The door was kicked open, the crash tearing through the dead of night on Mount Sagiri.
The wooden door slammed into the inner wall and bounced back, only for a hand to pin it down hard with a dull crunch that threatened to shatter it.
Sabito stood in the doorway.
His chest heaved as he gasped for breath, white clouds dissolving in the moonlight.
He held his Nichirin Blade in his right hand. Its tip pointed toward the floor, still unsheathed.
Moonlight streamed in from behind him, stretching his shadow all the way to the edge of Yaha's bedding.
Yaha was still lying under the covers.
He held the same position he had assumed when he heard the footsteps, his upper body half propped up, the blanket draped over his waist.
He lifted his eyelids, glanced at the doorway, then lazily closed them again.
"It's the middle of the night." His voice was thick with the irritation of being woken up, rough and drawn out. "Did you forget the part where you knock?"
"Get up." Sabito's voice was hard as ice.
"No."
"Tomioka Ye Yu, get up."
Yaha rolled over, intending to present him with the back of his head.
A faint metallic scrape sounded.
Sabito had raised his Nichirin Blade.
It was not an attacking stance. He had merely lifted it from pointing at the floor to holding it level, its tip aimed straight at Yaha's back.
The blade gleamed coldly in the moonlight.
Yaha sighed and sat up.
He threw off the blanket, planted his feet on the icy tatami, and looked up at the man in the doorway, who was taut as a drawn bowstring.
"What, your injuries healed and you're itching for another beating?"
"Come outside."
"Where?"
"Behind the mountain."
Yaha tilted his neck, his vertebrae giving a sharp crack.
He hooked his uniform jacket up from beside the bed and draped it over his shoulders, too lazy to fasten the buttons.
The collar of his undershirt hung open. Beneath his collarbone, the edges of a faint black curse marking were barely visible.
They were traces that had only faded yesterday.
Sabito's gaze stopped there, and his Adam's apple bobbed hard.
Following his gaze, Yaha looked down and pulled his collar closed.
The motion was natural, as though he were brushing off dust.
"Let's go." Sabito withdrew his gaze and turned toward the yard's exit.
The clearing behind the mountain was colder than the yard, the snow reaching their ankles.
Wind swept through the branches of an old pine, making a strange, mournful sound.
Sabito stopped in the center of the clearing and turned to face Yaha.
His breathing sounded steadier, but the veins at the base of the thumb on his sword hand bulged one by one.
"Aren't you going to draw your sword?"
Yaha shoved both hands into his trouser pockets, standing loose and slouching.
"No need."
"I mean a real sword." Sabito stared at the wooden stick at his waist. "Not that piece of wood you wear for decoration."
"It is a piece of wood." Yaha yawned. "If you want to see a real sword, go find Giyu."
Sabito did not take the bait.
He stood where he was, his military boots making faint crunching sounds in the snow.
"Two years ago, at the Tomioka Family estate." Sabito spoke in a low voice. "You killed that demon."
Yaha watched him without a word.
"Those broken rocks behind the mountain. You cut them."
"Yes."
"The Hand Demon's arms on Mount Fujikasane. You cut them."
"Yes."
"What you used wasn't a Breathing Style at all."
"No."
Sabito tightened his fingers, his knuckles rubbing together with a faint sound.
"What exactly are you?"
"Your buddy." Yaha's eyelids drooped. "I answered that question last night."
"I want the real answer!"
"That is the real answer."
Sabito stepped forward. His sword tip rose, pointing straight at Yaha's throat.
"Tomioka Ye Yu, I'm serious."
Yaha looked at him for two seconds.
Then he pulled his right hand from his pocket and opened it in front of him.
His palm was empty.
"Draw your sword." Sabito gritted his teeth.
Yaha put his hand back in his pocket, letting the gesture answer for him.
"Then I'll strike first."
Sabito lowered his body, the force of his movement sweeping the snow from the ground in a ring.
His broken ribs tugged at his muscles, drawing a muffled groan, but his strike lost none of its power.
Water Breathing, First Form: Water Surface Slash.
An azure image of flowing water wrapped around the blade. The edge tore through the flying snow under the moonlight, tracing a pale silver line straight toward Yaha's flank.
Yaha merely shifted half a body-width to the left.
The blade skimmed past the outside of his right shoulder, its gust whipping up his sleeve.
Sabito changed his attack.
The wooden sword swept upward, then slashed sideways as his wrist turned.
The Third Form followed seamlessly. Three sword afterimages instantly sealed off every avenue of escape in front of Yaha.
Yaha leaned back, shifted sideways, then leaned back again.
The three movements were fluid and tiny, as though he were strolling through falling leaves.
The blade narrowly skimmed his nose, chin, and chest, yet failed to sever even a loose thread.
Sabito's eyes reddened, his breathing grew heavy, and cold sweat from the pain beaded on his forehead.
Fourth Form: Striking Tide.
Eighth Form: Waterfall Basin.
Sixth Form: Twisting Whirlpool.
His sword flowed like drifting clouds and running water, azure arcs weaving an impenetrable net in the darkness.
Yaha could tell that this was probably everything the kid had, with all his pride and pain staked on it.
Yet amid that storm of flashing steel, Yaha never even took his hands out of his pockets.
Half a step back, an inch to the side, a tilt of his head.
He even casually glanced up at the clouds in the night sky between dodging thrusts.
