28 Vol. II Demon Slayer: Floating Comment

Gyomei Himejima.
Himejima.
Master Himejima.

Kaigaku thought he had buried that name deep in his memories, along with his filthy past—a past he believed would fade with time, sinking to the bottom of everyone's recollections.

No one would remember.
No one would recall that years ago, a child made a deal with a demon just to survive.

"I'll go back to the temple and extinguish the wisteria incense…" The young Kaigaku trembled as he whispered his resolve.

"And then?" The demon's features were already a blur in his mind, replaced by the overpowering stench that clung to it.

"And then… there are eight kids in the house, only one blind monk, a big guy. None of them can fight back."

Yes, that's it. Say it. Just say it aloud!

You didn't do anything wrong, Kaigaku!

"Why did you steal the money!" The children had jeered at him, pelting him with stones and clumps of dirt.

"Why did you take everyone's money!" Their furious accusations stung more than the projectiles they hurled.

"Kick him out! Don't let him stay in the temple anymore! Thieves like him don't belong here!"

The older boys shoved Kaigaku out of the temple.

Those brats, those people—they deserved to be torn apart!
If they hadn't cast him out, he wouldn't have been wandering outside at that fateful moment.

The demon nodded.

Under the cover of night, Kaigaku sneaked back into the temple and extinguished the incense.

The demon burst into the temple, ripping a child apart as it entered.

This is what you get for pushing me out.

Kaigaku laughed silently, slipping away before the chaos reached its peak.

Later, he learned that nearly all the children in the temple had died. Himejima had survived but was branded the culprit and executed.

So he didn't die after all…

Kaigaku's hands trembled as he looked at the man before him, Haruto, whose lips curled into a smile, though his eyes were icy and unyielding.

"Himejima is a kind and compassionate man. Though his eyes cannot see, his heart is broader than the heavens." Haruto's voice was calm, almost conversational.

"But when I first met him, we didn't get along very well. Do you know why?"

Kaigaku dared not respond.

"It's because Himejima seemed to hold a grudge against younger children. That… lingered for years, only easing when I grew older and became a Hashira like him. That's when he told me about something that happened long ago…"

Kaigaku collapsed to his knees with a loud thud, shaking violently.

"I'm so sorry… I'm sorry, I'm sorry… Please, stop…"

The white-haired swordsman's sharp gaze cut through him like a blade at his throat, a silent threat that promised death in the next breath.

Kaigaku pressed his forehead to the ground, groveling as tears and snot smeared his face.

"It was my fault! I was selfish and afraid of dying…"

Why does everything have to be my fault? Why are they all coming after me?

Shouldn't they question Himejima Gyomei?

He was so strong—why did he pretend to be just an ordinary monk? Why did he allow demons to linger near the temple?

He indirectly caused the deaths of all those children. Yet here he is, standing tall as a Hashira, dredging up ancient scandals for everyone to see.

Why?

"Hmph…"

Haruto tilted his head, his gaze filled with cold pity.

"Is this true repentance, or just a desperate act because your sins have come to light?

"I wish I could borrow Tanjiro's nose… to sniff out what kind of stench you're giving off right now."

"Please, forgive me! I swear, I'll dedicate my life to fighting demons! You… You can watch me!"

"Oh, I'll watch you," Haruto replied with a faint smile. He leaned in close, his voice dropping to a chilling whisper.

"Inside or outside the Demon Slayer Corps, now or in the future, my eyes will always be on you. Watching. Every. Move."

A trainer's greatest shame was having a student fall to the darkness.

Even desertion would bring humiliation to their master and comrades.

But to fall entirely, to become a demon…

A master could only atone for that with their life.

Haruto refused to let that happen. Jigoro Kuwajima, who had dedicated his life to the Corps and even lost a leg in battle, didn't deserve such disgrace.

The weight of Haruto's words pinned Kaigaku to the ground, leaving him paralyzed with fear.

He stayed there long after Haruto left, trembling until silence filled the air.

"Haah…"

Kaigaku let out a long, shaky breath, realizing his back was soaked with sweat.

Damn it, damn it!

He pounded the ground with a clenched fist, sitting up and glaring at the sky with gritted teeth.

Why does everyone make my life so hard?
The old man, the blond idiot, and now this Hashira and his disciple!

Gyomei became a Hashira, Haruto is a Hashira… How am I supposed to survive in the Corps?

Should I… just run away?

"Breath of the Stars, First Form: First Light!"

A flash of blue-violet light streaked across the clearing as Haruto moved with stunning precision, his blade cleaving the wooden training dummy into splinters.

"So fast!" Zenitsu gawked at the display, earning a smack on the backside from Jigoro with a wooden cane.

"Focus on your own training!" the elder scolded.

"But, Grandpa, my ankle—"

"No excuses! No dinner if you keep whining!"

After reprimanding Zenitsu, Jigoro turned to guide Haruto.

While the Breath of the Stars wasn't directly related to the Breath of Thunder, it shared some similarities in speed and technique.

For example, both First Light and Thunderclap and Flash relied on swift, linear strikes for rapid movement.

But they differed as well. The Breath of Thunder emphasized raw speed and explosive power, while the Breath of the Stars focused on mystique and unpredictability, like the enigmatic movements of celestial bodies.

Under Jigoro's guidance, Haruto refined his movements, correcting the minor errors that slowed his attacks. By the third day, he felt something new solidifying in his mind.

It blended the starry elegance of his own style with the lightning-fast ferocity of the Breath of Thunder.

"Hah…"

Genya watched Haruto's every move intently. Though he couldn't use a breathing style himself, he committed every detail to memory—ready to share with Tanjiro or pass down to others.

Haruto's stance was deceptively ordinary, giving no hint of his next action unless you knew him well.

From afar, Genya caught a glimmer on Haruto's blade—like a star dancing on its edge.

No, not a star.

It was sunlight, reflected off the sword's polished surface.

The reflection vanished as Haruto launched himself forward, his legs propelling him with incredible force.

In an instant, he closed a thirty-meter gap, unleashing dozens of strikes in a blur of motion. His blade carved through the wooden target with an uncanny combination of speed, power, and complexity, leaving nothing but splinters behind.

Such a technique—seamlessly blending speed, explosiveness, and unpredictability—was nothing short of extraordinary.

"Hah…"

Haruto exhaled slowly, the tips of his toes aching from the intense exertion.

Breath of the Stars, Sixth Form…

Now, what should I call it?