Demon Slayer: Guardian of the Forest

Night had fallen. A crescent moon hung in the sky, its silvery light spilling across the land. Outside the Moriki estate, the bamboo grove was bathed in a serene glow. Shinichi, clad in a training uniform, glared at the elderly Moriki patriarch standing across from him.

"What? You're telling me to sit here holding a pot of weeds and… stare at it?" Shinichi gestured at the pot in his hand, filled with a clump of vibrant green… grass?

"It's not staring; it's meditation," the old man corrected with utmost seriousness. "The Forest Breathing technique is derived from the breath of nature itself—or rather, from the infinite respiration of the natural world. To master Forest Breathing, the most critical step is to hear the voice of nature."

Shinichi raised an eyebrow.

"Every blade of grass, every towering tree, they all have life. They, too, are constantly breathing. Quiet your mind, meditate, and attune yourself to their rhythm. Only then can your own breath truly synchronize with theirs," Moriki explained.

Shinichi's mouth twitched. "Yeah, that sounds all mystical and poetic, but don't you think sitting here clutching a pot of weeds makes me look like an idiot?"

"This isn't just any grass. This is Awakening Grass, a treasured plant passed down through the Moriki lineage. It's been used by generations of our family to connect with the Forest Breathing technique. Be patient, young man. The journey begins here."

"…Right."

And so, Shinichi found himself sitting cross-legged in the bamboo grove, holding the so-called Awakening Grass, staring blankly at it with his crimson eyes.

An hour passed. Nothing happened.

Two hours passed. Still nothing.

Three hours later, Shinichi's sharp fangs involuntarily extended, a sign of his growing irritation.

Four hours in, he was furious and contemplating giving the old man a piece of his mind.

By the fifth hour, Junbo, his loyal friend, arrived with a platter of dorayaki slathered in an absurd amount of syrup and a pot of wisteria tea. The gesture managed to calm Shinichi, albeit slightly.

Days turned into a week. Shinichi continued to sit there, holding the Awakening Grass. Each time the plant withered, Moriki would take him to the family's garden to fetch another. When Shinichi saw the estate's backyard filled with wild, overgrown patches of the same grass, his irritation boiled over.

"What's the difference between these and regular weeds?!" he muttered through gritted teeth.

Late on the seventh night, under the same pale moonlight, Shinichi sat alone in the bamboo grove. The breeze rustled the grass in his pot, and a dewdrop formed on one of its leaves.

"This is ridiculous," Shinichi muttered, his expression dark. "I know plants breathe. My old world's biology classes drilled that into me—photosynthesis and all that. But how does this help me?"

He paused, then sighed. "This world has demons. What's science compared to that? I'm not some genius. I'm just… me. Ghostly powers and breathing techniques were once nothing more than stories to me. Now, they're my reality, and I have no idea how to handle them."

The bitterness in his voice grew. "Seeking power for revenge isn't wrong, is it? Whether it's the strength of demons or breathing techniques, I'll take whatever I can get. But even if I master Forest Breathing, will it change who I am? To others, I'll always be a monster—a demon. Once a demon, always a demon, right?"

Suddenly, he stopped himself. "Wait. Am I seriously venting to a pot of grass? I've been out here too long…"

Just then, a cool sensation spread through his palm. Startled, Shinichi looked down. A dewdrop from the Awakening Grass had fallen onto his hand.

The chill traveled through him like a spark, awakening something within. In an instant, a faint green glow shimmered before his eyes, and he felt a strange yet serene presence bloom in his heart.

"What… what is this feeling?" he murmured.

He took a slow, deliberate breath. It wasn't just air he inhaled but a subtle, vibrant energy—soft yet enduring, like the breath of life itself.

His gaze shifted back to the swaying grass in his hands. "Was that… you? Am I really hearing your breath?"

Far off in the grove, by a clear stream beneath an ancient willow tree, the old patriarch of the Moriki family straightened his back, a satisfied smile on his weathered face.

"I knew he could do it," Moriki whispered. The willow's branches swayed gently in the breeze, as if sharing his joy.

Before dawn, Shinichi returned to the training chamber. The old man was already there, sipping tea beneath the faint glow of a lantern.

"You heard it, didn't you?" the patriarch asked, his tone warm.

Shinichi placed the pot of grass down gently. "Yes. I heard it. It's incredible—like they're guiding me. There's this boundless vitality behind their breath, something indescribable yet profound."

The old man set his cup down, his expression both proud and solemn. "That is the call of Forest Breathing, Shinichi. It carries within it the infinite life force of nature itself."

Shinichi met his gaze and, for the first time, found the old man almost likable. "So… does this mean you'll finally teach me the real breathing technique and swordsmanship?"

Moriki's smile vanished, replaced by a look of stern resolve. He stood and retrieved a katana from the wooden rack behind him. Its blade, a brilliant green, glimmered in the dim light.

"Forest Breathing has found its new heir," he declared.

Shinichi clenched his fists and nodded. "I'm ready. Please teach me."

The patriarch's expression softened, but his voice carried weight. "Then tell me, Shinichi: Are you truly prepared for the path ahead?"

Without hesitation, Shinichi nodded again, this time more firmly. "Yes. I am. Teach me everything."

With that, the journey of the Forest Pillar began anew.