Chapter 84: I Really Deserve to Die
After a brief, tender moment, Kanae returned to the ward next door, leaving only Shinobu to keep watch by Akira's bedside.
"Shinobu," Akira's voice was soft, but clear in the quiet room. "You should go sleep in the other bed. You don't need to stay there all night."
The intensive care units at the Butterfly Mansion were equipped with a small cot for caregivers, a practical addition for long vigils. When Makomo had first regained consciousness, Kanae had used it to rest, still fully dressed, during her night shifts. She never sat by the bedside like Shinobu was doing now.
Over the past two nights, Kanae had tried to persuade her younger sister, but Shinobu, who was usually so obedient, displayed an uncharacteristic stubbornness on this single point. It was a stark reminder that they were, indeed, sisters; when they dug their heels in, they were equally immovable.
This wasn't mere immaturity or a fit of pique. Shinobu was driven by a single, desperate need: she wanted to be there the very instant Akira woke up so she could feed him. She knew his body was in a catastrophic state; even if he regained consciousness, he wouldn't be able to move. At most, he might open his eyes and scan the room.
And if he woke up alone in the dead of night, he would absolutely refuse to wake her. He would simply endure the gnawing hunger until morning, a strain his already ravaged body could not afford.
So, she had to stay. She had to be right there.
, she was unwilling to let Kanae take her place. In the depths of her heart, Shinobu grappled with a bitter truth: she lacked the strength to fight on the front lines beside Akira. Therefore, the least she could do—the only thing she could do—was pour every ounce of her being into his care when he was brought, broken and bleeding, to the Butterfly Mansion.
This was one of the few ways she could truly be of use.
That night, when Makomo and then Akira had been carried into the mansion, Shinobu's heart had been a maelstrom of worry and self-loathing—a deep, burning resentment for her own uselessness. It was just as she had confessed to him before: the feeling of only being able to help the people she loved after they were already grievously injured was a uniquely powerless and soul-crushing agony.
…
"Okay."
Faced with Akira's gentle persuasion, Shinobu finally gave a small, reluctant nod.
For three days straight, she had treated patients during the day and slept sitting in a chair by his bed at night. Her body was screaming its exhaustion, pushed to its absolute limit. Only the fierce obsession in her heart had kept her going.
Now that Akira was awake and had managed to keep down a small bowl of porridge without any issue, her reason for insisting had vanished. To continue would only cause him and the others who cared for her more distress. At that point, it would no longer be caregiving; it would be selfish willfulness.
The self-will of a child.
But she had grown up. The night her sister left to master a Breathing Style, the day Akira confessed his feelings to her, the day Makomo moved in, the day she watched both Makomo and Akira carried back to the mansion… all these moments had forged her into someone new.
She was no longer that self-willed girl.
…
The first night after Akira regained consciousness passed peacefully.
Early the next morning, upon hearing the news, Makomo came to his bedside, leaning on Kanae for support.
"You idiot," she began, trying her best to sound lighthearted and scolding. "Your only job was to stall for time, but you just had to go and risk your life… Now look at you, just lying there."
The playful rebuke was betrayed by the tremor in her voice, a slight choke that made the words land with an awkward, painful weight.
"Sorry," Akira murmured. "I was too impulsive."
Beyond an apology, there was nothing else he could offer. And it was an apology he would have to repeat.
Because Kanao had also run over.
For the past three days, while Shinobu was occupied with patients, it had been Kanao who watched over Akira. To her, he was everything. In the small, fragile world of her heart, she had sisters who cared for her and elders who loved her, but it was Akira who held that world up.
Therefore, when he was brought to the Butterfly Mansion, unconscious and hovering on the brink of death, the blow had struck her the hardest.
For three days, she had regressed to the state she was in when Akira first brought her home—no, it was even worse. She didn't speak. Her eyes were vacant, hollowed out by a grief too vast to process. She moved only when Shinobu or the others gave her a direct command, a ghost drifting through the halls.
She was a puppet whose soul had been stolen.
The only reason she could still follow their instructions was the memory of a promise she had made to Akira's face: that she would be obedient.
