4 Vol. III Demon Slayer: Floating Comment

Morning sunlight filtered through the mist-shrouded Sagiri Mountain. Tanjiro knelt beside Nezuko's bed, his gaze resting on her sleeping form, his eyes clouded with worry.

Since they'd arrived here, Nezuko, who had never harmed a human, had fallen into a deep sleep. It had been months now, and though Urokodaki had brought experts to check on her, every doctor insisted she was simply resting.

But Tanjiro couldn't shake the fear.

What if—what if she never woke up?

A soft creak broke his thoughts as the wooden door slid open just enough for a head to peek through. Genya's rough voice followed.

"Hey, it's time to go."

The infamous "demon training" of Sagiri Mountain lay ahead—a grueling path, Genya had told him, that every aspiring Hashira must endure. Both of the current Water Hashira, including Tanjiro's mentor, and the formidable Kanao, had once survived this brutal regimen.

Each day, Tanjiro carried his blade and followed Genya, retracing the steps of those who had walked the mountain's harsh trails before them. After finishing his missions for the Demon Slayer Corps, Haruto would occasionally return to oversee their training, though the bulk of their guidance came from Urokodaki.

On this particular morning, Haruto arrived just as Tanjiro and Genya completed their first lap around the mountain. They stood at the foot of a clearing, hefting logs over their shoulders while doing squats.

"Stabilize your stance!" Urokodaki's voice boomed as he strode over, his hands clasped behind his back. He stopped near Tanjiro and, without warning, struck him sharply in the abdomen.

"Core tight! Tighten it! Keep your breathing steady!"

For six months, Urokodaki had hammered on Tanjiro's lackluster swordsmanship and inadequate mastery of Total Concentration Breathing.

"Your form, posture, and endurance—all of it is a mess!"

"You're self-taught? Your previous teacher must've been self-taught too, and look where that got them!"

Haruto awkwardly scratched his nose, muttering under his breath as comments from the ever-present "stream" filled the air around him:

"Self-taught? No wonder it's such a disaster."
"Hey, Haruto's basically a glorified C-grade teacher himself, isn't he?"
"Careful, or he'll bash you with a rice ball for that one!"

Despite the ridicule, Haruto couldn't deny it. He and Tanjiro were alike in many ways—both had started without proper guidance, fumbling through the unknown.

Later that evening, after dinner, Tanjiro performed the ancestral dance of the Hinokami Kagura in the clearing. Haruto watched, arms folded, scrutinizing every movement.

Tanjiro explained how his father, Tanjuro, used to perform the dance each New Year in the snow, tirelessly repeating the twelve forms from dusk till dawn, even when illness weighed on his body.

But as Tanjiro completed a few cycles, he faltered, breathing heavily, frustration evident on his face.
"Father never got tired," he muttered. "Even when he was sick, he danced from sunset to sunrise, without rest."

He lowered his head, dejected.

"I'm just not strong enough…"

"There has to be a way," Haruto said, shaking his head. "Maybe it's about precision, or a breathing technique you've yet to master. But I'm sure there's something—some key to turning the Hinokami Kagura into the techniques of Sun Breathing."

Lying on the ground, Tanjiro stared blankly at the sky, mumbling to himself.

"Precision… Precision in both movements and breathing…"

He remembered a conversation with his father, years ago, after the New Year's festival. Tanjuro had sat weaving straw sandals while explaining:

"Tanjiro, the key to mastering the Hinokami Kagura lies in the exactness of your movements and breathing. They must be flawless. Only then can you unlock its true essence."

Tanjiro's voice grew softer as he recalled more.

"Precision… Economy of motion… Using the smallest effort for the greatest impact. Strip away the unnecessary, and when you understand every detail, you'll find yourself in a miraculous state…"

"A state of…what?" Haruto blinked, his blue eyes wide with confusion.

"A state where your mind is clear," Tanjiro murmured. "You'll be able to feel every part of your body—every vein and muscle. It's like stepping into a transparent world…"

Though Tanjiro struggled to explain, the idea sparked curiosity—and unease—in Haruto.

"Anyone know what he's talking about?"

"He's describing the Transparent World, one of the Demon Slayer Corps' ultimate techniques."

"Yeah, it's basically a heightened state of awareness where you can see the flow of blood and predict movements."

"Isn't this just Demon Slayer meets martial arts enlightenment?"

Haruto's heart raced as he read the messages scrolling past.

The "Transparent World"? The "Crimson Blade"? And a third technique he couldn't name?

How had he never heard of these abilities? If they were real, mastering them could revolutionize the Demon Slayer Corps' battle tactics.

But as he tried to articulate these newfound concepts, something invisible seemed to clamp around his throat, choking the words before they could form.

It reminded him of the last time he'd attempted to use knowledge he shouldn't possess—when he'd taken the Dream elixir, only for the resulting memories to be erased by some unseen force.

Whatever governed this world was warning him. The worlds of demons and men had briefly intersected, but their paths were destined to diverge once more.