"
Sanemi's voice was full of mockery. "Or was your win last time just luck?"
Giyu's step paused.
He wasn't scared. He just didn't see the point.
But that tone—arrogant, provoking—brought back flashes of Hieda Town. The despair in the villagers' eyes, the fallen blades of Tanaka Hei and Sato Shin.
Maybe… a spar with Sanemi could serve as a test of his recent progress—especially his use of Sun Breathing in combat.
"Fine," Giyu said at last, turning back and readying his stance. "But let's make it a bet."
Sanemi raised an eyebrow. "A bet?"
"Whoever loses has to grant one request from the winner," Giyu said calmly. "No matter what it is."
Sanemi blinked, then grinned, baring his sharp teeth. "Alright. If I win, you'll admit in front of everyone at the next Hashira meeting that your last victory was pure luck."
"And if you lose," Giyu replied evenly, "then when my crow calls for you, you must come immediately—no delay, no excuses."
Sanemi's grin froze. "You want me to be your errand boy?"
"Not an errand boy," Giyu said, shaking his head. "It's for help. I don't know the situation yet—but when the time comes, you'll come."
Sanemi stared at him for a few seconds, searching his face for any hint of motive.
But as always, Giyu's expression was unreadable—calm, steady, almost detached.
"Fine," Sanemi said finally. "You've got a deal."
He drew his Nichirin Sword. The pale green blade shimmered in the light, cold and sharp as wind itself.
"If you lose, don't go crying later."
"I won't."
Before the last word finished leaving Giyu's lips, Sanemi moved.
"Wind Breathing, First Form: Dust Whirlwind Cutter!"
A blur of motion tore through the air, the sound of slicing wind howling as the attack shot straight for Giyu's face.
Faster than before—by at least thirty percent. The pressure alone was enough to slice through stone.
Giyu's eyes narrowed. He didn't take it head-on.
"Water Breathing, Third Form: Flowing Dance!"
His movements flowed like water—graceful, seamless. He slipped past the blade's arc and spun, his sword trailing a rippling line toward Sanemi's wrist.
Clang!
Steel clashed against steel, sparks bursting as the sound rang through the courtyard.
Sanemi's raw strength was immense; the impact numbed Giyu's arm, forcing him half a step back.
"Not bad," Sanemi said, grinning wider. His assault didn't slow—in fact, it intensified.
"Wind Breathing, Second Form: Claws-Purifying Wind!"
Three crescent slashes ripped through the air, forming a deadly trap around Giyu—no room to dodge, no time to counter.
Giyu inhaled sharply, his blade circling before him in a smooth, deliberate arc.
"Water Breathing, Eleventh Form: Dead Calm."
A pale blue ring of water expanded around him, perfectly still yet rotating with invisible force. The incoming slashes struck the barrier—and were instantly dissolved, stripped apart by the gentle yet absolute current.
Sanemi's eyes widened. "That move again?!"
Surprise flickered only for an instant. He pushed harder, his blade moving in a blur.
"Wind Breathing, Third Form: Clear Storm Wind Tree!"
The storm of sword strikes grew denser, a raging cyclone of steel and air rushing down on Giyu like a wall of blades.
The water ring trembled violently, its glow flickering under the pressure. The sheer power behind Sanemi's strikes had grown since their last fight—stronger, sharper, faster.
"Not bad," Giyu said quietly—not as mockery, but in genuine acknowledgment.
But still not enough.
He suddenly withdrew his sword, dispersing the ring of water.
The moment Sanemi's blade was about to strike, Giyu dropped low, drawing his weapon in one fluid motion.
"Water Breathing, Fifth Form: Blessed Rain After the Drought!"
His blade swept in a soft, diagonal arc—gentle yet inescapable. Multiple shimmering slashes crossed like falling stars, each aimed precisely at Sanemi's openings.
Sanemi hadn't expected Giyu to suddenly drop his defense. He quickly swung his blade back to block.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
The rapid collisions rang out like metal rain, each impact forcing Sanemi to retreat further. His arms went numb, his grip throbbed with pain.
"That all you've got?!"
He roared, forcing his footing steady.
"Wind Breathing, Sixth Form: Black Wind Mountain Mist!"
A violent gale swirled around his blade, a green storm carrying the power to shred everything in its path. The cutting wind surged forward, enveloping Giyu completely.
It was one of the most destructive forms of Wind Breathing—once caught inside, few escaped alive.
Giyu's eyes sharpened.
It was time.
Instead of responding with Water Breathing's defensive flow, he inhaled deeply, shifting the rhythm within his body.
The calm of water vanished—replaced by the blazing heat of the sun.
"Sun Breathing, First Form: Dance!"
Golden light burst forth like dawn breaking the horizon, piercing through the dark, raging wind.
The scorching blade struck precisely across Sanemi's sword.
Clang!
Sanemi felt a surge of heat explode through the steel—like touching a branding iron. Pain shot through his wrist, and his Nichirin Sword nearly flew from his grasp.