Every day, her vigil consisted of staring blankly at his sleeping face, sometimes for half a day without so much as a blink, until Kanae would gently come to call her for a meal.
Today, she followed the same pattern, arriving early at the ward to keep watch. But as she stepped inside, she saw other people standing before the bed.
A faint ripple disturbed the void in her eyes. Subconsciously, her gaze shifted to the figure on the bed and met a pair of familiar, gentle eyes looking back at her.
In that single, shattering instant, the hollowness was annihilated. The numbness was broken by a flood of tears thick with a storm of emotions: shock, relief, lingering fear, and a crushing wave of self-reproach.
"Brother!"
With a cry that seemed torn from the very depths of her soul, Kanao lunged toward the bed. She wanted to throw herself into that familiar embrace, to feel his arms around her and know he was real, but the fear of worsening his injuries made her wrench herself to a halt at the last second. If Kanae hadn't shot out a hand to steady her, she would have slammed her head into the hard edge of the bedframe.
"You finally… you finally woke up… hic… sob…"
Kanao's words dissolved into ragged sobs. Her weeping was infectious; Makomo, who had just managed to compose herself, felt her eyes redden again. Even Kanae, who had already processed her own emotions, felt a sharp sting in her nose.
Watching the girls he cared for weep one after another, Akira felt a knot of guilt tighten in his chest. He was helpless. Aside from offering useless words of comfort, there was nothing he could do.
I really deserve to die for putting them through this, he thought, the self-reproach a bitter taste in his mouth.
A short while later, Kochou Sawaki entered the room to check on Akira's injuries, his arrival finally prompting the girls to leave the ward and putting an end to their tears.
"You brat," Sawaki muttered, his voice a low grumble as he began unwrapping the bandages. "If you ever dare to be so reckless again, I'll see to it that…"
"There won't be a next time, Uncle Sawaki."
"Hmph! It better be that way."
After the examination, Sawaki found that Akira's injuries were healing even better than he had expected. He could only shake his head and remark on the boy's truly monstrous constitution.
Akira remained bedridden for the next half a month.
During that time, Ubuyashiki Kagaya came to visit him personally. Kuwajima Jigorou also arrived, bringing a worried Zenitsu with him, and they happened to come at the same time as Urokodaki and his disciple.
Giyomei and Shinjuro, however, had no time to spare. With two of the Demon Slayer Corps' Hashira seriously injured at once, their duties had doubled, and they were stretched thin. Kyoujurou did manage to visit the Butterfly Mansion, and Giyomei sent a letter expressing his concern.
Half a month after waking, Akira could finally get out of bed and move around with Kanae's support. The constant, searing pain that had wracked his body had subsided to a dull ache, and he began the slow process of functional recovery training.
By this point, Makomo had almost completely recovered. She was already back to her rehabilitation training, working to restore her Breathing Technique and swordsmanship. Her injuries, while serious, had been less catastrophic than Akira's; aside from a puncture wound on her shoulder that had missed the bone, she had primarily suffered from poisoning, physical exhaustion, and impaired cardiopulmonary function from suffocation.
From then on, Akira's recovery accelerated.
When Kanao's birthday arrived—the anniversary of the day he had found her—he was already able to get out of bed and walk around on his own.
By the time a month and a half had passed, he could perform most daily activities with ease, though he still couldn't exert any significant force.
It wasn't until three full months after the battle that Akira finally felt mostly recovered, strong enough to begin the arduous rehabilitation for his own Breathing Technique and swordsmanship.
It was also at this time that he received the notice: a Hashira Meeting had been called.
[Inorin's Note:
Enjoying the story? Dropping a quick review, comment, or Power Stone means the world to me and keeps these daily updates flowing!
Want to read 50 chapters ahead or just want to help keep a shameless translator alive? (My livelihood actually depends on this, haha 😭). You can support me directly here:
(P.S. Just remove the brackets and replace the [.] with a regular dot . to use the links!)
✨ Patreon (50 Advanced Chapters): patreon[.]com/InorinTL
☕ Ko-fi (Support / Sponsor): ko-fi[.]com/InorinTL
Thank you so much for reading and keeping this project alive!]