Chapter 168: Shinobu, You Wouldn't Want...
They say a young girl's blush is far more persuasive than any honeyed words.
Akira gazed down at Shinobu, who was still resting securely in his arms, and offered a perfectly justified defense. "Don't worry about the exact mechanics of how you turned red. Just tell me, are you blushing or not?"
A low, teasing chuckle vibrated in his chest. At the sound, Shinobu's cheeks—already flushed like a polished apple from her little 'steam princess'meltdown—rapidly darkened into the rich, deep crimson of a ripe plum. Bathed in the fading amber light of the setting sun, her complexion perfectly embodied the phrase'red enough to drip blood.'
Seeing that Akira had absolutely no intention of letting her off the hook, his laughter only growing more pronounced, Shinobu shot him a venomous glare. She puffed out her cheeks in a huff, looking remarkably like an angry little pufferfish.
Yet, while a real pufferfish bristled with sharp, dangerous spines when threatened, Shinobu's impossibly smooth skin offered nothing but a dusting of fine, soft peach fuzz. The indignant, puffed-up expression completely failed to intimidate him; instead, it only magnified her charm.
It was the kind of face that practically begged to be poked.
So, naturally, Akira did exactly that.
He raised a hand and gently poked her inflated cheek with his index finger. A faint, comical sound of escaping air slipped past her lips, perfectly audible in the quiet evening breeze.
Shinobu's violet eyes widened to an almost impossible degree.
Before she could even begin to unleash a barrage of angry scolding, his mischievous hand shifted, gently pinching the soft flesh of her cheek and effectively cutting off her words.
"The texture is incredible," Akira mused, his tone entirely too casual.
"Th-thank... you... for... the... compliment..." Shinobu forced the words out, her jaw locked tight enough to grind stone.
"Alright, alright, Shinobu, I was just joking. Don't be mad anymore~"
Akira's sudden shift in tone—intentionally pitching his voice higher into a sickeningly sweet, coquettish whine—was like a bucket of ice water. The burning spark of righteous fury in Shinobu's chest vanished instantly, rapidly replaced by a violent wave of goosebumps erupting across her arms.
'Listen here, whoever you are, get out of my Akira's body right now, this instant,' she thought, staring at him in sheer horror.
Her mind flashed back to Makomo's eighteenth birthday. When the girls had gathered in private to gossip about how the evening went, Makomo had casually mentioned that Akira had acted cute to get his way. At the time, every single one of them—aside from Makomo herself—had been highly skeptical.
In his daily life, Akira was the epitome of calm, pragmatic reliability. He simply did not seem like the type of man capable of throwing a childish tantrum or acting coquettish.
But now, staring into his overly innocent eyes, Shinobu believed it completely.
"Shinobu~~" he whined again, dragging out the syllables.
"Stop!" she hissed, throwing her hands up in defeat. "Fine! I yield! I am not angry anymore. Just please, give me back the normal Akira!"
"Really?" His voice snapped back to its usual calm, dry baritone in a fraction of a second.
"You..." Shinobu opened her mouth to scold him, closed it, and opened it again. Words utterly failed her. She let out a long, helpless sigh, her shoulders slumping.
In that exact moment, she shared the exact same deep realization Makomo had experienced months ago: 'What on earth have I fallen in love with?'
Yet, the exasperated thought only lingered for a fleeting second. For better or worse, she and the other girls had willingly tied their hearts to this deeply infuriating, deeply wonderful man. There was no turning back now.
Satisfied that the storm had passed, Akira smiled softly. "I am glad you are not angry anymore. When we get back to town, how about I buy you a little goldfish as an apology?"
"I want two," Shinobu replied on pure instinct, her competitive streak flaring up before she could stop herself.
"Two it is, then," Akira agreed easily. "However, since we will be raising two of them, you have to treat them properly. You must remember to take time out of your schedule to feed them every day and change their water. You cannot just bury yourself in your poison research and forget the world exists."
As he spoke, a wicked idea seemed to cross his mind. A mischievous smirk curved his lips. He leaned in close, closing the distance until his lips were hovering mere inches from her ear.
"After all, Shinobu," he whispered, his voice dropping an octave into a smooth, dangerous purr, "you wouldn't want such beautiful little goldfish to die, would you?"
"Can't you... speak normally?" Shinobu stammered, tilting her head away as the tips of her ears burned a bright, furious pink.
