Chapter 128: I Was Just Asking, You Really Have More?
"That was not a pleasant story, and I intend to change it."
Akira kept his voice low, his gaze fixed on the dancing shadows across the room. He spared her the gruesome details, offering only the barest outline—a grim tale where countless souls paid the ultimate price to eradicate the demons.
"In that story, the part about me..." Makomo started, her brow furrowing as she tried to piece together the fragments. She paused, then waved a small hand through the air, dismissing the thought. "Never mind. I can probably guess."
The reality was stark. Had Akira not intervened on Mount Fujikasane, she would never have survived the Final Selection. There would be no story left to tell.
A subtle tremor ran through her shoulders at the thought. Seeking comfort, Makomo tightened her grip on his arm. Following their shared kiss just moments prior, she had settled sideways across his lap, her weight a warm, grounding presence against him.
"Hey, Akira." Her voice was soft, barely a whisper against his collarbone.
"Thank you."
He blinked, momentarily caught off guard. "Um... you're welcome?"
A melodic giggle escaped her lips. "Pfft. You are really dense sometimes."
"I cannot help it," he replied, a teasing lilt entering his tone. "A certain someone has already promised herself to me to repay the favor of saving her life. Hearing a simple 'thank you' now leaves me wondering exactly how I am supposed to respond."
"Ugh..."
A fierce blush painted Makomo's cheeks crimson. Unable to meet his gaze, she buried her face directly into his chest.
Akira let out a deep, rumbling chuckle, the vibration echoing against her cheek.
"Stop laughing... Hmph!" She retaliated with a flurry of playful punches against his ribs. The strikes were so light they barely registered as a massage, let alone an attack, allowing him to easily catch his breath and calm his laughter.
Peeking up from his shirt, her cyan eyes searched his face. "By the way, your appearance must have changed more than just my story. What about the others?"
Akira stroked her hair, his touch gentle. "Well, there is no need to dwell on those unpleasant stories, right? It was just a dream, after all. At least we are all living well now. Is that not enough?"
He had absolutely no desire to elaborate on a narrative that, despite being a tale of slaying demons, was notoriously mocked in his past life as a tragedy that merely slaughtered the Hashira. Back then, reading about their tragic ends had only left him with a lingering sense of regret. He would sigh at the screen, close the manga, and go about his mundane day-to-day life.
But reality had shifted. This was no longer ink on a page. These people were flesh and blood, living and breathing right beside him.
Makomo was resting safely in his arms right at this very moment.
Back at the Butterfly Mansion, Kanae, Shinobu, and Kanao were waiting for his return, their home filled with warmth instead of mourning.
Somewhere out there, Mitsuri was likely looking forward to the day her 'Big Brother Kanzaki' would visit her home again, her bright smile untainted by sorrow.
His master, Jigorou, would gruffly call him a brat to his face, only to turn around and boast endlessly about his talented disciple to his old friends over tea.
Uncle Sawaki would grumble and fume about a single man making off with both of his precious daughters at once, yet whenever Akira returned with even a scratch, the older man's frantic concern rivaled anyone else's.
Aunt Hanako would occasionally tease him about his wandering heart, her eyes crinkling with a knowing smile as she watched him interact with the girls of the estate.
Sabito was alive to bicker and joke with Giyuu, frequently showing up to stubbornly challenge Akira to a spar just to test his limits.
Kyoujurou would march up and shout 'Senior Kanzaki!' with a booming, energetic voice that left Akira feeling entirely helpless but deeply amused.
Little Takeo and the younger siblings would happily shout 'Big Brother Kumo,' swarming his legs to hear grand tales about the outside world.
Even the leaders of the Corps were part of this new reality. Kagaya would invite him to sit on the engawa, sharing quiet stories and smoothly handling the political aftermath of Akira's more destructive battles.
Gyoumei, though a man of few words, would clasp his hands in prayer and offer his absolute, unwavering support whenever Akira sought his guidance.
He was surrounded by so many vibrant lives. They no longer existed solely in the frames of an animation; they were his family, his friends, his comrades. His jaw set slightly, an unspoken vow solidifying in his chest. No matter the cost, he would never allow these people to walk into their original, blood-soaked endings.
