Takemichi shuffled into his spot on the floor as he sat back in that tight, cramped room from yesterday. He resisted the urge to fidget, or at least tried to, as his fingers moved up to play with his long hair, rubbing his index and middle fingers together to cause it to frizz up and around.
The tea on the kotatsu table sat unattended as Takemichi used his free hand to trail the rim. Oyakata-sama huffed at seemingly air and gingerly moved to grasp his cup, pulling it up to his lips, and blowing gently with a soft "hah."
Surely Takemichi wasn't in trouble already; it had only been a day since he had been here, and calling it a day would be a stretch as he woke up way earlier than normal because a Kakushi member had told him that he needed to meet with Oyakata-sama.
The sun hadn't even shined yet!
The man looked up at him as he sipped on his tea gently, unaware of Takemichi's inner turmoil, before sighing as he set it on the table with a soft thump. "Now Takemichi-kun, please don't be so tense; I doubt I can even hurt you." The man joked, attempting to dispel the tense atmosphere around Takemichi, but it only made him more tense.
God, this just felt like meeting Mikey all over again at Takemichi.
And if his entire relationship with that boy was anything to go by, it would seem, by default he'd argue, that he was much more wary of people now. He did feel a bit bad for walking on eggshells around a literal blind man, but he would rather not underestimate the guy.
Before speaking up, the man ran his finger along the table's edge, creating a soft, soothing sound for Takemichi's ears as he hesitantly moved to take a sip of his own tea.
"Now, Takemitchy," he started. Takemichi resisted the urge to tense up as he straightened his back out. "Of course, while we discussed your situation, we also decided that, due to the fact you hadn't slain any demons on Mount Natagumo, your final rank will be Mizunoto." His eyes sparkled. "That's not a problem, yes?"
That, Takemichi thought, was completely fine with him. Takemichi had always been the runt of the litter or pack, and he would always be remembered as an idiot with bad self-preservation, a toxic saviour complex, and a horrible fashion sense.
Really, he wasn't blind to how weak he was, and so being at the bottom of any scale wasn't exactly a surprise to him; sure, it stings, but he's used to it by now; no use crying over it like he normally did when he was 24.
But either way, he digressed, or whatever the term was.
You'd think being a time-traveler or leaper or whatever he was meant he got to redeem his life, but he internally snorted as he slowly nodded affirmatively at Oyakata-sama.
"Great, now..." Oyakata-sama tapped the table with the nail of his finger, creating a soft, soothing sound for Takemichi's ears. His eyes and voice trailed down ambiguously before snapping back up at Takemichi, causing him to jump. Oyakata-sama covered his mouth as he chuckled softly.
"S-sorry, you're just so easy to tease." He snorted, and Takemichi quickened, feeling his face redden and a faint feeling of betrayal coil up in his gut as he tensed up like a cat, his nails, now long due to him not having a nail clipper, digging into the cup in his hands.
"Ah, but yes, you are my personal student, therefore you will undergo Hashira training, as most slayers do." Takemichi hiccupped in confusion, but remained silent as Oyakata-sama raised his finger; his lips curled as he muffled another chuckle at his face, "Yes, I understand you're perplexed; I'll explain."
"You see, Hashira training is, as suggested by its name, training led by a Hashira to raise a student's skills in reflexes, endurance, speed, and even more." Oyakata-sama described, Takemichi parted his lips in awe at the idea before he felt a cold sweat run down his back.
He remembered the Hashiras. Very clearly, in fact, he stood cowardly in the corner of the stage while Tanjiro fought for his sister's life and others', he had been there to see them. Then, as Takemichi's mind whirled, he stilled with a thought in mind.
Hashira training, not normal training. Takemichi wasn't blind to the harsh and cruel attitudes of the group; Such traits existed in even child-led gangs. They were higher ranking, so it made some sense to him.
However… he knew he was weak, but if he were to train with any one of them, Takemichi wasn't sure if he would make it out alive. A shiver when down his spine.
"Aha..." Takemichi laughed nervously; the sound subconsciously escaped his throat before he felt Oyakata-sama's gaze: "I wouldn't put you with anyone dangerous, Takemitchy-kun." Oyakata-sama reassured him, not that it mattered because Takemichi was afraid of everything.
