Shinobu ignored the last part of Lock's words, her calm voice drifting softly through the quiet courtyard.
"My strength is too weak," she said, looking down at the blade in her hand. "I can't sever a demon's neck with this sword. So I coat it in wisteria poison instead. The toxin does what my blade can't."
Her tone carried quiet disappointment, the faintest tremor of frustration hidden beneath her smile.
That weakness—her physical limitation—was exactly why Insect Breathing could never be passed down easily.
It wasn't built around swordsmanship, but poison.
The method itself turned wisteria extract into a deadly weapon, capable of killing demons that survived decapitation.
If she had possessed the strength to cut cleanly through a demon's neck, Shinobu would never have needed to rely on poison. Perhaps, then, there would never have been an Insect Hashira.
She slid the Nichirin blade back into its sheath, the faint click sounding final.
"I've grown used to it," she said with a small, practiced smile. "My lack of strength is something I was born with. It can't be changed. That's why my breathing form isn't of much use to someone like you, Lock."
Lock didn't respond immediately.
He simply looked at her, thinking.
To stand among the Hashira with a body that couldn't even decapitate a demon—what kind of willpower had it taken for her to reach this point?
After a long silence, he shook his head.
"That's not true," he said quietly. "Every breathing style has value. You've made yours work in your own way."
He looked at her more seriously now.
"If you weren't here, what would the Corps do when they meet a demon that can't be killed by the blade alone?"
Shinobu blinked, surprised by his tone.
Lock smiled faintly. "You don't need to worry about weakness. You've turned it into something only you can do. The Insect Hashira is one of a kind."
His words were simple—but they landed deeply.
For a moment, Shinobu just stared at him, taken off guard. Then, as if realizing how serious he was, she covered her mouth and let out a soft laugh.
"Ah… you really know how to say nice things, don't you?" she said playfully. "You'll make people like you too easily if you keep that up."
Her laughter melted into the moonlight, light and warm. Then, gracefully, she rose to her feet.
The hem of her haori fluttered like wings, catching the silvery glow of the night. For an instant, she looked almost ethereal—like the butterflies she was named after.
Landing softly in the courtyard, she drew her Nichirin blade once again, the metal gleaming faintly violet beneath the moon.
Lock remained on the rooftop, watching silently.
Then Shinobu moved.
Her steps were light, weightless—her movements a blend of precision and grace. Every motion of her sword flowed seamlessly into the next.
This was Insect Breathing.
Unlike most forms, it wasn't about raw power or cutting strength—it was about speed, footwork, and timing.
Each movement was a dance of agility and deception.
Butterfly Dance — Caprice.
Shinobu leapt into the air, spinning lightly as if carried by the wind. Her blade glimmered like a stinger as it drove forward in a lightning-fast thrust.
The strike was so quick that the naked eye could barely follow.
No decapitation was needed—only a single touch of her poisoned blade.
Lock could feel the shift of air as she landed, his heart pounding. If he'd been her opponent, he wouldn't have dodged it.
She was easily several times faster than Kanao.
If not for his enhanced reflexes and observation from today's training, he might not have been able to track her at all.
[You watched Shinobu's Butterfly Dance — your heart raced as you grasped the essence of her footwork.]
[You comprehended the foundation of the Insect Breathing movement.]
The moonlight shimmered off her blade as she transitioned smoothly into the next technique.
Bee Sting Dance — True Flutter.
[You observed Shinobu's Bee Sting Dance and began to understand its motion patterns.]
[You imitate the rhythm in your mind, testing your insight.]
Lock stepped down from the roof and landed silently in the courtyard.
Watching wasn't enough. He needed to feel the motion.
He mirrored her movements—his steps light, his breathing steady.
[You imitated Shinobu's movements. Your proficiency increased.]
Two figures—one graceful, one precise—moved in sync under the wisteria-scented night.
Shinobu's rhythm quickened; Lock followed close behind, his speed improving with every repetition.
Then, her steps changed.
Dragonfly Dance — Compound Eye Hexagon.
A six-hit combination, each strike injecting more poison into an enemy's body. Her form blurred, each thrust sharp and exact.
Lock tried to copy it, but his endurance couldn't quite keep up with her pace. His body was strong—but Shinobu's speed was otherworldly.
After several seconds of blinding motion, she paused for the first time, chest rising and falling.
Her breathing was steady, but Lock could see the faint tremor in her arms.
She exhaled once, deeply—and moved again.
Centipede Dance — Hundred-Legged Fury.
Her form exploded into motion, feet striking the ground like rhythmic drumbeats. Her figure vanished, leaving afterimages across the courtyard.
The earth trembled faintly beneath her steps, her movements coiling and weaving like the body of a centipede closing in for the strike.
Lock's eyes widened. The illusion of movement was overwhelming—predatory, deadly, precise.
It was hard to believe such power came from someone so small.
The faint wisteria fragrance thickened in the air, mixing with the warmth of her sweat. Her haori shimmered with each twist, her blade slicing invisible lines through the dark.
Then—stillness.
The final thrust ended the dance as suddenly as it began.
Shinobu exhaled, her shoulders trembling slightly. Fine beads of sweat rolled down her temple, and the moonlight caught the sheen along her skin.
Her haori clung lightly to her back, dampened by the heat of motion, outlining her slender frame.
Lock didn't look away. Every movement—every detail—was etched into his mind, his expression calm but his thoughts racing.
[You observed Shinobu's complete demonstration of Insect Breathing.]
[You gained insight into advanced movement flow and learned: Butterfly Step — Intermediate.]
The night was silent again, save for the faint hum of cicadas.
The two of them stood beneath the moonlight—one still catching her breath, the other quietly watching, the air between them alive with unspoken understanding.