UNKNOWN PLACE
THIRD PERSON POV
Dawn broke over the scarred battlefield, a thread of pale gold unraveling across the horizon, painting the wreckage of the Mugen Train in shades of amber and ruin.
Twisted steel jutted from the earth like the bones of some fallen behemoth, still smoldering faintly. The earth was cratered, clawed, scarred—a battlefield where gods clashed under mortal moonlight.
At the field's edge, Kyojuro Rengoku stood tall, the wind tugging at his crimson haori, its edges singed but never bowing. His frame was as immovable as ever, yet his eyes—those eyes that once burned like the sun—now flickered with a rare, heavy stillness. A warrior's calm, fractured by what he'd witnessed.
Upper Rank Three—Akaza—slain in mere moments.
By a stranger.
Rengoku's hand hovered near the hilt of his Nichirin Blade, its familiar warmth grounding him as his thoughts turned turbulent. Alex—wielding a blade that shimmered in crimson and violet, moving like a force of nature. A power beyond any Demon Slayer. Beyond logic. Beyond comprehension.
And yet… the man walked among them. Unarmored. Uncrowned. Unbothered.
A sharp caw cut through the heavy air. Kaname, his crow, descended from the heavens, wings cutting clean against the morning haze. It landed upon his arm, eyes gleaming with urgency, its feathers ruffled as if mirroring Rengoku's inner unrest.
He offered the bird a rare, brief smile, brushing a soot-streaked finger over its head.
"Kaname," he commanded softly, voice like tempered steel, "fly to Master Ubuyashiki. The Mugen Train is lost. Lower Moon One, Enmu, was the reason behind the disappearance of humans in the train, but was slain with the help of Tanjiro, Zenitsu, and Inosuke. But Upper Rank Three, Akaza, appeared—and was slain by a stranger wielding an unknown breathing. He calls it Sun Breathing."
He paused, tightening his grip.
"His power is… unmatched. His origin? Unknown. tell all this to lord we will arrive in tomorrow"
The crow flew to the skies, its cry piercing the dawn—a herald of chaos to come.
Rengoku watched it fade eastward, jaw clenched.
Master will summon the Hashira... and they must decide what this Alex means for us, for the war.
Behind him, the wreckage still crackled, and the silhouette of Tanjiro's group mingled with Alex's as they aided the survivors, the first rays of sunrise painting Rengoku's hair like a beacon of hope in a world teetering on the edge of ruin.
```````````````````````````````````
UBUYASHIKI ESTATE
THIRD PERSON POV
Morning bathed the wisteria-lined courtyard in delicate purple hues. Kagaya Ubuyashiki, the Oyakata-sama, sat poised upon the engawa, his breath shallow yet serene. Draped in white, frail as porcelain, blind eyes veiled yet ever-seeing, he listened to the world's pulse like a prophet awaiting a storm.
The faint flutter of wings broke the stillness. Kaname landed before him, cawing its urgent message in crisp, clipped words.
Kagaya's pale lips curved into a knowing smile, tinged with something rare: wonder.
Upper Rank Three, Akaza, slain… by a stranger… wielding unknown Sun Breathing?
A ripple in fate. A harbinger of either salvation—or catastrophe. He raised a hand, calm as ever, but heavy with authority.
"Summon the Hashira. We convene at once."
By midday, the courtyard was a tapestry of titanic auras. The Hashira knelt, warriors of every storm and season gathered beneath the wisteria's gentle sway.
Sanemi Shinazugawa, the Wind Hashira, scowled, lips curled in disdain.
A no-name kills an Upper Moon? Bullshit. A trap, his instincts screamed, fingers twitching for his blade.
Obanai Iguro, the Serpent Hashira, leaned against a pillar, his snake Kaburamaru coiled lazily around his neck. His eyes, cold and mismatched, glinted with distrust.
Mitsuri Kanroji clasped her hands to her chest, eyes shimmering.
So romantic! A hero of legend walking among us? Like the old tales! She barely stifled a squeal.
Muichiro Tokito, the Mist Hashira, stared skyward, expression vacant, though his mind flickered with the facts.