It was a flaw of his.
"I've decided to pair you with the Flame Hashira," Oyakata-sama explained, "because he truly is a nice man, very kind, and caring for his fellow slayers; I can tell you two will get along well." He clasped his hands together.
"Please, just try and give him the time of day, Takemitchy." Oyakata-sama begged, and Takemichi couldn't find it in himself to deny the man's words, not that he would do the opposite of what he just said.
Takemichi ignored the way his stomach churned at meetings with someone new and eventually nodded. "Yes, Oyakata-sama," he muttered timidly and Oyakata-sama glowed with glee.
"Well! Off you go!" He shooed Takemichi, who let out a choked sound. "Now?" he asked, diffident and a bit startled by the sudden meeting. Oyakata-sama smiled back with a bit of cheek. "Well, of course, time waits for no man; you better get going!" he cheered.
Takemichi sighed, his body trembling in anticipation and a good amount of fear, and pushed himself up. As Takemichi got up to leave, Oyakata-sama spoke up again behind him as he reached the door. "And, Takemitchy?" he called out.
Takemichi returned his gaze to him, and Oyakata-sama smiled sadly at him, saying, "Please consider what I said." Takemichi paused before responding with a small huff and closing the door behind him.
The soft thump echoed as he pressed the sliding door closed, and as he moved forward with a single step, he paused. "Wait," muttered Takemichi in modern Japanese, "he's blind. Was he just guessing where I was?" He pondered before reddening with realization.
The damn guy played him like a fiddle.
After wandering around the mansion, which was far too large to be practical, Takemichi didn't say anything because, in the end, he had no right to comment on how people spent their money, even if he did wonder where they got it.
Anyway, he ended up in one of the few dirt yards, where he found an older man standing there, moving things about.
Truthfully, the man couldn't have been older than Takemichi, who was almost thirty, or maybe he was thirty. Damn, Takemichi couldn't even remember how exactly old he was anymore.
He guessed now that he could be sixteen, but that wouldn't make any sense since he was also sixteen two years ago. Huh... something wasn't adding up, but now he didn't have any time to ponder it.
As he waddled down the stairs, mind churning. He raised his gaze from the floor to the man, who heard the creak and footsteps of the boy and had long turned to face him.
The man before him held an enthusiastic smile plastered on his face, with his hands planted on his waist. His hair was long, longer than Takemichi's, as it reached a bit lower than his shoulder blades.
The man's golden eyes that faded to red with white pupils flickered over Takemichi's smaller frame as he seemed to examine him.
Though his hair was eccentrically red and yellow, streaks of both colours drew Takemichi's gaze in.
Then he flickered his gaze to him, and his pupils shrunk then dilated at his presence, before he spoke, "Ah! You must be Oyakata-sama's student!" He began loudly and boisterously, startling Takemichi with his volume. Takemichi stepped back a bit.
He outstretched his arm, and Takemichi gingerly took it in with his smaller, less calloused, and less rough hand, only for his entire body to shake and bounce up and down like a maraca as the man shook his hand roughly as a greeting.
His strength easily surpassed Mikey's, and Takemichi had been on the receiving end of that boy's pummeling. The Flame Hashira's face, however, while unfamiliar to him, didn't resemble the others, so he had no reason to be afraid of him...
yet.
As the man finally slowed down and released Takemichi, he looked at him, his eyes swirling with thoughts that Takemichi couldn't comprehend, before finally, after an awkward moment of silence, he spoke again.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Takemitchy-kun."
Ah- Takemichi's mind short-circuited again. What was with everyone calling him Takemitchy? He was used to everyone calling him by that pet name, but he had a real name, y'know!
Not that he could actually say that; Makomo hadn't actually gotten around to teaching him how to introduce himself, only simple vocabulary.
The man pressed his hand to his chest as he huffed and holloed. "My name is Rengoku Kyojuro!" he introduced himself, "but you call me Rengoku; none of my family members are still in the corps, so you won't be able to confuse me with anyone else!"
