Chapter 213: The Five-Year Period Has Arrived
Right up until the moment Tanjiro returned to Gyomei to resume his grueling pillar training, the young boy with the hanafuda earrings remained utterly baffled. He still hadn't figured out exactly when Nezuko's feelings for Kanzaki Akira had shifted, nor could he pinpoint the specific event that had triggered such a deep change.
'I just don't understand...' Tanjiro thought, scratching his head as he stared blankly at the dirt path ahead.
Miles away, already far removed from the Kamado siblings, Akira remained blissfully ignorant. He had absolutely no idea that the precious 'cabbage'the Kamado family had so carefully raised was actively plotting to uproot herself and throw herself at the local'pig'—with him, naturally, being the pig in question.
Instead, his mind was entirely occupied by a dangerous, burning curiosity.
Since Tamayo's treatment plan—the miraculous process of turning a human into a demon and then safely back into a human—had been proven entirely feasible, a wild thought had taken root in his head. Perhaps he could pick a quiet afternoon to forcefully activate his Demon Slayer Mark and adapt to the physical strain in advance?
After all, merely trying it wouldn't kill him, right?
Akira's innate spirit for courting death was currently burning like a wildfire. The Demon Slayer Mark was a legendary technique that traded one's lifespan for an explosive surge in raw power, bringing immense, almost supernatural improvements to a swordsman's physical limits. If not for the looming threat of dying young, he would have tested those mortal-surpassing limits long ago.
Now that a viable solution existed to counter the lethal side effects of the Mark, his previous restraints were crumbling. The temptation to just give it a little try grew wildly out of control.
This itch was especially agonizing because Akira had recently conceptualized a devastating new sword form—a move so physically demanding that it was literally impossible to execute without the Mark active.
The sensation was akin to a master chef staring at a flawless, mouth-watering dish he had just cooked, only to be told he wasn't allowed to take a single bite. Calling it 'uncomfortable'was a massive understatement.'Distressing' barely scratched the surface. The thought tossed and turned in his mind, refusing to let him rest for even a single second.
"You brat. Are you plotting something incredibly dangerous again?"
A cold, stern voice sliced through the air, instantly dousing Akira's burning spirit of reckless experimentation.
He blinked, his thoughts snapping back to reality, and found himself staring at Kochou Sawaki.
From a purely rational standpoint, Akira was both a benefactor and a superior to the Kocho family. By all rules of etiquette, Sawaki shouldn't be speaking to him with such a frosty tone. However, whenever the older man remembered how both of his precious daughters had been smoothly 'stolen' by the silver-haired menace sitting across from him, Sawaki found it physically impossible to offer Akira a pleasant expression.
Worse yet, claiming his two daughters apparently wasn't enough. Akira had somehow managed to provoke the affections of several other exceptional girls, a fact that made Sawaki's blood pressure spike every time he thought about it.
The most infuriating part? His daughters were entirely willing participants. They adored the boy, leaving Sawaki, the grumpy old father, with absolutely no outlet for his righteous paternal fury.
His only genuine comfort was the obvious fact that Akira treated the girls at the Butterfly Mansion like absolute royalty. He had never once bullied them, neglected them, or caused them harm. That singular truth allowed Sawaki to reluctantly accept the unconventional relationship. But actually smiling at Akira? That was asking for a miracle.
"Why the long face, Uncle Sawaki?" Akira asked, leaning back against the wooden wall of the carriage with a faint, teasing grin. "Do you not like the scenery?"
Sawaki's jaw locked. A very prominent vein throbbed at his temple.
Despite his hard exterior and cold attitude, Sawaki genuinely cared about the boy. Akira was the savior of his family. Having lived under the same roof for years, sharing meals and quiet evenings, a deep, familial affection had inevitably taken root., if something terrible were to happen to Akira, Sawaki knew the girls back at the mansion would be shattered beyond repair.
Therefore, upon sensing that familiar, reckless glint in Akira's eyes, Sawaki couldn't help but issue a warning. He knew this boy too well. Akira constantly claimed to cherish his own life, yet he routinely threw himself into the most suicidal situations imaginable.
Akira's definition of 'cherishing his life' was entirely literal. As long as he was absolutely mathematically certain he wouldn't end up in a coffin, he would dare to do anything.
He had fought Upper Rank Five alone. He had stayed behind to intercept Upper Rank Three alone. He had trained his body until his muscles tore and his bones fractured, and just recently, he had allowed himself to be struck by natural lightning.
Now, having witnessed a medical treatment that practically bordered on bringing the dead back to life, Akira's baseline for 'not dying' had been lowered to terrifying depths. Sawaki was genuinely terrified that this future son-in-law—whom he still stubbornly refused to acknowledge out loud—was going to pull a stunt that would give the entire Kocho family a collective heart attack.
"Cough, cough... No, absolutely not! Uncle Sawaki, you know me." Akira hurriedly shook his head, sitting up straight to meet the older man's piercing gaze. "I'm the type who cherishes my life the most. I'm a very cautious person."
