The fusion of the five breaths had been a success.
What remained now was to fully internalize it.
For Rengoku, whose body was already specialized in the Breath of Flames, it meant using that as his foundation. For Hancock, who had forged an entirely new style through instinct, it meant giving her creation a name.
After returning to Amazon Lily and washing away the sweat of battle, Rengoku went straight to Hancock's chamber.
There she sat, drying her damp hair after her bath, waiting for him. Having spent every last drop of strength in their duel, Hancock rested quietly on the edge of her bed.
To her, the training was unlike anything she had ever experienced. It was astonishing how much her body's functions had improved through breathing alone—and the changes that came with it reminded her of the time she first awakened her Conqueror's Haki.
It was as though she had unlocked a second Conqueror's Haki. Her body moved on instinct, reacting without thought. Against Rengoku's relentless assault, she had no choice but to entrust everything to her warrior's intuition.
That spar in the clearing had rekindled her primal instincts as a fighter. And at the end—Rengoku's earnest, powerful embrace still made her heart race.
For the first time, she had received such a heartfelt embrace from the man she truly loved.
Part of her wanted to push him down then and there, to claim this perfect man for herself in ways she could not dare put into words. The desire was growing harder to contain.
"Thank you, Hancock. Because of your help, I was able to refine my techniques and raise them to a whole new level!"
"If it helped you, then that alone is enough. For me too, it was a chance to awaken my instincts as a warrior once again."
And my love for you as well… ♥
That last thought she kept to herself.
"I'd like to keep sparring like this on a regular basis. What do you think?"
"You'll have no objection from me."
"Excellent! I'm relieved to hear it. Thank you, Hancock."
Yet there was still much polishing to be done before either of them could completely embody this fused breathing style.
"By the way, Kyojuro," Hancock asked, "what will you call this new breath?"
She thought of how each of the five styles had their own name and waited for his answer.
"This new breath…" Rengoku trailed off.
He had never given much thought to naming it. The fusion had always been an experiment—an attempt to test his theory about the legendary Breath of the Sun.
But could this really be called the Sun's Breath?
Hancock, who could adapt to every breath with equal affinity, could not claim her technique as the Sun's Breath. And his own style, rooted firmly in flames, could not be labeled as such either.
Though the world no longer remembered the Breath of the Sun, Rengoku could not bring himself to name his new technique after it.
The true Breath of the Sun would surely look different.
Its sword forms could never be perfectly recreated—no records remained, and even if they had, Rengoku had no way of accessing them in this world.
What he truly wished was to at least restore its breathing method.
But neither Hancock's fusion of the five breaths, nor his own flame-anchored style, felt worthy of being called the Breath of the Sun.
He didn't know what the original form was, yet judging from the imagery evoked by the five great styles—the flowing water, the blazing fire, the immovable stone, the rushing wind, the swift thunder—he was sure the Sun's Breath would burn like the sun itself, radiant and overwhelming, like a blade of pure light.
And so he decided: his creation was not the Breath of the Sun.
As he mulled this over, the faces of his comrades from his former life returned to him.
Tengen Uzui, the Sound Hashira.
Mitsuri Kanroji, the Love Hashira.
Gyomei Himejima, the Stone Hashira.
Muichiro Tokito, the Mist Hashira.
Obanai Iguro, the Serpent Hashira.
Giyu Tomioka, the Water Hashira.
Shinobu Kocho, the Insect Hashira.
Sanemi Shinazugawa, the Wind Hashira.
Comrades, brothers, sisters. Friends with whom he had once fought and bled. Friends he would never meet again in this world.
The Demon Slayer Corps.
The Kisatsutai.
"My new breath… shall be named the Breath of Demon Slayer."
He had learned the five great branches of breathing through his bonds with the Hashira, and now he overlaid them atop his own flames. That was the truest inheritance of the Corps. The Breath of Demon Slayer was the only fitting name.
"And you, Hancock," he asked, "what will you call yours?"
Without a second's hesitation she replied:
"The Breath of Love!"
The name instantly brought Mitsuri Kanroji to mind—his junior, the Love Hashira.
"That… doesn't quite fit you."
Unbothered, Hancock offered another.
"Then, the Breath of Affection!"
Her eyes gleamed with certainty.
In truth, it didn't matter what she named it—her breath was her own. But still, Rengoku had asked.
"Is there a reason for such a name?"
"Of course. Because the man I love is the one who forged it with me!"
The pure devotion shining in her eyes made Rengoku smile despite himself.
"If it brings you joy, then so be it. The Breath of Affection it is."
And so, two new styles were born from the fusion of the five:
The Breath of Demon Slayer.
The Breath of Affection.
The forms would flow naturally from their breath.
What mattered was not the kata but the birth of the breath itself.
A new breath meant a new strength. And with this strength, alongside the enhanced power of his Zoan fruit and its hybrid form, Rengoku grew certain of one thing—
When the coming war arrived, he would cut down even more of the world's evils.
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