[Water Hashira]-Giyu Tomioka!

It was noon, and the sun was brutally hot.

Giyu Tomioka stopped in front of the estate, the hem of his white haori still damp from the bamboo grove.

The Kasugai Crow Kanzaburo huddled on his shoulder, its tiny, black-bean eyes darting around.

They were late after all!!!

Kanzaburo had led him the wrong way.

Giyu said nothing. He merely gave the crow a sidelong glance and stepped through the wide-open gate.

In the courtyard, two people stood beneath the shade of the wisteria blossoms.

The one in front had a tall, broad back, and the flame-patterned haori he wore seemed to burn silently.

Giyu recognized him as the [Flame Hashira], Shinjuro Rengoku.

But his gaze drifted to the figure beside Shinjuro.

He was a young-looking boy with a slender build, dressed in a plain kimono, his soft black hair hanging down.

Standing amid the mottled shadows of the flowers, he had an almost transparent stillness about him.

Giyu stopped in his tracks.

Kagaya Ubuyashiki—the Oyakata-sama!!!

It was the name that always made Master Urokodaki's tone turn serious whenever he mentioned it.

Giyu, think! What are you supposed to say?

A flurry of honorifics and formalities flashed through Giyu's mind, but in the end, he simply froze in place. His face was expressionless, making him look a little vacant.

Kagaya turned and saw him.

His pale eyes gently reflected Giyu's figure, and then the corners of his mouth curved upward.

"Giyu-san, you've come."

His voice was soft, like a petal falling onto water.

Giyu's lips moved, but before he could make a sound, Kagaya went on, his voice full of praise:

"Less than half a month after the Final Selection, you succeeded in killing Lower Rank One."

"Giyu-san, your talent is astonishing. The Demon Slayer Corps hasn't had such good news in a long time."

Talent!!!

Giyu felt that word was a world away from him.

What he remembered was the blood in Blue Stone Town, his broken blade, and the agonizing pain that had nearly crushed him.

He nodded, his voice dry and flat:

"Yes. I'm here."

That was all he said.

"Hey, kid!"

A low roar like muffled thunder suddenly erupted.

Shinjuro turned all the way around, his brows knotted together as his molten-gold eyes bore into Giyu, full of displeasure.

Arrogant about his talent.

Shinjuro thought, his voice dropping,

"Is that how you behave in front of the Oyakata-sama?"

Giyu blinked at the shout, a trace of confusion flashing through his ice-blue eyes as he looked at Shinjuro.

"Shinjuro."

Kagaya spoke softly. His voice wasn't loud, but it forced the Flame Hashira to swallow all his anger.

"Giyu-san just isn't good with words. He didn't mean anything by it."

He looked at Giyu with a gentle smile:

"Come here, Giyu-san."

"Thank you for making the long journey."

Shinjuro gave a loud snort and turned his face away.

Giyu obediently stepped closer, stopping three or four paces away from them.

He lowered his eyes.

Does he... hate me?

No, probably not.

The thought rose like a bubble, only for him to push it down again.

Kagaya led them into an adjoining room.

Once they had settled down, an attendant quietly brought them tea.

Without any unnecessary pleasantries, Kagaya went straight to the point:

"Giyu-san, I asked you here today to tell you about a decision."

He paused, his voice clear and steady,

"I've decided to appoint you as the Demon Slayer Corps' new [Water Hashira]."

Giyu's fingers tightened around his teacup.

He raised his eyes, confusion and a trace of unease plain in their icy blue depths.

Silence lingered for a few seconds amid the scent of tea. Then he spoke, his voice a little dry:

"...I'm not worthy."

"Oh?" Kagaya gestured for him to continue.

"Killing Tetsusai... took a lot of luck."

Giyu spoke slowly, but every word was blunt:

"I can see certain points. That's not normal."

"My body also recovers faster than other people's."

"In the end... he seemed to give up on his own."

