Chapter Text
The air at the Tokitō estate always felt a little like morning, even when the sun was high. Mist threaded lazily between the pines, softening the world into pale shapes and quiet colors. Somewhere near the back, Kanamori hammered metal like thunder bottled into something patient, every strike echoing through the stillness.
“Again.”, Muichirō said.
No edge to his voice. No softness either. Just cool, straight, unbothered.
Tanjirō inhaled, steadying his stance, sword raised. His wrists ached, his shoulders trembled, and his lungs worked like bellows trying to shape the air just right. He could feel Muichirō watching him, not with cruelty, not even with judgment…just absolute attention.
That somehow made it worse.
He slid forward.
Steel cut through mist. Feet brushed stone. He could hear the estate breathe with him, trees rustling, the wind rolling over the roofs, the distant shouting of their crows who seemed to be arguing more dramatically than necessary.
“YOU’RE TOO SLOW!”, Ginko shouted.
“SHUT UP! HE’S TRYING!”, Matsuemon retorted.
Tanjirō almost tripped mid-swing.
Muichirō sighed. “Ignore them.”
He moved forward without warning, his blade slicing into view like a flash of pale light. Tanjirō barely blocked. Sparks snapped between them and for a heartbeat he saw Muichirō’s eyes up close—quiet, thought-filled, impossibly calm.
Then Muichirō pushed him back.
“You hesitated,” Muichirō said simply.
“I didn’t hesitate!” Tanjirō protested on instinct, then paused. “…Maybe just a little.”
“Mm.” Muichirō tilted his head, unreadable. “You always do that. You think during the swing.”
“That’s… how thinking works?”
“That’s how losing works.”
Tanjirō rubbed the back of his neck. “Right. Okay. Again.”
He went back into stance.
Muichirō watched, eyes narrowed, and the mist curled around his ankles like it belonged to him. It was strange training here. No shouting like with Uzui. No violence like with Sanemi. No theatrical intensity like with Rengoku. With Muichirō, silence did the shaping. Every breath mattered. Every tiny misstep mattered. Every flaw in his heart might as well have been written on his forehead.
“Relax your shoulders,” Muichirō said quietly.
Tanjirō exhaled. “Ah-sorry..”
“Don’t apologize for breathing wrong. Just breathe right.”
Tanjirō blinked. “…You make it sound so simple.”
“It is.”
“It definitely isn’t.”
Muichirō hummed, lips almost—almost—curving. “You talk a lot.”
“And you hardly talk at all,” Tanjirō answered before thinking. “So I’m balancing us out.”
He expected silence.
Instead, Muichirō blinked… and actually smiled. Just barely. Like the fog split for sunlight to peek through.
“Maybe,” Muichirō said.
The crows outside screeched louder as if offended by harmony. Kanamori hammered. Metal sang. The world settled into rhythm again.
“From the top,” Muichirō ordered softly. “Don’t think about how tired you are. Don’t think about what I’m expecting. Just breathe… and move.”
Tanjirō nodded.
And this time, when he stepped forward, the world didn’t feel so loud. The mist didn’t feel like a barrier. His breath flowed easier, movement cleaner, and when Muichirō’s blade came at him again, his body answered without panic.
Clash.
Block.
Shift.
Muichirō’s gaze sharpened.
“Yes,” he murmured, sounding—for a split second—almost proud.
Tanjirō flushed at the sound of it.
He didn’t know if the warmth in his chest came from effort… or something entirely different.
But for now, he kept breathing.
And Muichirō stayed close enough to catch him if he fell.