Bab 2: Chapter 2: The Dual Nature of the Butterfly Effect
Seasons turned, and before Hori Take knew it, a full year had passed on Mount Momoyama.
Life on the mountain was fulfilling. His master, Jigoro Kuwajima, though eccentric and sometimes childish, was a wellspring of knowledge and skill. Under his tutelage, Hori had learned much, absorbing everything like a sponge.
Jigoro was equally pleased with his disciple. Hori was diligent, sharp, and brimming with potential. The old master spared no effort in teaching him, holding nothing back.
In the first six months, Hori focused on strengthening his body and honing his swordsmanship. Day after day, he pushed himself to the limits—running up steep mountain paths, lifting heavy logs, and practicing sword swings until his arms felt like lead. Then, in the latter half of the year, while maintaining his physical regimen, he began to learn the Breath of Thunder.
The Breath of Thunder—one of the five foundational breathing styles—was as formidable as the legends claimed. Its techniques were swift and relentless, embodying the very essence of lightning. Each movement required precision, speed, and an unwavering will.
Months of grueling practice ensued. Hori would rise before dawn, training until the stars dotted the night sky. His muscles ached, his hands blistered, but he pressed on, driven by an unyielding determination to change his fate.
One crisp winter morning, snow blanketed the landscape, turning the mountain into a serene canvas of white. Hori stood in a clearing, the cold air biting at his cheeks. Today felt different—something within him had shifted.
He settled into his stance, feet firmly planted in the snow. Lowering his center of gravity, he gripped the hilt of his sword with his right hand, his left steadying the sheath at his waist. Closing his eyes, he inhaled deeply, drawing the frigid air into his lungs in a measured rhythm.
"Breath of Thunder: First Form—Thunderclap and Flash!"
In that instant, electricity crackled around him. With a blinding flash, he unsheathed his sword, his body propelling forward at lightning speed. The world blurred around him as he became one with the thunder.
A heartbeat later, he stood several meters ahead, sword already sheathed. Behind him, a massive peach tree, thick as a barrel, shuddered. A thin line appeared along its trunk before it split cleanly in two, the upper half crashing into the snow with a resounding thud, sending a flurry of snowflakes into the air.
Hori smiled, satisfaction warming him despite the cold. He had done it. He had truly mastered the First Form of the Breath of Thunder. All those months of relentless training had borne fruit.
But his moment of triumph was short-lived.
"YOU LITTLE BRAT!"
Hori felt a chill—not from the winter air, but from the palpable fury behind him. He turned slowly to see Jigoro standing there, eyes ablaze, a dark aura swirling around him like a tempest.
"Another one of my peach trees? I've had it with you!" Jigoro roared, his voice echoing through the mountains.
"Uh-oh," Hori muttered. Without a second thought, he bolted.
"Come back here!" Jigoro shouted, sprinting after him with surprising speed for someone his age.
"I'm sorry! Really sorry!" Hori yelled over his shoulder, dodging between trees as he fled.
The two raced through the snow-covered forest, weaving around the remaining peach trees. Hori's laughter mixed with his master's grumbling threats, their footprints crisscrossing in the pristine snow.
Finally, after what felt like miles, they collapsed against a tree, both panting heavily.
"Old man," Hori gasped between breaths, "it's just one tree! Do you have to get so worked up? There's a whole mountain full of them!"
Jigoro shot him a withering glare. "Just one tree? You've been here a year, and you've decimated more of my peach trees than I can count!"
"What else am I supposed to practice on?" Hori retorted, wiping sweat from his brow despite the cold. "The mountain is nothing but peach trees! Unless you want me to slice through rocks?"
"Don't get smart with me," Jigoro huffed.
"Besides," Hori continued, a teasing grin spreading across his face, "aren't you going to congratulate me? I mastered the First Form! Instead of praise, I get chased around like a criminal. Sometimes I wonder who's really your disciple—me or the trees?"
