Chapter 217: The Morning After the Bloom
A gentle evening breeze swept through the corridor, catching the edge of the sliding door and pulling it shut behind Akira. The soft click of the latch falling into place severed the last sliver of moonlight from the hallway, plunging the bedroom into a quiet, intimate darkness.
To his heightened senses, that faint sound was deafening—the sound of the final, precarious thread of his restraint snapping, incinerated by the roaring heat pooling in his chest.
His breath hitched, growing ragged and heavy in the stillness. Even in the dim shadows, his gaze locked onto Kanae with a predatory intensity. His eyes burned with such raw, undisguised hunger that it felt as though two physical flames were casting a wave of searing heat across the space between them.
Yet Kanae did not flinch. She sat gracefully at the edge of the futon, her serene smile unwavering. Slowly, she parted her arms. Her amethyst eyes met his burning stare with absolute trust, offering a silent, obvious invitation.
She had always been like this. While others might weave elaborate declarations of love, Kanae poured her heart into the quiet spaces. Her affection was a gentle, flowing current—a water-like tenderness that spoke through silent actions, wrapping around the man she loved with an unyielding warmth.
Whenever he paused to catch his breath in this bloody war against demons, whenever he glanced over his shoulder, she was always there. A constant, grounding presence. Ever since that fateful night under the blood-stained moonlight—when a roaring, dragon-like flash of lightning had shattered the darkness and ripped her from the jaws of death—she had anchored her heart entirely to this young man.
She knew full well that she was not the sole occupant of his heart. But ironically, it was Akira's unapologetic greed—his fierce, protective desire to hold onto everything he cherished—that had given her the courage to step forward. It was that very greed that had allowed her to sit down with her dear friend, Makomo, and share an open, honest confession of their mutual devotion.
Kanae lacked Makomo's fiery, uninhibited boldness. She couldn't wear her desires on her sleeve with the same playful ease. But beneath her calm exterior, she had yearned for this night just as deeply. She had counted the days, quietly anticipating the moment she could surrender every hidden piece of herself to him.
Now that the hour was here, there was no hesitation in her posture. Her open arms were a sanctuary he desperately needed to claim.
The last vestiges of Akira's control shattered. He crossed the room in a heartbeat, pulling her soft, yielding frame against his chest.
Had he activated the Transparent World in that fraction of a second, he would have seen the very rhythm of life surging through the dimly lit room. The flow of their blood, the frantic, synchronized beating of their hearts—it all crashed and swelled like a rising tide, drowning out the rest of the world until nothing remained but the two of them.
Dawn broke, casting a pale, golden hue through the paper screens.
"Mnn..." A soft, contented murmur vibrated against Akira's chest. Kanae shifted in her sleep, her nose nuzzling into the crook of his neck as she sought out a more comfortable angle, before her breathing leveled out into a peaceful rhythm once more.
Akira, who had been awake for some time, looked down at the beautiful woman bundled in his arms. A deep sense of peace washed over him, and he instinctively tightened his embrace, anchoring her against his side.
With his free hand, he reached down to catch the thick quilt that had slipped during her restless shifting. He gently pulled it back up, draping it over her bare, porcelain shoulders. Her skin seemed to catch the morning light, radiating a soft, ethereal glow.
As the blanket shifted, his sharp eyes caught the faint, rosy marks blooming across her collarbone—lingering evidence of the previous night's intense frenzy. Yet, seeing her exposed skin did not reignite the primal hunger from hours before. Instead, a wellspring of deep tenderness swelled in his chest, mixed with a gentle, protective ache for how entirely she had yielded to him.
Their approaches to intimacy were as different as night and day. Makomo's love was a roaring fire—passionate, demanding, and fiercely bold. She met his intensity blow for blow, matching his pace until her physical stamina completely gave out. Kanae, however, was an endless ocean of grace. Her love was accommodating to a fault, offering a boundless indulgence. Whatever Akira desired, whatever dark or greedy impulse he harbored, she simply absorbed it, willing to push past her own limits just to see him satisfied.
He absentmindedly combed his fingers through the long, silken strands of dark hair cascading down her back. A soft, quiet sigh escaped his lips as fragments of the night replayed in his mind.
In his past life, he had been nobody special. He hadn't saved the world or achieved any monumental feats of heroism. Yet here he was, reborn into a brutal era, somehow blessed enough to meet, understand, and hold the hearts of such incredible women. The sheer weight of his fortune felt almost surreal, like a fragile dream that might shatter if he gripped it too tightly.
But the steady, warm heartbeat pulsing against his ribs and the lingering scent of wisteria and sweat grounded him. This was no illusion. And with this deep bliss came an equally heavy responsibility. He was their shield, their pillar, the man who would carve out a safe future for them in a world crawling with demons. It was a crushing weight, but one he welcomed with open arms.
"Mnn... Akira?" Kanae stirred again, her voice thick with sleep. She slowly lifted her head from his chest, her amethyst eyes fluttering open. Still bleary-eyed and half-lost in dreams, she met his gaze. Seeing the overwhelming affection swimming in his dark eyes, she subconsciously murmured his name.
