Chapter 147: The Twisted Brothers
Back at the Butterfly Mansion, the crisp scent of medicinal herbs and sterilized bandages hung heavy in the air. The two Shinazugawa brothers had already been escorted inside, strictly arranged to wait in separate rooms at opposite ends of the hallway.
Akira had previously agreed to try and help mediate the fractured relationship between the two siblings, and he intended to fulfill that promise today. Amane's preparations for the upcoming meeting weren't quite ready yet, granting him a rare window of free time.
As for why the brothers were kept in isolation upon arrival, the reason was purely pragmatic. Akira had zero desire to return to the Butterfly Mansion only to find that Sanemi had already employed his exclusive, highly aggressive method of "persuasion" to beat Genya into an unconscious stupor.
It simply couldn't be helped. The primary combatants residing at the Butterfly Mansion were currently attending the summit, leaving the estate staffed mostly by Kakushi and nurses. Absolutely no one present possessed the strength to physically halt a rampaging Wind Hashira—unless Shinobu happened to be around to casually slip a paralytic poison into his tea.
Now that Akira had returned to the estate, he naturally summoned the two brothers into a single, spacious tatami room so they could finally have a proper conversation.
"Speak up," Akira said, his voice calm but carrying an obvious weight. "What are you both thinking? Let's see who can convince whom. Sanemi, you go first."
Sanemi and Genya sat rigidly at opposite ends of a long, low wooden table. Akira sat directly in the middle, acting as a physical barrier between them. He was fully aware that his main purpose here was to serve as a heavily armed deterrent against Sanemi, whose muscles had coiled tight the absolute second he laid eyes on his younger brother.
Sanemi's philosophy regarding his disobedient sibling was brutally simple: If words don't work, use your fists. If he still doesn't listen, hit him harder.
Glancing sideways at Akira, Sanemi clicked his tongue. He slowly unclenched his white-knuckled fists and crossed his heavily scarred arms over his chest. Leaning back, he fixed Genya with a withering, condescending glare.
"I'll say it one last time," Sanemi growled, his voice rough like grinding stones. "Since you can't even learn a basic Breathing Technique, and you're as weak as a newborn chick, don't even entertain the delusion of slaying demons. You're just throwing your pathetic life away."
Akira turned his head toward Genya, giving him a subtle nod to respond.
Compared to the explosive, hot-tempered Hashira, Genya appeared painfully restrained. Despite his flashy, delinquent-style undercut and the jagged scar marring his face, his current posture was that of a scolded child. He shrank into his shoulders, a stark contrast to his usual abrasive exterior.
Completely suffocated by the sheer, oppressive pressure radiating from his older brother, Genya couldn't figure out how to start. He kept his head slightly bowed. His jaw worked, mouth opening and closing several times, but not a single syllable managed to escape his throat. Watching the boy struggle so miserably made Akira feel a faint wave of exhaustion.
On the other side of the table, Sanemi kept his face turned away, projecting an aura of absolute contempt. Yet, Akira's sharp eyes caught the subtle, rapid micro-expressions—Sanemi's gaze kept darting back to check on his younger brother from the very corner of his vision.
After a long, agonizing stretch of silence, Akira finally intervened.
"If you don't even dare to speak your mind in a safe room," Akira said, his tone perfectly even, "how can you possibly prove you have the courage to face a demon?"
Genya flinched, his hands gripping the fabric of his hakama.
"At the very least, while I am sitting here, I can guarantee your brother won't lay a single finger on you," Akira continued. "But once you leave this room, you might never get another chance to say what's truly in your heart."
Genya looked up at Akira, his dark eyes wide, before shifting his gaze to Sanemi. The Wind Hashira hurriedly squeezed his eyes shut and wrenched his head even further toward the wall, pretending not to care.
Genya swallowed hard. He knew Akira was telling the absolute truth. If he let this fleeting opportunity slip through his fingers today, Sanemi would never grant him the luxury of a calm conversation again. He would simply let his fists do the talking, and Genya—lacking any Breathing Technique to defend himself—would inevitably wake up staring at the ceiling, nursing a concussion.
Taking several deep, shuddering breaths to steady his racing heart, Genya finally forced the words out.
"I... I just want to be of help to you... Brother."
"With just you?" Sanemi fired back instantly, not even bothering to look at him. "You're nothing but a dead weight. Participating in the Final Selection would just waste the proctors' energy. You wouldn't even last long enough for them to scrape your corpse off the mountain."
"I can fight demons! I've killed one before!"
Realizing that Sanemi was actually staying in his seat and not lunging across the table to strike him, Genya's voice suddenly spiked in volume, his desperate words tumbling out in a rush.
Hearing the claim that his weak, untalented brother had actually killed a demon, Sanemi's head snapped back around, his eyes widening in raw shock.
His immediate, subconscious reaction was pure disbelief. In Sanemi's eyes, Genya was a normal kid with average physical fitness who couldn't even grasp the basics of Total Concentration Breathing. How could he possibly kill a supernatural monster? Even Sanemi himself, back before he officially joined the Demon Slayer Corps, had only survived by relying on his intoxicating Marechi blood and sheer, borderline-suicidal physical constitution to wrestle demons to the ground and string them up until the sun rose.
