Moriyama Akira thumped his chest, drunkenly declaring his heroic vows.
As the saying goes—
three parts drunk, seven parts acting, enough to make anyone cry.
Ryōsuke didn't mind. He simply smiled and brushed it off.
"Yeah, yeah. I got it."
The clamor of the izakaya gradually faded behind them.
The night wind carried a cool chill, washing away some of the heat brought on by the alcohol.
Instead of returning to the cramped inn, Ryōsuke casually leapt onto a nearby rooftop.
Moriyama clambered up after him clumsily. Before long, he flopped onto his back beside Ryōsuke, snoring loudly.
Complete silence settled in.
Above them stretched the night sky—
stars scattered like jewels, the Milky Way flowing like a silver ribbon.
It was far clearer and more brilliant than the light-polluted skies of his previous life.
Ryōsuke lay with his arms behind his head, an indescribable melancholy quietly welling up inside him.
In his past life, he'd been withdrawn and distant—
like an unremarkable stone forgotten in a corner of the city.
His parents had died early. Relatives were indifferent. Friends were few to none.
Work was mechanical repetition, and after clocking out, his only comfort was the cold glow of a screen and the virtual world behind it.
Socializing? A burden.
Life was stagnant water, unable to stir even a ripple.
He lived simply because he hadn't died yet.
The scent of Momoyama's soil and peach blossoms seemed to linger at the tip of his nose.
In his ears echoed Rika's nonstop chatter and concern.
Images flashed before his eyes—
Jigorō's stern yet caring gaze,
Shōta's awkward competitiveness, clearly unwilling to lose,
and Tamayo's gentle, tearful expression.
And now, there was Moriyama Akira too.
One vivid face after another passed through his mind.
Even though the start had been hell difficulty,
even though there was a scummy system constantly eyeing his pitiful lifespan,
even though he had to face grotesque, terrifying demons—
This road of slaying demons, paved with his own life,
didn't seem so bad anymore.
At the very least—
he wasn't alone.
There were people waiting for him to come home.
People fighting alongside him.
People walking toward the same goal.
This life was no longer just about surviving.
It had weight now.
It had things he wanted to hold onto.
Things he wanted to protect.
He turned his head and glanced at Moriyama, who was drooling in his sleep.
This guy might be weak as hell, but his luck was downright absurd, and he wasn't a bad person.
A pretty decent lucky charm, all things considered.
A faint smile brushed Ryōsuke's lips.
He closed his eyes, letting the alcohol and exhaustion wash over him, his breathing gradually evening out in the night breeze.
—
Moriyama let out a pained groan.
The headache from his hangover made him want to bury his head in the ground.
"Ugh… is it morning already?"
He sat up groggily and realized Ryōsuke was already awake.
Ryōsuke stood at the edge of the roof, facing the rising sun, breathing in rhythm.
Every breath carried a strange cadence, his entire body radiating powerful vitality.
Moriyama shook his head.
Somehow… Ryōsuke-san felt different.
He couldn't put his finger on it—
just that he seemed more energetic. More alive.
Ryōsuke didn't turn around.
"Pack up. We're leaving."
"Huh? Oh! Right—Mount Sagiri!"
Moriyama finally snapped awake and followed Ryōsuke as they leapt down from the rooftop.
The two left Yamagata behind and continued their journey.
—
Morning on Mount Sagiri was soaked in thick fog and sweat.
The mist clung heavily to the mountains. One breath filled the lungs with the scent of grass and trees.
From near and far, silhouettes of youths flickered through the haze.
Watching them, Ryōsuke frowned slightly in thought.
Compared to Thunder Breathing, Water Breathing was gentler—and the easiest of all breathing styles to learn.
That was why Sakonji Urokodaki had far more disciples than Jigorō.
Their training philosophies were completely different.
One emphasized explosive power and speed.
The other focused on endurance and resilience.
Ryōsuke sighed.
"Over at Momoyama, it's all about instant burst power. Training there is basically gambling with your life—mess up a sprint and you go flying.
Urokodaki-sensei's place… feels more like grinding you down bit by bit."
"That's true," Moriyama nodded, then smiled bitterly.
"I suffered plenty back when I trained too."
Ryōsuke smiled but didn't respond.
He'd suffered far more than they ever had.
When he first began training, the pain—those spasms and tearing sensations from his failing liver—was something he'd never forget for the rest of his life.
They rounded a fog-shrouded stretch of forest, and the view opened up slightly.
In a relatively flat clearing stood several massive boulders, each twice a man's height.
Two boys were continuously swinging their swords at them.
One had flesh-colored medium-length hair, silver eyes with cross-shaped pupils, and a scar on the right side of his face—
Sabito.
Each swing of his wooden sword cut through the air with a sharp whoosh, stone fragments scattering.
Beside him stood a black-haired boy, far more silent.
Tomioka Giyu's features were refined, his expression calm.
Compared to Sabito's ferocity, his sword movements flowed like a gentle stream.
They looked soft—yet carried no less power.
"Sabito! Giyu!"
Moriyama waved and shouted.
The two stopped swinging at the same time.
Sabito turned, eyes curving into a smile.
"Moriyama-senpai!"
He answered cheerfully and strode over.
Giyu quietly sheathed his sword and followed.
"Mission finished? How was Yamagata?" Sabito asked, his voice bright with youthful energy, eyes curiously shifting to Ryōsuke.
"Uh… yeah. The demon was pretty troublesome, but it's taken care of," Moriyama scratched his head awkwardly.
He hadn't done much at all—still a total carry.
The demon had been killed by Ryōsuke.
"And this is?" Sabito asked.
"Oh! Right!"
Moriyama quickly stepped aside to introduce him.
"This is Yasui Ryōsuke! From Momoyama—disciple of Kuwajima Jigorō! A Thunder Breathing swordsman!
Back during the Final Selection on Mount Fujikasane, we all owed our lives to him!"
There was no hiding the admiration in his voice.
"He single-handedly cleared out most of the demons lurking on the mountain—and even killed the Hand Demon in the end!
If not for him, barely anyone from our batch would've made it out…"
Sabito studied Ryōsuke carefully, respect shining in his eyes.
"So it was you—Yasui Ryōsuke!"
Sabito's voice carried excitement.
"Moriyama-senpai and the juniors who came back later all talked about you!
Clearing Mount Fujikasane by yourself… protecting the lives of so many comrades during the Final Selection…"
He took a deep breath and bowed deeply to Ryōsuke.
"That kind of achievement and responsibility—Sabito truly admires it. Thank you."
Looking at this boy—who in the original timeline should've died young, becoming fuel for Tanjiro and Giyu's growth, yet now stood here full of life—
a strange warmth and sense of accomplishment surged in Ryōsuke's chest.
"You're giving me too much credit."
Ryōsuke reached out and held Sabito's arm, stopping him from bowing further.
I'm not that great.
I only did what you would've done—
At that moment, the usually silent Giyu lifted his deep blue eyes and looked straight at Ryōsuke.
He spoke with absolute seriousness.
"You're very strong."
"You killed so many demons… and didn't die."
Advance Chapters available on Patreon
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