Several recruits who had been talking turned toward Zenitsu, their gazes hostile. The one who had been punched, especially, had fury in his eyes. "You looking to die?!"
"And here I was wondering who it was. Turns out it’s another piece of trash. Lord Jigoro really is pitiful—Luke can’t learn Thunder Breathing, while you only know the First Form. Hahaha!"
Another boy laughed mockingly.
Burning with rage, Zenitsu charged at them without caring that they outnumbered him and started brawling with them.
But he held himself back, afraid of seriously hurting them. With so many opponents, he was soon overwhelmed and beaten until his face was bruised and swollen.
"Trash is trash. Having Lord Jigoro teach the two of you is such a waste."
The close-cropped-haired boy Zenitsu had punched first spat after knocking Zenitsu to the ground. His face was full of disdain, though a deeply buried envy lurked in his eyes.
"Let’s go. What’s the point of talking to him?"
Another boy grabbed the youth who wanted to keep beating Zenitsu. He felt they had gone far enough. If they kept at it, something might happen. As much as he disliked Zenitsu, they were all Demon Slayer Corps recruits with tragic pasts. One day, they would be fighting Demons on the same battlefield.
A minor squabble was one thing. Beating Zenitsu badly enough to seriously injure him would be going too far.
"Tch. I’ll let you off today."
The close-cropped-haired boy turned to leave, but he could not take a step. Zenitsu had grabbed his ankle.
"Apologize..."
Zenitsu’s bruised face was swollen, and his voice was hoarse.
"Huh? What did you say? Are you crazy?"
The boy tried to pull his foot free but could not. His eyes filled with confusion. Since when had Zenitsu been this strong?
"I... I want you to apologize. Don’t... don’t say bad things about Senior Brother Luke..."
Zenitsu spoke weakly.
"Hah? Looks like you haven’t been beaten enough!"
As he spoke, the close-cropped-haired boy raised his sheathed sword and smashed it down at Zenitsu’s head.
"Don’t—"
The boy beside him tried to stop him, afraid he would kill Zenitsu. But the blow had already fallen.
Just as they thought they were about to witness a tragedy, the sheath stopped two inches above Zenitsu’s head.
A hand had descended from above faster than the sheath itself, catching it in midair.
The close-cropped-haired boy froze. He yanked hard at the sheath, only to find that it would not budge in the slightest. Shocked, he followed the arm upward and saw the newcomer’s face.
Beneath the setting sun, a man stood draped in a pitch-black haori. His masculine, handsome face was dark with anger, and the killing intent that flashed through his eyes seemed to chill the surrounding air by several degrees.
The boy tried with all his strength to pull out his sword, but nothing happened. He cried out, "H-how is this possible? Aren’t you..."
Luke said nothing. He simply released the sheath. Because the boy had been pulling so hard, he toppled backward and landed on his backside.
Under the invisible pressure radiating from Luke, the other boys stood frozen and silent. They could not understand why Luke—the legendary failure under Jigoro’s tutelage, the man who had supposedly spent ten years unable to learn a Breathing Style—could be this powerful.
Luke helped Zenitsu to his feet and swept his cold gaze over them. His voice was calm. "Get lost."
The boys, who had been stiffly rooted in place, immediately turned and fled without another word. The close-cropped-haired boy who had fallen was even worse off; his legs had gone limp, and he could not get up. A puddle spread beneath him.
"Senior Brother Luke..."
Zenitsu’s voice was weak, and his expression carried a trace of shame.
Luke supported Zenitsu as they headed toward the other side of the street. "Do you blame me for not helping you get even?"
"Of course not... I just mean, I didn’t start that fight on purpose."
Zenitsu lowered his head. He was afraid his senior brother would blame him for causing trouble.
"Then why did you fight them?"
Luke asked.
"I... it was nothing, really..."
Zenitsu hesitated, then forced a smile. "It was my fault. We just had an argument."
He did not want his senior brother to know that people had called him useless. It would hurt Luke. Zenitsu was only unwilling to accept it. Fighting had been wrong in the first place, yet he had still lost and needed his senior brother to bail him out in the end.
Luke rubbed Zenitsu’s golden hair. "I didn’t deal with them for you because I believe you’ll win someday, Zenitsu. You’re just too kind."
Light flickered in Zenitsu’s eyes. "I’ll win someday?"
"You will. Whether you beat them back or earn their recognition and make them apologize to you, either way, that will be your victory."
Luke smiled. In truth, he had arrived several seconds earlier and heard a few things they had said during the fight. He could more or less guess what had happened.
Watching Zenitsu, his face swollen and bruised, still cling to those people and demand that they apologize to Luke stirred something deep in him.
For a moment, he thought of his childhood. He had once had a martial sect, a senior sister. The sincere bond between fellow disciples had truly been something beautiful. Zenitsu reminded him of those precious memories.
At that moment, he genuinely began to feel affection for this kindhearted junior brother. From now on, protecting Zenitsu would no longer be solely for the mission.
"If you say so, Senior Brother, then I’ll work hard."
Zenitsu smiled at Luke’s words. But he had no intention of taking revenge on those boys for beating him. He only wanted them to acknowledge him, to acknowledge his grandfather’s judgment, and to stop saying that Grandpa only taught worthless disciples.
Luke took Zenitsu around town to buy plenty of snacks. On their way back, while supporting Zenitsu, he secretly used Kaidō through the hand holding him up to stabilize his injuries.
In truth, Zenitsu’s injuries were not serious to begin with. His attributes were what they were; even though those recruits had learned Breathing Styles, their normal attributes were only around eight or nine points, far below Zenitsu’s.
Zenitsu was not incapable of beating them. He was simply too kind and instinctively held back, unwilling to strike too hard. Their punches and kicks had only left superficial injuries on him.
Since explaining all that would be troublesome, Luke only treated the wounds that would heal more slowly on their own and reduced the swelling on Zenitsu’s face. With Zenitsu’s physique, the rest would be fine after one night’s sleep.
"What happened to you two?"
Jigoro set down the ladle he was using to serve the meal and looked at Luke and Zenitsu in confusion.
Zenitsu had only gone down the mountain once. How had he returned with a bruised and swollen face? He could not have encountered a Demon, either. Mount Peach Blossom was a highly secluded training site; with the intelligence-gathering abilities of Demons, it was unlikely they would know of this place.
"Grandpa... I..."
Zenitsu opened his mouth, finding it difficult to speak. But he was not good at lying.
"Zenitsu was practicing the First Form too quickly and accidentally ran into a tree."
Luke spoke from the side, giving Zenitsu a meaningful look.
"Huh? Oh, that’s right... I’m sorry, Grandpa. I’m so stupid."
Zenitsu felt terribly guilty for lying to his grandfather, but he did not want him to learn why he had fought.
Jigoro stared at Zenitsu and Luke for several seconds. Then his expression relaxed. "Come eat. Today’s porridge smells wonderful."
He could see that the two boys were hiding something. But adults did not necessarily need to know every secret their children had. The two fellow disciples looked happy enough right now, and that was good enough.
Inside the little wooden cabin, the three sat around the fire. Fine steam rose from the pot hanging over it, warming away the faint chill of early spring.
Luke, Zenitsu, and old Jigoro each held a bowl of porridge. The bowl was so hot that Zenitsu kept shifting it between his hands. Jigoro watched Zenitsu with a smile, while Luke gently blew over the surface of his porridge, sending wisps of mist drifting up.
For a moment, Luke’s expression went distant. Once upon a time, he too had sat around a fire with his master and senior sister, his stomach growling as he waited for the food to finish cooking. His senior sister would always serve him the first bowl.
But they were all gone now.
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