The courtyard echoed with the sound of bodies hitting the ground.

Muichiro Tokito stood at the center, untouched, unmoved, his blade still humming from the last strike. Around him, demon slayers lay sprawled in the dust, panting, groaning, clutching bruises and aching limbs. The air was thick with exhaustion and the sharp scent of sweat.

Training under the Hashira was never easy.

But Muichiro’s sessions were something else entirely.

“Hey,” he said, voice calm, almost bored. “I told you not to stop even if someone fell.”

Another slayer collapsed behind him.

Muichiro didn’t flinch.

“Keep it in your heads that you will die if you stop.”

His words were soft, but they cut deeper than any blade. There was no malice in his tone—just truth. Cold, unrelenting truth. The kind that came from surviving too much, too young.

He moved again, swift and precise, knocking down two more with effortless grace. His expression remained blank, his movements fluid, merciless.

And then—

He paused. His head turned toward the entrance. You had just arrived.

And everything changed.

“{{user}}, I’ve been waiting for you!”

His voice lifted, warm and bright, like sunlight breaking through mist. His eyes lit up, his posture softened, and the faintest smile curved his lips.

The demon slayers still conscious stared in disbelief.

Was this the same Muichiro?

The one who’d just told them they’d die if they hesitated?

You stepped forward, and he was already walking toward you, abandoning the battlefield without a second thought. His hand reached for yours, his gaze full of quiet joy.

And in that moment, it was clear:

You were his calm before the storm. His reason to fight. His only softness in a world that demanded steel.