Sensing his reluctance to dive back into those dark memories, Makomo wisely dropped the subject. He was right. A dream was just a dream, and the present was their reality. Whatever horrors played out in those phantom memories, they were safe now.
However, a completely different sort of curiosity sparked in her eyes.
"So," she began, her tone dangerously casual. "In that dream of yours... were there any other girls you took a fancy to?"
Despite the breezy, conversational lilt of her voice—as if she were merely asking what they should have for dinner—a sudden, icy dread spiked down Akira's spine. During the brief seconds he spent frozen in shock, the small hands resting innocently around his waist began to shift, their delicate fingers tracing his ribs as if searching for the most vulnerable spot to strike.
"Why are you suddenly asking this?" he managed to ask, keeping his voice steady.
"I just want to know if there will be more sisters joining us in the future." Makomo tilted her head up, flashing a sweet, utterly flawless smile.
"It is fine, just say it. There are already five of us now. Could I even stop you at this point?"
Observing the growing guilt flashing across his features, the sweetness of Makomo's smile morphed into something far more menacingly kind. Her fingers locked onto a patch of skin at his side, primed and ready to twist.
Originally, she had only thrown the question out on a whim to tease him. But his deer-in-the-headlights reaction gave him away entirely. There actually were others.
Watching him squeeze his eyes shut like a condemned man awaiting the executioner's blade, Makomo huffed in annoyance and pinched his side.
Akira instinctively sucked in a sharp breath of cold air, bracing for the sting.
Wait.
He blinked. It did not actually hurt.
Tentatively opening one eye, he found Makomo simply leaning quietly against his chest again, all her previous hostility evaporating into the quiet air. A massive question mark practically materialized over his head.
"I told you, I will not stop you," she muttered, her voice muffled against his shirt. She refused to look up, her fingers lightly smoothing over the spot she had just pinched. "But... you must always leave a place for me in your heart."
A deep wave of affection washed over him. Wrapping his arms securely around her slender frame, he pulled her flush against him. "Thank you," he whispered into her dark hair.
Just as he began to pull back, the hands resting at his waist suddenly slid up, threading into the hair at the nape of his neck. She guided him back down, capturing his mouth with her own.
The kiss was deep and lingering, a silent seal upon their promise. By the time they finally parted, both were slightly breathless, the air between them thick with quiet intimacy.
"Remember," she murmured, her cyan eyes locking onto his. "Your first kiss belongs to me. Do not ever dare to leave me behind."
"I promise," he swore softly.
Makomo stared up at his face, completely captivated. Yet, for a fleeting second, her vision blurred. In the empty space directly behind his shoulder, the faint, translucent image of an old man seemed to materialize. The spectral figure was shaking his head with a wry, exasperated smile.
She blinked, trying to focus on the apparition, but the air was empty. The figure, whose facial features she could not even discern, vanished as quickly as a trick of the light.
"What is wrong?" Akira asked, immediately catching the slight shift in her focus.
"It is nothing," she replied, a small, amused smile touching her lips. "It is just that your grandfather does not seem to support your wandering heart."
Akira chuckled, completely unfazed by the supernatural implication. "Well, I cannot help it. His good grandson is merely doing his absolute best to expand the Kanzaki family tree."
When a person is entirely focused on a goal, the days have a habit of slipping through their fingers like sand.
For Akira, the transition felt almost instantaneous. One moment, the estate was buried under a thick blanket of winter frost, and in the blink of an eye, the mountain trees were already tinged with a vibrant, youthful green. The heavy snows had long since melted away, giving way to the mild, golden rays of the spring sun. Everywhere he looked, nature was competing to burst with fresh life.
A quick glance at the calendar hanging on the wall confirmed the approaching date. There were only a few days left before the event he had been carefully planning finally arrived.
Looking back, it truly felt as though time had sprouted wings. Nearly three full years had passed since the grueling trials of his Final Selection. Makomo, who had been a mere fifteen years old when they first crossed paths, was now on the verge of celebrating her eighteenth birthday.
For such a monumental milestone, Akira naturally had to prepare a truly unforgettable gift.
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