Chapter 138: Reunited with the Wind
Akira leaned back, processing the report. He was genuinely surprised that Sanemi had crossed blades with a Lower Rank One so early in his career. Barely six months had passed since Akira had first dragged the feral, scarred youth into the ranks of the Demon Slayer Corps. For Sanemi to survive a direct clash with Ubume—holding his ground long enough for Sabito and Giyuu to arrive as backup—spoke volumes of his monstrous, raw talent.
The timeline was shifting. Akira's own presence in this world, particularly his bold move to relocate the Kamado family, had clearly struck a nerve. Muzan Kibutsuji was growing anxious. That paranoia rippled down the demonic hierarchy, resulting in a violent spike in demon activity across the country. The shift was glaringly obvious during Akira's night patrols. Whenever he ventured out hunting for unfortunate test subjects for his experimental poisons, he rarely returned empty-handed. The shadows were crawling with them.
For now, critical strongholds like the Butterfly Mansion and the Swordsmith Village remained secure. Their locations were heavily obscured, and no demonic presence had breached their perimeters yet. But Akira wasn't naive. If Muzan's desperate search continued at this frantic pace, those sanctuaries would eventually be compromised. Nakime's promotion was the biggest wild card. Given the current shifts, she had likely been elevated to the new Upper Rank Five. Her Blood Demon Art was terrifyingly efficient for reconnaissance.
The grim reality was that the current Demon Slayer Corps lacked the sheer firepower to face Muzan head-on. Aside from doubling patrol routes and sharpening their blades, they had no immediate countermeasures against a full-scale assault. Akira tapped his fingers against his thigh in thought. While his primary objective remained unlocking the elusive Transparent World, playing purely on the defensive was a losing game. It was time to start systematically dismantling Muzan's inner circle.
He mentally filtered through the Upper Ranks. The top three were completely off the table for now. Unless both he and Gyomei managed to fully awaken the Transparent World, engaging Akaza would be suicide—to say nothing of the sheer, overwhelming nightmares that were Doma and Kokushibo. Honestly, even with the Transparent World, fighting the top two would require a miracle.
Hantengu was equally problematic, albeit for different reasons. Their brief, chaotic encounter in Asakusa had proven one thing: the cowardly demon was an absolute master of concealing his true presence. Without the piercing vision of the Transparent World, Akira had zero confidence in tracking down Hantengu's microscopic main body amidst the chaos of battle. Gyomei might stand a chance, given the giant's freakish sensitivity to aura and sound, but it was a massive gamble.
, Hantengu was a nomad. He had no fixed hunting grounds, making tracking him down a matter of pure, dumb luck. Nakime was safely entrenched within the dimensional labyrinth of the Infinity Castle, utterly untouchable.
That left only one logical target.
Akira's eyes narrowed, a cold, predatory glint flashing in his gaze. Are Daki and Gyutaro currently hiding in the Yoshiwara Entertainment District?
Somewhere far away, a certain demonic sibling duo suddenly felt an inexplicable, chilling sense of impending doom.
Having decided on his next goal, Akira stood up, smoothing the wrinkles from his uniform, and headed toward the Medical Department.
"Which ward are those two injured swordsmen in?" he asked Sabito as they walked down the sunlit corridor. Since Sanemi was currently recovering at the Butterfly Mansion, Akira figured he ought to drop by. As the unofficial recruiter who had dragged the stubborn youth into this life, checking in felt like a necessary courtesy.
Besides, his morning training session with Mitsuri had already concluded. The pink-haired girl had been a bubbling fountain of enthusiastic cheers during their spars, but her stamina was completely spent by the end of it. With his schedule suddenly clear, Akira had the perfect excuse to go check on the foul-mouthed, hot-tempered teenager who had yet to fully mature.
"The critically injured one is in Ward Three," Sabito replied, tilting his head in mild confusion. "The other kid had just finished getting his wounds bandaged when I passed by earlier. He's probably already headed to Ward Three to watch over his partner. Why? Do you know him?"
"Yeah. I'm the one who brought him into the Corps," Akira chuckled, a fond, exasperated smile touching his lips. "He's a completely ruthless bastard. Even before he knew what Breathing Styles were, he was actively hunting down demons, capturing them, and stringing them up to burn in the morning sun. It's only been about six months since I first stumbled across him."
"Ho? Then his talent is genuinely terrifying," Sabito murmured, his peach-colored eyes widening slightly. To clash with Lower Rank One after only half a year of formal training and live to tell the tale—Sabito was deeply impressed by Sanemi's sheer survival instinct.
"Yeah," Akira agreed, glancing sideways at his friend. "Give him a little more time, and you might just have a brand-new sparring partner. Then you can finally stop pestering me for matches."
Sabito bristled, crossing his arms defensively. "I admit Shinazugawa has incredible potential, but it's not like I'm just sitting around stagnating! How could he possibly catch up to me that easily? Am I really that weak in your eyes?"
"I never said you were weak," Akira replied smoothly, his tone placating but analytical. "It's just that you've hit a natural bottleneck, haven't you? You've practically pushed Water Breathing to its absolute limit. The only ways forward for you now are to drastically enhance your base physique, invent entirely new forms, or somehow comprehend the Transparent World."
He held up three fingers. "And every single one of those paths requires a massive investment of time. Shinazugawa, on the other hand, hasn't hit his ceiling yet. He's still in a phase of explosive growth. The Corps might not have had a Wind Hashira in a while, but Wind Breathing is an inherently devastating style."
