Asuka had never been particular about food. As long as it filled his stomach, that was enough.
Back in Hayama, although Miss Rika would often prepare tea snacks for them, her cooking truly left much to be desired. Other than Asuka, almost no one was willing to try them.
The meal laid out before him now was not extravagant, but it was prepared with delicate care and tasted wonderful—translucent rice balls, perfectly grilled sweetfish, blanched wild greens shimmering in a vivid green, a small bowl of miso soup, and several pieces of seasonal fruit.
After an entire morning of intense sparring, Asuka felt a rare and genuine hunger stir within him.
Beside Lady Amane, the young children sat quietly, their small faces carrying innocence and a faint curiosity toward their guest.
They had inherited their mother's gentle and composed temperament; every gesture reflected refined upbringing.
For Asuka, who was used to getting by alone, the proper way to eat such refined dishes lay far outside his knowledge. He could only imitate Muichiro, kneeling stiffly and eating slowly, somewhat awkwardly.
Along the corridor, only the soft clinking of bowls and chopsticks could be heard, along with the occasional whisper from the children.
Asuka ate silently, his gaze drifting across the tranquil estate.
He noticed that aside from himself and the others, along with the Kakushi members standing at a respectful distance, the Master—the one with that springlike warmth—was nowhere to be seen.
"Madam, why is the Master not joining us for the meal?"
The moment the question left his lips, the air along the corridor seemed to grow still.
The Kakushi attendants glanced over. The children beside him fell silent. Even Muichiro paused mid-bite, looking at Asuka with what seemed to be faint displeasure.
Perhaps the question had been too forward. But Asuka had meant no harm. He was simply curious.
Lady Amane's smile did not fade, though a trace of quiet sorrow rested beneath it.
She gently set down her soup spoon and met Asuka's gaze calmly. "Asuka-kun, thank you for your concern. However, Kagaya is unwell and unable to dine with us."
"Is the Master's illness serious?" Asuka recalled the grotesque scars on the man's face, which seemed to be spreading, and could not help asking with sincere concern.
Lady Amane gave a small nod. "Yes, Asuka-kun."
"Kagaya's body has been frail since childhood, constantly burdened by illness. It is… a hereditary disease passed down through the Ubuyashiki family, unavoidable."
She tucked a strand of loose hair behind her ear, compassion in her eyes. "He can only eat the mildest, most easily digestible foods. Every outing, every breath, every moment of thought is a heavy burden to him. I hope you can understand."
"Of course, Lady Amane…" Asuka replied. "The Master is the heart of the Demon Slayer Corps. Naturally, he must be carefully protected."
Ubuyashiki Amane looked toward the vibrant greenery in the courtyard, as if drawing strength from it to oppose the darkness.
"Kagaya has devoted everything to the cause of exterminating demons. Even if his body and spirit are destroyed, he will not abandon it. His will to slay demons and protect the living has never wavered."
"With outstanding children like you, this mission will surely be fulfilled…"
A heavy sense of respect settled in Asuka's heart.
From what he understood, the Demon Slayer Corps had existed for hundreds of years. The heads of the Ubuyashiki family had changed generation after generation.
Yet their enemy—Muzan, progenitor of all demons—still lived.
If the Master was already so weak, why did he persist in organizing the Corps to fight demons?
He thought of what Tanjiro had said about helping others, yet felt that the Master's resolve went even beyond that.
Protection. It was a kind of strength he did not yet fully understand.
"I see…" Asuka murmured softly. Imitating the others' gesture of prayer, he pressed his palms together. "I hope the Master recovers soon and regains his health…"
With the topic shifted, the tea break concluded amid polite conversation between Lady Amane and Asuka.
Seated along the veranda, Asuka rubbed the wrist Muichiro had struck earlier. It had already bruised.
He replayed the sensation of fighting Tokito Muichiro—the feeling of being read, suppressed, and having every move predicted while using only sword techniques. It left him unsettled.
Teacher Arasaki, your teaching may need to change… he thought.
Just as his mind drifted, a calm, rippleless voice fell beside him like a feather.
"Perhaps Wind Breathing does not fully suit you."
Asuka turned toward the absentminded Muichiro, as though the words had not come from him.
"What do you mean?"
"Your body is rejecting it."
From the very beginning of their sparring, Muichiro had observed Asuka's Wind Breathing.
It was solid and pure. Without relentless training, one could not achieve such dense and enduring breath. In that regard alone, he was nearly on par with the Wind Hashira.
Yet when truly unleashed, it lacked harmony.
"I've learned Wind Breathing as well. Wind is free and unrestrained—fierce and swift. I understand that clearly."
Muichiro gestured toward Asuka's body, his tone calm. "But your body is neither free nor fierce. It's as if something constantly tugs at your will, preventing you from fully committing yourself to battle…"
Yes. That was it.
With Muichiro's blunt words, Asuka felt a sudden clarity. The reason his Wind Breathing never felt absolute lay there.
His conviction to slay demons was not especially strong. The last time he had truly resolved to cut one down had been to avenge Teacher Arasaki…
If it were merely an order from the Corps, he doubted himself. If he encountered a demon he could not overcome, he might abandon the fight.
As for freedom… Teacher Arasaki had spoken of it often, yet from the root of his being, Asuka could not grasp it.
His voice wavered. "…But it was taught to me by Teacher Arasaki. I've always fought with it."
"Being able to use something and being suited to it are different matters. I'm not telling you to abandon Wind Breathing…"
As he spoke, Muichiro stepped into the courtyard and slowly raised his wooden sword.
With a light tap of his left foot, the aura around him shifted. Pale white mist materialized from nowhere, drifting along the blade as though the sword itself were woven from haze.
"Mist Breathing, Third Form: Scattering Mist Splash."
He spun and struck.
In an instant, the blade's flash shattered into hundreds of fine silver droplets, wrapped in faint blue mist that shimmered like scattered starlight, distorting the air.
It was beautiful—almost dreamlike.
Yet Asuka knew full well the killing intent and blade force within it were genuine. If it struck a demon, flesh and bone would part at once.
After finishing the technique, Muichiro flicked his wooden sword lightly. "See? That is Mist Breathing. Does it seem familiar?"
Without waiting for an answer, he continued.
"Mist Breathing originates from Wind, yet it is entirely different—more unpredictable, more elusive. It suits my body."
"Asuka, every person's body is a unique battlefield."
"The structure of bones, the texture of muscles, the rhythm of breathing, and the instinctive desire for combat within one's soul—all are different."
"Forcing yourself into forms that do not fit is like wearing shoes that are too small. Perhaps you should find the breathing that suits you."
Though his tone remained cool and distant, it was sincere advice.
Under normal circumstances, given Muichiro's personality and troublesome memory issues, he would not have spoken so much.
But Asuka was a[Disciple]personally entrusted to him by the Master. Training him was his responsibility.
So he withheld nothing, sharing his understanding in hopes of helping him complete his training sooner.
After all, a Hashira's time was precious. He could not spend it endlessly sparring.
"…My own breathing," Asuka repeated softly, something within him stirring.
At times, the forms of Wind Breathing in his hands did twist into something more violent, more unreasonable.
Even after countless repetitions of Wind forms, when he truly used them, his body would instinctively alter the movements, shaping them into techniques of his own understanding.
Perhaps… this had always been his body seeking a more fitting expression.
"What should I do?"
"Fight. Keep fighting," Muichiro replied, tossing aside the wooden sword. His empty eyes fixed on Asuka. "Only at the edge of life and death will the body's[Truth]reveal itself without reservation…"
"Starting tomorrow, we train with real blades."