Chapter 180: Reliance
The more he chewed on his lack of progress, the more a dark, suffocating knot of irritability tightened inside Akira's chest.
It felt vaguely familiar, echoing the deep frustration he had experienced back when he first struggled to master the First Form of Thunder Breathing. But the past was different. Back then, he was merely annoyed by his own incompetence. There had been no suffocating weight pressing down on his shoulders, no phantom clock ticking away in the back of his mind.
Now, the urgency was a physical ache.
"Whew..."
Akira exhaled a long, ragged breath, rubbing his temples in a desperate bid to smooth out his chaotic thoughts. The quiet of the night offered no comfort, only an empty canvas for his anxieties to paint themselves across.
Knock, knock, knock.
The soft, rhythmic tapping against his door broke the silence.
"Akira? Can I come in?"
Makomo's gentle voice drifted through the wooden panels. Akira blinked, momentarily pulled from his spiraling thoughts. He was genuinely puzzled as to why she would be seeking him out at this hour, but he didn't hesitate. He crossed the room with quick, silent steps and slid the door open.
"Makomo," he said, taking in her relaxed posture. "Is something the matter?"
"Can't I come chat with you just for the sake of it?" Makomo tilted her head, blinking up at him with wide, innocent eyes.
"It's not that you can't," Akira replied, his tone softening instinctively. "But it's late. You should be resting." He stepped aside, gesturing for her to enter, and gently slid the door shut behind her to keep the cool night breeze at bay.
"Shouldn't you take a look in the mirror before giving out lectures?" she teased, her lips curling into a knowing smile. "A certain someone was just nagging Shinobu to get some proper sleep not too long ago."
Moving with practiced ease, Makomo crossed the room and made herself comfortable on the edge of his bed. This was far from her first time in his quarters, but stepping into his bedroom this late at night carried a distinctly different, quieter intimacy.
Her mind briefly drifted back to the night of her eighteenth birthday, remembering the warmth of falling asleep wrapped securely in his arms. With a memory like that, sitting on his bed in the dead of night hardly felt scandalous. In fact, a small, hidden part of her almost wished he would drop his gentlemanly restraint and actually make a move. Unfortunately, Akira had previously dodged the final step by spouting some ridiculous, panicked nonsense about 'angering the gods of propriety'—a transparent excuse to keep his hands to himself.
"Shinobu's physical constitution isn't the strongest to begin with, yet she pushes herself with terrifying intensity. Of course I have to advise her," Akira countered, his voice perfectly righteous. He conveniently glossed over the glaring hypocrisy that he, too, was wide awake.
Makomo didn't press the issue. She simply stared at him, a half-smile playing on her lips, letting the silence stretch just long enough to let him know she saw right through him.
She had real business to attend to tonight, anyway.
"Alright, let's get down to business," Makomo said, patting the empty space on the mattress beside her.
Akira raised an eyebrow, walking over to sit exactly where she indicated. "Didn't you just say you came here to chat?" he asked, mirroring her earlier deadpan expression.
"Uh-huh. The serious business I mentioned is chatting with you," she replied, nodding as if this made perfect logical sense.
"I... you..." Akira opened his mouth, closed it, and sighed. He was entirely at a loss for words.
"Hee-hee~"
Seeing the usually sharp and composed Akira completely short-circuit brought a spark of genuine joy to her deep green eyes. Her successful little prank lifted the heavy atmosphere in the room, if only for a moment.
"Alright, alright, now the real business begins."
The playful light in Makomo's eyes faded, replaced by a sudden, grounding solemnity. Seeing the shift in her demeanor, Akira straightened his posture, his own expression hardening into focus.
"What is it?" he asked softly.
"Psychological counseling." She delivered the two words with absolute, unwavering gravity.
They stared at each other. The silence stretched, thick and heavy, for several long seconds.
"If I'm not mistaken, that's literally just chatting, right?" Akira deadpanned, his eyelids lowering into a flat stare.