Since he hadn't actually done it yet, Akira felt perfectly justified in denying it.
Besides, Sawaki's sharp reminder acted as a splash of cold water, temporarily dispelling his reckless urge. The Demon Slayer Mark traded life for power; activating it now, in the back of a bumpy carriage with no enemies around, would just leave him feeling hollow. It would be like drawing a legendary blade just to cut a slice of bread.
As for 'adapting in advance'? With his mastery of the Transparent World, the idea that he would lose control of his own body due to a sudden power surge was a complete joke. That had just been a flimsy excuse he made up to justify his own curiosity. Now that the urge had passed, the excuse crumbled to dust.
"You better be cautious," Sawaki muttered, his eyes narrowing slightly. Seeing Akira flatly deny it, he decided not to press the issue.
With Tamayo's medical breakthroughs acting as a safety net, and knowing that Akira, despite his insanity, wouldn't actually throw his life away, Sawaki figured the boy would survive whatever stupid idea he eventually tried.
But if this brat insisted on courting death and ended up making his daughters cry...
As that thought crossed his mind, a wave of deep, tragic helplessness washed over the older man. His daughters'hearts were entirely tethered to Akira. As a father and a doctor, Sawaki realized with grim certainty that no matter how stupidly Akira injured himself, he would still have to exhaust every ounce of his medical expertise to save the boy's life.'I have absolutely no power in this dynamic!' Sawaki realized, his expression crumbling into one of tearful defeat.
Noticing his future father-in-law suddenly looking as though he were about to weep, Akira blinked in sheer confusion. Deciding that self-preservation was the best course of action, he quickly lowered his head, stared intently at his own knees, and effectively played dead for the remainder of the trip. He didn't know what dark thoughts were swirling in Sawaki's head, but he definitely wasn't going to poke the bear.
In that inexplicably stifling, silent atmosphere, the carriage finally rolled to a halt outside the familiar gates of the Butterfly Mansion.
Unwilling to endure Sawaki's intense visual harassment for a second longer, Akira practically vaulted out of the carriage, his boots hitting the dirt before the wheels had even fully stopped.
Ever since he and Shinobu had officially clarified their feelings for one another, Akira had grown accustomed to Sawaki glaring daggers at the back of his head. Usually, those glares were a mix of paternal depression, mild annoyance, and the occasional urge to commit murder.
Today, however, the older man's gaze held a tragic indignation and a deep, sorrowful resentment that even Akira's famously thick skin couldn't entirely deflect.
Fortunately, the moment they stepped through the gates and entered the courtyard, Sawaki's demeanor smoothed over into his usual calm professionalism, allowing Akira to finally exhale a long breath of relief.
The Butterfly Mansion was as lively and industrious as ever.
Kanae and Makomo were out in the courtyard, their wooden swords clashing in a beautiful, rhythmic dance as they continued their daily training and patrol duties. Mitsuri was nearby, swinging her flexible blade with terrifying speed, her strength visibly improving by the day. Beside her, Kanao moved with quiet, deadly precision, her eyes focused and sharp. The young girl was clearly pushing her limits, aiming to conquer the Final Selection that was now less than half a year away.
Deep inside the estate's medical wing, Shinobu and Tamayo were working tirelessly.
When the two brilliant minds had first agreed to cooperate, they established a clear division of labor. Tamayo focused her centuries of knowledge on developing the drug to reverse demonization, while Shinobu poured her lethal creativity into crafting poisons meant to eradicate demons entirely.
Tamayo's side of the project had already yielded miraculous results. Shinobu's latest poison, however, was hitting a wall. Despite her best efforts, the current formula still couldn't completely destroy the sample of Akaza's blood that Akira had brought back from the Mugen Train.
Shinobu was naturally stubborn. Facing this frustrating bottleneck, she simply tied her hair back tighter, narrowed her striking purple eyes, and accelerated her research, practically living in the laboratory.
Akira smoothly slipped back into his own grueling routine. He trained his body to the breaking point, patrolled the surrounding sectors, and spent his nights camping out in the wilderness, hunting for any trace of Doma. In between the violence, he made sure to spend quiet moments with the girls—sharing tea on the porch, massaging tired shoulders, and offering warm, comforting words to ease the heavy burdens they all carried.
Day after day, the calendar pages turned.
Before he knew it, Akira's eighteenth birthday was rapidly approaching. Counting the days carefully, he realized it had been nearly five years since he had survived the Final Selection and officially donned the uniform of the Demon Slayer Corps. In just a few short months, it would be exactly half a decade.
Standing on the porch one evening, looking out over the peaceful courtyard, Akira suddenly threw his arms wide open, his voice dripping with exaggerated, theatrical emotion.
"Five years! Five whole years! Do you have any idea how I've spent these five years?! Do you?!"
Across the courtyard, the girls paused their training. Shinobu poked her head out of the laboratory window, an unimpressed look on her face, while Mitsuri blinked in confusion.
"Is he having another one of his weird episodes?" Shinobu sighed, shaking her head as a fond, exasperated smile tugged at her lips.
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