Lying on the ground, completely exhausted, Tanjiro began to lose confidence in himself.
"Tanjiro," said Shin calmly, standing nearby, "your breathing is too stiff. That stiffness forces your movements. For the past six months, you've only been repeating what Master Urokodaki taught you by rote. You haven't made the Water Breathing your own. If you don't overcome that, you'll never be able to cut the boulder."
Although Tanjiro had grown immensely over a year and a half of training, he had yet to fully internalize the essence of it all. His body had not completely absorbed and sublimated what he had learned.
His breathing lacked fluidity. His Water Breathing, in its current state, couldn't reach its full potential—and without mastering it, the boulder before him was uncuttable.
. . .
In the blink of an eye, another half year passed. Time moved on, and the seasons changed once again. Snowflakes drifted silently into Shin's open palm as he stood outside the wooden cabin, watching them fall from the sky.
"It's snowing again," he murmured. "Another year gone."
Urokodaki Sakonji hadn't returned once in the past year. Everything in the cabin—cleaning, supplies, and even taking care of Nezuko—had been left to Shin.
After their last duel, Tanjiro had remained on Mount Sagiri and hadn't come down since.
So, for the past six months, Shin had looked after Nezuko. Cleaning her body regularly was necessary to avoid any unpleasant smell. In Shin's eyes, it was simply part of his duty.
When Tanjiro was around, he naturally handled such tasks as Nezuko's older brother. Shin didn't take over out of personal desire—only because someone had to do it.
In the beginning, when Tanjiro failed to return to the cabin, Shin knew something was off. He climbed the mountain to search for him—only to find Tanjiro near the massive boulder, speaking to the air as if possessed.
Shin had been about to snap him out of it—until he saw the way Tanjiro moved.
His swordplay had become smooth, fluid. His breathing had lost its stiffness. Something had changed.
Shin realized Tanjiro might have entered a subconscious state of selflessness—a rare, enlightened condition. If so, it was best not to interfere. He quietly retreated, letting Tanjiro walk this path of transformation alone.
That decision led to yet another half year of waiting.
Occasionally, Shin would return to check on Tanjiro. Each time, Tanjiro was either training, meditating, or… speaking to someone who wasn't there.
Stranger still, once, Shin stood directly in front of him—and Tanjiro looked right through him, as if he didn't exist.
That mystery prompted Shin to activate his Demon Eye—an ability granted by the system that let him see into the spirit realm.
The truth was revealed: the ghosts of Mount Sagiri had trapped Tanjiro within a spiritual domain of their own making.
But it wasn't an act of harm. From what Shin observed, these lingering spirits were helping Tanjiro grow. So, once again, he chose not to interfere.
One snowy afternoon, as Shin stood outside the cabin, he spotted a figure walking toward him through the falling snow.
He narrowed his eyes, then smiled slightly.
"You're back, old man," he said.
Urokodaki Sakonji stopped in front of him. For a long moment, he said nothing—just stared at Shin silently. Then he nodded.
"Hm. Where's Tanjiro?"
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