Chapter 135: Mitsuri Moves into the Butterfly Mansion
In the rare, peaceful rhythm of their daily lives, the days slipped by one after another. Today marked the scheduled date for Tanjuro's routine medical examination.
"Big Brother Akira, Sister Shinobu, Kanao! Welcome!"
The Kamado family had memorized the schedule. Tanjiro and Nezuko stood waiting by the outer gate long before the trio even crested the hill, waving their hands enthusiastically in greeting.
Shinobu carried her medical kit, tasked with overseeing the check-up, while Akira came specifically to exchange insights on Sun Breathing with the family patriarch. As for Kanao, she simply wanted an excuse to spend more time by Akira's side—and to play with Nezuko. Over the past few months of frequent visits, the two girls, being so close in age, had formed a remarkably warm bond.
"Tanjiro, Nezuko, you really don't need to stand out in the cold waiting for us every single time," Akira said, offering his habitual, gentle scolding as he patted both their heads.
The siblings puffed out their chests, righteously rejecting the suggestion. In their eyes, Akira and the Butterfly Mansion had done so much to save their family that this modest welcoming committee was the absolute bare minimum. They refused to omit it.
Stepping past the threshold, Kanao immediately reached out, her fingers lightly catching Nezuko's sleeve. With a soft, shared smile, she pulled the younger girl toward the courtyard to play. Meanwhile, Tanjiro guided Akira and Shinobu down the hall to his father's room, where Kie sat attentively with the youngest children.
Back when they still lived in their isolated cabin on Mount Kumotori, Tanjuro had constantly felt the oppressive, secret gazes of demons lurking in the shadows. Even with a body ravaged by illness, he had stubbornly relied on his Breathing Technique to force himself upright, trading the very dregs of his lifespan for the strength to move and fight. He had been willing to burn himself to ash just to protect his wife and children.
After relocating to this wisteria-guarded safe house, he had kept his guard up for a short while. It was only after thoroughly confirming the absolute safety of their new environment that he finally yielded to Shinobu's strict medical advice. He ceased using his Breathing Technique entirely and closed off the Transparent World.
The immediate consequence of relaxing that lifelong tension was severe. The current Tanjuro found it incredibly difficult to even sit up in bed, let alone walk without someone supporting his weight.
Yet, by stopping the constant overdrawing of his vitality, his rapid decline had halted. He could easily live for several more years now, and perhaps, given enough time, Shinobu's research might uncover a way to truly restore his health.
Currently, that possibility existed only as a comforting promise from Akira. The Kamado family accepted it with grateful smiles, though they dared not raise their hopes too high. For them, simply having Tanjuro alive and present to watch the children grow for a few more years was a blessing beyond measure.
After a thorough, routine examination, Shinobu packed away her stethoscope, confirming with a satisfied nod that Tanjuro's physical condition had stabilized and was no longer deteriorating. Hearing the good news, Kie let out a breath of relief and quietly ushered the younger children out of the room. Breathing Techniques and demon-slaying discussions were far too heavy for the little ones to hear.
The only exception was Tanjiro.
Ever since learning about the existence of man-eating demons, a quiet fire had ignited in the boy's chest. That resolve had permanently solidified the night he watched Akira bleed to cover their escape. Tanjiro had made up his mind: he would join the Demon Slayer Corps. He wanted to protect his family with his own hands and save others from suffering the same terror.
While Kie and Tanjuro worried endlessly about the mortal danger their eldest son would face, they never once tried to clip his wings. They only asked Akira to oversee Tanjiro's training, begging him to ensure the boy reached a formidable level of strength before ever stepping onto a real battlefield.
Because of this, whenever Akira and Tanjuro discussed the intricacies of Sun Breathing, Tanjiro sat quietly in the corner, his burgundy eyes wide and attentive, absorbing every word. His current physical conditioning wasn't quite ready to formally bear the immense strain of Sun Breathing, but he was building the foundation.
Out in the spacious courtyard, the sharp hiss of a cutting blade echoed through the air.
A fiery red arc of light flashed, leaving a trail of scorching heat in its wake. Unlike the explosive, golden-orange flares characteristic of Flame Breathing, the fire trailing from Akira's wooden practice sword was a deep, pure crimson—as vibrant and blinding as the newly risen sun.
"Akira has already completely internalized the forms. I'm afraid I have no more advice left to give," Tanjuro murmured. He stood on the porch, leaning heavily against Tanjiro's shoulder, his sunken eyes reflecting the crimson light with deep emotion.
When he first agreed to pass on the dance, Tanjuro fully expected to spend months demonstrating the forms for the Demon Slayer Corps, even if it meant tearing his frail body apart. Compared to the debt he owed Akira for saving his family, he considered it a cheap price to pay.
He never imagined that Akira would perfectly memorize the entire sequence after watching it just once under the moonlight. The sheer talent had left the entire Kamado family speechless.
