Demon Slayer: The Ultimate Defense System

"Damn you, you bastard!"

"Prepare to die!" Sanemi Shinazugawa was completely enraged by Yohan's words. His face darkened with fury, and the three deep scars across his face twisted even more ferociously with his anger.

This bastard actually dared to look down on him like that? Saying he'd finish him off in one move—what did that make him? Some kind of insect crawling on the roadside?

The other Hashira present weren't looking too pleased either. When Yohan had first volunteered to prove himself with a duel, he had actually earned some admiration—they respected the courage to stand up and confront suspicion head-on.

But no one expected him to then throw out a line like "I'll end it in one move." What the hell did he mean by that? That the Hashira were weak? That Sanemi was just some stepping stone?

In that moment, most of the Hashira mentally took Sanemi's side, silently hoping he'd teach this arrogant guy a proper lesson.

Only three people didn't react with surprise or anger at Yohan's declaration.

Tamayo and Kanae, who had both witnessed Yohan's strength firsthand, knew that if he dared say something like that, he had full confidence in backing it up.

And then there was Kagaya Ubuyashiki, who, despite sitting quietly within the manor, had already drawn his own conclusions from his conversations with Kanae and Rengoku Kyojuro.

"Still, it's something that must be seen to be truly believed," Ubuyashiki thought to himself.

If Yohan could truly defeat Sanemi in a single strike, it would mean his strength had already surpassed that of the Hashira—and he was still so young, with room to grow even stronger. That would massively increase the chances of defeating Muzan Kibutsuji, and would be a blessing for both the Ubuyashiki family and the entire Demon Slayer Corps.

Now, it was time to witness it all firsthand.

Eighth Form – Primary Gale Slash!

Blinded by rage, Sanemi unleashed his Wind Breathing in an instant. He surged toward Yohan with terrifying speed, his blade swinging in a flurry of furious arcs that kicked up razor-sharp gusts of wind with each movement—each one easily capable of ripping through flesh.

"He's using the Eighth Form?"

"Looks like Sanemi's not holding back at all this time."

Even the other Hashira raised their eyebrows at the move. Sanemi wasn't just swinging his sword around aimlessly—he was opening with one of his strongest techniques, clearly determined to punish Yohan for his arrogance.

"Wait, he's using the Eighth Form already? Has he lost his damn mind?"

"Yohan... he'll be okay, right?" Kanae's voice was laced with worry. She hadn't expected Sanemi to come at him so hard right from the start. The sheer power behind that technique was enough to kill a man if it landed cleanly.

"Hah! You're finished!" Sanemi roared, gripping his Nichirin blade tightly as he closed the distance with blinding speed.

He was fully aware that what he was doing wasn't entirely proper. After all, Breathing Styles were meant for slaying demons, not fellow humans. And this technique in particular—it was meant to kill.

Still, he hadn't aimed directly at Yohan's vital spots. The slash was slightly off to the side. The worst would be some nasty flesh wounds. That's what the bastard deserved for looking down on him, the Wind Hashira.

This was the price of underestimating Sanemi Shinazugawa.

But then...

"So this is the source of your arrogance?"

"How utterly laughable."

Sanemi's eyes widened.

Yohan—who just a second ago had been standing dead ahead of him—was gone.

Then he heard a voice—right next to his ear.

And the voice belonged to Yohan.

"What... what the hell!?"

The other Hashira saw it clearly. Somehow, in a split second, Yohan had moved—not back, not away—but right next to Sanemi, appearing beside him with a casual, unbothered air.

It was shocking. Sanemi was known for his incredible speed among the Hashira, second perhaps only to Tengen Uzui. Not to mention, his Wind Breathing technique surrounded him with a violent storm of slicing wind blades. The ground itself had been shredded from the force of his attack.

But Yohan? He didn't seem affected at all. The slicing wind, the gale-force aura—none of it had even ruffled his robes.

"I said I'd end this in one move," Yohan said, his voice now void of any mirth.

Iron Body Technique – Steel.

He threw a punch.

Right into Sanemi's gut.

The moment it connected, the smug, twisted snarl on Sanemi's face froze in place. His entire expression collapsed under the crushing force of the impact. Every muscle in his body contracted at once, his features scrunched up in an involuntary grimace of pain.

And then—his body crumpled like a cooked shrimp, bending inward as the blow launched him straight across the courtyard.

BOOM!

He smashed into the courtyard wall, cracking it in a spiderweb of fractures before collapsing in a heap. The impact left a human-shaped dent in the stone. Sanemi Shinazugawa, the Wind Hashira, was unconscious.

Yohan exhaled lightly, not even looking back at the wreckage he'd left behind.

"He'll live," he said calmly.

"But he'll need a decent amount of time to recover."

Then he turned and cast his gaze across the rest of the Hashira, meeting each pair of eyes one by one.

"So?" He smiled again, like none of what just happened was a big deal.

"Any more questions?"

A long silence fell over the courtyard.

Yohan knew he'd made his point. He'd known long before this meeting that with people like the Hashira, mere words wouldn't cut it. If he wanted to convince them—really convince them—then he'd have to speak in the language they respected most:

Strength.

And Sanemi? He had simply been the unlucky one to volunteer himself as the example.

The guy had been yelling nonstop, practically begging for someone to shut him up. Yohan wasn't exactly known for his patience. And if it weren't for the fact that Sanemi hadn't really intended to kill him—and because of Ubuyashiki and Kanae's presence—he might not have held back as much as he did.

The rest of the Hashira stared at Yohan in stunned silence.

That gentle smile. That calm voice. And yet... he had just punched the Wind Hashira into a wall and knocked him unconscious in one hit.

And then said he'd be fine.

Is... is that what he calls 'fine'? one of them thought, glancing toward the hole in the courtyard wall where Sanemi's body still slumped.

Even Gyomei Himejima, the strongest among them, stood stiffly, his entire frame tense. He was fully aware of his own power—he was unmatched among the Hashira.

But even he had to admit: he couldn't have done that. Not with just one punch.

And not so casually.

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