Chapter 129: Birthday Gift • Part One
The warm spring sun spilled across the countryside, gently coaxing the earth back to life. However, this seasonal vitality seemed just a bit too exuberant.
Kanzaki Akira stood with his hands on his hips, staring helplessly at the narrow dirt path ahead. He had painstakingly cleared this exact trail just a few days prior, yet it was already choking with a fresh, defiant layer of vibrant green weeds.
"Oh my, it's not as if you haven't trekked through overgrown brush on missions before. Why the long face?"
Makomo stepped up beside him. She glanced at the winding path—which stirred a strange, faint sense of familiarity within her—before turning her head to study Akira's rare expression of utter defeat.
Just a few days ago, he had approached her with a mysterious smile, promising a special surprise. He had led her far from headquarters, guiding her all the way to this secluded, seemingly abandoned mountain trail.
"I just feel like these weeds are mocking my hard work," Akira muttered, his brow twitching. Although he knew he had left a few tiny sprouts behind during his initial sweep, this explosive growth rate was absurd. Having never spent any significant time farming or living deep in the countryside in either of his two lives, he was experiencing a deep, firsthand shock at the sheer, unstoppable power of wild grass.
Fortunately, the actual surprise he had prepared required walking a bit further in. He had thoroughly sterilized the area around their destination—literally uprooting every stray blade of grass by hand.
"It's spring, Akira. Everything is reviving," Makomo laughed, the sound bright and clear. "It seems our mighty Sound Hashira lacks a fundamental understanding of a weed's tenacity. Besides, taking a leisurely stroll through nature like this is actually quite nice."
She clasped her hands behind her back and strolled down the weed-choked trail. A soft, contented smile graced her lips, and her steps were light, almost bouncing with a rhythmic cadence. Her half-ponytail swayed playfully from side to side with every movement. In this secluded greenery, she wasn't the burdened Water Hashira of the Demon Slayer Corps; she was simply a lively young woman in the prime of her youth, enjoying a sunny afternoon with the man she loved.
Judging by his secretive behavior, her surprise lay just ahead. Her heart fluttered with rising anticipation.
"'If you don't pull the weeds by the roots, they'll grow back with the spring breeze.' The ancients truly knew what they were talking about," Akira lamented. He caught up to her brisk pace, gently reaching out to untangle one of her small hands from behind her back, interlacing his fingers with hers.
Makomo leaned into his warmth, her shoulder brushing against his arm as they walked in comfortable silence.
The trail was relatively short. Despite their unhurried pace, the end of the path soon came into view. They only needed to round one final bend to reach their destination.
But right at the edge of the corner, Makomo froze. Her breath hitched.
She remembered.
Her cyan eyes widened as she scanned the surroundings. This dirt trail, buried in weeds yet echoing with a phantom familiarity. The overgrown, abandoned fields flanking the path, their original rectangular borders still vaguely discernible beneath the wild overgrowth. The crumbling stones of a dried-up well they had just passed.
And just ahead, a bare, sloping earthen mound bearing a distinct, worn indentation down its center.
These fragmented scenes, though weathered by time and neglect, violently slotted together like puzzle pieces. They unlocked a sealed vault deep within her mind, dragging forth memories she genuinely believed the years had washed away.
Her childhood.
Her hometown.
It was a modest, isolated mountain village nestled securely within a hollow. Her family's home had sat on the very outskirts. If one walked up this exact narrow trail toward the village, the very first thing they would see upon turning the corner was the jujube tree in her front yard—a tree that had never grown particularly tall, but always offered sweet fruit.
Because they lived on the village's edge, those few plots of farmland beside the trail had belonged to her family.
Flashes of the past danced before her eyes. She saw herself as a little girl, a wild tomboy running through those fields with two or three neighborhood friends. They would shriek with laughter, jumping over ditches and racing through the dirt. That smooth indentation on the earthen mound? They had worn that groove into the dirt themselves, using it as a makeshift slide day after day.
Her reckless play frequently resulted in torn, mud-stained clothes, which inevitably earned her a stern scolding. Yet, even as her parents lectured her until their voices went hoarse, their hands never stopped moving, carefully stitching the tears in her garments back together by the dim light of a lantern.