"You're dodging." Sabito panted, his swordplay growing increasingly vicious. "You're dodging, not blocking!"
"What else?" Yaha sounded bored.
"You could block them!"
Sabito's voice suddenly rose, edged with a ragged rasp.
"On Mount Fujikasane, you cut off all the Hand Demon's arms with two fingers! Why won't you use that power?"
Yaha planted his feet, avoiding a slash aimed at his knees.
"No need."
"No need?" Sabito repeated the words, his eyes turning bloodshot. "You think I'm not worthy of making you use that power?"
He struck again.
Seventh Form: Drop Ripple Thrust.
The sword tip trembled rapidly, like ripples spreading across water, erupting into over a dozen afterimages that enveloped the vital points all over Yaha's body.
It was a variation he had forced out on the spot, devoid of order, nothing but an outlet for his frustration.
Yaha finally retreated.
One step back, avoiding the first three afterimages.
Another step back, avoiding the next five.
With his third backward step, his back pressed against the trunk of the old pine.
There was nowhere left to retreat.
Sabito's blade was already directly in front of his throat, less than a foot away.
Yaha raised his right hand.
He slowly drew it from his pocket, bringing his index and middle fingers together.
His fingers rose to shoulder height and stopped.
Moonlight fell silently across his fingertips.
Sabito's body instantly went rigid.
Not because of killing intent, but because he recognized the gesture.
Under the moonlight on Mount Fujikasane, the instant the Hand Demon collapsed into pieces, Yaha had raised his hand exactly like this.
Exactly the same.
"Do it." Sabito's throat tightened, his sword hand trembling slightly. "Use that power... show me how you cut!"
Yaha's fingers remained suspended in the air.
He looked at Sabito's pale, stubborn face.
"What's wrong, genius?" Yaha tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Your hand's shaking that badly. Scared out of your wits?"
"I'm not shaking."
"The veins around your thumb are about to burst."
Sabito gritted his teeth and forced the sword tip another inch forward.
Only three fingers' width separated the cold metal from Yaha's Adam's apple.
"What the hell are you?" Sabito's voice had gone completely hoarse.
"That night on Mount Fujikasane, when you stomped the Hand Demon's head apart... I'll never forget that expression as long as I live."
Yaha's eyes were calm. "What expression?"
"You didn't have an expression at all."
Sabito's lips trembled.
"When you brought your foot down, your eyes looked exactly like you were crushing an apple! That look... it doesn't belong on a human face!"
Yaha said nothing.
Wind passed through the mountain woods, making both men's clothes flutter.
"You said the Hand Demon was trash, something that deserved to die." Sabito kept pressing him. "But if you really thought he was just trash, why did you go out of your way to Mount Fujikasane to kill him?"
"You're overthinking it."
"Then explain it to me!"
The sword tip edged closer again, almost touching Yaha's skin.
"Why can you cut off a demon's regeneration? Why can you become like that without using a Breathing Style? Are you... even human?"
"Of course I'm human."
"Then prove it to me! Or... explain it with your power!"
Yaha looked at Sabito.
From the corner of his eye, he saw a thin trail of moisture slip from Sabito's reddened eye, run down his chin, and drip into the snow.
The guy who was always saying that men did not cry was crying.
"Show me how you cut." Sabito stared at him.
"Shatter my sword, hurt me, whatever... let me see that power, and I'll give up."
Yaha lowered his eyes, his gaze settling on the sword tip in front of his throat.
"Once you've seen it, you won't talk to me the way you used to."
"I already can't."
Sabito's voice carried a suffocating weariness.
"Ever since that night on Mount Fujikasane, I haven't been able to see you as the Tomioka Ye Yu I used to know."
Yaha closed his eyes.
Only the wind and Sabito's heavy breathing remained.
Three seconds later.
He opened his eyes again.
The last trace of human warmth had been stripped from the pure black of his pupils, leaving only an absolute emptiness, indifferent to everything.
"Then watch closely."
He raised his hovering hand.
With his index and middle fingers pressed together, he casually traced a tiny arc through the air.
Cursed Technique: [Dismantle].
There was no sound, no rush of air.
Not even the wind stirred.
Sabito only felt the weight at his wrist lessen.
The Nichirin Blade, painstakingly forged from scarlet iron sand, snapped in two in midair without warning.
The front half of the blade flew onward with the momentum of his thrust.
With a muffled thunk, it buried itself deep in the nearby snow.
All that remained in Sabito's hand was a broken blade with an impossibly smooth edge.
The cut was as flat as a mirror, reflecting Sabito's bewildered face.
Sabito froze.
He looked down at the broken sword in his hand, then raised his head to look at Yaha, who was leaning against the tree trunk.
His lips opened and closed a few times, but he could not get out a single syllable.
Yaha lowered his hand.
He slipped it back into his trouser pocket, his expression utterly unchanged, as though he had merely brushed aside a fallen leaf.
"You saw that, right?"
Yaha stepped away from the tree trunk and brushed past Sabito.
"That's the kind of power I mean."
Without looking back, he headed straight toward the courtyard.
Sabito stood like a statue in the snow, clutching the broken blade.
Yaha took three steps.
Behind him, Sabito's voice rang out, trembling uncontrollably.
"Yaha..."
Yaha did not stop walking.
"What... exactly are you..."
Before you continue