Akaza's dead… interesting.What was I thinking? Oh well.
Gyomei Himejima, the Stone Hashira, wept silently, his beads clicking, heart heavy with both hope and dread.
Such strength is a blessing… but a storm brews. Muzan will not let this pass quietly.
Shinobu Kocho, the Insect Hashira, smiled like a blade hidden in silk."Akaza slain by a stranger? How… fascinating. Don't you think so, Tomioka-san?"
What kind of strength is needed to defeat an upper moon, she thought with hatred deep inside her heart, which contrasted with her smile
Giyu Tomioka, the Water Hashira, said nothing, but his eyes sharpened.
Tengen Uzui, the Sound Hashira, chuckled, arms crossed, ego unshaken.
"Flashy! I like this Alex already. But let's see if he sparkles on stage like me."
Yet beneath the bravado, his mind calculated. Upper Three down? That's big. Very big.
Kagaya's voice floated above them, calm yet heavy, like the stillness before a typhoon.
"My children. Rengoku's crow brings tidings that will shake our war's foundations. Upper Rank Three, Akaza, is dead. Slain by a stranger… Alex. Wielder of Sun Breathing is an ancient and the first breathing style, we have research it in our journals scrolls of previous hashiras"
The Hashira rippled with murmurs, disbelief swirling like mist.
Kagaya continued, unflinching.
"With the aid of the former Flame Hashira's journals, we confirmed the art he wields. It is real. And it has returned to us through him."
Sanemi growled, "A stranger shows up, flaunts a lost art, kills an Upper Rank, and we're supposed to clap? Sounds like Muzan's game."
Obanai nodded grimly. "We cannot trust him. He could be Muzan's puppet."
Mitsuri gasped. "Or… he could be our hero!" she cried, heart on her sleeve.
Muichiro blinked. "If he's strong, that's enough."
Gyomei's tears dripped, his voice a gravel whisper. "We must tread cautiously. This war… shifts beneath us."
Shinobu's smile sharpened. "I would love to… dissect this, Alex. For science, of course."
Giyu remained silent, but his eyes held a glimmer of something rare interest.
Tengen laughed. "Let's throw a flashy welcome. If he's a friend, great. If not… well, it'll still be flashy."
Kagaya raised a hand. The courtyard fell to stillness.
"We will greet Alex with open hearts, but vigilant eyes. His arrival shifts our war. Prepare yourselves, my children. The tides have turned."
The Hashira bowed low, though their thoughts remained a storm of doubt, wonder, and resolve.
Above them, the wisteria swayed softly, as if whispering of battles yet to come.
````````````````````````
Forest Path to Demon Slayer Corps (1 day later)
General POV
The midday sun filtered gently through a thick canopy of cedar and maple, casting dappled gold across the winding forest path. The air was crisp, carrying the earthy scent of resin, moss, and distant wildflowers—a soothing contrast to the chaos and bloodshed they had left behind.
After rescuing every last passenger from the clutches of death and demonic terror, Alex and his companion(Tanjiro and others) didn't rest immediately. Instead, they spent hours guiding the dazed and terrified survivors to safety. Some were too wounded to walk on their own. Others were frozen by shock, needing gentle words and firm hands to move forward.
Alex made sure no one was left behind.
Only once the last passenger had reached safety did the group allow themselves to breathe.
They had stopped at a small, humble village—the home of one of the passengers they had saved. The villagers, in quiet gratitude, offered food, water, and a place to rest.
The night passed peacefully under wooden roofs and warm blankets.
By morning, after a light meal and quiet farewells, the group began their journey once more—this time, heading toward the Demon Slayer Corps headquarters.
Tanjiro Kamado walked with a steady gait, his checkered haori swaying, and the pain of last night's wounds was a faint memory.
His chest felt light, his body restored, thanks to the glowing vial Alex had pressed into his hand—a healing potion, its warmth still lingering in his veins.
Like sunlight in a bottle, he thought, glancing at Alex, who strode ahead, his black haori rippling like a restless spirit. Nezuko, nestled in her box on Tanjiro's back, hummed softly, her presence a quiet comfort.
