Chapter 139: Makomo: Answer Me
"Uh... isn't that how it's supposed to be done?" Sanemi blinked, genuinely taken aback by the subtle, deeply unimpressed look settling over Akira's features.
In the Wind Hashira's mind, the logic was flawless. If his younger brother couldn't even land a hit on him while he wasn't using a Breathing Technique, how could the kid possibly survive a real fight against demons? Sanemi had wanted to use the most brutal, direct method available to force Genya to understand his own weakness, hoping the harsh reality would make him retreat from the Demon Slayer Corps altogether.
The method wasn't entirely wrong in its raw intent, but blindly applying brute force without a single shred of psychological guidance was a recipe for disaster. Combine that with the fact that both Shinazugawa brothers shared the exact same violently stubborn temper, and the catastrophic result was entirely predictable.
It wasn't that the beating was completely useless, but rather that it achieved the exact opposite of its goal. It only hammered Genya's determination to reach the battlefield into solid steel. Now, on top of wanting to help his older brother, the boy had a burning new motivation: to prove himself.
Unfortunately, the current Sanemi was entirely oblivious to the fact that his actions had spectacularly backfired.
Akira, who knew the tragic history between the two brothers, could easily piece together the aftermath. He let out a quiet sigh, his gaze carrying a heavy dose of speechlessness as he looked at the scarred Pillar.
"Can't you two just sit down and have a normal conversation?" Akira asked, leaning back against the wall. "Getting physical with your own brother over the slightest disagreement isn't exactly prime older-brother behavior. Besides, he's practically your only remaining family, isn't he?"
"Mm..." Sanemi grunted, his gaze dropping to the wooden floorboards in sudden, heavy silence.
He knew his approach was deeply flawed, but he had never been a man capable of expressing his true emotions. His default language was anger and violence.
Especially when...
A dark shadow crossed Sanemi's eyes. His mind flashed back to that horrific night—the image of Genya clutching their mother's dissolving body in the morning sunlight, pointing a trembling finger at him and screaming, murderer.
Whenever that memory surfaced, Sanemi felt entirely lost on how to face his younger brother. He had forgiven Genya a long time ago. In truth, he had never held a grudge against his only surviving family member for reacting that way. But he had no idea where Genya stood now. Did the kid finally know the truth? Or did he still harbor a deep, festering hatred for what happened that night?
Even though Sanemi could sense a subtle shift during their recent, sparse interactions—a lessening of the raw hostility Genya used to project—he refused to ask. He didn't dare.
For Genya, whether the narrative was 'my brother killed our mother'or'our mother turned into a monster and slaughtered our siblings,' neither was a past worth dragging into the light.
"How about this?" Akira offered, breaking the heavy silence. "Since you're stuck here recovering anyway, find a time to call him over. I'll host. You two can sit down, have a proper chat, and see who can actually convince whom with words instead of fists."
In the end, Akira decided to give them a gentle push. If he could get the two brothers to open up, he might be able to resolve their deeply rooted trauma before it festered any further. Otherwise, wouldn't it be a complete waste of effort having Kagaya summon Genya here ahead of schedule?
As for whether Genya would actually participate in the war against Muzan's forces, that was a decision for the Shinazugawa brothers to make. Akira wouldn't cross that line. Everyone had the right to choose their own path, just as they had to bear the weight of those choices.
"Thanks," Sanemi muttered, his voice gruff but sincere.
After exchanging a few more words, Akira pushed off the wall and left the Medical Department. Sabito and Giyuu, who had been waiting nearby, gave their brief goodbyes to the Wind Hashira before following Akira out into the sunlit corridors of the Butterfly Mansion.
A few days later.
The afternoon sun bathed the Butterfly Mansion's training courtyard in a warm, golden glow. Akira sat on the edge of the wooden veranda, lazily flipping through a stack of freshly delivered intelligence reports from Kagaya's crows.
A few feet away, Makomo was resting on a wooden bench, catching her breath after a rigorous training session. A thin sheen of sweat glistened on her pale neck, her chest rising and falling in a steady, controlled rhythm.
Akira lowered the papers, his eyes glinting with sudden curiosity. "Makomo, who among you girls has the best makeup skills? The kind that can completely alter someone's facial features."
Because the women in his life were naturally stunning, they rarely bothered with cosmetics. At most, they applied a light touch of rouge when they went out shopping with him in the city. As a result, Akira had absolutely no idea how skilled any of them were with a makeup brush. To him, they were flawless either way.
