Chapter 123: The Swordsmith's Apology
Shortly after Akira and his two companions came to a halt, the figure standing ahead of them stiffened. As if sensing their presence, the man slowly turned around, locking his intense gaze squarely on Akira.
"Long time no see, Mr. Haganezuka... haha..."
Akira raised his uninjured left hand, offering a stiff, awkward wave. Despite his usual calm demeanor, a slight, uncontrollable tremor bled into his voice.
Beside him, Makomo finally understood why Kanae and Akira had frozen like statues. She had heard the harrowing tales of how Akira was nearly hunted down to the ends of the earth by Haganezuka back when he first started taking independent missions. The swordsmith's wrath was legendary.
In the next terrifying instant, Haganezuka lunged. He charged straight at Akira like a wild boar. Had Akira not possessed the sharp eyesight to notice the man's empty hands—devoid of any sharp, murderous applies—he would have immediately turned on his heel and bolted.
"I'm asking you!" Haganezuka roared, closing the distance in a flash. "Was that blade broken because the tip shattered first, forcing you to alter your trajectory mid-swing, which ultimately allowed the enemy to snap it from the side?!"
"Uh... ah, yes!"
The sheer aggression in the swordsmith's interrogation left Akira momentarily stunned, his back pressing instinctively against an imaginary wall of tension. He was genuinely shocked. Haganezuka had perfectly deduced the exact sequence of events that led to the Nichirin Blade's destruction, relying on nothing more than the recovered, jagged shards.
However, the moment Akira confirmed the theory, Haganezuka froze. He stood rooted to the dirt path like a petrified tree. Because of the traditional Hyottoko mask covering his face, neither Akira nor the girls could read his expression. They could only hear his breathing—a raspy, heavy sound that grew louder and more erratic by the second.
The chests of Akira, Kanae, and Makomo rose and fell in anxious synchronization with the swordsmith's ragged breaths.
Haganezuka stood there in absolute, suffocating silence for over a full minute. A cold bead of sweat slid down the back of Akira's neck, soaking into his uniform collar.
Just as Akira parted his lips, gathering the courage to break the heavy silence, Haganezuka finally spoke.
"I'm sorry."
The sudden, quiet apology hit the trio like a physical blow. All three of them stared in sheer disbelief.
"I'm sorry," Haganezuka repeated, his voice dropping an octave, thick with frustration. "It is because the blade I forged was not tough enough. Even though you successfully blocked the enemy's attack, you suffered injuries because my sword broke."
"Uh... actually, it's not your fault at all, Mr. Haganezuka," Akira quickly waved his hand, trying to soothe the man's unexpected guilt. "It's because my own physical strength was insufficient in that moment, that's why—"
"Enough! It is my problem!" Haganezuka's roar echoed through the trees, cutting Akira off entirely.
"I have carefully examined every single fragment of that blade," the swordsmith continued, his fists clenching at his sides. "From hilt to tip, bit by bit. I can see clearly that you wielded it and maintained it with the utmost care. There wasn't even a fraction of serious wear and tear on the steel. It is, without a doubt, the best-maintained sword I have ever had the privilege of inspecting."
His shoulders slumped slightly, the fiery energy giving way to a heavy burden of pride. "But even so, a sword treated with such reverence snapped in the heat of battle. This is not your failure, Akira. It is mine."
Suddenly, Haganezuka dropped into a deep, rigid bow, bending at a perfect ninety-degree angle. "Please, give me another chance! I will forge a sword for you capable of withstanding any combat scenario imaginable. I beg of you!"
He looked as though he would remain bowed until the end of time if Akira didn't agree. The three Demon Slayers exchanged bewildered glances, completely thrown off by the dramatic display.
"Uh... I never had any intention of changing swordsmiths," Akira said softly, a gentle, reassuring smile touching his lips. "The Nichirin Blade you forged for me was incredibly comfortable to wield."
He wasn't just offering empty comfort. The weapon Haganezuka had crafted was genuinely a masterpiece. Especially after its last reforging, the balance and weight had been perfectly adjusted to accommodate Akira's specific, high-speed combat habits, making it feel like a natural extension of his own arm.
"Really?"
Haganezuka snapped upright. He leaned in so aggressively that the protruding lips of his wooden mask nearly bumped against Akira's nose. Startled, Akira quickly took a step back, blinking rapidly before nodding.
"Really."
But Haganezuka immediately crowded his personal space again, pressing forward with intense fervor.
"Thank you so much!"
