The Crystal's Whisper and The Wind's Embrace

Chapter 63: The Steel Beneath

The clang of swords and barked orders echoed across the training grounds like thunder rolling before a storm.

The Hashira Training had begun in full.

Each pillar took turns leading specialised regimens: stamina, sword technique, reflex, pain tolerance, mental endurance. A brutal, unforgiving regimen designed to push Demon Slayers past their limits.

And the Hashira themselves were not spared.

On the western grounds, Sanemi's sessions were infamous within the first hour.

"You think demons will wait while you wheeze? Again!"

Corps members dropped in heaps under his relentless drills, sweat soaking through their uniforms as he stormed back and forth like a tempest.

"Back straight, idiot!"

"Swing again—no, again! Until your arms break, or your form doesn't!"

But beneath his fury, he watched them carefully.

Especially when Tanjiro stumbled, face twisted in pain but never stopping.

Sanemi's eyes narrowed.

"Kamado!" he barked. "You think smiling will save you? Pick up the pace!"

Tanjiro smiled sheepishly. "Yes, sir!"

"Tch. You're even more annoying than your sister."

----------

On the southern field, Tsukiyo led her own group, her approach completely different—but no less intense.

"Crystal Breathing is all about clarity, focus, and flow," she explained. "You cannot master your body unless you master your mind first."

Her training was a quiet storm.

She emphasised precision, not just power.

Stillness. Then speed. Control. Then explosion.

Her sword cut the air in delicate, crystalline arcs as she demonstrated, each movement like fractured light.

"You're too tense," she told Zenitsu, adjusting his grip. "If your fear controls you, your blade will betray you."

Zenitsu shuddered. "E-even your criticism is so elegant..."

Inosuke, on the other hand, charged at her without warning.

"Fight me, Crystal Lady!"

Tsukiyo sidestepped effortlessly, letting him crash into a training post.

"Try again when your brain is trained, too," she said calmly, dusting off her sleeve.

----------

Between sessions, Sanemi and Tsukiyo passed each other often.

They didn't always speak. Sometimes a glance was enough.

But even their silence said things others couldn't hear.

When she was too focused and forgot to hydrate—Sanemi shoved a water flask into her hand with a grunt. "Don't collapse on me."

When he barked himself hoarse shouting at trainees—Tsukiyo pressed a honeyed candy into his palm without a word.

He muttered something that might've been thanks.

They didn't hover.

But they watched each other.

Always.

----------

One evening, as the sun began to dip and the slayers began dispersing for rest, Tsukiyo remained behind, practicing alone.

Her blade arced through the air, glowing faintly in the dusk.

"Crystal Breathing, Fourth Form—Luminous Whip."

The motion was clean. Precise.

But her foot faltered at the end.

"Again," she murmured to herself, tightening her grip.

From the tree line, Sanemi watched.

He didn't call out. Just leaned against the trunk, arms crossed.

She didn't stop.

Strike. Turn. Step. Again.

After a while, he walked up behind her.

"You're overthinking it."

Tsukiyo paused, panting lightly. "I'm refining the edge. It has to be clean."

"You're already clean enough to cut the damn moon," he muttered. "Any more perfect and you'll disappear."

She blinked at him. "That was almost a compliment."

He looked away, ears tinged red. "Tch."

Then—softer—"You keep doing that, your shoulder's going to give out again."

She turned to face him fully. "So what? Are you going to scold me next?"

"No," he said gruffly. "I'll catch you when you fall. But I'd rather not have to."

Her breath caught.

She lowered her blade.

"...That was definitely a compliment."

He groaned. "I'm leaving."

But he didn't.

He just sat beside her on the grass, close enough that their shoulders brushed. The field was quiet. Fireflies blinked in the distance.

"You're different when you teach," he said after a long moment.

"How so?"

"You look like you're trying to save the world."

Tsukiyo smiled faintly. "Maybe I am."

Sanemi stared at the horizon.

"You already saved me," he said quietly.

She turned to him, startled.

But he stood before she could respond, brushing off his haori.

"Come on. You'll catch a cold sitting here like that."

And just like that, he walked ahead of her—never once looking back.

But she followed, heart full.

Because he didn't need to look back.

He knew she'd always be there.