"For makeup? Shinobu is definitely the most skilled out of all of us," Makomo answered easily, wiping her brow with a small towel. "I actually asked her to help do my makeup for my birthday a while back. But..." She paused, tilting her head in confusion. "Changing someone's actual appearance isn't really makeup anymore, Akira. That's a disguise."
She answered casually, as this was the sort of daily gossip the girls often chatted about in private. But a second later, her brow furrowed. Why was Akira suddenly asking about cosmetics? And specifically, the appearance-altering kind?
"Why are you suddenly asking about this?" she asked, her turquoise eyes narrowing slightly.
"Oh, it's just that I'm planning to head over to the Yoshiwara Pleasure District later, and I need to completely change my appearance so I don't—"
"Wait a minute! Where did you just say you were going?!"
Before Akira could even finish his sentence, Makomo's voice spiked an octave. In a flash of movement that would have made her Water Breathing master proud, she crossed the distance between them. Her small hand—which just moments ago had looked soft and fatigued from training—shot out and clamped down ruthlessly on the soft flesh of Akira's waist.
"Back then, you held me in your arms and slept for an entire night without trying a single thing!" Makomo shouted, her cheeks flushed with a volatile mix of embarrassment and outrage. "You told me you were going to wait until I turned eighteen! And now you're telling me you're going to the pleasure district?! What is the meaning of this, Akira?! Answer me!"
Her voice trembled with genuine anger, but beneath the fierce scolding, Akira could hear the faint, unmistakable edge of grievance.
"Stop, stop, stop! Let me explain!" Akira pleaded, raising both hands in surrender while trying to pry her punishing fingers off his side. "I'm only going there to hunt demons! I'm not going there to mess around! Besides, how could any woman in a place like that possibly compare to you girls? If I actually went there for that, I'd be the one taking a massive loss, okay?!"
Makomo's grip loosened slightly, though her eyes remained narrowed in deep suspicion. "Really?"
"Of course it's true! Look, just read the intelligence report Kagaya sent over." Akira nodded frantically, hastily shoving the stack of papers into her hands to save his waist from further bruising.
Makomo took the papers, her eyes scanning the neat calligraphy.
"There have been several strange disappearances in the Yoshiwara Pleasure District over the past few months," Akira explained, his tone shifting back to a serious, professional calm. "It's not just the guests going missing, but the staff as well. If you combine that with the dream I told you about before... it's highly likely that Upper Rank Six is hiding out there. I'm planning to go in and exterminate them."
"Upper Rank Six..." Makomo murmured, the anger bleeding out of her posture as she read the grim details. "Is that the pair of demon siblings you mentioned? The ones you said would normally require two or three Hashira working perfectly together to kill?"
Hearing his logical explanation and seeing the hard evidence in her hands, the lingering jealousy in Makomo's heart completely evaporated.
Deep down, she knew the truth. After being together for years, she knew Akira wasn't the type of man to chase cheap thrills. If he were that kind of person, back when she had lain in his arms, completely defenseless and willing, she would have been thoroughly eaten a long time ago.
Akira's inner thoughts wept silently: If only this book had appeared all those years earlier...
"Mm-hmm," Akira confirmed, nodding firmly.
Makomo looked up from the papers, her turquoise eyes locking onto his with sudden determination. "I want to go too."
Akira's gaze drifted to the side, suddenly finding the courtyard trees very interesting.
It wasn't that he doubted Makomo's combat abilities. She might struggle a bit in a direct clash against Gyutaro's lethal poison, but as long as she played it smart, absolutely bullying Daki wouldn't be an issue for her.
The real problem was the sheer awkwardness of the situation. Bringing your beautiful, innocent girlfriend along on a covert mission to a brothel district felt deeply wrong, no matter how he tried to justify it.
Makomo seemed to realize the exact same thing a split second after the words left her mouth. A furious blush erupted across her cheeks, turning her face the color of a ripe tomato. She quickly averted her gaze, her small mouth opening and closing a few times like a fish out of water as she struggled to find a way to take it back.
"I'm going there to hunt for demons, not to pick fights with the brothel owners," Akira said gently, a teasing smile tugging at his lips. "Bringing a great beauty like you along would just be way too eye-catching. We'd blow our cover on the first night."
"Then... alright..." Makomo muttered, nodding stiffly. Even though she was trying to play it cool, hearing the words great beauty casually slip from Akira's lips made her heart flutter with secret delight, completely overriding her embarrassment.
After a brief moment of silence to let her burning cheeks cool down, Makomo cleared her throat and redirected her attention back to the original, much safer topic.
"So... why exactly do you need a disguise?"
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