Chapter Text
The Hashira meeting was already tense—like a storm coiled in the sky, waiting for the lightning bolt to strike. They stood in the open-air council hall atop the highest ridge of the Demon Slayer Corps’ estate, pillars flanking them like solemn sentinels. Kagaya Ubuyashiki, calm as ever, sat at the center while the nine most powerful swordsmen of the Corps loomed in their distinct styles, bickering in varying degrees of passive-aggression and intensity.
Giyuu Tomioka stood near the edge, silent, as usual. The Wind Hashira was yelling. The Sound Hashira was yelling back. The Flame and Serpent Hashira were in another argument about “idealistic recklessness versus cold logic.” Mitsuri tried to be a balm to it all, but even she looked tired. And Obanai had already hissed something about Giyuu's “unearned air of superiority.”
Giyuu didn’t respond. He never did.
Then came the boom.
The sound was not just loud—it was earth-shaking, like a tree falling on a drum.
The doors to the council hall were kicked open.
A shape emerged from the mist outside—broad, powerful, wrapped in a red tengu mask and a heavy cloak, blue kimono flapping like wings of fury. Sandals thudded against the wood with weighty resolve.
Urokodaki Sakonji had arrived.
“Oh no,” Giyuu mumbled, color draining from his face.
“Oh yes,” said the universe.
“Hashira,” Urokodaki’s voice cracked like a whip under velvet, resonating with authority that none of them expected. “I came because my former student here—” he clapped a heavy hand on Giyuu’s shoulder, making the stoic Water Hashira flinch like a cornered animal—“told me how unbearably arrogant you’ve all gotten.”
“Sensei—” Giyuu started, voice pitched ever so slightly higher than usual.
“Quiet, Giyuu. You still don’t know how to speak up when people are talking nonsense. I raised you better than that.”
Giyuu shriveled back a step like a kicked puppy.
Sanemi sneered. “And what exactly is this retired fog doing here?”
“You mean the man who could still thrash you with one hand while making tea?” Urokodaki growled, stepping into the circle. “Don’t talk to me about retirement when you’ve got footwork like a blind donkey.”
“Wha—Say that again—!” Sanemi exploded, already halfway drawn his blade.
Urokodaki’s sword was already out.
He moved like mist turned to steel—impossibly fast. In one breath, Sanemi’s blade was flung from his hand, and he was kicked halfway across the hall.
“Any other loud mouths?” Urokodaki’s voice rumbled. “You—Sound Hashira. I’ve seen louder children during nap time.”
“I dare—”
Urokodaki spun, parried Tengen’s dual blades like they were leaves on the wind, and shoulder-checked him into a pillar.
“Mist kid,” he barked at Muichiro. “I trained Giyuu when you were in diapers. Don’t even think about sneaking up on me.”
Muichiro blinked once and vanished. Five seconds later, he came flying backwards from the mist, tied up with his own haori.
Iguro and Mitsuri tried to double-team him—grace and speed—but Urokodaki met them mid-dash, twisted, flipped Mitsuri over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and disarmed Obanai with the back of his sword.
Kyojuro’s eyes lit up with admiration and fire. “Urokodaki-dono! Such skill! Such flair! Would you cross blades with me—?”
Before he could finish, Urokodaki parried his burning strike, stepped in, and tapped his forehead with the flat of the blade. “Nice enthusiasm. Bad guard.”
By now, even Gyomei had tensed, and Urokodaki turned toward the towering Stone Hashira.
But Gyomei merely bowed low.
“I concede, master.”
“Smart one,” Urokodaki muttered, brushing his sleeves off like he’d just swatted at a few flies.
Kagaya smiled faintly behind his veil. “Urokodaki-san, was there… a particular reason you’re here today?”
“Yes,” he said, slamming the butt of his blade on the floor. “You’re strong, sure. But strength without discipline is just a blade without a sheath. You all fight demons, yet bicker like toddlers. So I’m taking you all to my mountain.”
“What?” Shinobu narrowed her eyes.
“For training.”
Giyuu stepped forward quickly, eyes wide. “No. Don’t. You don’t understand—”
“I insist,” Urokodaki said over him. “You will stay one week on Sagiri Mountain. If you survive, maybe you’ll remember what humility smells like.”
Tengen chuckled, popping his shoulder back into place. “Fine by me. A little old-school training never hurt.”
“I think it’ll be fun!” Mitsuri chirped.
“I will make this man eat his words,” Sanemi growled.
Only Giyuu trembled slightly.
Three Days Later — Sagiri Mountain
There were no words for it. No training regimen, no punishing drills from childhood, no war memories could prepare them for what they were enduring.
They had run until their legs bled. Climbed until their hands cracked open. Carried logs heavier than bulls up vertical cliffs. They’d been woken up by being kicked into rivers of freezing water. Urokodaki hadn’t even used a sword again. He’d just shamed them into obedience.
“Breathe wrong, and you hike again.”
“Lose focus, and it’s waterfall meditation… during hail.”
By the fourth day, Mitsuri was sobbing while eating her rice. Sanemi was speaking to trees. Obanai had nearly strangled his snake in a rage fit. Even Gyomei had said, softly, “...This is worse than blindness.”
Only Giyuu, seated with silent serenity next to Urokodaki’s porch, sipping tea, muttered with the faintest smile:
“I told you.”