Uesugi Sasuke gave the wound on his right arm some basic treatment.
Waves of intense pain came from the charred skin and torn muscles, but he merely wound a strip of cloth around it a few times.
This pain was not even a ten-thousandth of what he had felt when he lost his parents.
He opened the system map. A red marker flashed on a mountain several dozen kilometers away.
Mount Momoyama.
The home of the former Rumble Hashira, Jigoro Kuwajima.
Without the slightest hesitation, he shouldered his meager pack and stepped into the night.
Traveling through the night took an enormous toll on his body and mind, and the journey made the wound on his arm ache.
But he did not care.
When he grew hungry, he searched the mountain forests for wild fruit.
When he grew thirsty, he cupped spring water from a stream in his hands.
Like a lone wolf, he had eyes only for his destination, advancing tirelessly toward that mountain.
At dusk two days later, he finally reached his destination.
It was a mountain covered in peach trees.
Even though it was the wrong season, he could imagine the sight of petals drifting everywhere in spring.
The mountain air was fresh, carrying a faint, sweet fragrance.
But this peace and tranquility was utterly at odds with the cold air of vengeance Sasuke exuded.
Following the mountain path indicated by the system, he headed toward a wooden house halfway up the mountain.
Before he could approach, a yellow figure burst out of the yard in front of the house, screaming bloody murder.
"Aaaah! I'm going to die! I'm going to die!"
It was a boy who looked about his age, with a striking head of short blond hair.
Snot and tears streamed down his face as he kept howling.
"Is that training even humanly possible? That old man's a devil! I got struck by lightning again, and all my hair's going to fall out! I don't want to be some swordsman anymore! I want to go down the mountain, marry a cute wife, and live out a quiet life!"
Crying and shouting, the boy ran past Sasuke, seemingly not noticing him at all.
Sasuke frowned.
So noisy.
Ignoring the strange boy, he walked straight to the wooden house's door.
He neither knocked nor spoke.
Instead, he dropped to both knees on the cold earth.
Before long, a figure emerged from the house.
It was an elderly man, not particularly tall, but exceptionally sturdy. He was missing his right leg and leaned on a cane, his face stern and his gaze as sharp as a hawk's.
It was none other than Jigoro Kuwajima.
Kuwajima's gaze fell on Sasuke, and his brow immediately furrowed.
He said nothing, but his eyes seemed capable of seeing into a person's heart.
He saw it.
He saw the hatred and murderous intent that all but overflowed from this boy, so dense they seemed almost tangible.
He had slain countless Demons in his lifetime, yet he had never seen such pure darkness in a person.
"I want to grow stronger."
Sasuke raised his head and met Kuwajima's gaze, his voice quiet but exceptionally firm.
"Please teach me a Breathing Style."
Kuwajima watched him in silence.
The blond boy who had run off into the distance also stopped crying and shouting. Curious, he hid behind a peach tree and stole glances their way.
Only after a long while did Kuwajima slowly speak, his voice hoarse and cold.
"Leave this place."
Sasuke did not move.
"I need strength. The strength to take revenge."
"Your sword is far too wicked."
Kuwajima's gaze grew even sterner.
"In you, I see not the slightest trace of anything you want to protect. All I see is annihilation, destruction, and endless vengeance."
"The Thunder Breathing I teach is a sword art for protecting life, not a butcher's blade for satisfying your selfish desires."
"I will not teach someone with a Demon living in his heart."
With that, Kuwajima stopped looking at him and turned to head back inside.
His refusal was so absolute that it left no room for discussion.
Hiding in the distance, Zenitsu Agatsuma gaped.
It was the first time he had ever seen his master speak so sternly to an outsider.
Sasuke remained kneeling where he was, his head lowered so that his expression could not be seen.
His hands slowly clenched into fists at his sides.
The air seemed to freeze at that moment.
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