Makomo puffed out her cheeks, immediately breaking her stoic facade. "How can you reduce it to just chatting? Psychological counseling is a highly professional and delicate matter!"
"Then may I ask, my dear Water Hashira, have you ever actually studied psychology?" Akira asked, his voice dripping with dry amusement.
"Uh... no," Makomo admitted, waving a hand dismissively. "But that's not the point."
The room fell quiet once more, but this time, the lingering humor evaporated.
"Alright, the joking ends here," Makomo said, her voice dropping to a softer, far more fragile register. "Akira, your problem is serious. You've become so much more irritable than before."
Her gaze locked onto his, and he could see the raw heartache swirling in her deep green eyes. She had just tested him—twice—with lighthearted banter. Normally, Akira would have caught the subtext immediately. He used to be so willing to play along, trading witty remarks and leaning into their jokes during his spare time.
Tonight, he had completely missed the cues. He had instinctively treated her playful words as a puzzle to be solved, jumping straight to 'serious business.' If he had been paying even a fraction of his usual attention, he would have recognized her teasing instantly. But he had completely bypassed the option to be playful. It was as if his mind no longer had the capacity for joy.
Everyone in the Butterfly Mansion had noticed the dark cloud hanging over him. They had all seen the quiet desperation he tried to bury beneath his calm smiles. In the past, they could easily pull him out of his funks with a bit of teasing or a warm meal. But recently, those small, daily comforts were failing.
The girls had held a secret meeting to discuss his declining state, quickly pinpointing the root of his torment: the Transparent World.
He had been slamming his head against that invisible wall for over a year. The lack of progress was eating him alive. Logically, the situation across the country was better than ever. The Demon Slayer Corps was growing exponentially stronger, and demon activity had plummeted. By all accounts, they were winning. Yet, instead of relaxing, Akira's internal panic was only escalating.
They knew his dread was tied to Muzan and the Upper Ranks, but they couldn't fight that battle for him. So, they decided to tackle the problem from a different angle: helping him finally breach the threshold of the Transparent World.
They had sought out Tanjuro Kamado and Gyomei Himejima—the two men who had successfully mastered the realm. The girls compiled their insights, cross-referenced them with Akira's past training notes, and tried to find a breakthrough.
But every attempt circled back to the same painful conclusion. Shinobu and Kanae had already diagnosed the real issue: Akira was trying to carry the weight of the entire world on his own shoulders.
He needed an anchor. He needed a reliance—a safe harbor where he could drop his sword and just breathe, even for a single night.
But knowing the cure and administering it were two different things. Shinobu and Kanae had already tried to reach him, and clearly, their efforts hadn't broken through his walls.
So, Makomo had volunteered to try.
"We were all once children without a home," Makomo said, her voice barely above a whisper.
The sheer simplicity of the statement struck Akira like a physical blow. He froze, his breath catching in his throat.
This was why Makomo believed she could reach him. Out of all the girls who loved him, only she and Kanao truly understood the hollow ache of being an orphan. And Kanao, having been abandoned so early, had never known the warmth of a parent's love to begin with. She couldn't miss what she never had.
Makomo, however, knew exactly what it meant to lose everything, and exactly what it took to build it back. It was the only blade sharp enough to cut through Akira's stubborn armor.
"But looking back, I was incredibly lucky," Makomo continued, her eyes shining with unshed emotion. "I met Master Urokodaki, who took me in and raised me as his own daughter. And then... I met you. I met everyone at the Butterfly Mansion."
She reached out, her small, calloused hand gently resting over his clenched fist.
"Because you exist, Akira, I was able to find a 'home' again. I found a reliance. I found a sanctuary where my soul could finally rest."
Her thumb stroked his knuckles, her gaze piercing straight through his defenses.
"But you... ever since Grandpa Keizan passed away, you've been drifting, haven't you? You've never allowed yourself to find an inner reliance again."
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