When it came to eating, Taka was never picky. As long as it filled his stomach, it was fine.
In Hayama, although Rika occasionally prepared some snacks for them, her cooking skills were hardly commendable. Apart from Taka, few were willing to try them.
The food before him now, though not luxurious, was exquisitely prepared and delicious… glossy rice balls, perfectly grilled sweetfish, vibrant blanched wild greens, a small bowl of miso soup, and some seasonal fruits.
After a morning of high-intensity sparring, Taka, for once, actively felt hungry.
Beside Amane, the young children sat quietly, their small faces bearing innocence and a trace of curiosity towards the guests.
They inherited their mother's gentle and serene temperament, every move reflecting good upbringing.
For Taka, accustomed to managing on his own, how to eat delicate cuisine was a gap in his knowledge. He could only imitate Muichiro, kneeling properly and eating somewhat awkwardly and slowly.
On the veranda, only the soft sounds of chopsticks and bowls and the occasional whispers of the children could be heard.
Taka ate silently, his gaze unconsciously sweeping over the tranquil estate.
He noticed that besides themselves and the Kakushi members standing nearby, he didn't see Oyakata-sama, the man with the spring-like demeanor.
"Milady, why isn't Oyakata-sama joining us for the meal?"
As soon as the question was asked, the air on the veranda seemed to stagnate slightly.
The attending Kakushi members looked towards him, the children nearby also fell silent, and even Muichiro paused with his chopsticks and bowl, looking at Taka with a hint of displeasure in his eyes.
'Was this question somewhat presumptuous?' But Taka truly meant no harm, he was simply curious.
The smile on Amane's face did not disappear, but deep within that smile settled a faint sadness.
She gently put down her soup ladle, meeting Taka's gaze openly: "Taka-kun, thank you for your concern. It's just that Kagaya is unwell and cannot join us."
"Is Oyakata-sama's illness very serious?" Taka recalled the ferocious scars on the other's face, which seemed to be spreading, and asked with genuine concern.
Amane-sama nodded gently: "Yes, Taka-kun."
"Kagaya's health has been poor since childhood, constantly afflicted by illness. This is... a hereditary disease passed down through the Ubuyashiki Family, and it is unavoidable."
She smoothed a stray strand of hair, compassion in her eyes: "Therefore, he can only eat the most gentle, easily digestible foods. Every outing, every breath and thought, is a great burden for him. I hope you can understand."
"Of course, Amane-sama..." Taka replied. "Oyakata-sama is the heart of the Demon Slayer Corps, he must be carefully protected."
Amane looked towards the vibrant greenery in the courtyard, as if drawing strength from it to confront the darkness, and said seriously:
"Kagaya has devoted everything to the cause of slaying demons. Even if his body and mind are exhausted, he will not give up. His will to exterminate demons and protect the living has never faltered, not even a little."
"With outstanding children like you here, this mission will surely be accomplished...."
Taka felt a heavy sense of respect pressing on his heart.
As far as he knew, the Demon Slayer Corps had been established for several hundred years, and the heads of the Ubuyashiki Family had succeeded one another for countless generations.
Yet their enemy, Kibutsuji Muzan, the progenitor of all demons, still lived in this world.
'Why, when Oyakata-sama was already so weak, did he still so persistently organize the Demon Slayer Corps to fight demons?'
He thought of Tanjiro's words about helping others bringing joy, but he felt Oyakata-sama's actions were on an even higher level than that.
Protection. This was a power he didn't yet understand.
"I see..." Taka murmured softly, imitating the prayer gesture of others, pressing his palms together: "I hope Oyakata-sama regains his health and recovers soon...."
The topic changed, and the tea break ended amidst the small talk between Amane and Taka.
Sitting on the veranda, Taka rubbed his wrist where Muichiro had struck him. It was already bruised.
He was still reflecting on the feeling of fighting Muichiro… that sensation of being seen through, suppressed, having every move anticipated, while using only swordsmanship, which irritated him somewhat.
