"He held back! That old bastard must have kept the truly strongest move to himself even in death! He knew I had the greatest potential, he could have made me a genius who surpassed everything, but instead he secretly slipped that damned Seventh Form into your hands behind my back! You all deserve to die! That damned old geezer Kuwajima never treated me fairly! I hate you... I hate every last one of you!!"
The demon's vicious string of dying curses battered every corner of the crumbling room with sound.
But the blond boy, who had already turned back around, his face covered in tiny cuts and black scorch marks, neither grew angry nor swung his sword again. Nor did he show the slightest trace of anguish or despair at the provocation.
Zenitsu merely used one hand to slowly smooth down the yellow, triangle-patterned haori laden with the old man's care. He glanced at the head, which continued raging helplessly and frantically shifting the blame even with its throat severed. His eyes were as clear as a pool of cool water that had never suffered any worldly pollution.
"Kaigaku, Master never showed you the slightest selfishness."
He spoke each word distinctly, his voice utterly calm. It was more than a rebuttal. It was like the one and only farewell offered by someone who had fully grown from a child into a true, upstanding warrior to a pitiful wretch living in self-deception.
"There never was some secret Seventh Form in this world. From beginning to end, all the old man taught us were those Six Most Basic Basics-the very core we had to hone with everything we had."
"The reason you don't know this move is that it was never something a predecessor left behind for you to casually take and