A shadow of the bloody battle flashed through his ice-blue eyes.

"Surviving was luck."

Every word was the honest truth.

But taken together, they sounded like an utterly strange, almost obsessive kind of "modesty."

Shinjuro's brow furrowed even deeper.

He didn't like the hard-to-pin-down tone of it, but Giyu's expression as he spoke was too serious to be false.

Kagaya listened patiently to the end and nodded:

"I understand!!! You attribute your victory to many variables. That kind of clear-headedness is rare."

Then he changed tack.

"But the result doesn't change! You were the one left standing, and you were the one who struck the final blow."

"The Demon Slayer Corps needs that result, and it needs the person who can bring it about."

He looked at Shinjuro:

"As the current Flame Hashira, is there anything you'd like to ask about Giyu-san's battle with Lower Rank One?"

Shinjuro set down his teacup and leaned forward, fixing Giyu with a piercing gaze:

"Kid, tell me exactly what happened."

"What kind of Blood Demon Art did that Lower Rank One use? And how did you find your opening?"

Giyu was stumped.

Tell him exactly?

How exactly?

He thought hard, then spoke in a flat voice:

"He was fast!!! His punches and kicks carried wind pressure and could smash rocks and houses."

"At first, all I could do was dodge. Then I saw the points on his body."

"Points?"

"Yes. Nodes in the flow of power, gaps when his techniques changed."

Giyu tried to explain, but his vocabulary was painfully limited:

"Attacking along those points takes less effort."

"His movements slowed down. In the end, he spoke and got distracted. The point on his neck was the clearest, so I cut it."

That was the whole account.

It was stripped down to bare bones.

Shinjuro's temples throbbed as he listened.

But he gleaned something from the sparse account:

Seeing those points and striking along them sounded much like the beginnings of a supreme level of insight.

And on top of that, there was the medical unit's report about Giyu's frighteningly fast recovery...

He took a deep breath and decided to encourage the kid after all.

The kid really did have strength, but his personality was just too strange.

"Kid!"

His voice suddenly rose, making Giyu's shoulders flinch.

"Even if your explanation was a mess, I understood it! Being able to seize an opening in that instant is strength!"

He waved a large hand and declared with conviction:

"You already have the strength of a Hashira! Hold your head high! You're worthy of the Water Hashira's position!"

As he spoke, he leaned over and brought his broad palm down hard on Giyu's shoulder.

Giyu raised his eyes and looked at Shinjuro standing before him.

Then he pursed his lips and asked in an extremely serious tone:

"Can you become a Hashira by killing a Lower Rank?"

He asked in all innocence, as though confirming a rule.

But to Shinjuro, paired with that expressionless face and flat tone, the words sounded like outright mockery:

Oh? The standard for a Hashira is that low? Just kill a Lower Rank and that's enough?

"Hah?!"

Shinjuro's hair nearly stood on end. His eyes widened into circles as he pointed at Giyu, his voice booming like thunder:

"What do you mean by that, kid?! Are you looking down on Lower Ranks?! What do you think a Lower Rank is?!"

"Huh?! Do you think killing a Lower Rank is some kind of game?!"

"The Hashira are the pillars who stand at the very front and face the most vicious enemies! You think killing one Lower Rank is all it takes?! You..."

His fists creaked as he clenched them in anger.

The shouting left Giyu a little dazed, his eyes full of questions:

"No... I just..."

"Enough, Shinjuro."

Kagaya Ubuyashiki spoke.

His voice wasn't loud, but it had a power that could instantly calm people down, and it brought the Flame Hashira's shouting to an abrupt halt.

Kagaya Ubuyashiki gently rubbed the space between his brows, looking both helpless and amused.

He looked at Giyu and patiently explained:

"Giyu-san, there are generally two ways to become a 'Hashira.'"

He held up two fingers.

"First, kill one of the Twelve Kizuki on your own. A Lower Rank will do. Second, kill a total of fifty demons on your own."

