Demon Slayer: Rewriting Tragedies with Super Vision — Chapter 181

Chapter 181: Seeing Straight to the End

Hearing Makomo’s gentle words, Akira fell into a long, heavy silence. His gaze drifted toward the moonlit window as his thoughts traced the jagged edges of his past.

Ever since Kanzaki Keizan passed away, leaving him orphaned in a world crawling with demons, Akira had truly had no one to rely on.

It wasn’t that he was entirely alone. Gyoumei had taken him in, offering shelter and a warm fire, but there were over a dozen other orphans crammed into that dilapidated temple at the time. The gentle giant could only play the role of a broad-shouldered patriarch, stretched far too thin to provide detailed, individual care to every traumatized child., Akira had been one of the older kids in that ragtag group. He spent most of his waking hours stepping up, helping to feed and look after the younger ones. The only person older than him had been Kaigaku—and that was hardly a comforting thought.

Then came Kuwajima Jigorou. While the former Roaring Hashira had taken him in as a disciple, Akira had always viewed the eccentric old man more as a cross-generational friend. Jigorou had bled and fought for humanity for half his life; he was at an age where he deserved to sit on a porch and enjoy a peaceful retirement. Akira simply couldn’t bring himself to lean heavily on the old man’s weary shoulders.

And then there was the Butterfly Mansion. The girls there had undeniably given him a warm, vibrant sense of home. Their bright smiles and daily banter acted as a soothing balm over his battle-worn soul, easing the bone-deep exhaustion that plagued him. Yet, even there, he was the foundation. He was the pillar of the Butterfly Mansion, the unshakable shield they all trusted and relied upon when the night grew dark.

Akira had always told himself he didn’t mind the weight. He had struggled entirely alone for so long in his previous life that independence was practically carved into his bones. He was used to days where the only person he could count on was himself.

Besides, with so many wonderful people loving him now, what possible reason did he have to be dissatisfied? He had everything he could ever want.

It was just…

“It’s exhausting, isn’t it?”

Makomo’s soft voice pulled him out of the spiraling depths of his memories. He blinked, refocusing on the petite girl sitting beside him. The raw, unfiltered affection swirling within her deep green eyes seemed to melt into the silver moonlight, piercing straight through his defenses and illuminating the most guarded corners of his heart.

“I’m alright,” Akira finally replied after a prolonged silence. The words came out slower than he intended. Perhaps it was because he hadn’t spoken for a while, or perhaps the emotional toll was finally catching up to him, but his voice was unusually low, carrying a rough, raspy edge.

“You…” Makomo sighed, reaching out to lightly flick his forehead. Her gaze softened with a deep sense of fond helplessness. Without another word, she shifted closer and opened her slender arms toward him. “Here. I’ll lend you my shoulder. Just lean on it and rest for a bit.”

Akira froze. For a man who could react to a demon’s strike in a fraction of a second, he suddenly found himself completely paralyzed, staring at her open embrace in stunned disbelief.

“You dummy,” Makomo muttered, her pretty cheeks puffing out into a slight pout at his dumbfounded expression. Refusing to wait for his brain to reboot, she reached forward, gently but firmly grasping him by the shoulders, and pulled him down until his head rested against her collarbone.

Akira didn’t resist. He let his posture slump, yielding entirely to her gentle strength.

“Even though my physical strength isn’t that great, and I might not be able to shoulder the heaviest of your burdens,” she whispered, her breath tickling his ear, “at least right now, before the next crisis arrives, I can give you a safe place to rest.”

She shifted slightly, ensuring he was secure. “You probably haven’t ever let yourself feel this, have you? Leaning on someone else. Emptying your mind and your body, throwing all those endless troubles away for just one night… Just breathing in the scent of the person beside you, and letting all that suppressed exhaustion finally wash away.”

Her soothing voice acted like a hypnotic lullaby. A faint, crisp scent of mint drifted from her skin, lingering right at the tip of his nose. Normally, the sharp aroma of mint would sharpen his senses and keep him alert, but right now, it had the exact opposite effect. A heavy, intoxicating drowsiness surged up from his core. The moment he allowed his mind and muscles to truly relax, the massive reservoir of fatigue he had been accumulating over the past weeks crashed over him like a tidal wave.

Akira let his eyelids flutter shut. His breathing deepened, shifting into a long, slow rhythm as the tension bled out of his broad shoulders.

Makomo simply held him there in the quiet room, her small hand tracing soothing circles and softly patting his back, much like a mother coaxing a restless child into a peaceful slumber.

A few minutes passed. Suddenly, she felt his head shift against her collarbone. The stray strands of his dark hair brushed against the sensitive skin of her neck, sending a faint, ticklish chill down her spine. It was an indescribably intimate sensation, but far from uncomfortable.

