Time seemed to stretch endlessly at that moment.
Through Uesugi Sasuke's Three-Tomoe Sharingan, Akaza's fist hurtled slowly but inexorably toward Kyojuro Rengoku's abdomen, following an unstoppable, fated trajectory.
He could see the ripples formed as the wind from the punch compressed the air.
He could see Kyojuro's muscles trembling slightly with exhaustion.
He could see the victor's smile on Akaza's face, cruel yet tinged with appreciation.
Everything was nauseatingly clear.
He was too far away.
Chidori would not make it in time, nor would the Body Flicker Technique. From his current position, nothing he did could bridge that despairing gulf of space.
An icy, bone-deep sense of helplessness engulfed Sasuke like a tide.
It was happening again.
That feeling of watching helplessly, unable to do anything, had returned.
Unbidden, the Night of the Massacre in another world flashed through his mind. The sight of his parents lying in pools of blood overlapped eerily with the image of the Flame Hashira before him, about to be pierced through.
He had come to this world for revenge, to gain power.
He had thought he was strong enough to cut through anything. Yet in the end, faced with this so-called "fate," he was still nothing more than a powerless spectator.
"Umu! Young Uesugi! I would very much like to see your lightning power too!"
Kyojuro's booming, sincere voice seemed to still echo in his ears.
"Don't expect the others in the Demon Slayer Corps to believe you."
"Your fighting style is full of openings."
"Playing with dōjutsu before my eyes?"
The cold, aloof person he had once been seemed to have begun changing quietly after traveling with this noisy bunch.
That boy who would cry to protect strangers.
That Boar's Head who would shout over the smallest things.
That senior fellow disciple who