It wasn't a perfect, idyllic fairy tale; she had faced the rod a few times. Not for anything malicious, but for sheer, life-threatening stupidity. When she was barely six years old, she had nearly dragged her best friend into an early grave.
They had been playing tag in the fields, completely oblivious to their surroundings. A villager had just drawn water from the well and left the heavy stone cover off to fetch a second load. The two sprinting children had stepped right over the edge into thin air.
By sheer luck, the farmer hadn't gone far. Men who worked the earth year-round possessed terrifying grip strength. He had lunged forward, snatching both plummeting children by their collars, dangling them over the dark abyss with one hand each.
Makomo's chest tightened as she recalled the aftermath. She could still vividly see her mother's tear-streaked face, sobbing uncontrollably from sheer terror while swatting Makomo's legs with a thin branch. It was the first and only time her parents had ever struck her.
Childhood had always felt like a distant, hazy dream—so remote she thought it had faded entirely.
After all, on a blood-soaked night eleven years ago, that childhood had been violently severed.
Because their house sat on the outermost edge of the hollow, the demon had found them first.
The vivid greenery of her memories bled into crimson. She saw her parents being torn apart right in front of her. She saw the brave neighbors who had rushed over with pitchforks falling into pooling blood. She heard the panicked screams of the fleeing villagers, and saw the demon's twisted, sneering maw illuminated by the moonlight.
And finally, cutting through the nightmare, the fluid, water-like flash of a blade. Urokodaki Sakonji had arrived.
The demon perished, but her childhood died with it in that yard.
A sudden, warm pressure against her cheeks pulled her from the abyss.
Makomo blinked, her vision swimming. Large, gentle thumbs brushed across her skin, wiping away the wetness she hadn't realized was there. She looked up into Akira's dark eyes, finding them swirling with quiet, deep concern.
She had been crying. The childhood she thought she had buried had rushed back with overwhelming clarity.
"Are you okay?" Akira's voice was a low, soothing anchor.
"I'm fine." Makomo shook her head, taking a deep, shuddering breath to steady her turbulent emotions.
While unearthing these memories inevitably brushed against the agonizing scar of that night, she realized with a quiet sense of wonder that she was no longer trapped by it. She had truly made her peace.
She had a Master who raised her as his own flesh and blood. She had a fiercely protective lover who cherished her above all else. She had a best friend she could share her deepest secrets with, two slightly goofy Junior Brothers who always made her laugh, and a massive, chaotic family within the Demon Slayer Corps.
Looking back, there was grief, yes, but the suffocating shadows had long since burned away.
She leaned into Akira's touch for a fleeting second, letting him wipe away the final stray tear, before gently pulling back with a soft, genuine smile.
"Let's go," she whispered, her voice steady. "Let me see what surprise you've prepared for me."
She took his hand and stepped around the final corner.
Makomo lifted her gaze. Standing tall and proud was a jujube tree.
Her breath caught again. The original tree had been splintered into kindling during the demon's rampage.
Lowering her eyes, she saw a freshly renovated courtyard wall. The rustic architectural style was an exact, flawless replica of the one from her memories, standing out like a pristine jewel amidst the decaying ruins of the abandoned village.
Peeking over that modest wall was the roof of a beautifully restored tiled house.
Tears pricked her eyes once more, but this time, they were born of overwhelming warmth. She finally understood exactly what Kanzaki Akira's "surprise" was.
[Inorin's Note:
Enjoying the story? Dropping a quick review, comment, or Power Stone means the world to me!
Want to read ahead on our official home, or unlock 50 advanced chapters (plus an Ad-Free experience) to feed your addiction? Help keep this shameless translator alive here:
(P.S. Replace the [.] with a regular dot . to use the links!)
🌐 Official Website: elysianreads[.]com
✨ Patreon (50 Advanced Chapters & Ad-Free): patreon[.]com/InorinTL
☕ Ko-fi (Support / Sponsor): ko-fi[.]com/InorinTL
Thank you so much for reading and keeping this project alive!]