Takemichi nodded at his words and tried to retain them in memory. "Rengoku..." he murmured.
"Obviously, I am here to train you for your future endeavours, at Oyakata-sama's request!" He explained, and Takemichi nodded back at him, fidgeting slightly at the man's loud voice and barely resisting the urge to flinch.
"Th-thank, y-o-," Takemichi shuffled under the other's gaze. He fumbled for words, but the man brightened up as though he had just remembered something.
"Ah, yes, Oyakata-sama informed me of your situation." He stated with a sharp grin before pulling a piece of paper from his uniform pocket. He rolled it out, sighed, and looked it over before handing it to him.
"Most Hashira simply go in blind, or have their apprentices learn every new lesson blind, but I decided, due to the fact that Oyakata-sama suggested that I cover all of your bases, that I'd make a detailed schedule for you." The Flame Hashira explained to him.
Takemichi took in the schedule; it was littered head to toe with rows of old and nearly unreadable hiragana for him. He squinted his eyes, but of course that did little to help him understand the mess of old writing.
The man above him sucked in a breath and said, "Ah, right... you can't read, sorry." He sincerely apologised and gently took the schedule back from his smaller hands and rolled it up neatly, setting it on the bench behind him.
Takemichi opened his mouth to make some unprocessed and incomprehensible response before the man hastily changed the topic of the conversation. "Don't worry, we'll get to that soon; instead, let's start our first lesson, endurance," he hurriedly said with a smile.
Rengoku-san's hair blew about in the wind as he explained his thorough plan to Takemichi. "We'll shuffle through different aspects of fighting such as stamina, reflexes, and general sword wielding and end with improving your writing as well; unfortunately, we might not have enough time to work on your communication, but I'll get you to your top form in no time!" The older man winked and held a muscled and flexed arm up jokingly at Takemichi, who smiled a bit at his slightly immature joke.
"Now, the rules for the session are simple: the first to hit the floor loses." Rengoku-san started, "Is that alright for you?" He asked Takemichi to be sure, and Takemichi nodded yes.
He was scared that he might get some broken bones at the end of this, but he better get it over sooner rather than later.
Rengoku-san clapped his hands at Takemichi's acceptance with his permanent smile, something that seemed to run amongst all of the Hashira members, and spoke up and began to count. "Alright! We begin in 1..."
Rengoku-san shuffled on his feet, his body sliding into an ominous stance for fighting that made Takemichi's skin crawl. "2... "
Takemichi stepped back; every cell in his body told him to run away from this man as his smile changed into something else. Something less welcoming and kind.
Takemichi swallowed as the man spoke again; although his hands were empty, they clenched and unclenched like claws.
"3..."
Th-waac-k-
Takemichi barely got to retaliate against the man's attack in the first second as he felt himself being flung back. Rengoku's fist imapcted hsi lower abdomen and stung like a bitch. His body soared a distance in the air before tumbling over and skidding through the dirt. Stones dug and cut at his skin, making small cuts and drawing drops of blood.
Pathetically, he lay limp as he inhaled. His sternum now ached with pain, and something had broken for sure—or maybe he was just imagining it. Pain is a funny thing.
His hand moved to where Rengoku-san hit him, and he recoiled instantly as his finger brushed up against the flesh. It would bruise, no doubt about it. It was a bit confusing for Takemichi on the topic of bruising and such, but now that he thought about it, he seemed to be a lot more fragile in this run than anything else.
Was it the fact he was in a different era, were people just built differently here in this day and age, or had Takemichi's genetics screwed him over? Maybe it was the latter.
Someone pushed lightly at him, maybe his teacher, but Takemichi was a bit too tired to comprehend what was going on in the moment.
His eyes blearily blinked, and the sun's glare from above was suddenly too bright for him, and the ringing in his ears was too loud. His head ached from sitting up, so he leaned to the side for a moment.
And puked onto the dirt beside him.
"Ugh..." he groaned and hurled even more; it stung, and his throat felt dry despite the literal liquids being choked out of his nose and throat.
Rengoku-san's voice echoes painfully in Takemichi's as he speaks. "Takemitchy!" he cried. "Stand up, stand up, and I'll help you to the bench." The man ordered, and Takemitchy tried to, but it was more like he pushed himself up and Rengoku-san lifted him up for the rest.
