All eyes turned toward the elevated platform. The small master sat with inherited dignity. At nine years old, Kiriya carried burdens that would break most adults.
His voice never wavered when addressing the Corps. Today, however, something in his posture suggested uncertainty.
"A new Hashira joins our ranks today," Kiriya announced. "Akira Shiranui has mastered what she calls the Breath of Lies."
"Breath of Lies?" an older Corps member called out. "What kind of name is that for a demon slaying technique?"
Murmurs rippled through the assembled group. Tanjiro caught fragments.
"Sounds suspicious."
"Never heard of anything like that."
"Lies aren't something to build techniques around."
"Perhaps," Kiriya said carefully, "we should observe before judging."
Tanjiro raised his hand. The gesture felt formal in the charged atmosphere.
"Master Kiriya, where did this technique originate? Who was her teacher?"
"Shiranui-san will answer such questions herself." Kiriya's gaze moved toward the hall's main doors. "She approaches now."
The great doors slid open with barely a whisper of sound.
---
Akira Shiranui entered with fluid confidence. Water flowing around stones—yielding but unstoppable.
Auburn hair pulled back in a practical bun revealed sharp cheekbones and amber eyes. Those eyes cataloged every face in the room. Her Corps uniform was immaculate despite the early hour. Her nichirin blade hung at her side with the pristine gleam of a weapon that had never drawn blood.
"Honor to the Corps," she said, bowing respectfully but not subserviently.
When she straightened, her amber eyes found Tanjiro's across the room. Held them for a moment longer than courtesy required.
"Welcome, Shiranui-san." Kiriya inclined his head. "Please, tell us about your technique."
"The Breath of Lies offers an alternative to destruction." Akira's voice carried easily through the hall without strain or effort. "Rather than killing demons, we can pacify them."
The word "pacify" hit the room like a stone dropped in still water. Ripples of shocked whispers spread outward.
Tanjiro felt his scar give another warning tingle.
"Pacify?" Tengen stepped forward from his position near the wall. His flashy jewelry caught the morning light. Missing his left hand and eye from previous battles, he walked with an elegant cane but moved with the dangerous grace of a predator.
"That's not how demons work, kid."
"With respect, Uzui-san, perhaps it's time to question our assumptions." Akira's smile never wavered. Warm and confident.
"The techniques we've relied on serve their purpose, but they aren't the only way."
"Demons exist to consume human flesh," Tengen's voice carried the authority of experience. "They don't get 'pacified.'"
"Don't they?" Akira tilted her head slightly. "Or have we simply never tried alternatives because we're comfortable with familiar solutions?"
Tanjiro studied her face. Searched for signs of deception or fanaticism. Instead, he found only calm certainty.
That somehow felt more unsettling than ranting would have been.
"May I demonstrate?" Akira asked, directing the question to Kiriya.
The young master hesitated. Then nodded.
"Bring in the captured demon."
The hall filled with tension so thick it seemed to muffle sound itself. Tanjiro's hand unconsciously moved toward his blade as footsteps approached from the corridor beyond—heavy, dragging steps that spoke of a burden both physical and terrible.