"Thunder Breathing, First Form: Thunderclap and Flash!"
Zenitsu's body flashed like a bolt of golden lightning, darting swiftly between rooftops. His Nichirin Sword sliced through the air with a sharp whistle, striking straight toward Tanjiro's back.
His eyes were empty, but his movements were even faster than usual—Yasha Onna's Charm had not only seized his mind but amplified his natural mastery of Thunder Breathing, turning him into their most dangerous "enemy."
Tanjiro's pupils tightened. He was forced to abandon his attack on Yasha Onna and twist aside.
The blade grazed his haori, slicing sparks from the stone pavement below.
"Zenitsu! Wake up! It's me, Tanjiro!"
He shouted with all his strength, voice shaking with urgency, but Zenitsu didn't respond. He landed, pivoted, and lunged again.
"Don't get distracted, boy!"
Yasha Onna's mocking voice rang out from the side as her white hair surged forward like a flood, stabbing toward Tanjiro's chest.
"I'll deal with you first—then that loud brat and your stupid friend!"
She had spotted his weakness—his concern for his comrades. By letting Zenitsu restrain him, she gained the opening to strike.
Tanjiro had to dodge Zenitsu's lightning-fast slashes while blocking Yasha Onna's attacks, quickly pushed into a defensive corner.
A strand of her hair grazed his back, slicing open a thin wound that burned with pain.
Then Tō's voice cut through the chaos. "Tanjiro! Forget Zenitsu! I'll hold him! Focus on the Lower Moon!"
Tō rushed in, gripping his Nichirin Sword tightly. The faint blue-green light of his Storm Breathing flared as he swung.
"Storm Breathing, Second Form: Spiral Gale!"
His blade whipped up a swirling wall of wind, intercepting Zenitsu's sword just as it was about to strike Tanjiro.
"Zenitsu! Snap out of it! If you don't wake up right now, I swear I'll tie you to a tree for three days!"
Zenitsu stumbled back two steps, the gust breaking his rhythm—but he didn't awaken. He raised his sword again.
"Thunder Breathing, First Form: Thunderclap and Flash—Eightfold!"
Golden lightning erupted once more, slashing toward Tō's shoulder.
Tō gritted his teeth, parrying desperately while shouting, "You idiot! You're always such a coward, but the moment you're controlled you go all out?! When you wake up, I'm seriously gonna beat some sense into you!"
With Tō buying him time, Tanjiro could finally focus entirely on Yasha Onna.
He steadied his breath, flames flaring bright along his blade.
"Hinokami Kagura: Fire Wheel!"
The sword's blazing arc roared like a train, searing through the night air toward the mass of white hair.
But Yasha Onna's hair moved like a living creature, twisting aside to evade the flames, then darting around to wrap his wrist.
"Still can't predict it..."
Tanjiro's thoughts raced. Her hair didn't follow any fixed pattern—it struck from angles impossible to read. He could only defend, his body marked by more and more shallow cuts.
Then he suddenly remembered what Inosuke once said—
"Whenever someone feels malice toward me, my skin tingles—I can sense where the danger's coming from!"
"Malice..."
Tanjiro drew a deep breath, closing his eyes. He ignored his vision and tuned into his body instead.
A moment later, a faint prickling ran across the skin of his left arm—behind him, to the left.
He spun instantly, blade flashing. The Nichirin Sword cleaved through the oncoming hair, flames erupting along the strands, burning them to ash.
"It worked!"
Tanjiro's eyes widened. He focused completely on this new sensation—the subtle sting of hostility that preceded every strike.
Each time Yasha Onna prepared to attack, the same signal came, guiding his reflexes. It wasn't exact, but enough to read the direction.
Gradually, his movements shifted from defense to offense. His strikes grew smoother, faster—his breathing steady, his flames dancing brighter.
"Hinokami Kagura: Clear Blue Sky!"
The blade's arc spread out like a fiery curtain, slicing through every strand of hair around him.
Yasha Onna's face grew darker by the second—she hadn't expected Tanjiro to find a counter to her attacks so quickly.
She bit her lip, fury rising. Suddenly, all her hair drew back and coiled tightly around her before bursting outward again.
"Hair Blades—Ten Thousand Thread Devour!"
Countless strands shot out like a storm of needles, each one honed to a deadly point, raining down toward Tanjiro from every direction. At the same time, she lunged forward, her hands gathering demonic energy for a close-range strike.
A sharp tingling crawled across Tanjiro's skin—his body screamed that this was the most dangerous moment yet.
He didn't defend. Instead, he took a deep breath, channeling every ounce of energy into his blade, his nose sharpening to its fullest.
He caught the faintest shifts in scent—the subtle movement of her hair in the air. Among the storm of threads, there was one spot where the smell was weakest…
That was her control's dead zone—and her true weak point.
"Now!"
"Hinokami Kagura: Fake Rainbow!"
His body flashed through the storm like a blur. A mirage followed behind him as he leapt high, twisting midair. The Nichirin Sword traced a brilliant arc of flame through the night.
"Hinokami Kagura: Setting Sun Transformation!"
Abandoning all defense, Tanjiro put every drop of strength into one strike, slashing at her opening faster than sight could follow.
Yasha Onna's pupils shrank. She never thought he'd dare to drop his guard—and even less that he'd pinpoint her weakness.
She tried to summon her hair to block, but it was too late.
The orange-red blade gleamed like the dying sun, cutting clean through her neck.
"N-No… impossible…"
Her severed head rolled to the ground, eyes wide with disbelief. Her body crumbled into ash, scattering into the cold night air.
Tanjiro landed heavily, dropping to one knee and gasping for breath. That single swing had drained nearly all his strength. Blood seeped from his wounds, his arms trembling as every breath sent a sharp pain through his body.
He looked toward Tō—Zenitsu had already been subdued.
"It's… finally over…"
Tanjiro exhaled shakily, trying to stand, intending to help Tō wake Zenitsu. But then—he froze.
A chilling wave of killing intent surged from behind him—so cold it stabbed through his bones, vast and suffocating, a killing will far stronger than Yasha Onna's ever was. Every hair on his body stood on end.
Move! His instincts screamed.
Tanjiro threw himself forward just as an explosion roared behind him.
When he turned back, his pupils contracted sharply. The spot he had stood moments ago—and the house behind it—had been cleaved cleanly in two by a single pale blue slash. Broken walls flew apart, rubble scattering through a cloud of dust.
The figure responsible stood atop a nearby roof. Under the moonlight, his dark haori glimmered faintly, and his cold, deep-blue eyes locked onto Tanjiro with frozen intensity.
That face—Tanjiro would never mistake it.
The sharp jawline. The tightly pressed lips.
And those eyes—once filled with calm kindness, now empty, radiating only killing intent.
"Gi… Giyu-san?"
Tanjiro's voice trembled. His heart clenched painfully, as if crushed by an invisible hand. He could hardly breathe.
The man on the rooftop said nothing. His grip tightened around his Nichirin Sword, where pale blue moonlight rippled along the edge. The air around him grew heavier, colder.
His gaze drifted briefly to the ashes on the ground, then back to Tanjiro. His expression was utterly still—no emotion, no recognition. Only the stare of a stranger.
Mushiki spoke softly.
"So… you dodged."