'Arasaki-sensei, your teaching needs to change...' he thought.
Just as he was lost in thought, a calm, waveless voice landed beside him like a feather:
"Perhaps Wind Breathing is not entirely suitable for you."
Taka turned to look at Muichiro, whose mind seemed to be wandering, as if those words had not come from him.
"What do you mean?"
"Your body resists it."
In the early stages of sparring with Taka, Muichiro had observed his Wind Breathing.
Very solid, very pure. Such deep, prolonged breathing was impossible without arduous training. In this regard alone, he was nearly on par with Sanemi.
But when actually executed, the effect wasn't so harmonious.
"I have also studied Wind Breathing. Wind is free and wild, fierce and swift... I know this well."
Muichiro pointed at Taka's body, his tone flat: "But your body is neither free nor fierce. It's as if something is constantly pulling at your will, preventing you from truly wholeheartedly committing to battle...."
'Yes, that was the feeling.'
Taka suddenly understood, 'So this was why I always felt my Wind Breathing wasn't optimal.'
His conviction for slaying demons wasn't strong. The last time he was determined to slay a demon was to avenge Tetsushin's daughter....
If it were just a Demon Slayer Corps' order, he suspected that if he truly encountered an unbeatable demon, he might give up the fight....
As for freedom... Tetsushin had explained this concept to him many times, but Taka fundamentally couldn't understand it....
Taka's voice was slightly hesitant: "...But this is what Arasaki-sensei taught me. I've always used it to fight."
"Being able to use it and it suiting you are two different things. This isn't telling you to give up Wind Breathing...."
As he spoke, Muichiro walked into the training ground and slowly raised his wooden sword.
He lightly tapped his left foot on the ground. The aura around him changed. Mist suddenly appeared from nowhere and drifted along his blade, as if the blade itself was diffusing light.
"Mist Breathing: Third Form: Scattering Mist."
Muichiro spun and struck. The blade light instantly transformed into hundreds of tiny, silvery droplets, wrapped in a pale blue mist, sparkling with flecks of light in the air, rippling with distorted waves.
Although it looked beautiful, Taka knew the killing intent and sword momentum contained within were no illusion. If it struck a demon, it would instantly sever flesh and bone.
Having delivered this slash, Muichiro shook his wooden sword: "See? This is Mist Breathing. Does it look a bit familiar?"
Without waiting for Taka's reply, Muichiro continued: "Mist Breathing originates from Wind, yet it's completely different, more unpredictable, more elusive... It's the breathing that suits my body."
"Taka, every person's body is a unique battlefield."
"The structure of bones, the texture of muscles, the rhythm of breath flow, and the instinctive desire to fight within one's own soul… all are different."
"Forcibly applying a form that doesn't suit you is like wearing ill-fitting shoes... Perhaps you should find your own breathing."
Although his tone was cold and hollow, it was indeed a friendly suggestion from the heart.
Given Muichiro's personality and his troublesome memory issues, he wouldn't normally speak so much to others.
But Taka was, after all, the apprentice Oyakata-sama had personally entrusted to him. It was his task.
Therefore, he didn't withhold his understanding and shared it with the other, hoping only to help him complete the training as soon as possible.
After all, a Hashira's time was precious. He didn't have time to be a practice partner forever.
"...My own breathing." Taka murmured quietly, feeling something stir within him.
Sometimes, the forms of Wind Breathing in his hands were indeed distorted into more violent, more unreasonable shapes.
And even with Wind Breathing forms he had practiced countless times, when actually using them, Taka would still instinctively react with his body, using sword techniques as he understood them.
'Perhaps... this was precisely my body seeking a more suitable expression.'
"So what should I do?"
"Fight. Keep fighting." Muichiro discarded his wooden sword, his vacant eyes looking directly at Taka: "Only between life and death will the truth of your body be revealed without reservation..."
"Starting tomorrow, let's train with real swords."