Chapter 58: Meeting Kanroji Again
"Here, the letter he wrote for you."
Looking at the distracted Kanae, Makomo didn't press the matter, simply offering the envelope she had been holding behind her back.
"Thank you."
Kanae accepted the letter, her movements slow and deliberate, belying the flutter of anticipation in her heart. She felt no need to hide from Makomo, so she broke the seal and unfolded the paper right there, her eyes immediately drawn to the familiar, neat script.
After all, whether Akira had intended it or not, the contents of the letters he sent to the two of them were remarkably similar. The phrasing might differ slightly, but the structure was the same: a warm daily greeting, followed by an update on his own recent activities, and finally, his thoughts on the interesting stories or troubles they had shared in their own letters to him.
The language was simple, yet every word was saturated with genuine concern. The emotion felt sincere, free of any pretense. The only real complication was that his responses to both girls carried this same, undivided affection, leaving them feeling cherished yet faintly, helplessly amused.
The young man they both held so dearly in their hearts, it seemed, was just a little bit greedy.
After reading the letter word by word, Kanae pressed the paper to her chest, closing her eyes and taking a deep, steadying breath. In her last correspondence, she had confessed her frustrations to Akira—how Water Breathing felt awkward in her hands, how she could never seem to draw out its true power. She had also shared her fledgling desire to create her own Breathing Style, but admitted she was plagued by doubts, unsure if she could ever succeed.
Akira's response was simple: he offered his belief, his encouragement, and his unwavering support.
There was little else he could do. While Akira had developed some of his own forms, it was a process born from a clear objective, built upon the foundations of other Breathing Styles, and amplified by the unique perception of his eyes. He had no experience creating an entirely new Breathing Style from scratch and couldn't offer any practical advice. All he could give was his faith in her.
Yet for Kanae, who felt lost and was beginning to doubt her own abilities, this heartfelt encouragement and trust from the person she cared for was the perfect answer.
In that instant, something clicked into place. An elusive flicker of inspiration, once a fleeting spark in the back of her mind, was suddenly caught and held. The very rhythm of her breathing began to change, deepening and shifting into an unfamiliar cadence.
Makomo, who had assumed Kanae was merely calming her emotions, soon noticed the subtle but deep transformation. Her eyes widened in astonishment.
'Unbelievable,'she thought, a silent whistle of admiration in her mind.'She's not even trying to hide it. She's actually doing it, right here in front of me.'
…
By the time Kochou Kanae took the first successful step toward creating her own Breathing Style, Kanzaki Akira had already bid farewell to the Rengoku family and was on his way back to the Butterfly Mansion.
As he walked along a small stone arch bridge in the center of town, the gentle burble of the stream below was punctuated by a faint, muffled sound of sobbing.
His curiosity piqued, Akira finished crossing the bridge before circling around to its side. There, huddled in the cool shadow of the stone archway, was a girl in a cherry-blossom pink kimono, her shoulders shaking as she wiped away tears. What immediately caught his eye, however, was her hair—a vibrant, almost shocking gradient of pink that faded into a bright, leafy green at the tips.
'It's really her?'
From that iconic hair color and the familiar details of her attire, Akira instantly guessed the girl's identity: Kanroji Mitsuri. A flicker of surprise, followed by a quiet sense of wonder at the coincidence, passed through him as he started walking toward her.
In the past, he had never actively sought to win a girl's affection. With both Makomo and Kanae, he had let their interactions unfold naturally. From his perspective, he was still a bit too young to be seriously considering matters of romance.
But ever since that conversation with Urokodaki Sakonji, Akira had come to terms with his own greed.
'What's so wrong with it?'he mused with a touch of self-righteous conviction.'I've been lonely for a long, long time. All I want is a warm home.'
He would always respect the girls' own wishes, but that didn't mean he couldn't take legitimate steps to earn their favor.
"Little sister," he began, his voice gentle, "why are you hiding here crying all by yourself?"
It was a good thing the current Akira possessed a handsome, clean-cut face and was still young. Spoken by anyone else, the words would have sounded suspiciously like those of a strange man trying to lure away a child.
"Wuwuwu… They said I'm a monster… that I eat more than a pig…" Mitsuri sobbed, her voice thick with tears as she responded without thinking.
"What's wrong with eating a little more?" Akira said, taking another step closer. "It's not like you aren't paying for it. Being able to eat is a blessing, you know."
Mitsuri finally registered that someone was speaking to her and turned her head. Through a watery, blurred haze, the figure before her seemed vaguely familiar. She scrubbed at her eyes with the back of her hand and looked again. Her expression suddenly brightened. "Eh? You're… I remember you! You're that big brother with the huge appetite!"
A few dark lines might as well have appeared on Akira's forehead. Of all his memorable qualities—his top-tier looks, his expensive-looking clothes—was his appetite truly the most recognizable? Then again, for Mitsuri, who was so often belittled for her own staggering capacity for food, it made sense that she would pay special attention to such things.
"There's no need to be sad about what those people say," Akira said softly. "People who truly care about you won't say such hurtful things just because you eat a lot. And as for those who don't care about you, their words aren't worth taking to heart. Understood?"
"Mm… but I want to make friends with them…" Mitsuri's voice trembled, her head drooping. "I eat so much, I'm too strong, and my hair color is weird. No one wants to be friends with me…" She looked as if she might burst into tears again at any second.
She was a world away from the vibrant, energetic girl Akira had seen happily devouring pastries in the dessert shop.
"Those aren't problems at all," Akira stated. He subconsciously raised a hand, wanting to pat her head, but quickly caught himself. After spending so much time with Shinobu and Kanao, the comforting gesture had become a habit, but he and Mitsuri weren't nearly close enough for that yet. He let his hand fall back to his side.
"As long as it's food you bought with your own money, how much you eat is nobody's business," he explained patiently. "Anyone who dislikes you for that is either used to forcing their views on others or simply sees a little girl who's easy to bully."
He continued, "And as for being strong, that should be an advantage, shouldn't it? I can tell you're not the type to use your strength to hurt people. Those who dislike you for it are just bitter that they can't measure up to a girl."
"And your hair?" Akira smiled faintly. "This color is clearly very cute. If someone can find fault with this, then there must be something wrong with their sense of beauty, right?"
With every point he made, Mitsuri's eyes grew a little brighter, the tears beginning to recede.
"Most," Akira concluded, his tone firm but kind, "people who truly want to be your friend won't distance themselves from you because of these traits. They aren't even flaws to begin with."
"Since you can't find suitable friends in your current circle, why not try looking in a different one?"
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