The Beast Breathing attack came fast and brutal—but to Chika, it might as well have been in slow motion.
She twisted aside with effortless precision, sidestepped both blades, then spun her Nichirin Sword in her grip and slammed the flat of the blade into the boar-headed boy's stomach.
He grunted, body jerking from the impact, and was sent flying—landing in the same spot he'd leapt from moments ago.
Too slow. Far too slow.
Those who'd mastered Total Concentration, Constant saw the world through a different rhythm of motion.
In the original tale, even Tanjiro's full-strength attacks couldn't so much as graze Kanao once she'd reached that stage.
And now, the difference between Chika and this boy was just as vast. Even if he fought with everything he had, he couldn't hope to touch her—not even once.
"You're not my match," Chika said flatly. "And the demon inside? You couldn't have beaten it, either."
"That's not for you to decide!" he barked back.
"But deciding whether you lose?" Her eyes sharpened. "That's up to me."
In the blink of an eye, she was in front of him again. Words clearly weren't getting through—so she decided to use something more… direct.
Ten minutes later.
Tanjiro and the others finally exited the mansion, carrying a wounded boy. Zenitsu trailed behind, still dazed. One look at the interior—walls slashed apart, floors caved in—and Zenitsu realized what Tanjiro had meant when he said his sister was strong.
"Strong" didn't even begin to cover it. This was terrifying.
When they stepped outside, the first sight that greeted them wasn't the clear sky—but Chika, standing on top of the boar-headed boy like a victorious general. His twin Nichirin Blades were stabbed into the ground beside them, while deep, clean cuts scarred the earth in every direction.
"Had enough?"
"Y–Yeah… I give up," he gasped.
"Good. I'm not a sadist—I don't enjoy this kind of thing."
Chika sighed and finally lifted her foot off him.
The boy was unbelievably stubborn. She'd been careful not to hit him too hard, striking only with enough force to knock him unconscious… yet somehow, he'd stayed awake. Each blow had only made his fighting spirit burn hotter.
Now look at him—bones probably cracked, bruises everywhere, internal injuries guaranteed. All because he couldn't admit defeat a little sooner.
Still, when he got back on his feet, he wasn't angry. He laughed. Loudly, almost gleefully.
For a moment, Chika wondered if she'd hit his head too hard and rattled something loose.
Then she remembered—no, he'd been like this from the start.
"Big Sister Boss! You're amazing! Can you teach me how to be as strong as you?!" he shouted, eyes blazing with admiration.
"…Huh?"
Chika blinked, dumbfounded by the sudden honorific.
The boy didn't seem to care about his injuries. He yanked his twin blades out of the ground and mimicked her earlier stance, swinging them experimentally.
He had lived his entire life in the mountains, fighting and surviving among beasts. Strength ruled that world. The strong led; the weak followed.
And in that primal order, Chika had just proven herself the dominant predator.
To him, she was now the pack's leader—his Big Sister Boss.
Chika scratched the back of her head, exasperated. She thought about correcting him, but looking at his childlike excitement… she sighed and let it go.
Big Sister Boss it is, then.
Later that day, the rescued children invited the group to their home for a meal. It was a welcome rest after the chaos.
Midway through dinner, the boar-headed boy finally removed his mask.
Everyone but Chika froze mid-bite.
Because beneath that crude boar's head… was a face so absurdly beautiful it could've belonged to a woman—fine features, long lashes, smooth skin. Only his bare, muscular torso ruined the illusion.
Zenitsu, however, refused to accept reality.
"You—you're a girl?!" he yelped.
"I'M A GUY!!" the boy snapped, veins popping.
His name was Inosuke Hashibira. Raised by beasts, uneducated, untamed. He'd stolen a Nichirin Blade from another Demon Slayer and, by sheer instinct, learned of the Corps' existence. Through raw talent alone, he'd created his own Beast Breathing and passed Final Selection.
As for why no one remembered him from the exam—it was simple. He was too impatient.
He'd been the first to climb the mountain, the first to kill a demon, the first to leave. By the time the others had gathered to choose their ore, he was already halfway down the slope.
During dinner, one of the rescued boys gathered his courage and asked who they really were.
After a moment's hesitation, the group decided to tell them about the Demon Slayer Corps. There was no need to hide it—not from those who'd already witnessed a demon's horror firsthand. Knowing that someone was out there fighting for humanity might even give them comfort.
When they finished explaining, the children relaxed a little—except for one boy.
The same one who had nearly died. His eyes were firm.
"Then… can I join the Demon Slayer Corps too?"
The table went silent.
Zenitsu stared in horror. "Wh-why would you want that? Isn't being alive enough?!"
Inosuke grinned. "Sounds fun! Men are born to fight demons!"
Tanjiro frowned gently. "It's not that simple. Think about it carefully. Demon Slayers die… a lot."
He was right. The mortality rate in the Corps was staggering. Most who joined were either from families that had hunted demons for generations—or people seeking revenge.
If you were looking to make a living, there were far safer ways to do it. Joining the Corps meant accepting that your next battle might be your last.
Encouragements, warnings, arguments—all came at once. Only one person stayed quiet.
Everyone turned to her.
Chika set her chopsticks down and looked at the boy. "Forget it. Don't join."
The boy's shoulders slumped. "I… I see. I was being arrogant."
"That's not what I meant."
Her tone shifted—steady, confident.
"I mean, there's no point in joining," she said. "Because soon, the age of demons will end. Even if you became a Demon Slayer…"
A small smile curved her lips.
"…there won't be any demons left to kill."