Yet, Sanemi also knew his little brother better than anyone. Genya had never been capable of telling a convincing lie, not even when they were children. And he certainly wouldn't lie in a high-stakes situation like this.
"It's true, I can kill them," Genya rushed to explain, misinterpreting Sanemi's stunned silence as doubt. "As long as I consume a demon's flesh, I can temporarily gain their regenerative abilities and physical strength. I can fight them using their own power!"
Sanemi's breath hitched, the color draining slightly from his scarred face.
"After you left," Genya pleaded, leaning forward over the table, "I killed a demon using this ability. If I had a Nichirin Blade, I could definitely fight them more easily. I... I can be of help to you, Brother. I swear it."
Facing Genya's persistent, agonizingly sincere gaze, Sanemi slowly turned his face away again. But this time, he didn't bark out a harsh dismissal. The venom had vanished from his posture.
Or rather, Sanemi simply lacked the strength to deny Genya anymore. He had suddenly plunged into a suffocating abyss of self-reproach.
Although Genya hadn't elaborated on the details, a sickening tightness gripped Sanemi's chest. Just what kind of horrific, blood-soaked, desperate situation had Genya been trapped in to discover such a grotesque ability?
Sanemi didn't know. Aside from Genya himself, no one could possibly comprehend the sheer terror the boy must have felt when he resorted to sinking his human teeth into the rotting, mutated flesh of a monster that was actively trying to slaughter him. Perhaps, teetering on the absolute brink of death, driven by a feral instinct to tear a piece off his murderer before he died, Genya had accidentally unlocked this cursed talent.
The more the imagery played out in his mind, the more Sanemi hated himself. When his little brother was backed into a corner, fighting for his life, he—the older brother who had sworn to protect him—was nowhere to be found.
As an older brother... I really am worthless, Sanemi thought, his fingernails digging painfully into his own biceps.
Sitting between them, Akira observed Genya with a flicker of genuine surprise. He was already fully aware of Genya's unique 'Demon Eater' talent from his past life's memories, but he hadn't expected the boy to awaken it this early in the timeline. Genya's integration into the Demon Slayer Corps was happening far ahead of the original trajectory.
In his previous life, reading about the story through a screen, Akira hadn't felt much emotional weight regarding this specific ability. It was just a cool, edgy power system mechanic. But now, having lived in this brutal world and fought these nightmarish creatures face-to-face for years, Akira deeply understood the deep, stomach-churning desperation that birthed such a power.
It was akin to wondering what level of mind-breaking famine would drive starving peasants to consume 'Guanyin clay'—a desperate substitute for food that only offered the briefest illusion of a full stomach before slowly killing them from the inside. No one but those who had crawled through that specific hell would ever truly understand the taste.
After a quiet moment of reflection, Akira shifted his gaze back to Sanemi. The Wind Hashira remained frozen, his head turned toward the sliding doors. Akira watched carefully, waiting to see how the man would handle this revelation.
Judging by the slight tremor in Sanemi's shoulders, he had clearly realized the sheer desperation his brother had endured.
After a heavy, suffocating silence, Sanemi finally opened his mouth and flatly uttered two words.
"Give up."
"Why?!" Genya shouted, slamming his hands onto the table, his voice cracking with emotion. "I just told you I can fight them! I—"
"Do you have any idea how pathetic you are?" Sanemi interrupted, his voice eerily quiet, devoid of its usual rage. "With your current frail human body, you wouldn't even be able to get close enough to land a single bite against a genuinely powerful demon. You would be slaughtered the absolute second you stepped onto the battlefield."
Genya froze, his mouth hanging open.
"Look at my recent injury," Sanemi continued, his tone turning grim as he recalled his near-death experience. "From beginning to end, I didn't even get to see what the demon looked like. I was instantly trapped in a sensory illusion, struggling blindly just to breathe. It was only thanks to my Marechi blood, the desperate cover from my teammates, and a massive stroke of blind luck that I managed to hold on until reinforcements arrived."
Sanemi finally turned his head, locking his intense, bloodshot eyes with Genya's.
"In a situation like that, what exactly could you do? Relying on consuming demon flesh for power requires you to actually reach them and bite them in the first place. Against a Kizuki, you'd be dead before you even opened your mouth."
Genya's hands trembled against the wood. He opened his mouth, searching for a counterargument, but found absolutely nothing. The crushing logic of Sanemi's battlefield reality completely dismantled his hopes.
The atmosphere in the room plunged into a heavy, mournful silence once more.
Akira simply sat there, watching the dust motes dance in the sunlight filtering through the shoji screens. He had done his part. He had created a safe, controlled environment where the brothers could finally speak without resorting to bloodshed. As for whether Genya would ultimately join the frontline combatants or be relegated to the logistics department, that was a path the two brothers had to handle for themselves.
[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!]