The morning mist had yet to clear completely from the foot of Mount Fujikasane, and the rising sun cast its golden light sparingly over the path strewn with wisteria petals. After seven full days and nights of a brutal selection that had felt like purgatory, Tanjiro Kamado finally stepped out of that forest steeped in blood and death.
"Well done. You didn't embarrass me."
A cool voice, tinged with languor yet utterly familiar, sounded ahead. Tanjiro jerked his head up and looked past several drooping wisteria trees to see the man he revered so deeply, the man who had brought him to the brink of death countless times over the past year.
Takanashi Rokuno wore a well-tailored black uniform specially made for the Demon Slayer Corps, with his deep blue haori draped over it. He leaned against a thick tree trunk with his arms folded, his short, silvery-white hair stirring in the morning breeze. His stern, godlike face bore a rare trace of a gentle smile.
"Mr. Rokuya!" Tanjiro's voice was hoarse from days of shouting and dehydration, but he still ran forward excitedly, only to stumble and nearly fall as his legs gave out.
A breeze swept past, and Rokuya appeared before Tanjiro in an instant like a phantom. He reached out with his large, callused hand, possessed of terrifying strength, caught Tanjiro firmly by the arm, and pulled him upright.
"All right, stop pushing yourself. Since you survived, stand tall." Rokuya's voice was quiet, but it carried an unquestionable force. His deep eyes swept over Tanjiro, and as he sensed the faint residual warmth of Sun Breathing circulating within the boy before him, his lips curved in satisfaction. "Your swordsmanship is much sharper than it was a year ago. You burned those foolish low-level demons to ash, I