Shinobu Kocho rolled her eyes at Giyu Tomioka, sighing in exasperation.
"It's not like we're parting forever. Why do you look so miserable?"
"Honestly, Tomioka-san, you complain about the strangest things~"
Giyu's lips twitched. Lately, this girl never missed a chance to tease him.
But today, he decided not to let it slide.
"Actually… what really bothers me is that I can't bear to part with you," Giyu said, meeting her gaze seriously.
Shinobu blinked, visibly stunned. A faint flush crept across her cheeks.
But this time, she didn't brush him off with a joke or insult. Instead, she smiled—a soft, sad smile tinged with something unspoken.
"Me too. But… as long as demons still exist, I'll never truly be at peace."
She paused, her eyes drifting away from him to the pale glow of the moon overhead.
"Giyu… if we truly manage to wipe out every last demon in our generation…"
Her voice softened further as she turned back to face him, a strange glimmer in her eyes.
"Will you say those words to me again…?"
Before Giyu could respond, Shinobu turned away and gracefully stepped off the rooftop, her silhouette vanishing into the night.
Giyu smiled faintly.
"Give me the chance… and I will."
"But don't worry, Shinobu. That day isn't far off."
Nothing else happened that night.
Early the next morning, Giyu Tomioka left the Butterfly Mansion.
He didn't bid farewell to anyone. In his mind, he'd be back within six months to recover from another injury anyway.
By ten in the morning, after a long journey with many twists and turns, he finally arrived at the Swordsmith Village—in search of his new blade.
Mori Tetsuqin, his assigned swordsmith, hadn't delivered it. He claimed it was still under construction.
So Giyu had decided to come see for himself.
After greeting the village chief, Giyu made his way to Mori's forge.
As he walked the narrow streets, he pondered something ridiculous: Should I just take Yoriichi's blade from Yuichiro?
But the thought was quickly dismissed. That sword was destined for Tanjiro—Yoriichi's true successor and the wielder of Sun Breathing.
Giyu had considered Sun Breathing for himself.
But ultimately, he knew: Water Breathing was the only style that truly suited him.
Sun Breathing, for all its power, actually stifled his full potential.
Unknowingly, he had arrived at Mori Tetsuqin's door.
From within, rhythmic metallic clangs echoed.
He opened the door and saw Mori, drenched in sweat, hammering away at a glowing-red blade.
Seeing him, Mori paused only briefly to say:
"You're early. It'll take another five or six days."
"Go wait inside."
Then, without another word, Mori resumed hammering.
Giyu didn't take it personally.
This was the first time he'd seen Mori's face—stoic and intense.
In the inner room, Giyu sat and waited. Days passed. Around nine in the evening, Mori finally set down his tools.
"Haha! Sorry to keep you waiting, Tomioka!"
"But first, I owe you an apology."
Mori lowered his head solemnly.
"I'll forge a blade so well this time… it won't break again."
"No," Giyu quickly interjected, waving his hands. "It wasn't your fault."
"I wasn't strong enough. The demon attacked from the side and shattered the blade."
The two spoke briefly.
By ten, Giyu excused himself and headed toward a mountain hot spring recommended by the swordsmith.
It was said to heal cuts, burns, hemorrhoids, fissures, constipation, gout—and even heartbreak.
He undressed neatly and slipped into the hot spring.
Eyes closed, body relaxed against the stone, Tomioka Giyu savored the warmth in rare contentment.
By eleven, he returned to the residence arranged for him by the village chief and fell into deep sleep.
The next morning, Giyu entered the nearby forest.
He wanted to experiment with Yuichi Zero Style—a concept he had read about—and see how it felt in practice.
But after crossing a waterfall deep in the woods, he suddenly paused.
He stood frozen, staring at the cascade for a long time.
Something unseen pulled at him.
It felt like… something was waiting there.
After a moment's thought, he decided to investigate.
The curtain of falling water parted as he stepped inside.
He scanned the cave wall carefully.
"Still nothing. Just rocks and… huh?"
Something shimmered.
"What's that?"
Giyu crouched down, and as he moved closer, he saw it:
"A… sword?"
A white-bladed katana was lodged in a crack between the stones.
Unease prickled his skin, but curiosity won out.
He reached for the hilt.
The moment he touched it, a bone-deep chill spread through his hand and up his spine.
He shivered—but pulled the blade free.
And immediately frowned.
"Wait… this is a broken sword."
Still, something about it intrigued him.
Giyu carried it back to Mori's forge without hesitation.
Mori Tetsuqin, hammer in hand, didn't glance up until Giyu stood directly in front of him and coughed loudly.
"Ahem—"
Giyu lifted the cold blade slightly to draw his attention.
Mori gave it a lazy glance, then suddenly froze.
He rushed over, snatched the blade from Giyu's hands, and examined it with reverence.
"This chill… this metal hasn't been seen since the Warring States era. It's Cold Iron!"
"Cold Iron?" Giyu echoed, confused.
"Yes! No one talks about it anymore, but I've studied the old forging arts obsessively."
Mori's eyes lit up.
"This metal doesn't freeze water like ice, but it chills it to the bone. It's extremely rare and was once prized for making blades."
He clutched it with almost childlike wonder.
"Where did you find this?!"