Inosuke Hashibira bounded alongside, his boar mask tilting as he flexed his healed arms, the gashes gone as if they'd never been. "Hah! I'm stronger than ever!" he bellowed, brandishing his Nichirin Blades. That potion's wild! Gotta get more from Flax!he thought, butchering Alex's name with fanboy fervor.
Zenitsu Agatsuma trailed behind, his yellow haori pristine, his usual whining subdued to a nervous mutter. "I'm alive… and not in pain. It's a miracle," he whispered, though his eyes darted to Alex, wary. He's scary, but… he saved us.
Rengoku trailed behind them, his crimson haori brushing against the scorched earth, yet his gaze never left Alex and the others. His golden eyes, wide with something he rarely allowed himself—disbelief.
Those potions…
He had seen their effects up close. Injuries, once fatal, knitted together in moments. Flesh, bone, spirit—restored without flaw. But it was more than mere healing. Rengoku's seasoned eyes caught the subtle shifts others missed.
Their breathing… it's… different now. Sharper. Cleaner. Their bodies rid of fatigue, of toxins buried deep within.
He clenched his fists, feeling his own breath hitch.
Is this… divine intervention?
It was the only explanation that clawed at his disciplined mind. This was not medicine born of human hands. This was something more. Something that turned ordinary Slayers into something… more than human.
And only he—Rengoku Kyojuro, Hashira of Flame—had the eye to see it.
A wry smile tugged at the corner of his lips, though his gaze remained solemn. In the old tales, they would say such a man was sent by the gods themselves. A warrior touched by fate to save the crumbling world.
Tanjiro led the group, with Alex being on just right of him, his crimson-purple Nichirin Blade sheathed at his hip, the suit's blue core pulsing faintly. The healing potions—{System Space concoctions he'd smuggled before the jump in, but he could access system inventory where he put them}—had worked wonders, knitting flesh and soothing bruises in second.
One less thing to worry about, he thought, though his mind lingered on Akaza's death, the void it left. Killing should feel heavier.
Is this who I'm becoming? The thought echoed his reflection on evil: It's what you leave behind. Akaza's trail of broken families haunted him, a reminder of why he fought.
Inosuke darted to Alex's side, mask inches from his face. "Oi, Alec! How'd you get so strong? Teach me, huh? I'm Inosuke, king of the mountains!" He jabbed a blade skyward, nearly clipping a branch. Alex raised an eyebrow, lips twitching.
"It's Alex," he corrected, voice dry. "Strength's not a trick. It's training, focus, and not yelling my name wrong."
Inosuke snorted, undeterred. "Whatever, Alax! You sliced that demon like I slice boars! Show me your moves!" He swung his blades in a wild arc, startling a flock of birds.
Tanjiro chuckled, "Inosuke, calm down. Alex-san saved us; don't pester him." He's like a puppy with swords, Tanjiro thought, amused yet grateful.
Alex sighed, dodging another of Inosuke's enthusiastic jabs. "Keep swinging like that, and I'll cut your own mask off," he quipped, a smirk breaking through. Inosuke froze, then laughed, "Good one, Aleck! You're cool!"
As the path curved, Tanjiro fell into step beside Alex, his expression thoughtful, burgundy eyes searching. "Alex-san," he began, voice soft but earnest,
"last night, your technique… it was like Hinokami Kagura, but stronger, sharper. My family's dance… where did you learn it?" His heart thudded, memories of his father's frail form dancing under moonlight surfacing, a sacred ritual now mirrored in Alex's fiery slashes.
Alex glanced at Tanjiro, his blue eyes softening, sensing the boy's sincerity. He deserves the truth… he thought, mindful of System secrecy.
"Hinokami Kagura is Sun Breathing, the first Breathing Style," he said, voice steady. "Created by Yoriichi Tsugikuni, the greatest Slayer. All other styles—Water, Flame, Wind or etc—came from it, like branches from a tree. Your family preserved it as a dance, a legacy of power. I learned it… through training, from sources I can't fully explain." He tapped his temple, a cryptic smile flickering. "Let's just say I've got a good memory."
