Flowing Dance—a technique from Water Breathing—uses fluid, irregular footwork to mimic the movement of water. By shifting side to side in a flowing rhythm, the user can rapidly close the distance while obscuring their opponent's perception.
It is a balanced form, combining offense and defense. However, compared to more direct techniques, its raw attack power is slightly lower.
Facing Kanzaki Aoi's advancing strike, Cold Cry's lips curled into a faint, cold sneer.
Her footwork was refined—impressive, even—but to him, it was nothing extraordinary.
He lowered his stance, his body settling into a smooth, sword-drawing posture. Taking in a slow breath, he waited.
The instant the distance between them shrank to less than a meter—
He moved.
His blade flashed from its sheath as he surged forward.
The motion was seamless. Natural. Fluid.
Not inferior in the slightest to Aoi's.
A flicker of surprise crossed Kanzaki Aoi's face—but it vanished just as quickly.
Even if he had some combat experience, he was still untrained. There was no way he could surpass a member of the Demon Slayer Corps.
Tightening her grip, she thrust her wooden sword straight toward his throat without hesitation.
Among demon slayers, the target was always the same—
The neck.
Only by severing it with a Nichirin blade could a demon be truly killed. Because of this, every swordsman in the Corps instinctively aimed for that vital point, whether in training or in battle.
"Fancy… but useless."
Cold Cry's voice was calm.
"Cold Tide."
Two simple words.
Yet no one present understood what they meant—nor what kind of technique they represented.
As the tip of Aoi's blade neared his throat, she remained confident. There was no way someone unfamiliar with Breathing Techniques could evade an attack at this range.
Arrogant fool. I'll end this in one strike.
But the outcome—
Was not what she expected.
The moment Cold Cry drew his sword and spoke those words, the temperature around them plummeted.
Aoi's body stiffened.
No—
It wasn't her body alone.
The air itself had changed.
Breathing Techniques enhance the body by controlling respiration—raising body temperature, accelerating blood flow, and unlocking greater strength, speed, and perception.
But now—
She had inhaled a lungful of freezing air.
The cold flooded her chest, disrupting her rhythm. The air felt heavy, unresponsive, refusing to circulate properly. Her lungs struggled, her breathing faltered—
And she coughed.
Her blood flow slowed.
Her body temperature dropped.
Her movements… lagged.
In that instant—
Cold Cry stepped aside, effortlessly avoiding her thrust. His body rotated smoothly as he slipped behind her, his blade cutting toward her back.
Aoi's pupils shrank.
What is this—?!
She forced her body to react, ignoring the burning discomfort in her lungs.
"Water Breathing… Sixth Form: Whirlpool!"
Twisting sharply, she used the momentum of her rotation to deflect his strike. The wooden blades collided with a dull crack.
Without hesitation, she retreated—creating distance before he could follow up.
Cold Cry did not pursue it.
Aoi staggered back several steps, clutching her chest as coughs wracked her body.
She had misjudged him.
Gravely.
If he had continued pressing the attack just now, she might have already lost.
Yet one question lingered in her mind—
Why isn't he affected?
---
Under the corridor, the girls of the Butterfly Mansion had initially been cheering.
But now, they stared in confusion.
"Aoi-nee… what happened?"
They hadn't seen anything unusual—no strange movement, no obvious technique.
And yet—
Aoi was struggling.
Only Kochou Shinobu, standing quietly to the side, narrowed her eyes in interest.
When Cold Cry had spoken those words—
She had seen it.
A faint, white mist forming in the air.
Cold.
Dense.
Aoi had inhaled too much of it at once, overwhelming her lungs.
Interesting…
This was no ordinary Breathing Technique.
It didn't enhance the user's body directly.
Instead—
It altered the environment.
By lowering the surrounding temperature, it disrupted the opponent's breathing while sharpening his own perception.
As for why he remained unaffected…
Shinobu's gaze drifted toward him thoughtfully.
It was likely tied to his physiology.
The region around White Snow Mountain remained frozen year-round. Living in such extreme conditions would inevitably change a person's body over time.
His lungs.
His blood.
His tolerance to cold.
All of it had adapted.
And beyond that—
His perception was unusual.
Most Demon Slayers relied on heightened senses—like Kamado Tanjirou's sense of smell or Agatsuma Zenitsu's hearing.
But Cold Cry—
Perceived through temperature.
Every movement disturbed the air.
Every action created subtle thermal shifts.
To him, nothing could hide.
---
"Go, Aoi-nee!"
"Teach him a lesson!"
The girls resumed cheering, though their voices now carried uncertainty.
Meanwhile, Shinobu smiled faintly as she popped a grape into her mouth—then casually fed one to Tsuyuri Kanao beside her.
"Kanao, who do you think will win?"
Kanao glanced at her, then at the courtyard.
After a moment, she simply shook her head.
Shinobu's smile deepened.
"Oh? So even you're unsure?"
Kanao said nothing—but her silence spoke volumes.
---
In the courtyard, Aoi finally steadied her breathing.
This time, when she looked at Cold Cry
There was no trace of contempt left in her eyes.
Only caution.
And resolve.
If he had wanted to win earlier, he could have.
The fact that he hadn't…
At least it meant he wasn't cruel.
Breathing Techniques… are both my strength—and my weakness now.
She exhaled slowly, thinking.
Close combat was no longer viable. Not while trapped in that freezing field.
Then—
A strategy formed.
She would regulate her breathing from outside his range, dart in with footwork, strike, and immediately retreat before the cold could take hold.
A hit-and-run approach.
It was the only way.
"Is that really a Breathing Technique?" she asked, steadying her stance.
Cold Cry shrugged lightly.
"I told you—I don't know what you mean by that."
He lifted his blade again.
"If fighting with breathing and martial skill counts… then sure."
Aoi's grip tightened.
"I'll fight. Of course I will."
Her eyes sharpened.
"I'm a member of the Demon Slayer Corps. If I can't defeat someone like you…"
A faint, determined smile appeared.
"I might as well quit and go do embroidery."
Cold Cry snorted softly.
"You talk too much."
And this time—
He made the first move.