Curiosity bubbling up within her, Makomo tilted her head slightly. “So, how does it feel?” she asked softly. “It’s always been us leaning on you. This is the very first time I’ve ever had you lean on me.”

“Mm…” Akira mumbled, not even bothering to open his eyes. “My neck is sore… and my lower back is cramping a bit…”

He nuzzled his face against her shoulder again, blindly attempting to find a better angle. Unfortunately, the sheer height difference between his tall, muscular frame and her petite stature meant he was hunched over awkwardly. No matter how comforting her presence was, his neck and lumbar muscles were screaming in protest.

Makomo’s expression went blank. Slowly, her delicate little fist clenched tight.

Don’t get angry. Do not get angry, she chanted internally, taking a deep, steadying breath. The man I chose for myself has always been an absolute, unromantic fool… I am here to comfort him, not to beat him senseless…

She repeated the mantra over and over. Her knuckles turned white as she tightened and loosened her grip several times. Finally, she glanced down, catching sight of the deep, lingering lines of exhaustion etched between his brows. All her irritation melted away, leaving behind a long, helpless sigh.

Shifting her weight, Makomo supported Akira’s heavy frame and guided him backward, gently laying his upper body flat against the mattress.

Akira blinked his eyes open in a dizzy haze, staring up at her with a look of mild, sleepy confusion.

Makomo pointedly ignored the annoying idiot. She simply slid her arms under his knees, hoisting his legs up so his entire body was resting comfortably on the soft bed.

Without missing a beat, she climbed onto the mattress and lay down right beside him, scooting up until her position was slightly higher than his. Reaching out, she wrapped an arm around him and pulled his head snugly against her shoulder once more.

“It won’t be sore like this, right?” she asked, shooting a huffy, mock-annoyed glare at his dazed, blinking eyes.

“It’s not,” Akira replied, his voice muffled against her fabric. He wiggled his head a few times, burying his face into the crook of her neck until he found the absolute perfect angle. And just like that, within seconds, he was fast asleep.

Makomo lay there in the quiet dark, one hand gently patting his broad back while the other softly threaded through his messy black hair. She watched his peaceful, unguarded expression bathe in the silver moonlight. A tranquil, incredibly soft smile graced her lips.

Wrapping her arms securely around the man she loved, she slowly let her own eyelids droop, drifting off into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Outside, the summer night wind carried a hint of residual daytime warmth. It brushed past the open window, rustling the leaves in a gentle, rhythmic whisper, but the ambient sounds of the world did absolutely nothing to disturb the two intertwined figures resting peacefully within the room.

Hours later, the bright, golden rays of morning sunlight spilled through the window, dancing across the floorboards until they finally reached the bed, stirring Akira from his slumber.

“Mmm…” he groaned softly.

He honestly couldn’t remember the last time he had slept so deeply and peacefully. Even though his internal clock told him it was well past the time he usually woke up for his morning sword practice, his body utterly refused to cooperate. He didn’t want to move an inch. Seeking refuge from the glaring sun, he blindly rubbed his face against his pillow and attempted to roll over.

However, this particular ‘pillow’ felt strangely soft. It possessed a pleasant, firm elasticity and carried a wonderfully fresh, minty fragrance.

As he nuzzled deeper to escape the light, his nose bumped directly into something incredibly soft and warm.

A short, startled squeak suddenly echoed above him.

Akira’s eyes snapped open. That was definitely Makomo’s voice.

Blinking away the sleep, his vision finally focused. The first thing that filled his sight was a layer of soft fabric, delicately patterned with pink and blue flower petals. If his memory served him right, that was the exact yukata Makomo had been wearing when she slipped into his bedroom last night.

Tilting his head back slightly, he looked up. Makomo was staring down at him, her cheeks flushed with a deep, rosy bashfulness, her wide green eyes shimmering with a thin layer of flustered moisture.

I was wondering why my pillow was so soft and bouncy, Akira thought, a sudden wave of realization crashing over him. It turns out I was using Makomo’s lap. Which means my nose was just pressed directly against her…

As the scandalous geometry of their current position fully registered, Akira’s face rapidly flooded with heat. His morning grogginess evaporated in an instant, replaced by a frantic, racing heartbeat.

Desperate to shift his attention away from the embarrassing intimacy, he tried to look straight ahead. But as he did, an intrusive, highly observant thought popped into his mind.

Whenever he enjoyed Kanae’s lap pillow, his upward vision was completely blocked by a pair of massive, soft mountains—a view that could only be described as ‘seeing no end to it.’

But right now, lying on Makomo’s lap and looking up… he could see her face perfectly. There was absolutely zero obstruction in his line of sight.

Makomo, who had been trembling with shy embarrassment just a second ago, suddenly went perfectly still. As if possessing a sixth sense for his disrespectful inner thoughts, the blush vanished from her face, and her gaze slowly lowered to meet his—turning incredibly, terrifyingly dangerous.