Takemichi sat down slowly, his stomach churning, and moved to lift up his shirt to rub a purple salve given to him earlier in the morning by Oyakata-sama.
"Use this if you ever get hurt; it won't fix everything, but it'll help." The man told him warmly that morning, contradicting the cold morning wind that blew around them.
He bit his bottom lip as he carefully rubbed the sticky substance onto the bruise, the flesh stinging painfully as he did so. The man who caused the bruise paced back and forth in front of him, hands crossed, muttering to himself about matters that Takemichi was suddenly too tired to care about.
The sun burned his skin as he finished rubbing and leaned back with a sigh and slump.
His formerly sun-kissed skin had paled on Mount Sagiri, but now it glowed peach in the warm sunlight.
Kyojuro wasn't perfect. He knew that, and he knew no one else was perfect as well. Although he had a hard time accepting many of his flaws, he tried his best to improve on them.
But in the end, he was one of the more positive members of the Hashira.
But if there was one thing he detested, it was demons. The trial from yesterday still weighed heavily on his mind; in fact, he was positive it was on his fellow Hashiras' minds as well. It really bugged him.
Their whole purpose was to shield other weaker humans from those very beings, yet Oyakata-sama simply let them go?
It made his blood boil a bit, as it was something ingrained in every cell of his body since birth.
"I'll believe it when I see it," Kyojuro muttered as he stretched his sore muscles out, standing in the large dirt training field of the Ubuyashiki Mansion, a sacred place for sure; had he not been called here, he wouldn't have been caught in a ten-mile radius of the place.
He remembered the demand he got that morning, having almost wandered out of the mansion after their bi-annual Hashira meeting before a Kakushi ushered him back.
"Rengoku-sama! Rengoku-sama!" They called out as Kyojuro slowly walked to the gates of the mansion; he paused and perked up, his hair flickering like a fire in the wind as he turned to face them.
"Ah, Kakushi! How are you?" He courteously asked them, stroking his jaw as he crossed his arms. "What might be the matter here?" They fidgeted under his sharp gaze as they bowed before stiffening back up.
"Oyakata-sama is eager to meet you one on one, Rengoku-sama; the sooner the better, he says!" They explained, causing Kyojuro's eyes to widen momentarily before hiding his shock. "Well," he chirped, "Show me the way!"
Now, Kyojuro sipped gratefully on his hot tea, relishing its warm hojicha taste and smell that scented the room around him.
"Good day to you, Oyakata-sama; may you be blessed always in your path!" Kyojuro naturally greeted the man before him, who sat across from the kotatsu table, elegantly drinking his own nut-based tea.
"Why thank you, Kyojuro-kun." Oyakata-sama chuckled softly, his voice like calming music to the younger. Most people would consider being referred to so casually by someone they only see twice a year to be impolite, but to Kyojuro only Oyakata-sama has this privilege.
Oyakata-sama rubbed his finger along the wall of the cup, looking a bit too hesitant to meet Kyojuro's gaze, yet just as the older man was about to open his mouth to ask what was troubling the man, he spoke up.
"You must be confused as to why I called you here, neh, Kyojuro-kun?" He asked him, and Kyojuro nodded, saying, "Hai Oyakata-sama, it's a bit strange for you to just call one Hashira to your private quarters, let alone me at that."
Oyakata-sama sighed, "I am aware of that fact, and I am sorry to bother you-" Kyojuro never felt bothered when he was called, albeit rarely, by the man before him, not that he would be so calloused as to interrupt the man with his own opinion.
"But this is about my... apprentice, if you will," he said, murmuring the words a bit worriedly. Kyojuro felt his forked black brows turn up. "Did he offend you, Master?" Kyojuro asked, his mind beginning to churn.
The mere thought that anyone besides a demon would insult their golden-hearted master made him shiver in anger, yet luckily, the man rebuked his claim very quickly. "Oh, no, not at all; in fact, it's simply his mindset that scares me; it reminds me of Giyuu-kun in a way." He mused.
