Chapter 66: Urokodaki Sakonji's Little Quilted Jacket Has Sprung a Leak
Mount Sagiri.
The moment Kanzaki Akira set foot on the familiar mountain path, a Nichirin Blade sliced through the air, aimed for his side.
He moved with liquid grace, sidestepping the blow as if he'd anticipated it seconds before it was launched. In the same fluid motion, his own blade left its scabbard in a seamless arc, the cold steel coming to a halt just a breath away from the attacker's throat.
In truth, if his eyes hadn't clearly registered the identity of his assailant, the strike would have followed through without hesitation.
"Urokodaki-senpai," Akira said, his voice calm, "is this some kind of new welcoming ceremony?"
As he spoke, he smoothly sheathed his Nichirin Blade.
Urokodaki Sakonji stood frozen, stunned by Akira's sheer speed and strength. As a former Water Hashira, he prided himself on his perception, yet he hadn't even been able to clearly track the younger man's movements before a blade was pressed against his own neck.
But remembering his purpose, Urokodaki suppressed his shock. A sharp, guttural snort of displeasure escaped from behind the red tengu mask.
"Hmph! You brat, what did you say to Makomo? That girl has been moping around ever since she returned. She won't say a single word, no matter how I ask."
A pang of guilt pricked at Akira's conscience as he looked at Urokodaki, who was radiating the unmistakable aura of a fiercely protective father.
"I confessed my greed to her and Kanae."
"That's it?" Urokodaki's masked face tilted, his skepticism evident. "I may be old, but my eyes aren't failing me yet. During the months Kanae spent here practicing her Breathing Technique, I could tell Makomo had already accepted her. How could she be moping just because of that?"
Facing the old master's intense scrutiny, Akira gave a light cough and replied with a distinct lack of confidence, "Cough, ah… well… it's not just Kanae…"
"Not just…"
Urokodaki froze for a moment, the words not quite registering. But after a few seconds of silence, the implication crashed down on him.
"What do you mean by that?" he roared, his voice cracking with disbelief and fury. "Two wonderful girls weren't enough for you? You want even more? I'll hack you to death, you bastard!"
The nearly seventy-year-old man, brandishing his blade, charged after Akira, spewing a string of curses that echoed through the tranquil forest. The elder and the youth became a blur of motion, chasing each other up the mountain path until they reached the familiar small courtyard.
"Huff… huff… You brat… remember your promise," Urokodaki gasped, leaning heavily on his scabbard for support. He glared at Akira, who wasn't even winded. "If you dare play with the feelings of my two disciples… hmph!"
"I admit I'm greedy," Akira replied, his expression turning serious. "But I will do everything in my power to take responsibility and give them a warm home."
"You'd better keep your word!"
After spitting out the warning, Urokodaki adjusted his breathing and turned to enter the house. The emotional tangles of young people ultimately had to be solved by them. As an old man, all he could do was voice his support and stand behind his disciples.
After watching Urokodaki's aged but still-upright figure disappear into the wooden house, Akira turned his gaze toward a large tree just outside the courtyard, a look of both annoyance and amusement on his face.
"Have you seen enough?"
"Hehe, I knew I couldn't hide from those eyes of yours." Makomo, the very same girl Urokodaki had described as "moping," skipped out from behind the tree with light, airy steps.
"I really wish Urokodaki-senpai could see this," Akira said, shaking his head helplessly. "His precious 'little quilted jacket' seems to have a few holes in it." [Translator Note: "Little quilted jacket" (小棉袄) is a Chinese term of endearment for a daughter, who keeps her parents' hearts warm. A "leaking" one is a common slang for a daughter who sides with her boyfriend over her family.]
When Urokodaki had ambushed him, Akira had caught a fleeting glimpse of Makomo's floral haori in his peripheral vision. It was just a flash, but it was enough.
"Who's leaking?" Makomo retorted, a playful pout on her lips as she stood before him with her hands clasped behind her back. "I really was in a bad mood before. But seeing you get chased all the way up the mountain by Master Urokodaki was enough to vent some of my frustration."
"Is that really all it took to make you feel better?"
Akira had realized in hindsight that parts of their previous conversation had been an act. But just as Makomo could improvise based on her understanding of him, he knew her character just as well. She could indeed accept not having him all to herself, but she wouldn't do so with such placid calm.
"What else?" she challenged. "Should I hold onto it forever? Or maybe throw a tantrum and roll on the ground until you coax me? Please, I'm not that childish. Besides, if I said I was still angry, would you really be willing to let go of the others?"
"I can't do that," Akira said after a brief, heavy silence, his honesty unwavering.
"You… honestly," she sighed, a hint of exasperation in her voice. "Don't you know that telling a little lie once in a while is a much easier way to make a girl happy?"
"Because you're someone I care about," he replied, his gaze soft but firm. "I don't want to use lies to give you happiness. That kind of happiness only brings a heavier pain when the lie is exposed."
In his past life, Akira had heard a saying: in a relationship, sincerity played with any other card is a winning move, but played alone, it's a dead end. Because when you offer only sincerity, you are gambling that the other person is someone worthy of it.
But now, whether it was Makomo, Kanae, Shinobu, or the others, in Akira's eyes, they were all people worthy of that gamble. This clumsy yet direct approach was the only way he knew how to show his true feelings.
"You… you're simply a block of wood…" Makomo turned her head away and muttered, feigning annoyance, but she couldn't stop the corners of her mouth from betraying her with an upward curl.
Sweet talk might provide a fleeting joy, a momentary sense of bliss, but for two people who wanted to build a life together, honesty was the bedrock that mattered most.
"Yeah, I really am a block of wood," Akira admitted, his voice low. "I can't say sweet things, and I can't weave vows of eternal love. All I can do is show you all my heart. That's it."
As he spoke, he closed the distance between them and pulled Makomo into his arms.
Though she was the girl he had known the longest, this was the first time he had ever truly held her like this. They had barely even held hands before. Their most intimate physical contact dated back to their first meeting, when he had caught her falling from the air after saving her from the Hand Demon's clutches.
"So," Akira lowered his head slightly, his lips brushing against her ear as he whispered, "do you regret falling for a block of wood like me?"
"Never," Makomo murmured, shaking her head gently as she leaned against his chest, the solid beat of his heart a steady rhythm beneath her ear. "I only blame myself for not being good enough to drive those other people away from you…"
"Makomo…"
Akira gently stroked her cheek, loosening his embrace just enough for her to look up and meet his eyes.
"You are a unique, wonderful girl," he said, his gaze filled with a deep tenderness. "This situation exists because I am too greedy, not because you aren't good enough. You have every right to resent me, to blame me, even to curse me for this. But please, never, ever think it's because you aren't enough. Don't diminish yourself, alright?"
Looking into his eyes, Makomo's own pupils dilated slightly. A shimmering mist of tears welled up, but a brilliant, radiant smile had already bloomed on her face.
Then, she buried her face back into his chest, and a soft, muffled sound of affirmation vibrated against his ribs.
"Mm."
Feeling her arms wrap tightly around his waist and seeing the delicate tips of her ears blushing a faint crimson, Akira simply hugged her closer, saying no more. The quiet embrace spoke more than words ever could.
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