Tanjiro's eyes widened, awe and pride swelling. Father's dance… the root of all Breathing? he thought, gripping Nezuko's box tighter. "That's incredible. You used it to save us, to stop Akaza. Thank you, Alex-san." but still uneasy about something.
I narrowed my eyes at him, noticing the unease flickering across his face like a shadow refusing to settle.
"What? If you have something to say, spit it out," I said, my tone blunt but not unkind.
Tanjiro hesitated for a moment before squaring his shoulders, locking his gaze with mine. His expression carried no doubt, only raw, burning resolve.
"Alex-san," he began, voice steady despite the turmoil in his heart, "you saved us last night. We already owe you, and until now, I've never asked for anything selfish from anyone. But… can you teach me? The full version of the Sun Breathing you performed."
There was no hesitation in his words. Only the fierce need of someone who had stared helplessness in the eye one too many times.
"I'm too weak right now," he continued, fists clenched at his sides. "I need to grow stronger. Strong enough to protect Nezuko… and everyone else… so no one dies in front of me again. Like that night…"
His words hung heavy, dragging memories of his slaughtered family from the depths of his soul like bitter ghosts.
I sighed, rubbing the back of my neck. "Well… It's not that I don't want to teach you. But to become truly strong, being reliant on only breathing style is fatal"
Tanjiro blinked, confusion flickering across his face. Even the walking disaster duo—Zenitsu and Inosuke—managed to freeze for a second, ears perked like curious animals.
Rengoku, however, leaned in, a crease appearing between his brows.
"What do you mean, Alex-dono?" he asked, his voice laced with both curiosity and the weight of his station. "Breathing styles are the backbone of a Demon Slayer. It allows us to face demons on equal ground, to aid our wounds, and to keep fighting. Relying on them isn't wrong. It's our way of survival. What are you implying when you say 'heavily reliant'?"
I turned my head slowly, locking eyes with him.
For a moment, silence stretched, thick and suffocating. My stare must've carried more than I intended, because Rengoku—despite his valor and discipline—shifted slightly, his back straightening instinctively under the weight of my gaze.
You don't know anything about swordsmanship, my expression said, loud and clear.
"Hmm…" I mused aloud, the corner of my lips twitching upward in a dry smirk. "Maybe it's easier if I show you."
Their confusion only deepened.
"In the history of your Corps, I'd wager only two ever reached the level I'm about to show you," I continued, my tone slipping into something colder, like an instructor ready to shatter old beliefs. "Tsugikuni Yoriichi… and perhaps his brother. Though I can't say for certain about the latter."
I gestured toward Rengoku, my tone sharp like the clash of steel.
"Rengoku… unsheathe your sword," I ordered, no longer asking.
There was a weight in my voice now—a challenge hidden beneath the command. The kind that stripped away titles, ranks, and pride, leaving only the warrior behind.
Rengoku hesitated for a heartbeat, then, with a nod of both respect and curiosity, drew his blade, the fiery edge gleaming in the dim morning light.
Good, I thought, stepping forward.
Without a word, I plucked a long, slender leaf from the nearest tree. It was about twenty centimeters—simple, fragile, and perfect for the lesson.
I eyed it for a second, ensuring it would do, then turned to Rengoku, holding the leaf delicately between my fingers like it was sacred.
"Slash at this leaf as hard as you can," I said flatly, holding it out in front of him, long, delicate, and barely swaying in the wind.
Rengoku's brows furrowed.
"But—" I added, my tone sharpening like the edge of a blade, cutting through any room for doubt—
"You're not allowed to use your Breathing Style. No heightened senses. No tricks. No borrowed strength. Just you… and your sword. And it shouldn't leave a single scratch on the leaf."
The command was met with a flicker of disbelief on Rengoku's face.
Is this even possible? He thought, his mind already doubting the absurdity of the challenge.
On the sidelines, Tanjiro, Zenitsu, and Inosuke looked equally dumbfounded, their expressions a chaotic blend of curiosity and confusion.