Kyojuro blinked; he hadn't really gotten a good look at Oyakata-sama's apprentice, but for him to think that he was similar to Tomioka-san was a bit odd, not that he had anything against his fellow Hashira. He did, however, intend to maintain some distance from the man now that the trial has concluded.
"Tomioka-san?" He muttered, confused a bit, and Oyakata-sama chuckled again, "Ah, ignore what I just said,"
Before sipping his hojicha tea and looking back at Kyojuro again, "Well, a bit off track, but he's very, well, how do I describe it, uneducated? To put it bluntly, he doesn't know how to properly speak or write."
"Oyakata-sama, you chose an illiterate as your apprentice?" Kyojuro blinked again, perplexed. Truthfully, Kyojuro had nothing against the uneducated, but this is Oyakata-sama he was talking about; surely the others would agree.
Those were apparently the wrong choice of words, as Oyakata-sama's face looked disappointed, causing Kyojuro to sweat. "N-not that there's anything wrong with them!"
Oyakata-sama sighed again and sipped his tea. "Yes, yes, but the reason I called you here was to teach him."
Oh...
Now, that was a bit of a bombshell right there. Kyojuro highly doubted that he had the qualifications to teach a child how to write or read, but if this was what Oyakata-sama wanted, then...
He had no choice but to accept the offer; after all, Oyakata-sama knew what he was doing, and if he saw that Kyojuro could do it, then he could.
"Hai!" Kyojuro chirped, and Oyakata-sama exhaled in what seemed like relief. "Thank you, Kyojuro-kun, really..." Oyakata-sama muttered gratefully, and Kyojuro nodded with an easy, less tense smile.
Oyakata-sama gazed solemnly out the open sliding door besides them, the wind brushing against their skin as they swirled their tea. His eyes took on a foreign look, yet Kyojuro didn't have the courage to comment on it.
"It's a bit odd," Oyakata-sama spoke up again softly. "How so?" Kyojuro inquired softly, and Oyakata-sama shook his head. "Normally, I can see everyone's futures, but I simply refrain due to privacy and such, but even then, some information about them manages to worm its way into my head," he pondered aloud, tapping his cup.
"But this time," His eyes narrowed, "I can't get a single read on that boy, it's as though his abilities are overwhelming mine." Kyojuro stretched his neck out before stilling, his eye widening momentarily in realization.
"O-Oyakata-sama, are you implying what I think you are?" Kyojuro cut himself off. Oyakata-sama tilted his head slowly toward him, his unseeing eyes clouded with mirth.
"B-but how!" Kyojuro's fingers curled. Oyakata-sama wasn't the type of person to take concubines, and Kyojuro doubted he had the energy to maintain even more than one partner. "Isn't foresight an ability only special to the Ubuyashiki bloodline?" Oyakata-sama rubbed his forehead and said with a frustrated look, "That's where I am left confused, because not even I know how."
Kyojuro gulped. The idea of something not even Oyakata-sama knew the answer to made his stomach tie up in knots, but this was a child, so he should have nothing to worry about.
"About the sessions," Kyojuro amateurly diverted the topic of the conversation, though Oyakata-sama easily welcomed the change. "When should we start? I am open to starting tomorrow, as I currently have no missions." Kyojuro suggested, and Oyakata-sama hummed before smiling up at him and glowing.
"That would be great, Kyojuro-kun. I guess I'll see you tomorrow." Kyojuro nodded, "I hope to see you too!" and took one last swig of his tea, emptying the small cup before standing up.
His fiery cape swished as he twirled around and set foot through the door before turning around and bidding the man one final adieu.
Oyakata-sama smiled as always as he left.
As Kyojuro finally left his view, he slumped, moving to lie on his arms as he sighed heavily and was weary. Kagaya yawned, his eyes watering. As he moved to rub his eyes, he groaned, "So many questions..." he blearily blinks, "yet not enough answers."
His eyes narrowed as he looked outside, his gaze drawn to a young figure seated and softly conversing with a Kakushi member. "Who exactly are you, Takemitchy?" he muttered softly.
