Actually, if it were just the Breathing Style being wretched, Sakonji Urokodaki wouldn't have felt much; after all, it had nothing to do with him.
But the problem was… he was the boy's master!
In the future, others would introduce him: "This is the disciple of the former Water Hashira, Sakonji Urokodaki! He uses Color Breathing."
Onlookers: "Oh! A disciple of the former Water Hashira—truly a case of a famous master producing a great student… Eh!? Wait! Color Breathing?! Is he that swordsman who relies on women's scent to kill demons?"
Giyuu would send letters. He probably wouldn't write any reproaches, but he would definitely ask in that calm, deadpan tone of his:
"Master, the new Breathing Style you taught my junior is very strong, but since you are advanced in years, please be sure to take care of your health when you go down the mountain to 'gather materials.'"
His old colleagues from the Demon Slayer Corps would point at Shirakawa, who needed to be surrounded by girls to exert his full strength while killing demons, and laugh heartily:
"Look! That's the new apprentice Sakonji taught!"
"Hahaha, killing demons requires bringing girls for support? Did Sakonji take you to the Yoshiwara for training all this time?!"
"I didn't expect Urokodaki to be that kind of person."
He could even imagine that bearded bastard, the former Thunder Hashira, Kuwajima Jigoro.
In the letters he'd send, there wouldn't be a single word—just the entire page filled with "Hahahahaha…"
Even the Master… might ask in a gentle tone: "Urokodaki-san, your disciple's Breathing Style… is quite interesting."
"…"
Sakonji Urokodaki, seventy-two years old, former Water Hashira, one of the oldest trainers in the Demon Slayer Corps.
A life of rigor. A life of nobility. A life dedicated to nurturing the next generation and slaying demons as his duty.
Reputation was a treasure second only to his life.
And now—
He could already see his name in the history of the Demon Slayer Corps, forever bound to the title: "that teacher who taught a disciple a perverted Breathing Style."
A hundred years later, descendants would flip through the archives.
Seeing "Sakonji Urokodaki," they wouldn't first think of him as the Water Hashira who slew countless demons.
Instead, they would think—
"Oh! It's the master of that disciple who needed to smell women to unleash the full strength of his Breathing Style!"
"Hahahaha—"
Laughter! Frenzied laughter! It was already echoing in Urokodaki's mind.
Thud.
Urokodaki knelt down.
His knees hit the ground with a solid thud.
His hands braced against the dirt, fingers digging deep into the soil.
His shoulders began to tremble.
Even the mask on his face slipped off, revealing an aged, gentle face now filled with panic.
"My…"
He murmured, his voice breaking,
"…lifelong reputation…"
Shirakawa stood by, watching in shock.
Master… what's wrong?
He crouched down and cautiously poked Urokodaki's shoulder.
"Master? Are you… okay?"
Urokodaki ignored him.
He simply continued muttering in a dazed tone:
"…integrity…"
"…ruined…"
Watching this, Shirakawa suddenly felt a bit uneasy.
Although his master had often tried to drive him away over the past eight months and complained about his stupidity, he had truly taught him physical skills and swordsmanship, fed him, and protected him from demons.
Now, seeing the old man like this… he felt somewhat guilty.
Why?
Why did Master suddenly become like this…
Could it be?!
A flash of inspiration struck Shirakawa's mind, and he had an epiphany.
I understand!
Master must be feeling sad because my Breathing Style is too strong, yet it wasn't taught by him.
He must think he delayed me for eight months and was a poor teacher!
Sigh~!
Look at this…
How can he be so sensitive!~
No!
Without Master, I wouldn't be who I am today!
I can't let him live in self-doubt!
Shirakawa suddenly stood up, took two steps back, and bowed deeply—a perfect ninety degrees.
When he raised his head again, his face was filled with overwhelming gratitude.
Raising his voice, full of emotion: "Master! Please don't be like this!"
Urokodaki slowly raised his head, his eyes hollow.
Shirakawa rushed forward, helped him up, and devoutly held his cold hand, his expression solemn and serious.
"It was you! You were the one who discovered my talent!"
"It was your earnest teachings that gave me the foundation to create my own Breathing Style!"
"And it was you who took me out to see the world, giving me the opportunity to develop this new Breathing Style!"
"Even though the Breathing Style I use is different from yours!"
"But please do not give up on yourself!"
"Because you are a good teacher! You are my dearest, beloved Master!"
Shirakawa faced the setting sun and thumped his chest.
"Therefore, please believe in me as well! I will explain everything to everyone! My Breathing Style is derived from your Water Breathing!"
"The source of Color Breathing is you! It is you, Sakonji Urokodaki!"
"In the future! Wherever Shirakawa's name appears, your great name, Sakonji Urokodaki, will surely be flying right beside it!"
His tone was passionate, his eyes shining brightly as he looked at Urokodaki expectantly.
Now, Master should feel a little better~
Urokodaki looked at him.
On that aged face, there was no expression.
The hollowness in his eyes slowly turned into…
Ash.
Complete emptiness.
Then, Urokodaki's lips moved, forcing out a few words:
"Bring… me… glory…?"
Shirakawa nodded rapidly. "Yes, yes, yes! I will definitely—"
Before he could finish.
Urokodaki's eyes slowly closed.
His body fell backward.
Thud.
He lay flat on his back, limbs spread out like a broken doll.
He stopped moving.
Shirakawa: "!!!"
Urokodaki: "…"
"Master? Master!"
Shirakawa crouched down and poked his cheek.
"Don't lie there, the ground is cold."
No response.
He checked his breathing.
It's fine… he's breathing.
Did he… fall asleep from happiness?
Doesn't seem like it.
Why does it look like… he fainted from anger?
Shirakawa's mouth twitched.
He looked up at the sky.
Crows flew past, cawing loudly.
Looking back down—
The once-majestic Water Hashira, his master, lay stiff and motionless, his expression oddly peaceful…