Slash a leaf without cutting it? Is that even humanly possible? Their faces practically screamed in unison.
Still, Rengoku, the dutiful warrior that he was, didn't argue. He gripped his blade tightly, adjusted his stance, and in a single, powerful motion, slashed at the leaf with all the strength he could muster.
But to no surprise—at least to me—the leaf split cleanly in two.
"Tch. See? You understand now?" I asked, a soft chuckle escaping my lips.
The four of them stared at me blankly.As if a crow passed through behind them.
No, we don't… at all, they all thought in perfect synchronization, utterly lost.
I sighed, shaking my head, before slipping into a more explanatory tone. Thinking if i said this to Miyamoto, he would even give me back more philosophy in response.
"Listen carefully, all of you," I began, my voice slow, deliberate, like a teacher dealing with stubborn students. "Sword mastery and sword technique—they are two entirely different things."
They listened, albeit still confused.
"Sword technique," I continued, raising a finger, "relies on external enhancements. Things like breathing styles that heighten your senses, sharpen your reflexes, enhance your strength, speed, endurance or it could be sword art. It's an art born from necessity… but it's also a crutch. You're leaning on something outside yourself."
They blinked, processing.
"But sword mastery…" I let the words hang heavy in the air, "…is walking the sword's path without relying on anything.
No breathing technique. No tricks. No shortcuts. It's pure. It's raw. It's the sword, and only the sword. And within that path… lie countless layers you can't even begin to understand yet."
They stared, mouths slightly agape.
"You'll understand more… when you see it," I added.
Without another word, I approached a boulder about the size of a man resting nearby. I accepted Rengoku's Nichirin blade with respect, cradling it carefully—after all, a swordsman's blade was their soul.
In one graceful motion, I raised the sword. No breathing style. No energy manipulation, no fancy sword art. Just a clean, pure vertical cut.
The blade whispered through the air, slicing the rock as if it were made of soft butter. A perfect, smooth line split the boulder in two, clean and effortless. All of them stared wide-eyed
But I didn't stop.
I turned toward the similar delicate leaf, hanging from the branch, swaying gently in the morning breeze.
Without hesitation, I slashed toward it with the same force I used on the rock—fast, merciless, precise.
Yet the leaf… merely swayed away with the blade's path, untouched. Not a single scratch, not even a tear.
It fluttered lazily, mocking the idea of brute strength.
Behind me, the duo of idiots exploded.
"OH! WOW! INCREDIBLE!" they cried in unison, eyes sparkling like children at a festival.
They clapped loudly, hopping like circus monkeys.
"It's like a magic show!" Zenitsu squealed. While Inosuke imitates me with his sword
Tanjiro… well, he simply stared, speechless. The wheels in his head turned furiously, desperately trying to grasp what he had just witnessed.
Even Rengoku, the always composed Flame Hashira, found himself lost for words, his mind stuck between awe and confusion.
"The thing you all saw just now," I said, pausing to let the moment settle like dust after a storm, "is called Sword Will."
Their ears perked up, eyes wide, like I had just revealed some forbidden secret of the sword.
"You only attain it when you reach the state of Sword Master. Right now, all of you are nothing more than sword apprentices, a level below a sword master, and I am a great swordsman, which is on a level above sword master… sword apprentice merely imitate well but with precision the techniques your teachers drilled into your heads."
I raised a hand before they could argue, especially before Rengoku could go all 'but breathing styles are the foundation of the Demon Slayer Corps' on me again.
"Don't get me wrong. I'm not criticizing your teachers," I added, my tone softer but still holding authority.
"But being stuck in the mindset of simply performing sword techniques… doesn't pave the true path of the sword."
Silence.
Heavy, thoughtful silence.
All of them stood still, the weight of my words sinking deep into their minds like an anchor. Even the loud idiots kept their mouths shut this time.
We resumed walking, our footsteps the only sound in the dense forest trail.
As I walked ahead, hands behind my back, I couldn't help but chuckle to myself.
