Kaigaku was devastated. It was like a climber who was only one final step away from scaling a mountain, only for all his efforts—or rather, all his performance—to come to nothing at that very moment.
He rose to his feet and staggered past the old man and Shota. Beyond his selfishness and self-interest, his heart had become wrapped in a thick cocoon—a cocoon called resentment.
But he had brought all of this upon himself. A selfish person would never blame himself anyway.
Night fell, and Kaigaku left Mount Peach Town in a daze. He hated this place to the core.
Hiruma strolled home at an unhurried pace. The old man sat at the doorway with his head lowered, both hands propping up his chin. His feelings were incredibly complicated, and he had begun to doubt his ability to judge people.
For a moment, the old man even considered never taking another disciple.
"Hiruma!" The old man suddenly called his disciple by name. He rarely addressed him like that, and it gave Hiruma quite a scare.
"Did you call Shota and the others here?"
"Ahahaha, what are you talking about, old man? I have no idea!" Hiruma scratched the back of his head. Under the old man's sharp gaze, he felt guilty as hell.
But the old man's next sentence left Hiruma dumbfounded.
"You smile when you lie. That smile is different from your usual one!"
"Seriously!" Hiruma was speechless. Since when did the old man know how to read microexpressions? Why didn't he become a psychologist?
"Yeah, Kaigaku was no good from the start. I was thinking of you, okay?" He sat beside the old man and began comforting him of his own accord. "Still, you need to have faith in your judgment of people."
"Kaigaku was just too good at acting. This isn't your fault!"
As he spoke, he pointed at himself and began boasting without the slightest awkwardness. "Just look at me. Forget talent—my character is top-notch too!"
"That proves this isn't your problem at all, old man!"
"If it comes down to it, we can just practice more in the future!"
That was true enough, and the old man knew even better that his disciple was trying to comfort him, but something still felt off.
Before long, he realized it. This brat was lecturing him now. He chopped Hiruma on the head with his hand and snapped irritably:
"Well, well, look at you, lecturing your old man now!"
"Who's the master here, you little bastard—you or me?"
The more the old man spoke, the more something felt wrong. Had this brat just wanted to rub his head?
So he couldn't be bothered to think any further. He grabbed a wooden sword and swung it at Hiruma, determined to let this punk know who called the shots in this household.
Hiruma dodged easily, staring at the old man with a baffled expression.
"You want me to practice more? I've met more people than you've had meals."
"And if you had something to say, why didn't you say it directly? Why drag those little kids into it?"
"Did you practice your swordsmanship today?"
"Ah—" Hiruma drew out the cry as he ran, complaining, "Old man, I eat three bowls of rice a day. Maybe I really have eaten more meals than you've met people."
"Ungrateful disciple! You still dare talk back? Get back here!"
The old man returned to his usual swift and explosive temper, and the light returned to his eyes.
Peach Mountain remained as it always had: the young one ran ahead, while the old one chased after him.
Kaigaku's appearance had merely been a small interlude in Hiruma's life. In any case, he could no longer affect the old man. As for whether that guy lived or died on his own, Hiruma didn't care.
If that guy still became a demon, then Hiruma would just cut him down. He didn't take Kaigaku seriously at all.
October arrived, and autumn deepened. The leaves gradually turned yellow, and as the autumn breeze blew, they drifted down from the branches like fluttering butterflies, gently covering the ground and forming a thick golden carpet.
Peach Mountain was dyed golden, like a vast sea of gold.
Along a mountain path paved with fallen leaves, a tall and imposing figure slowly climbed uphill. He wore a red fireman mask and held a Nichirin Blade in his arms.
Jingle!
The wind chime hanging beneath the man's straw hat gave off a clear ring. Together with the rustling of leaves beneath his feet, it sounded especially pleasant.
The way he held the sword was strange, as though he were cradling his own child, his every movement filled with tenderness.
Haganezuka Hotaru, from Swordsmith Village, was an eccentric, obsessive sword fanatic who would relentlessly hunt down any human who damaged a Nichirin Blade.
He arrived at the small wooden cabin halfway up the mountain, knocked on the door, then quietly waited with the sword in his arms.
"Who is it?"
"Hello... you... Holy—!" The instant he opened the door, Hiruma could barely speak. Frightened out of his wits, he hurriedly shut it again.
Haganezuka Hotaru frowned, thinking that this fellow was truly rude.
Before long, the door opened again, and Hiruma warmly invited Haganezuka Hotaru inside.
He served up pastries and tea, terrified of slighting this ancestor and even more afraid that he might suddenly pull a kitchen knife from his robes.
Haganezuka Hotaru still clutched the sword tightly. His scrutinizing gaze shot out from beneath the fireman mask as he openly sized Hiruma up.
That look was like that of an old father about to marry off his daughter—except the person before him was a blond punk, and the old father's heart was breaking.
"Hahaha!" Hiruma laughed to hide his embarrassment. "Can you give me the sword now?"
"Name?" Haganezuka Hotaru ignored the question and instead interrogated him as though conducting an investigation.
"Tendo Hiruma!"
"Address?"
"Peach Mountain?" Hiruma felt as if he were sitting on pins and needles. Brother, you came to Peach Mountain. Do you really need to ask that?
"Are you sure you can protect this sword?"
Hiruma: "???"
Shouldn't the sword be protecting me?
"Absolutely!" Hiruma nodded like a pecking chicken, his eyes filled with unwavering determination.
"Mm!" Haganezuka Hotaru nodded. His attitude was good—he should be someone worthy of being entrusted with it.
"Here!" He reluctantly held the sword out before Hiruma, who carefully reached out to take it.
And thus, a tug-of-war began.
"Come on, brother, let go already!"
"I did!" Haganezuka Hotaru gripped the scabbard tightly and said with utmost seriousness, "If you can't even take it from me, you might as well stay here and retire."
He muttered under his breath that his sword had to be entrusted to a powerful swordsman, or it would be left to gather dust.
"Then excuse me!" Hiruma had not dared use any strength just now because he was afraid of getting chopped up by a kitchen knife. But now that the other man had said so, he could only use his full strength.
Very quickly, Haganezuka Hotaru experienced a roller coaster ride. By the time he came back to his senses, the sword was already in Hiruma's hands.
"Damn it!"
"Couldn't you be gentler? Are you trying to snap the sword in half?"
"You bastard!"
As he spoke, he reached into his robes.
Hiruma hurriedly grabbed him, thinking, Wasn't it you who told me to use strength?
"Stop, stop, stop!"
"Now that the Nichirin Blade is in my hands, I definitely won't let it gather dust."
"Don't you want to see what color a blade known as the Color-Changing Blade will turn in my hands?"
At that, Haganezuka Hotaru calmed down and stared intensely at Hiruma.
Hiruma gripped the hilt tightly, then smoothly drew the blade.
Before you continue