"Morning," he whispered, his voice a low, soothing rumble. Seeing her adorable, sleep-mussed expression, the corners of his lips curved into a warm smile.
"Mmh..." She lifted a delicate hand to rub the sleep from her eyes. But as her mind cleared, the hazy fog of slumber was rapidly replaced by vivid, flashing memories of the previous night. Within seconds, Akira could physically feel the soft skin pressed against him spiking in temperature.
Driven by her boundless devotion and the intoxicating haze of pleasure, her usual refined rationality had completely melted away. She had whimpered, pleaded, and done things in the dark that made her current, daylight-self want to dissolve into the floorboards from sheer embarrassment.
Not that she blamed him in the slightest. Unable to meet his knowing gaze, she let out a muffled squeak and buried her flushed, burning face directly into his chest, hiding like a startled rabbit.
Akira chuckled, far too tactful to tease her for this adorable display of escapism. Instead, he simply wrapped his arms around her, gently rubbing soothing circles into her bare back until the frantic, fluttering rhythm of her heartbeat began to slow.
After a few quiet minutes, once the blush had faded from the tips of her ears, Akira carefully shifted his weight, gently untangling himself from her limbs. Kanae peeked up at him, tilting her head in mild confusion, before realization dawned in her eyes.
"Rest a little longer," he murmured, leaning down to press a lingering kiss to her soft lips. "I am going to check on Makomo."
"Mmh." Kanae offered a small, understanding nod. She lay quietly, watching with heavy-lidded eyes as he dressed and slipped out of the sliding door. Once he was gone, she burrowed deeper into the thick blankets, burying her nose into the pillow that still carried his distinct, comforting scent. Closing her eyes, she let out a long, happy sigh, thoroughly relishing the lingering tranquility.
Under any normal circumstances, the disciplined Hashira would have been in the courtyard by now, running through her morning breathing forms. But as a dull, pleasant ache radiated through her exhausted muscles, Kanae decided she had earned the right to be a little lazy. The sheer intensity of last night's exercise had pushed her physical limits far beyond a standard spar, anyway. Missing one morning routine wouldn't bring down the Demon Slayer Corps.
Across the estate, Akira quietly slid open the door to Makomo's bedroom. He stepped inside, his footsteps completely silent. Finding the petite swordswoman still fast asleep, tangled in her own sheets, he found himself entirely unwilling to disturb her rest.
Treading with the grace of a phantom, he crossed the tatami mats and sat cross-legged beside her futon. Propping his elbow on his knee and resting his chin in his palm, he simply watched her. Her usually sharp, mischievous features were completely softened in sleep, a faint, satisfied smile playing on her lips.
Perhaps sensing the weight of his gaze, Makomo's dark eyelashes fluttered. A soft groan escaped her throat as her deep, forest-green eyes slowly blinked open. The hazy remnants of sleep vanished the moment she locked onto his dark, affectionate stare.
"Mmh... Look who it is," she purred, her voice raspy. "Is Kanae awake already?"
Instead of shrinking back, Makomo brazenly sat up. She made absolutely no effort to catch the blanket as it pooled at her waist, leaving her upper half entirely exposed to the cool morning air. Arching her back, she stretched her arms high above her head like a lazy cat, deliberately and proudly displaying the athletic curves of her body for his viewing pleasure.
Having tapped out and fallen asleep much earlier in the night, the resilient girl had clearly recovered a significant portion of her stamina. From the wicked glint returning to her green eyes, she looked more than ready for round two.
Akira felt a familiar, dangerous heat spike in his lower abdomen. He was a healthy, hot-blooded young man, and Makomo knew exactly how to stoke those embers. If he wasn't so acutely aware of the lingering soreness she had to be hiding beneath that bravado, he would have gladly pinned her back against the mattress to remind her what happened to people who played with fire.
And as any seasoned slayer knew, the best way to extinguish a reckless fire was to smother it.
"Kanae is awake. She will probably be up and about in a bit," he replied smoothly, forcefully reigning in his rising desires. Reaching over, he grabbed her folded yukata from the floor and tossed it onto her lap. "Put that on," he scolded gently, though his eyes betrayed his amusement. "It is the middle of winter. Do not come crying to me if you catch a cold."
Makomo glanced down at the fabric in her lap, then looked back up at him. She didn't make a single move to dress herself. Instead, she simply thrust both arms out toward him, jutting her lower lip out in an expression of absolute, spoiled entitlement. She wanted to be dressed.
"Unbelievable," Akira sighed, shaking his head in mock exasperation as he leaned forward to guide her arms through the sleeves. "And to think, someone was practically begging me to call her 'older sister' last night..."
The teasing remark hit its mark flawlessly. The memory of her own wild, uninhibited antics from hours prior slammed into her mind. Makomo's smug expression shattered instantly. Blushing furiously from her neck to her hairline, she snapped her face away, refusing to meet his eyes as she silently, happily submitted to his pampering.
[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!]