"Now, as I said… There are levels even beyond Great Swordsman," I added, more to entertain myself than them. "Even I am still like a child… standing outside the temple of real sword fanatics."
My mind wandered for a second, thinking about those insane Chinese wuxia and xianxia novels I used to read back home—the ones where old men in robes would split planets in half with nothing but Sword Intent.
Man, those authors didn't hold back. Makes me feel like a rookie, I thought, smirking to myself.
I glanced back at the group, seeing their serious, hungry faces. They were absorbing every word now. I decided to feed their curiosity a bit more.
"Sword Will… is the will of the sword you wield," I continued, my voice low, like I was sharing a dangerous secret. "If you want to cut something, the sword will cut it. If you don't want to cut it… then it won't. It's that simple, and yet… that impossible."
Their eyes widened again.
"When you attain this state… you become a true Sword Master," I declared.
"And… fun fact," I added, flashing a teasing grin at Tanjiro. "Your ancestor in the Demon Slayer Corps, Tsugikuni Yoriichi, also attained this state."
"oh"x4
"Yes" I confirmed. "But… he could have gone even further. Unfortunately, he got fixated… on his brother's betrayal and many more thing (poor guy).
That emotional scar shackled him, prevented him from crossing into the next realm of swordsmanship."
I let that sit.
I could see Tanjiro clenching his fists, face tense, clearly internalizing everything.
These kids… tsk, I'm mentally twenty-seven, I can call them brats, I thought, letting out a small, amused snort.
They had no idea how much further the rabbit hole of swordsmanship went.
But… they'd get a taste.
Inosuke butted in, "Yeah, Alex(inosuke correct name every three turns ,cannon), Teach us that sword thingy! too" Zenitsu muttered, "I'd rather not learn anything that dangerous…" I just want to live!
while rengoku and tanjiro were deeply thinking about the sword will
Alex chuckled, the sound warm, easing the group's tension. "Maybe , Inosuke. For now, focus on calling me Alex."
````````````````````````````````````````
Butterfly Mansion (2 hour later)
Demon Slayer Corps, General POV
The Butterfly Mansion stood serene under the late afternoon sun, its wooden walls adorned with wisteria vines, their purple blooms swaying in a gentle breeze.
The air was sweet with flowers and antiseptic, a haven of healing within the Corps' hidden stronghold. Inside, the infirmary bustled quietly, Kiyo, Sumi, and Naho darting between beds, their small hands carrying bandages and salves.
Shinobu Kocho, the Insect Hashira, glided through the room, her butterfly haori fluttering, her smile serene yet sharp, like a blade veiled in silk.
Her violet eyes scanned the new arrivals—Tanjiro, Nezuko, Inosuke, Zenitsu, and the stranger, Alex.
Expecting to see the usual array of gashes and bruises from a demon battle. Instead, she found… nothing.
Tanjiro's haori was torn but his skin unmarred. Inosuke's arms smooth despite his reckless flexing, Zenitsu's trembling form pristine, and Nezuko, peeking from her box, unharmed.
Shinobu tilted her head, smile unwavering, though her eyes glinted with curiosity.
"Ara~Ara, you all look remarkably well for survivors of the Mugen Train," she said, voice lilting. "Rengoku-san's report mentioned grievous injuries. Where are they?"
(The report was given just after the battle, so he mentioned they are injured but not that much to send reinforcement so they came on their own)
This is no natural recovery,she thought, her mind racing, already formulating tests for such a phenomenon.
Tanjiro rubbed his neck, smiling sheepishly. "Well, uh, Alex-san gave us his healing potions. They fixed us right up!" He gestured to Alex, who leaned against a wall, his white suit gleaming, cloak pooling like a shadow. Inosuke puffed his chest,
"Yeah, Alax's potions are the best! I'm ready to fight again!" Gotta get more of that stuff!
Zenitsu nodded, still pale. "I thought I was gonna die, but… poof, all better."
Nezuko hummed, popping her head out, her pink eyes blinking at Shinobu, who softened slightly, charmed. Even Nezuko's unscathed, Shinobu thought, intrigued.
