Chapter 40: Makomo Injured
"Speaking of which, I'm a Hashira now, Old Man. Aren't you going to show some appreciation?"
After helping Zenitsu up from the ground, tidying his slightly disheveled clothes, and brushing off the dust, Akira leaned in close to Kuwajima Jigorō with a smug grin.
"Hmph! It's just a Hashira. Who isn't one?" Kuwajima snorted irritably, turning his back on them and stalking toward the kitchen. He didn't look back until he reached the doorway, his voice gruff. "However… you did well, kid. You didn't embarrass your teacher."
"What a tsundere old man," Akira muttered to himself, a fond smile touching his lips.
He turned his head and saw Zenitsu still staring at him, his eyes wide with a mixture of adoration and gratitude. Akira's smile widened, and he walked over, slinging an arm around the younger boy's shoulders.
"Come on, Zenitsu. Your big brother will tell you all about my glorious deeds as the new Sound Hashira."
"Mhm!"
Inside the kitchen, Kuwajima heard the excited chatter from outside. He couldn't stop the proud smile that spread across his weathered face.
...
After spending a night on Mount Momo, Akira made his way to Mount Sagiri, eager to show off his new status in front of Sabito and Giyuu.
He found them training, and with all the swagger he could muster, he announced his promotion. The result, however, was not what he expected. Giyuu simply tilted his head and asked with unnerving sincerity, "Do you think you're really amazing?"
The question instantly turned Akira to stone.
In Giyuu's mind, the logic had been simple: Mr. Kanzaki became a Hashira, which means Mr. Kanzaki is truly amazing. He's sharing this happy news with me, so I should express my praise and congratulations. But would praising him directly be too forward? I should just ask him to confirm.
And just like that, Tomioka Giyuu's single, earnest question instantly transferred the triumphant grin from Akira's face to Sabito's.
Of course, Sabito was happy for his friend's promotion, but Akira's conceited posturing had made it impossible for him to crack a smile. Now, thanks to Giyuu's unintentional deadpan takedown, Sabito was laughing loud and clear. He saw it as proof: See? Giyuu can be quite good with words when he wants to be.
Akira could only manage a tight, forced smile. Heh…
Giyuu, meanwhile, was lost in confusion. What's wrong with them? Mr. Kanzaki seems unhappy, but Sabito is very happy. So, was my response good or not?
After having his fun on Mount Sagiri, Akira set off to return to the Butterfly Mansion. His only regret was that Makomo hadn't been there. The trip felt incomplete without her.
It was nearly evening by the time he arrived. The first-floor ward was busier than usual, with several new patients having been admitted. Mr. and Mrs. Takemoto were tending to their wounds, while other nurses hurried through the corridors with fresh supplies.
Suddenly, a Kakushi rushed up to him. Akira recognized her immediately—she was the woman he had saved during his very first demon hunt, the same one he had coordinated with on his first official mission.
"Lord Sound Hashira," she began, her voice strained, "the girl who went on a mission with you… she's in Ward Number Two—"
Before she could finish, Akira's figure vanished. A gust of wind was the only sign he had ever been there.
Since joining the Demon Slayer Corps, only one other swordsman had ever accompanied him on a mission: Makomo.
And though the Medical Department had recently been renamed the Butterfly Mansion, the internal systems likely hadn't been updated yet. In the old system, individually numbered wards were reserved for the most seriously injured patients—observation rooms for those whose lives hung in the balance.
People in the corridor only felt a sharp gust of wind, laced with the faint crackle of electricity, flash past them. By the time they reacted, Akira had already skidded to a halt before the door to Ward Number Two.
Knock, knock, knock.
The sound was sharp, anxious, and far too loud.
"Please come in."
The voice that answered from within was not Makomo's. It was Kanae's.
A cold dread washed over Akira. If Makomo had been injured last night, or even this morning at the latest, it meant she might still be unconscious.
Suppressing the unease churning in his gut, Akira gently pushed the door open. He gave Kanae, who was standing by the bed, a passing glance, not even registering the unusual expression on her face. His entire world had narrowed to the small figure lying on the cot.