Just as Akira braced himself to take another evasive step backward, the eccentric swordsmith spun on his heel. He kicked up a cloud of dust and sprinted away down the path at breakneck speed, shouting over his shoulder: "I am going back right now to forge an unmatched blade for you!"
"Mr. Haganezuka's temperament is truly... pure." Watching the man's figure rapidly shrink into a speck on the horizon, Makomo racked her brain for the right word and could only settle on that diplomatic description.
The last time they had met, Haganezuka had noticed that the damage on Akira's blade was caused by sheer, reckless grinding. Back then, the man had nearly transformed into a vengeful spirit, relentlessly hunting Akira down with a barrage of thrown knives. He absolutely despised anyone who failed to cherish the weapons he poured his blood, sweat, and soul into creating.
But this time was entirely different. Through the shattered remnants recovered by the Kakushi cleanup crews, Haganezuka had seen the obvious proof of Akira's careful maintenance. Even in the brutal climax of his final battle, there was no structural wear caused by sloppy swordsmanship.
Yet, the steel had still shattered.
In the proud swordsmith's eyes, this wasn't the swordsman's failing, but a glaring flaw in his own craftsmanship. He had traveled all this way just to confirm the exact physics of the break—and to offer a sincere apology.
"Swordsmiths are actually such beautifully simple people," Kanae murmured, a soft, affectionate sigh escaping her lips. "Every single one of them values their creations as much as their own lives. But at the very root of that obsession, it's all to ensure that the swordsmen of the Demon Slayer Corps don't lose their lives to poor blade quality."
She turned toward Akira, pulling a clean handkerchief from her sleeve, and gently dabbed the lingering cold sweat from his forehead. Her touch was light, carrying a warm, comforting fragrance.
"It seems you've narrowly escaped a disaster this time, Akira-kun."
"Indeed," Akira breathed out a long, heavy sigh of relief, leaning slightly into her touch. "It's a good thing I usually pay strict attention to my blade's upkeep. Otherwise, I'm afraid I would have been chased across the country."
He was genuinely thankful the 'vengeful spirit' mode hadn't been activated. With his current battered and bandaged state, he wouldn't have had the stamina to survive Haganezuka's chaotic wrath.
Upon finally returning to the familiar, wisteria-scented grounds of the Butterfly Mansion, Akira was greeted by a pair of bright, familiar faces.
"Brother!"
"Big Brother Akira!"
Nezuko and Kanao, who had been sitting patiently by the mansion's entrance, immediately leaped to their feet. Their faces lit up with joy as they hurried over to welcome him back.
Akira smiled warmly, the lingering tension of the day melting away. He reached out, affectionately ruffling Kanao's dark hair, before turning his gentle gaze to the Kamado girl. "Nezuko, are you here to play with Kanao again?"
Shortly after Akira had returned to the Butterfly Mansion to recover from his severe injuries, the Kamado family had settled into their new, safer residence nearby. Guided by the Kakushi, they had come to visit the young man who had bled to protect them, and to have Kochou Sawaki thoroughly examine Tanjuro's failing health.
It was during that emotional visit that Akira had formally introduced Nezuko and Kanao.
At first, Kanao had been her usual quiet, hesitant self. But once she realized that Nezuko was a playmate Akira had specifically brought into her life to keep her company, the little girl slowly opened up, accepting the bright-eyed friend who was just about her age.
Since then, Nezuko would visit the Butterfly Mansion every few days. The rest of the Kamado family was overjoyed to see Nezuko finding a friend her own age, fully supporting the frequent playdates.
"Where is Auntie Kie?" Akira asked, glancing around the courtyard. "Is she inside with Auntie Hanako?"
Because Nezuko was a few months younger than Kanao, the protective Kamado family naturally wouldn't allow her to travel the roads between their home and the Butterfly Mansion alone. Kie always accompanied her daughter.
"Yes!" Nezuko nodded brightly. "Mama is inside learning nursing work and some pharmacological knowledge from Auntie Hanako, so she can take better care of Papa at home."
As she mentioned her father, the bright spark in Nezuko's eyes dimmed for a fleeting moment, a shadow of worry crossing her young face.
According to the grim results of Kochou Sawaki's medical examination, Tanjuro's body was already severely overtaxed. His life force was burning out like a candle at its very end, leaving almost no possibility of a complete cure. Even with the best medical care and strict rest from now on, he likely only had about five years left to live.
And that fragile timeline was based entirely on one absolute condition: he must never use a Breathing Technique again, nor ever push his mind to enter the Transparent World.
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