She turned to Alex, her smile sharpening, a scientist sizing up a puzzle. "Potions, you say? Fascinating. Care to share how you concocted such miracles, Alex-san?" If I could replicate them, our Slayers would be unstoppable.
Alex met her gaze, his blue eyes calm, a faint smirk playing on his lips. Well, he was still stuck on that ara~ara after hearing his name from Shinobu, he regained his focus.
"I will give it to you, but it won't do much as the materials are not present here," he said, voice light but firm.
"Let's just say I've got access to… unique resources."it was really hard to replicate without necessary resources and these time i think no one can do that.
System Space stays classified for now i will open it for training afte we kagaya may allianced with me. "They're one-use, but they did the job. Your patients are fine, aren't they?"
Shinobu's smile didn't waver, but her eyes narrowed, a spark of challenge. "Oh, they're more than fine. It's almost suspicious. Even though we won't be able to replicate it, but can still make a cheap copy of that."
He's hiding something, but he saved Rengoku, she thought, weighing his worth.
"Well, I insist you rest here. Even miracles deserve a check-up." She gestured to the beds, her tone leaving no room for argument.
Tanjiro nodded, grateful. "Thank you, Shinobu-san. We owe Alex-san everything."
Zenitsu whimpered, "Can I just hide here forever?" This place feels safe… for now.
As the group settled, Alex stood apart, his gaze drifting to the wisteria outside, their blooms a shield against demons.
As the group settled down for a much-needed rest, Alex walked through corridors, his gaze drifting toward the curtain of wisteria hanging outside.
The blossoms swayed gently in the breeze, their purple petals glowing under the soft sunlight—silent sentinels that protected the place from demonic taint.
Just as he turned to leave through the side corridor, he felt a presence closing in from behind. His instincts kicked in instantly. In a fluid motion, he dodged the surprise strike, spun on his heel, and caught the figure's wrist mid-air.
With practiced precision, he disarmed the assailant, twisting their arm behind their back to lock it—only to miscalculate slightly.
The attacker was shorter than expected.
His balance shifted.
And in an instant—thud!—they both toppled backward, with the figure landing squarely on his chest.
Time seemed to freeze.
Alex blinked. So did she.
A dozen seconds passed with neither of them moving, breaths tangled in the narrow space between them. Their faces were inches apart—too close—and both Alex and Shinobu were blushing.
Yes, it was Shinobu Kocho, the Insect Hashira, who had ambushed him. But now her usual playful smirk was gone, replaced by something more surprised… and flustered.
Their heart beats in unison, loud enough to be heard in the silence.
Clink. A soft noise broke the moment—something metallic falling to the ground.
Both of them glanced toward the sound… and spotted Kanao and Aoi frozen near the corner, both holding a basket of wet laundry.
Aoi's face flushed scarlet as she stammered, "W-We were just drying the clothes!" Her eyes snapped shut, and she waved her hands frantically as if to erase the memory.
Then, without another word, she spun around and bolted in the opposite direction, dragging a completely silent and confused Kanao along with her.
Alex, still pinned beneath Shinobu, blinked, his mind racing. Okay, this is not how I saw my day going. His cheeks burned, the proximity of Shinobu's violet eyes and faint floral scent disarming him more than her attack had.
She's… testing me? Or something else? He cleared his throat, his voice low. "Uh, Shinobu-san, you mind…?"
Shinobu's blush deepened, but her composure snapped back, a playful glint returning. "Ara~ara, Alex-san, you're strong," she teased, easing off him with graceful ease, brushing her haori.
He's sharp…, and handsome too, what are you thinking, Shinobu, she thought, her curiosity sharpening. "Just checking your reflexes. You passed. As Rengoku-san claimed you to be the strongest person he has ever seen"
``````````````````````````````````````
Author's Note:
So, how did you like the chapter?
If you enjoyed it, please don't forget to like, comment, and leave a review! Your thoughts mean a lot and really help support the story. Let me know what you loved, what shocked you, or even your favorite character moment!
Thanks for reading—see you in the next chapter!