Kyojuro spent the night working, using his brushes to create a schedule fit for the boy. He was used to spending consecutive nights awake. Because demons were nocturnal creatures, it was primarily his job.
So, spending one night awake without rest wasn't too detrimental to him.
Kyojuro tapped the wooden handle of the brush to the table as he mused, "We can have education in the afternoon... but if we do, he might be tired mentally." He hummed, brows furrowing, ink smudging on his fingers before smudging even more on his chin as he rubbed it in thought absentmindedly.
"It might be better for him to have it in the afternoons, so he'll be sore but not mentally strained to do school work." The damp impact of the ink-soaked brush on the bamboo paper resonated in the air as he drew kanji after kanji.
If his eyes were slightly darker than the other nights he spent awake, no one said a word about it.
Now, as he stared scrutinizingly at the boy before him, Kyojuro found that he had a lot to say about him. Kyojuro knew he wasn't exactly the best person to comment on hair colour, as his very own hair colour was the colour of the sun and a raging fire mixed together.
However, this Takemitchy's hair was just like his, a bright, luminescent yellow, like the sun. His eyes, unlike his hair, didn't match Kyojuro's either. He found himself being unconsciously drawn in by the boy's unnaturally bright, sky-blue eyes.
Kyojuro couldn't put a finger on it, but something about the boy seemed artificial.
He also seemed to hold some resemblance to that Agatsuma boy, whose personality was that of a coward. If the Kakushi hadn't told him that the boy had decapitated the Lower Five's minion, Kyojuro would have dismissed him completely as a chicken who pawned off others.
Either way, as Kyojuro shook his head to get himself back on track, he raised his gaze back up at Takemichi, who shuffled, seemingly scared, which was odd because Kyojuro hadn't done anything to warrant such fear but held his tongue.
As he handed the schedule to the boy, which hopefully went well over the course of their training, Kyojuro moved to get rid of his uniform shirt. The heat was getting to him lately, and while the Corps' uniforms were made with the explicit purpose of providing protection and free movement to slayers, they sometimes didn't provide proper ventilation.
Of course, he wasn't the type to wear nothing beneath his uniform, instead opting for a simple white tee. Kyojuro tossed the jacket to the side onto the wooden bench provided before turning back to Takemitchy, who squinted oddly at the schedule.
For a moment, Kyojuro was confused as to what was wrong before it quickly clicked in his mind, "Ah, right... you can't read, sorry." Kyojuro apologised to the boy, who merely blinked at him as he slowly took the schedule back, placing it on the bench.
"Don't worry, we'll get to that soon; instead, let's start our first lesson, endurance." Kyojuro hurriedly said with a smile.
"We'll shuffle through different aspects of fighting such as stamina, reflexes, and general sword wielding and end with improving your writing as well; unfortunately, we might not have enough time to work on your communication, but I'll get you to your top form in no time!" The older man winked and held a muscled and flexed arm up jokingly.
"Now, the rules for the session are simple: the first to hit the floor loses." Kyojuro explained, "Is that alright for you?" He asked his student, who nodded quickly.
"Alright! We begin in 1... 2...
3!"
So maybe Kyojuro jumped the gun, to say the least.
But in his defence, he hadn't expected the boy to fold the moment he landed a hit on his lower abdomen. Sure, a punch in such an area would hurt like hell, but slayers were meant to tolerate most pains. He expected the boy to fight back—obviously not hit him—but try at least.
The match was more to gauge his level, and, well, he hadn't done so well.
Take the young Kamado, for example. Before he came to the butterfly manor or the corps building in general, the young slayer had many broken or fractured bones. Even despite that, the boy didn't break.
Whereas Takemitchy seemed to bruise easily, which Kyojuro observed as he lifted his shirt to allow Kyojuro to apply some of Kocho's salve to the area he had earlier socked. The patch of skin where Kyojuro struck quickly turned a light blue, and if he squinted, he could notice the colour darkening.
Kyojuro sighed externally. As much as he hated to say this, but, God, he might need to teach the boy everything again. His brows twitched in annoyance and frustration.
"Takemitchy..." He started slowly, low, and drawn out, like a death sentence. Takemitchy swallowed before the man who stared deep into his soul with his piercing red eyes, then Kyojuro asked him, "What exactly is your motive—your goal—for becoming a demon slayer?"