In the beginning, Akira's movements had been purely imitative, perfectly mirroring Tanjuro's footwork and wrist angles. But now, the young man had digested the ancient dance, molding it into a lethal, practical combat style. Watching him move, Tanjuro could barely see any trace of his own shadow in the strikes. The forms were entirely Akira's now.
Since the Kamado family only passed down the physical movements of the Kagura dance without any formal instruction on the core breathing pathways, Tanjuro had reached the limit of his usefulness as a teacher. The only way he could possibly correct Akira's minute flaws now was by forcing his eyes back into the Transparent World—an action that Akira, Shinobu, and Kie immediately and aggressively forbade the moment he suggested it.
Satisfied with his practice, Akira sheathed his practice sword, wiped his brow, and spent the rest of the afternoon playing tag with the younger Kamado children. As the sun began to dip below the horizon, casting long orange shadows across the dirt, the trio finally bid the family farewell and began their journey home.
A few days later, the time finally arrived to officially bring Mitsuri to her new home.
"Akira... is it really okay for me to look like this?"
"Should I have dyed my hair black after all? The pink and green just looks so strange, no matter how you braid it..."
"Do I really not need to put on more powder?"
Walking down the dirt path toward the Butterfly Mansion, Mitsuri was a bundle of nervous energy. She fidgeted constantly, her fingers twisting the ends of her vibrant, sakura-pink and neon-green braids. At the start of their journey, she had bombarded him with questions about the mansion's residents, their quirks, and their daily routines—things Akira had already explained twice over.
But as the sprawling walls of the estate finally came into view, her panic turned entirely inward. One second she was frantically rubbing her cheeks, terrified her carefully practiced makeup was smudging; the next, she was agonizing over whether her unique hair color would disgust the other girls.
Even though she had already met Kanae and Makomo and knew they were kind, the sheer terror of making a fool of herself and embarrassing Akira in front of his family was eating her alive.
Akira didn't rush her. He maintained a slow, easy pace, answering her frantic questions with endless patience.
"There's really no need to change a thing. You look absolutely beautiful exactly as you are."
Mitsuri blinked, a heavy blush dusting her cheeks. "Really?"
"Of course it's true. Have I ever lied to you?" Akira smiled, his voice a low, soothing rumble.
"Then..." Mitsuri opened her mouth, wanting to seek just a little more reassurance, but Akira suddenly stopped walking.
"You don't have to worry anymore," he said, raising his hand and pointing down the road. "Because we're already here."
"Eh? Eeeeeh?!"
Mitsuri snapped out of her nervous daze, her light green eyes widening as she took in the massive courtyard ahead. The estate was enormous, easily dwarfing her own family's home.
To accommodate the growing number of permanent residents, Akira had heavily funded the mansion's expansion. A beautiful, entirely separate residential wing had been constructed just for the core family. The second floor of the main medical ward, which used to serve as cramped bedrooms, had been completely gutted and renovated into sleek, dedicated offices and a advanced pharmaceutical research laboratory for Shinobu.
When it came to material comfort and the well-being of his people, Akira never pinched pennies.
Before Mitsuri could fully process the grand scale of the estate, Akira gently took her hand, lacing his fingers through hers, and led her right up to the main gates.
Kanae, Shinobu, Makomo, and the rest of the mansion's staff were already gathered there, their faces bright with welcoming smiles. The introductions flowed naturally, the atmosphere so warm and harmonious that the tight knot of anxiety in Mitsuri's chest instantly melted away. Within minutes, her nervous stutter vanished, replaced by her usual bubbly, enthusiastic chatter as the girls crowded around her.
Meanwhile, a few dozen yards away, a group of injured Demon Slayers had hobbled out of the wards in their hospital pajamas to get some fresh air. Hearing the commotion at the gates, they peered over curiously.
Squinting through the sunlight, they spotted a completely new face—a ridiculously cute, curvy girl with striking pink and green hair.
Looking a little lower, they noticed that this gorgeous new girl's hand was currently locked tightly with Akira's.
The injured slayers froze. A collective, invisible question mark floated above their heads.
No, seriously, why?!
Just because he was a little bit more handsome, a little bit stronger, and a little bit richer... why did he get another beautiful girl clinging to his side?!
In an instant, the lighthearted chatter among the recovering swordsmen died. Their faces twisted, turning completely sour with sheer, unadulterated jealousy.
A few of the bolder men opened their mouths, ready to grumble out loud—until a sudden, chilling memory flashed through their minds. They remembered the last time someone had caused trouble in the courtyard, and how Akira had casually strung the offenders up from the highest roof beams to swing in the wind for hours.
Swallowing their bitter complaints, the men suddenly decided that the outdoor air wasn't so refreshing after all. Hanging their heads in utter defeat, the jealous crowd turned around and shuffled miserably back into their hospital wards.
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