Makomo.
She lay quietly, her eyes closed and her breathing even. Her face was pale, but it didn't show the telltale signs of massive blood loss. A quick, clinical assessment suggested her condition was stable.
Bandages were wrapped around her left temple and, more alarmingly, around the right side of her neck. Though a blanket covered the rest of her, it was clear the wound was near her right collarbone—a dangerously vulnerable position. He had no way of knowing the specifics of the injury or if there were others.
This was all he managed to process in the split second it took him to cross the room.
As he reached her bedside, Makomo's eyelashes trembled, and her eyes fluttered open. The first thing she saw was Akira's deeply concerned face leaning over her.
"You're here," she whispered, her voice impossibly weak. A faint smile touched her pale lips, looking so fragile and powerless. "It's good to see you again… at a time like this…"
The arm she extended from under the blanket seemed to struggle with the simple effort of lifting. Her words, delivered in that frail tone, sounded exactly like a final farewell.
In that moment, Akira subconsciously doubted his own eyes. He doubted the six months of first-aid knowledge he had painstakingly acquired. Nothing added up, but the sight and sound of her shattered his logic.
Without a second thought, he grabbed her small, slightly cold hand. Bending down, he pressed it against his cheek, his Super Vision catching the almost imperceptible intent in her subtle movements.
"How are you?" His voice trembled, a tremor so slight he barely noticed it himself. At the same time, his other hand found her wrist, searching for a pulse.
It was a little weak, but steady.
At that exact moment, he saw it: the flicker of mischief in her eyes that she could no longer hide, and the way the corner of her mouth curved into a wider smile.
"Alright, alright, I won't tease you anymore," she said, her voice suddenly clear and bright, a complete departure from the dying gasp she had used just a second ago. "You're the Sound Hashira now. You can't cry."
While he was still stunned, she took advantage of his shock to gently wipe away a trace of moisture from the corner of his eye—a tear he hadn't even realized had formed.
Akira closed his eyes, taking a single, deep breath to steady himself before opening them again.
"Phew… That joke wasn't funny, Makomo."
"Mhm. I'm sorry. It won't happen again." The mischief in the girl's eyes was gone, replaced by an intense, unyielding tenderness as her own eyes slowly welled with tears.
"It's only been half a year since we met," she murmured, her voice thick with emotion. "I'm still struggling as an ordinary swordsman, having to be so careful on every mission… and yet, in the blink of an eye, you've become a Hashira. The change is so great that I… I didn't know if the 'Akira'I know now is still the same'Akira' I knew before."
She sniffled, a genuine tear finally tracing a path down her cheek. "I'm very sorry for playing such a mean joke. But… I'm really, really happy."
"You…" Akira looked at Makomo's still-pale but now purely smiling face, at the fierce, tender affection swimming in her tear-filled, deep green eyes. In the end, all he could do was sigh and lightly tap her forehead twice with his finger.
The more a person grows up in solitude, the more insecure they become, and the more they worry that the people around them will one day leave.
Akira and Makomo were both such people.
However, Akira's fear manifested as a desperate need to protect. He was terrified of the people he cared about getting hurt or dying, which was why he pushed himself to grow stronger as fast as he possibly could.
Makomo, on the other hand, was more afraid of the people she held close becoming distant and unfamiliar.
That was why Akira hadn't seen through her act immediately, why he had even begun to doubt his proud, all-seeing eyes.
And it was why Makomo, knowing full well how cruel the joke was, still felt the need to play it. She had to confirm whether the boy in her heart had grown distant, whether he had become a high and mighty Hashira who no longer cared about a girl who was struggling just to keep up, a vast gap still separating them.
A thought suddenly struck him, and he turned his head. "But Kanae… you'd actually go along with a joke like this?"
Kanae, who had been standing by, watching the drama unfold with relish, was suddenly called out. She immediately became flustered, waving her hands in a panic as she tried to explain.
"No, I… she… I just…"
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