Takemitchy held his tongue as the man rambled on, "There has to be some reason, like this is a job about saving people and slaying demons, and most come in because of loss or self-fulfilment—hell, even the money—so what is it you desire?" His gaze darted around the younger's face, looking for any sign of determination, something strong and willful.
Kyojuro personally believed that anything is possible as long as you put your mind, body, and soul to it. However, as the silence fell over them, Kyojuro discovered that this boy... had no ambitions.
Maybe he had some before they met, but now there is no motive for living for him. Kyojuro would have preferred a pathetic goal to none at all, because even then he would have had something to work with.
Kyojuro turned his attention back to the boy and pinched his nose bridge, exhaling with a hiss of despair before turning around. He wasn't about to quit; this was Oyakata-sama's student, and if he must, then he would teach the boy his way, from the very start.
He stooped down, causing Takemitchy to stiffen. "Listen, there's nothing wrong with not having a motive, but..." he clasped his hands onto the boy's shoulder, turning their gazes to face each other.
"I will give you a reason; even if it's something stupid, you will have a reason." His smile didn't exactly reach his eyes, and for the first time in a while, he felt a deepening pit of gloom coil up in his gut.
For a short moment, he worried if he would fail or not before pushing the thought to the back of his mind. "Now, grab a wooden sword; we'll begin with drills first." Kyojuro sharpened his grin forcefully; things would go well.
He would make it so they do.
After the fight, Takemichi was allowed to relax for about 10 minutes before they got back into their lessons that Rengoku-san had set up for him. Though it was pretty clear that everything had quickly diverted from what the older man had planned, as Takemcihi was ushered into the middle of the feild and handed a wooden sword.
Quickly, Takemichi instinctively held it in its proper handling grip, and Rengoku looked at him and hummed before starting the new lesson, which was essentially repeating everything he knew so far.
Which actually wasn't a lot.
In his defense, it's not as though he was gifted like Tanjiro or anyone else. Rengoku looked at him as if he had killed his cat; before he fixed his expression, it wavered between determination and other emotions with a hesitant and shaky smile.
"Alright! Lets start with our slashes." He cheered, pulling out another wooden practise sword for himself, and moved into a stance. "Watch me and follow my movements!" he exclaimed.
Rengoku performed a series of consectutive manoeuvres before returning his gaze with a broad smile. To which Takemichi tried to copy, but with less elegance and to no avail, before nearly tripping over his feet.
The man above him pinched the bridge of his nose uncharacteristically and heaved a heavy sigh. The faux sword in his hand was gripped so tightly that it began to bend and cave in on itself, with the wooden splinters coming out.
"Okay..." the teacher muttered, before plastering a smile back on his face, a bit too wide and large and fake. "Well, let's repeat!" he cheered, moving Takemichi around and saying, "Begin."
Kyojuro's brows furrowed in mild confusion as he took in the boy now training to the side. His form had slightly improved during the day, but now that he thought more about their fight, he remembered the meeting from yesterday with Oyakata-sama.
Oyakata-sama said that the boy had some form of foresight; therefore, he should have been able to dodge him or even land a hit. But he didn't, so perhaps it wasn't a lack of talent as much as a refusal to apply his talent.
But why didn't he? Kyojuro rubbed his chin as he hummed in thought as the boy ran through his stances. Was it some kind of trauma? If so, why didn't he turn his bad experiences into energy and motivation for the future to save others?
Was he seeing something he didn't want to see? Kyojuro didn't know, but the more he thought about it, the more he could conclude one thing. that the boy was hindering himself by being afraid, and Kyojuro was going to try and fix it.
Takemichi's arm and legs ached as he swung his sword with precision—maybe not as much as Rengoku-san wanted, but in the span of a day, it was a large improvement.
Takemichi might as well have been frothing at the mouth. Yet despite the pain that burned him, Takemichi could discern that it wouldn't cause any permanent damage to him, maybe leaving him sore for a few days at most.
Being beaten with an inch of your life on a regular basis no less, has that effect on people, wouldn't you agree?