Akira continued his idle banter with Sabito as they handled the pristine halls of the Butterfly Mansion. Giyuu and Mitsuri trailed quietly behind them. Giyuu, true to his nature, simply preferred the silence, his face an unreadable mask. Mitsuri, however, kept opening her mouth to speak, only to close it again. She felt that interrupting their rapid-fire tactical discussion would be terribly impolite, especially since she had only just been formally introduced to the two Water Hashira.
The group of four eventually arrived outside the sliding oak doors of Ward Three. Akira raised his knuckles to knock, but before he could make contact, the door slid open from the inside.
Sanemi stepped out into the hallway, freezing as he nearly collided with Akira.
"It's you?" Sanemi blurted out, his eyes widening.
He naturally remembered the man who had forcibly introduced him to the reality of the Demon Slayer Corps. Over the past six months, Sanemi had also learned the true weight of the title Akira held: the Sound Hashira.
"I honestly didn't expect you to grow this strong in just half a year," Akira said, his gaze sweeping over the young swordsman in open approval. "It seems I really did dig up a treasure back then."
He sized Sanemi up. The boy had shot up in height since their first violent encounter in the woods, his frame packing on dense, functional muscle. Thick white bandages bound his left forearm and chest, and fresh, angry pink scars crisscrossed his exposed skin—a brutal map of his recent battles. The boyish, reckless greenness that had once defined him was completely gone, replaced by the hardened edge of a true warrior.
"Thank you for the compliment, Lord Sound Hashira," Sanemi replied, bowing his head stiffly. He then turned to Sabito and Giyuu. "And I must formally thank the two Water Hashira for saving my life. If you hadn't arrived when you did, Masachika and I would have undoubtedly died at the hands of that monster."
Akira blinked, momentarily thrown off. Influenced by the strict hierarchy of the Corps and the overwhelming gratitude he felt toward his saviors, Sanemi's demeanor was shockingly respectful. Seeing the usually feral, foul-mouthed boy acting so polite made Akira's skin crawl with mild discomfort.
Hearing the formal thanks, Sabito waved his hand dismissively, offering a warm, encouraging smile. "It was simply our duty. Your name is Shinazugawa, correct? You possess incredible talent. Keep honing your blade."
To Sabito, Sanemi was a highly promising junior, so his tone naturally carried the gentle authority of a senior guiding the next generation.
"I will," Sanemi promised, his jaw setting with determination.
"How is your partner doing?" Akira interjected, eager to derail the stiff, superior-subordinate dynamic that he secretly despised.
"Doctor Kocho's medical skills are nothing short of miraculous," Sanemi muttered, his gaze dropping to the wooden floorboards. "Masachika's vitals have stabilized. But... his right arm is ruined."
At the mention of his senior brother and closest friend, a heavy, suffocating gloom settled over Sanemi's shoulders.
Flesh wounds and broken ribs could heal, but Masachika's right arm had been mangled beyond saving and required amputation. Without the ability to wield a Nichirin Blade properly, his future as a frontline combatant was over. Even the path of retiring to become a Cultivator was effectively severed. His only remaining option was to accept a quiet, mundane position in the Corps' logistics division. For a hot-blooded, fiercely proud warrior, being permanently sidelined was a fate almost worse than death.
"At the very least, he kept his life," Akira said softly, placing a steadying hand on Sanemi's shoulder. "As a veteran of the Demon Slayer Corps, he'll be well taken care of. He won't ever have to worry about food or shelter for the rest of his days."
It was a pragmatic comfort, but it was the only truth Akira could offer.
"Yeah... he's alive," Sanemi whispered, his hands clenching into trembling fists. When he looked up, his eyes burned with a manic, violent intensity. "I'll carry his share of the burden. I'll collect the blood debt from those demons on his behalf."
The hallway grew thick with a heavy, mournful silence. Deciding it was best to pull the boy out of his dark spiral, Akira pivoted to a new topic.
"By the way, I heard rumors that your younger brother was brought to headquarters. How is he adjusting?"
Sanemi flinched, his fierce expression crumbling into one of deep, conflicted frustration. "He... Genya doesn't have a shred of talent for Breathing Styles. But the idiot is stubbornly insisting on fighting on the front lines alongside me. I... I don't know how to get it through his thick skull."
Sanemi was still reeling from the shock of seeing his little brother within the walls of the Demon Slayer Corps. He had learned that Akira was the one who had specifically ordered the Kakushi to track Genya down and bring him in. It left Sanemi drowning in a messy sea of conflicting emotions.
On one hand, he was furious. He desperately wanted his younger brother far away from the blood-soaked nightmare of hunting demons. On the other hand, logic dictated that as long as Muzan's kind roamed the earth, nowhere was truly safe. Living within the wisteria-warded walls of the Corps as a non-combatant was objectively the safest place Genya could possibly be.
The glaring issue was Genya's sheer, suicidal stubbornness. Despite lacking the lung capacity to master a Breathing Style, the boy absolutely refused to stay quietly in the rear logistics division.
Akira crossed his arms, raising a skeptical eyebrow at the older brother. "Tell me, Shinazugawa... your idea of 'persuasion' wouldn't happen to involve beating him to a pulp until he obeys you, would it?"
Looking at Sanemi's helpless, defensive scowl, Akira's tone dripped with dry, knowing amusement.
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