The hot, tingling sensation of his breath brushing against her sensitive skin sent a jolt of electricity straight down her spine. It was a reaction she could not suppress. He was clearly just trying to remind her to take breaks from her exhausting laboratory work, so why did he have to use such an absurdly provocative tone? He sounded exactly like a wicked villain cornering an innocent maiden in a cheap romance novel.
"Put... put me down," she ordered, lightly tapping his chest.
Shaking off her highly inappropriate thoughts, Shinobu finally remembered that her feet were still dangling in the air. As fun as their little intimate banter was, she needed to compose herself. They were currently standing right in front of the grave of Akira's grandfather. She could not afford to be disrespectful to her elder.
Even though, if she were being completely honest with herself, whatever polite etiquette she possessed had completely flown out the window the moment he started squishing her cheeks.
"My grandfather really wouldn't mind," Akira murmured, though he obediently loosened his grip, allowing her to slide gently back onto the solid earth.
Smoothing out her uniform, Shinobu stepped up beside him. Together, they offered a deep, respectful bow toward Kanzaki Keizan's weathered tombstone. Their silent respects paid, Akira reached out, lacing his fingers securely through hers as they turned to leave.
The sun had completely vanished below the horizon, dragging the last lingering traces of the evening glow down with it into the dark. Though it was only the beginning of winter, the ambient temperature this year felt significantly harsher than in previous seasons. As the night fully settled over the mountain, a biting chill swept through the graveyard trees.
Akira's strong physique easily brushed off the cold, but Shinobu's smaller frame was far more susceptible to the dropping temperatures. It was precisely for this reason that he had scheduled his annual memorial visit a few hours earlier than his usual routine.
Besides, Kanzaki Keizan certainly would not hold it against him. What grandfather would ever object to his grandson showing a little extra care and affection for such a wonderful future granddaughter-in-law?
A dozen paces down the dirt path, Akira suddenly paused. A strange, subtle shift in the air caught his attention. He stopped walking and cast a quiet glance back over his shoulder toward the lonely tombstone.
There, bathed in the pale, silvery illumination of the rising moon, a hazy, translucent figure flickered into existence. The ethereal shape offered a warm, gentle smile, raising a hand in a silent wave of farewell.
The edges of the apparition were blurred and indistinct, but the eyes—crinkled with deep, enduring love and grandfatherly concern—were unmistakable.
Akira's breath hitched slightly.
It was the second time. The spirit of Kanzaki Keizan had manifested before his very eyes for the second time.
The first occurrence had been so brief, a mere flash at the edge of his vision, that he had easily dismissed it as a trick of the light or a trick of a grieving mind. But this? This figure had maintained steady eye contact with him for several long seconds before slowly dissolving into the night breeze. It could no longer be brushed off as a simple hallucination.
He had visited this grave for years, and nothing like this had ever occurred. If he had to pinpoint exactly what had changed within him recently—what new variable could possibly allow him to perceive the lingering dead—there was only one logical conclusion.
The Transparent World.
While he had not yet fully crossed the threshold to master that supreme martial state, his recent battles had allowed him to vaguely brush against its borders. His senses had evolved. Only a realm that deep, a state of perception that stripped away the superficial layers of reality to reveal the absolute truth of the world, possessed the capacity to let a living man gaze upon the remnants of a human soul.
"Akira? What is wrong?"
Shinobu's soft voice broke through his thoughts. Seeing him space out, staring blankly back at the empty space beside the tombstone, the medical worry she had been trying to suppress flared back to life.
Her brow furrowed. As she suspected, she absolutely needed to drag him into the Butterfly Mansion for a complete physical examination just to be safe. But watching his distant expression, a new concern bloomed. Could this be a psychological issue? Trauma from his constant battles?
'Hmm... if it is a mental ailment, treating him will be a bit tricky,'she mused inwardly.'Should I gather the other girls and stage an intervention? Maybe provide him with some dedicated psychological counseling? For matters of the heart and mind, Kanae would definitely be the most suitable person to handle him...'
"I am fine," Akira replied, completely oblivious to the complex medical and psychological interventions currently being plotted inside his girlfriend's head. He withdrew his gaze from the empty grave, offering her a reassuring smile. "Let us go. The wind is getting cold."
Shinobu decided not to press the issue tonight. She simply tightened her grip on his hand, stepping closer to lean her slender body gently against his sturdy arm, letting him guide her step by step down the mountain toward the warm lodging they had booked in town.
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