He staggered back, eyes wide in disbelief.
That light—it was golden. And the aura radiating from it made his instincts scream in fear.
"What the hell kind of move is that?!"
Giyu didn't answer. He pressed forward.
His movements were no longer purely Sun Breathing—nor purely Water Breathing—but a seamless blend of both.
"Water Breathing, Fourth Form: Striking Tide!"
"Sun Breathing, Second Form: Clear Blue Sky!"
Blue waves and golden sunlight intertwined, forming an attack that pulsed with both flow and fire.
The slashes alternated—sometimes soft, sometimes sharp; fast, then impossibly slow—each one unpredictable.
Sanemi tried to counter, but every swing was deflected, every motion disrupted. Each of Giyu's strikes landed with blistering heat, the kind that burned through even the toughest skin.
"Wind Breathing, Seventh Form: Gale, Sudden Gusts!"
Sanemi unleashed everything in one final strike. His blade vanished into a storm of wind, tearing straight toward Giyu's throat.
Giyu's gaze remained calm. His wrist rotated lightly.
"Sun Breathing, Third Form: Raging Sun!"
A golden mirror-like arc unfolded from his blade. The incoming wind blade was reflected back in an instant.
Sanemi didn't have time to dodge. His own power slammed into him, blasting him off his feet.
He crashed hard into the courtyard wall, blood spraying from his lips as his Nichirin Sword clattered to the ground.
His chest heaved. He looked up at Giyu, eyes clouded with disbelief, fury, and confusion.
He'd lost—completely and utterly.
Giyu sheathed his sword, stepping forward to stand over him. "A bet's a bet."
Sanemi wiped the blood from his mouth and forced himself upright, glaring. "That golden crap you pulled—what the hell is it?"
"Sun Breathing," Giyu replied simply.
"Sun Breathing?" Sanemi blinked. "What kind of Breathing Style is that? Did you make it up yourself?"
"No." Giyu's tone was calm. "That doesn't matter right now. Just remember the deal."
Sanemi clenched his jaw. "Fine. What do you want from me?"
"Protection," Giyu said quietly. "For the Flower Hashira—Kocho Kanae."
Sanemi frowned. "Kocho? She's strong. She doesn't need protecting."
"She'll be in danger."
There was a weight in Giyu's voice—a heaviness Sanemi couldn't quite name.
"I don't know when. Maybe a month from now, maybe six. But when it happens, I need you ready. The moment my crow calls, you go. No hesitation."
Sanemi's brows furrowed deeper. "How the hell do you know she'll be in danger?"
Giyu said nothing. He couldn't tell him the truth—that he'd already seen it happen.
"You just have to keep your word."
Sanemi stared at him for a long time. Long enough that Giyu thought he might refuse. But at last, Sanemi exhaled through gritted teeth. "…Fine."
He didn't know what Tomioka was scheming, but he wasn't one to break a promise.
And, deep down, he was curious—what kind of threat could make this quiet, cold Water Hashira speak with such gravity?
"I might call you more than once," Giyu added. "There might be false alarms before the real danger."
"Shut it."
Sanemi picked up his fallen Nichirin Sword and turned toward the gate.
Just before leaving, he stopped and said coldly, "If I find out you're jerking me around, I'll make sure you regret it."
Then he was gone.
Silence returned to the courtyard, broken only by the whisper of leaves rustling in the wind.
Giyu stood still for a moment, finally letting out a quiet breath.
With Sanemi's strength on standby, the chances of saving Kanae had risen—if only a little.
The Wind Breathing style was the fastest of them all. In an emergency, Sanemi could arrive within moments.
Giyu looked toward the far corner of the courtyard.
A few butterfly flowers were blooming there—planted by Kocho Shinobu during her last visit. She'd said they were good for medicine, and also for decoration.
Now they were in full bloom. Pale violet petals swayed in the breeze like fluttering wings.
Giyu's thoughts drifted to her—Kocho Shinobu, the fourteen-year-old girl with the sharp eyes and quiet strength.
What was she doing now?
Probably tending to patients at the Butterfly Mansion.
Or training with Kanae, perfecting the forms of Flower Breathing. Her talent was remarkable; she was surely improving fast.
He wondered if she was remembering to eat. Or if she'd once again forgotten to rest from overwork.
Giyu's expression softened without realizing it.
He crouched by the flowers, watching them sway gently under the light.
The sunlight filtered through the trees, scattering dappled shadows across his figure, stretching his silhouette long across the ground.
Less than a year remained before Kanae's fate.
He had to grow stronger—fast.
To master Sun Breathing. To awaken the mark. To make sure that when the time came, he had the strength to protect those he couldn't afford to lose.
Reaching out, he brushed a petal lightly. It felt soft against his fingertips.
Then he stood, drawing his Nichirin Sword once more, and took the stance of Sun Breathing.
The golden blade flared to life again, shining brighter than ever beneath the afternoon sun.