He paused.

"You meet the first requirement! I've carefully read all the reports on the insight you displayed, your potential to break through in battle, and your special constitution."

"I believe you're already qualified to become a [Hashira]. That's why I'm appointing you early, in the hope that you'll grow faster."

With the explanation finished, he went on:

"Your new Nichirin Blade is being forged on an urgent basis in the Swordsmith Village. You'll need to leave at once to collect it."

"The village's hot springs can help you recover fully from your injuries and consolidate your current level. You can rest there until your next mission comes."

Giyu nodded:

"Yes!"

He silently digested what he'd heard.

"Killing a Lower Rank on your own" was a clear requirement.

He raised his eyes, looking first at Shinjuro, who was still glaring at him with his anger unabated, and then at Kagaya, who was still smiling gently.

"So,"

he asked slowly, each word perfectly clear,

"up to now, including me, there are only two Hashira in the Demon Slayer Corps?"

The air suddenly fell silent.

An exceedingly rare crack appeared in Kagaya's perfectly gentle smile.

It was a profound helplessness that left him almost speechless.

He opened his mouth, but in the end said nothing.

Shinjuro's angry expression froze, then turned into a complicated mixture of absurdity, frustration, and disbelief.

He stared at Giyu, his eyes seeming to demand:

Y-you actually dared to ask that to our faces?!

The Demon Slayer Corps had always been short on top-tier fighters, and there were few Hashira. Everyone in the Corps knew it without needing to say so.

But to have a newly appointed Hashira point it out so bluntly, right to their faces...

A deathly silence fell.

The only sound was the rustle of wind through the flowers and leaves outside the window.

Kagaya Ubuyashiki was the first to recover.

He let out a barely audible sigh, and a gentle smile returned to his face, though he spoke a little faster:

"Giyu, the scenery in Swordsmith Village is lovely, and the hot springs are excellent too. They'll help you recover both physically and mentally."

He paused. His voice was still as gentle as ever, but he was already telling him to leave.

"Go and get ready to depart. Get plenty of rest and get used to your new sword."

"We can... talk later."

Giyu blinked.

He keenly sensed that the atmosphere had once again taken a sudden turn for the worse, as well as the unmistakable urgency in Oyakata-sama's words.

Though he didn't understand why, obeying orders was instinctive to him.

He stood and bowed to Kagaya, then nodded to Shinjuro, who was sitting there like a statue, before turning and leaving the side room in silence, his movements brisk.

When he stepped out of the mansion, the sun was as dazzling as ever.

Kanzaburo landed carefully back on his shoulder.

Giyu walked into the sunlight and narrowed his eyes slightly.

He recalled the strange silence just now, and the slight urgency in Oyakata-sama's voice at the end.

"So they really do hate me after all?"

A thought quietly surfaced.

"No, I just asked a question. Oyakata-sama seemed... unwilling to answer it."

"Swordsmith Village... hot springs... rest..."

He set off toward the medical department to retrieve his modest luggage.

Behind him, beyond the mansion walls and courtyard, he could faintly hear Shinjuro's low growl as he held back his anger:

"Oyakata-sama! That boy, he—!"

And Kagaya's soothing voice, tinged with amusement but concealing a hint of weariness:

"There, there, Shinjuro. He's still a child. Besides..."

He couldn't hear what came after that.

Giyu shook his head, casting aside the jumble of thoughts.

Ahead of him were a new sword waiting for him, hot springs said to relieve fatigue, and a brief period of rest, though he didn't know how long it would last.

As for how he would get along with the other Hashira who stood at the top,

And as for the social interactions and all the roundabout ways of dealing with people that he could never quite understand...

"I'll deal with it when the time comes."

His ice-blue eyes gazed ahead at the dirt road bleached pale by the sun, calm as the deep sea once more.

The hem of his white haori, patterned with mountains and water, swayed gently in the sultry summer breeze.