Jigoro's stern expression faltered. He coughed awkwardly, trying to regain his composure. "Well... so you've mastered the First Form, have you? Took you long enough. When I was your age, I had it down in half the time."
"Is that supposed to be a compliment or an insult?" Hori quipped.
"Take it however you like," Jigoro replied, turning his head to hide a small smile.
Hori chuckled. Their banter had become a daily routine, one that he cherished deeply. Despite his master's gruff exterior and their constant bickering, he knew Jigoro cared for him.
After a moment, Jigoro cleared his throat. "All right, that's enough messing around. You've made good progress, but don't get complacent. There's still much to learn."
"Yes, yes, I know," Hori said, waving a hand dismissively. "Keep training, don't slack off, and so on."
"And don't forget to chop up that fallen tree," Jigoro added. "It's blocking the path."
"Got it, old man. You sure know how to ruin a moment."
Jigoro gave him a light smack on the back of the head before heading back toward their cabin. "Less talking, more working!"
Hori watched him go, a fond smile on his face. Once alone, he gazed up at the overcast sky. Thick clouds loomed, heavy with the promise of more snow.
A sense of melancholy settled over him. This was the second year of the Taishō era—the year when Tanjiro Kamado's family would meet their tragic end, setting him and his sister Nezuko on their harrowing journey. The events that marked the beginning of the Demon Slayer saga.
Over the past year, Hori had tried to find the Kamado family. Whenever he had the chance, he ventured down the mountain, visiting nearby villages and towns, asking about any family named Kamado. But his efforts yielded nothing.
Japan might be an island nation, but it was vast, and finding one family among millions was like searching for a needle in a haystack. Eventually, he had to accept that he couldn't change their fate.
He sighed, his breath forming a misty cloud. Perhaps, at this very moment, their tragedy was unfolding.
But dwelling on what he couldn't change wouldn't help. He clenched his fists, resolve hardening within him.
"I may not be able to save them," he thought, "but I can still make a difference. I can prevent other tragedies from happening. I can change the future."
With renewed determination, Hori returned to his training. He practiced the First Form repeatedly, each swing more precise than the last. The familiar crackle of electricity surged around him, the power of the Breath of Thunder coursing through his veins.
He couldn't help but feel a surge of pride. In the original story, Kaigaku—the character whose body he now inhabited—had never managed to learn the First Form, a failure that ultimately led to his downfall. But Hori had surpassed that hurdle. He was defying destiny, carving his own path.
Lost in these thoughts, he suddenly heard a mechanical chime echoing in his mind.
"Ding! Destiny alteration detected. Butterfly Effect initiated. System activation complete."
Hori froze mid-swing, eyes wide.
"A system?" he murmured.
After over a decade in this world, his cheat ability had finally awakened. Part of him wanted to scream in frustration at the delay, but excitement quickly overrode any annoyance.
"Better late than never," he thought.
"System," he called out mentally, "what are you?"
A flat, robotic voice responded. "Butterfly Effect Control System at your service. Designed to help manage negative butterfly effects caused by the host and assist in strengthening."
Hori raised an eyebrow. "Butterfly effects? As in, changes to the timeline?"
"Correct. Unchecked alterations can compound, leading to catastrophic consequences."
"So you can control these effects?"
"Affirmative. By monitoring and adjusting the ripple effects of your actions, we maintain balance."
Hori nodded slowly. "I see. So when I avoided being taken in by Gyomei Himejima, preventing his wrongful imprisonment, that was a positive butterfly effect?"
"Precisely. Positive effects do not require intervention. However, by mastering the First Form of the Breath of Thunder—a skill the original Kaigaku never achieved—you've created a negative butterfly effect significant enough to activate the system."
Hori pondered this. "So, by altering my destiny in ways that could disrupt the original timeline negatively, you step in to help manage the consequences?"
"Correct."
A grin spread across Hori's face. "Well then, looks like things are about to get interesting."
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