A quiet night veil wrapped around Mount Kumotori, its peak hidden beneath a layer of thin mist.

In the backyard of the Kamado family home, a campfire crackled softly—its flickering light casting warm, dancing shadows on the face of a man moving with practiced grace.

Clad in ceremonial robes normally reserved for festivals and sacred rites, Kamado Tanjūrō moved with solemnity, performing a sequence of flowing motions.

There were twelve in total.

Twelve steps in an unbroken cycle—his movements smooth, seamless, and utterly precise.

In that dim glow of firelight, it no longer felt like a man dancing.

It was something deeper.

Each step, each breath, was a silent prayer.

Across the fire, Tachibana Kyūjō sat cross-legged on a mat, his arms gently wrapped around a young Kamado Tanjirō, who looked no older than seven or eight.

"Watch carefully, Tanjirō," Kyūjō said softly, voice low but firm.

"Don't just look at your father's movements… Pay attention to how he breathes. Feel his rhythm."

The boy nodded seriously, eyes wide with unblinking wonder.

"I'll learn it properly," Tanjirō said with a small, eager smile. "Once I've mastered it… Father won't need to push himself anymore. I can take over for him."

Kyūjō didn't respond.

He only offered a faint, almost wistful smile before turning his gaze back toward the man dancing beneath the fire's glow.

This was his first time witnessing it in person—the legendary Hinokami Kagura, the Dance of the Fire God.

The original form of the Sun Breathing technique.

But what he saw... went far beyond swordsmanship or combat.

It was art. It was prayer. It was transcendence.

To Kyūjō's sharpened senses, Tanjūrō no longer moved like a mortal man. His entire form radiated heat—like a living flame merging with the night air, its rhythm in sync with the earth itself.

Every muscle fiber, every drop of blood, was pulsing in harmony with a breath so perfect, it felt divine.

There was no wasted motion.

No strain.

Only... flow.

This wasn't just a technique.

It was a symphony—of body, breath, and soul.

— — —

"I see now…"

Kyūjō's thoughts stirred as realization settled in.

So that's what it is. That's why only he could use it...

Yoriichi Tsugikuni—the man known as the strongest Demon Slayer in history. The only one to ever manifest the Demon Slayer Mark from birth… and wield Transparent World without ever being taught.

From the moment he was born, Yoriichi's body had been tuned to something different. Something higher.

Before he even became conscious of it, that infant body had begun adapting—breathing naturally in perfect resonance with itself.

He didn't learn how to breathe.

He remembered.

That was the secret.

"I think… this all makes sense now."

Kyūjō didn't believe that only Yoriichi could use the Sun Breathing technique. No. That wasn't the point.

Breathing styles were never meant to be exclusive—they were tools.

Techniques that unlocked a human's true potential.

And from Sun Breathing, the original form, five fundamental styles were born.

— — —

Kyūjō exhaled deeply, loosening the tension in his frame.

Then he did something strange—he opened his pores.

Not figuratively, but literally. He relaxed every inch of skin, allowing the night air to flow through his body.

It was a skill he'd been training recently.

Full-body respiration.

A concept foreign to this world, yet familiar to his old one.

Letting the cool air pour into him, he focused inward, drawing his awareness deep into the smallest sensations.

He could feel everything.

The subtle tremor in his shoulder blades, the soreness in his joints, the faint, electric delight of cells being fed with oxygen...

His breathing adapted, naturally syncing with what his body needed most.

It was the quietest kind of control—no noise, no fire, no spectacle.

But just as he started perfecting this strange breathing...

...Kyūjō's head tilted.

His vision blurred.

And he dropped unconscious on the spot.

— — —

Morning came to Mount Kumotori, gentle and golden.

Dew still clung to leaves as the first rays of sunlight bathed the modest Kamado home.

Kyūjō stirred awake, blinking up at the wooden ceiling overhead.

"Father! P-Papa Kyūjō's awake!"

Tanjirō's cheerful voice echoed through the house.

A few moments later, Kamado Tanjūrō stepped into the room with calm steps, though concern flickered in his eyes.

"How do you feel?" he asked, kneeling beside Kyūjō. "You scared Tanjirō half to death last night."

Kyūjō sat up slowly and glanced toward the boy, who was peeking in from behind the doorframe.

He gave a weak smile.

"Sorry for worrying you, Tanjirō. I'm alright now. Really."

As his mind cleared, Kyūjō turned his awareness inward again, running a full check of his physical condition.

No injuries. No internal damage.

Still, he knew immediately what had happened.

"Ah... Oxygen intoxication, huh?"

Back on Earth, he'd read about it in survival guides and medical textbooks.

Oxygen toxicity—a condition where someone unused to high-oxygen environments takes in too much, too quickly. The results? Dizziness. Fatigue. Disorientation. In extreme cases, unconsciousness.

That's exactly what had hit him.

He'd forcefully opened every pore in his body to inhale as much air as possible—without a refined breathing rhythm to process it.

Too much energy.

No channel to contain it.

His body collapsed.

But to Kyūjō, that incident wasn't a failure.

It was the turning point.

Even from just one night of observing the Sun Breathing, he'd glimpsed the path forward.

A style made only for him.

A Breath in tune with his unique body and life.

And somewhere down that road...

He would be reborn.

And the world… would never be the same again.

— — —

For now, Kyūjō decided to step back.

His body wasn't ready to handle another episode like that. And continuing to push forward recklessly might cost him everything he'd gained.

So, he made a quiet choice:

He would return to the Demon Slayer Corps Headquarters, accompanied by the Kamado family.

But before they left...

There was one thing he had to do.

— — —

After washing up and changing into clean robes, Kyūjō joined the Kamado family for breakfast.

Life had visibly improved for them ever since his arrival. The food was better—healthier, more plentiful.

As a Thunder Hashira, Kyūjō didn't lack for money. He rarely spent it on himself, so using it to provide nutritious food for this struggling family was the least he could do.

To him, it was nothing.

But to Tanjūrō and Kie, it was a luxury they hadn't tasted in years.

They were beyond grateful—though a quiet sense of shame lingered in their hearts.

After breakfast, everyone began packing for the journey down the mountain.

Surprisingly, none of the children protested.

Even Tanjūrō himself wasn't sure how to feel.

Sad? Relieved?

He realized… his family didn't actually mind leaving this mountain behind.

— — —

"Tanjirō," Kyūjō called out, standing just outside the house.

The boy turned to him, cheerful as always.

"Yes, Uncle Kyūjō?"

Kyūjō closed his eyes for a moment, as if reaching back for a long-lost memory.

Then he asked, quietly but clearly:

"In the forest around your house… have you ever seen a blue flower?"

Tanjirō blinked.

"A blue flower?"

Kyūjō nodded.

"It only blooms in the daytime… and only for two or three days a year."

— — —

A blue flower…

That only blooms under sunlight…

Could that be it?

The thing I've been searching for all along?

— — —

Something was awakening.

A new breath—silent, invisible, and unlike any the world had ever known.

And when it bloomed...

It would change everything.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

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