Chapter 35 – Defeating Busujima Munemasa
For a brief moment, Yukinoshita Akira stood frozen, unable to immediately process Busujima Munemasa's words.
What… did he just say?
They had just met for the first time, and yet this man was already making declarations that carried the weight of his family's legacy? All based on his daughter's evaluation?
"You look confused," Munemasa said with a faint smile, as though he could read Akira's thoughts.
"I am," Akira admitted calmly. "You're wagering your daughter and your entire household on a whim. Are you truly that certain of what you see in me?"
"Not entirely," Munemasa replied. "Even though Saeko's judgment is sharp, I only trust half of it."
"Then what gives you such confidence?"
Munemasa's smile faded, his tone turning firm. "Because you are strong. Although I found it hard to believe at first… Yukinoshita Akira, you've reached the level of a Sword Saint, haven't you?"
Saeko's eyes widened in shock.
Wait—what?
Yukinoshita Akira… a Sword Saint?
At seventeen years old? That was beyond absurd. It was an impossible claim—one that no sane swordsman would dare make.
"Sword Saint, huh?" Akira murmured, his expression unreadable. "I'm curious—how do you define that title? What separates it from the rest?"
"A Sword Saint," Munemasa explained, "is a master who has reached the pinnacle of the blade—someone who can create their own style, their own flow of swordsmanship."
"So, a founder of a school?"
"That's one way to put it. But more than that, it's the state of enlightenment itself. The moment a swordsman transcends mortal limits."
"I see," Akira said slowly. "And just because you felt something from me… you've already decided I'm one?"
"That's right," Munemasa nodded. "The aura, the pressure you exude—it's far beyond the realm of ordinary swordsmen. Even if you aren't a Sword Saint yet, the distance between you and one is paper-thin."
Akira smirked faintly. "Interesting. Then how about we confirm it—through a duel?"
"Hoh? You wish to fight me? Are you sure about that?"
"Absolutely."
There was no hesitation in Akira's eyes. His gaze was calm yet burning with quiet resolve.
After defeating Saeko not long ago, his system's inheritance had evolved. Now, facing someone even stronger—Busujima Munemasa himself—this was a perfect opportunity to test how far he could go.
"Hahaha! Excellent!" Munemasa roared with laughter. "As fellow swordsmen, how could I refuse such a challenge? Come, let us go to the dojo."
"Lead the way."
Munemasa walked toward the dojo beside the main house, still chuckling with genuine anticipation.
Meanwhile, Saeko caught up to Akira, her voice tinged with concern.
"Akira-kun… are you really going to fight my father?"
"Of course."
"But even if you're strong, my father—"
"There's something you might be misunderstanding," Akira interrupted gently. "Your father is strong… but that doesn't mean I'm weak."
"I know that, but my father is different from me," she insisted. "He's one of the few Sword Saints in Japan."
"And?" Akira smiled. "So what?"
There wasn't a trace of fear in his eyes.
After all, this wasn't the world of One Piece, where swordsmen could slice steel by hearing the "Breath of All Things."
Nor was it the Demon Slayer world where warriors used Breathing Styles to enhance their physical limits.
Even without mastering any Breathing Style, Akira carried the blood and inheritance of Yoriichi Tsugikuni—the strongest swordsman in Demon Slayer history.
That alone placed him beyond human boundaries.
The three of them stepped into the Busujima family dojo.
It was a wide hall built in traditional Japanese architecture—serene yet heavy with the lingering presence of countless duels. The air itself seemed to hum with discipline and legacy.
"Young man," Munemasa said as he turned to face Akira. "By merely challenging me, you've already shown courage worthy of respect. Regardless of the outcome, I acknowledge your will."
"I'm honored," Akira replied coolly.
He walked toward the weapon rack, took a single shinai, and gave it a small swing.
The moment his fingers gripped the bamboo hilt, the atmosphere changed.
The air trembled with invisible weight. The sharp, dominating pressure of his sword aura filled the room—so intense that even Saeko's breathing hitched.
Munemasa's eyes narrowed. That presence… it was overwhelming. Could this boy truly be stronger than him?
"Busujima Munemasa, master of the Dōjima-ryū. I await your blade."
"Yukinoshita Akira," he replied softly, "wielder of a style that is mine alone."
The air snapped.
Munemasa's opening strike came in a blur—swift, heavy, disciplined. The sharp rhythm of his strikes showed decades of mastery.
The clash of bamboo blades echoed through the hall like thunder.
Akira met each strike with graceful precision, his movements fluid yet unyielding.
Munemasa's footwork was impeccable, his cuts honed to perfection—but Akira deflected every blow effortlessly.
For the first time, Munemasa found himself on the defensive.
"What incredible power… Are you truly seventeen?" he asked, stepping back slightly.
"Of course," Akira replied calmly. "But tell me, Head of the Busujima family— is that really all you've got?"
"Hah! You still have the nerve to provoke me? Very well then, I won't hold back!"
"I'm counting on it."
"Prepare yourself!"
Munemasa's aura flared violently, his strikes becoming a storm of blades.
Every swing tore through the air with explosive force, embodying the Busujima-ryū's signature—speed and sharpness above all.
Yet Akira didn't even change his stance.
Holding the shinai with one hand, he blocked every attack with almost lazy precision.
Not a single strike broke through.
In this world, Sword Saints were still bound by human limits. Their strength came from skill and discipline alone.
But Akira's power… came from a different realm entirely.
His heritage, his bloodline, his divine inheritance—everything about him was beyond the natural order of this world.
The Swordmastery Divine Path—a talent that made him stand above all sword users.
The dojo trembled as another impact resounded.
Munemasa's breathing had grown heavy, while Akira's remained steady—calm, unwavering, untouchable.
"I can't believe it…" Munemasa whispered. "You're this strong…"
It wasn't disbelief anymore—it was pure, undeniable recognition.
For decades he had polished his art, but before this boy… all that seemed meaningless.
"Head of the Busujima family," Akira said quietly. "Thank you for the lesson."
"Hm? What do you—"
"Busujima-ryū: Flash."
A single step.
A single slash.
The strike was so fast that it seemed like a streak of light cutting through the air.
In that instant, Munemasa's shinai snapped cleanly in half—split down the middle.
Meanwhile, Akira's weapon remained untouched, still humming with energy.
"…What…?" Munemasa whispered in shock.
If those had been real swords, he realized—he wouldn't be standing right now.
The difference between them wasn't just skill. It was something far greater.
"I concede," Munemasa said quietly, dropping the broken bamboo to the floor.
He was not the kind of man who couldn't accept defeat.
Even if it stung his pride to lose to someone barely older than his daughter, what he felt most of all… was admiration.
Yes, this was the kind of man worthy of the Busujima name.
— — —
[Ding!]
[You have gained +0.3% Inheritance Progress.]
The familiar chime echoed softly in Akira's mind.
A 0.3% increase—tiny, yet monumental.
Each victory brought him one step closer to the power of the greatest swordsman in history—Yoriichi Tsugikuni.
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