In any case, as he concentrated on training, the sore spot on his abdomen became easier to ignore, despite the fact that his muscles ached; pain was a powerful motivator, at least that's what he told himself in the past, and it still applied to him now.
"1!" He cried in modern; to Rengoku-san, it might have sounded like a butchered word, but hopefully it was still the same. His draws were fine, according to his mentor, so they didn't waste time on something he could do in his spare time, instead focusing on his slashes, cuts, and stances, and basically everything else in general.
"2!" This was a bit like Urokodaki-san's training, but less intense. So he could tolerate the treatment significantly longer than he would have been able to two years ago.
Takemichi tried his best not to lock eyes with his senior, whose piercing gaze dug into his back as he trained. Why was he even so afraid of the man? Sure, he hit him, but it was an accident, and the man later apologised to him.
His eyes looked up at the sky; the sun shone in the middle of the blue sky, and Takemichi could assume it was midday. He could have pushed through this a bit more; he had at most about 8 hours left... Ugh, that's way too long.
He might not have any hands left by the time they finished at dusk. Hell, Takemichi would count himself lucky if he left the dirt courtyard, they were in with his arms still intact.
He shuddered suddenly, getting goosebumps as a cold wind suddenly blew by them, blowing against his bare skin.
The rustle of leaves on the tall trees in the yard, bird chirps, and the sound of wind blowing by him made it appear as if time had passed in the blink of an eye. Takemichi barely realised when Rengoku-san would whistle catchy, random tunes around him as he trained.
His dashes and cuts became repetitive and painful as time passed, but he held his tongue in pain and maybe a bit of fear. Rengoku-san's eyes burned with determination as he observed him, and Takemichi felt as though he was in the military.
You'd think such strong emotions would fade away through the hours that passed, but clearly, Rengoku-sensei was no ordinary man.
The man approached behind him like a panther. Rengoku-sensei slunk around him as he studied Takemichi's form, easily picking out big or small imperfections. Rengoku-sensei's feet nudged at Takemichi's and shifted the boy's stance before he placed a hand on his back and pushed his back slightly upright.
"Remember, Takemitchy, swordsmanship begins at the feet!" Rengoku-sensei reminded him, "At your feet!"
Takemitchy's face scrunched up with many different feelings and emotions as he shuffled about. "Right foot first, at a tilt!" Rengoku-sensei roared. "Hah!" Takemichi panted before, finally, after hours of seemingly one movement, Rengoku-sensei clapped his hands.
"Alright! Break!" Rengoku-sensei roared, and Takemichi slumped to the ground. The faux sword clattered to the ground, yet both ignored it as Rengoku-sensei pulled the schedule from the bench and began to mutter at it.
Over time, Takemichi had disregarded his haori and outer uniform layer, throwing them on the bench after Rengoku-sensei's. Now, his vest, which had been cut from a plain white shirt by yours truly, was tainted with yellow sweat. His skin was sticky, and dirt and grime coated his flesh.
"Alright, since we completely forewent the schedule today, we'll just have to make up for it tomorrow." Rengoku-sensei commented, tapping the scroll. "However, just to make the most of the remaining daylight hours, I'll introduce you to the main focus of the lessons we'll be doing going forward!" The man cheered and tossed the scroll away and moved to the shaded porch.
The sound of something heavy yet hollow being hoisted into the air drew Takemichi's attention, and quickly, Rengoku-san gently set what seemed to be a clay vase onto the dirt before him. "See this clay gourd?" he asked, motioning to the vase, "this will aid you in mastering the foundational breathing technique: Total Concentration - Constant!"
Takemichi swallowed habitually. "I notice you seem to have repetition down, but it would be better for you to know how to use it every twenty-four hours of the day!" Rengoku-sensei explained himself gleefully before beckoning him closer and pressing his mouth to the mouth of the gourd.
"Watch!" he said, momentarily looking at Takemichi before blowing into the gourd. It seemed easy to the older man, and after a moment of silence, Takemichi watched in unrestrained fascination and awe as the gourd began to smoke and then turn into soft grey ash.
It fell in on itself, and all that was left was the red ribbon.