Chapter 211: The Reversal
Long Night clamped its beak shut, looking as though it would rather die than eat the strange morsel offered to it.
"Akira!" Makomo scolded, her cheeks puffed out in indignation. "You are not allowed to feed my Long Night weird things!"
Nearby, Ink Shadow pointed a wing forward, cawing mercilessly. "Hahaha! I told you, no crow wants to eat that thing!"
"An opening!" Akira's eyes flashed with dry amusement. "Watch my sneak attack."
Whoosh! The strange treat was stuffed directly into Ink Shadow's open beak.
"Gulp...!" Ink Shadow choked it down, eyes widening in horror. "How did I eat it?! I'm not clean anymore, wuwuwu..."
Tamayo received her clear confirmation and immediately set to work on Tanjuro's treatment.
For safety, Kie and the children were gently ushered out of the bedroom. Given Tanjuro's severe physical frailty, there was a dangerously high risk that the violent, instinctual urge to feed would overwhelm him the moment he transitioned into a demon. The family huddled anxiously by the sliding door, peering through the narrow gap, while Akira positioned himself at the forefront, a silent, immovable safeguard.
In truth, the chances of a violent outburst were slim. Tamayo had already administered a specialized demon anesthetic she had developed. Under normal circumstances, the potent sedative would keep Tanjuro submerged in a deep, dreamless sleep throughout the agonizing transformation.
Kie and Tanjiro watched with bated breath as Tanjuro swallowed the final dose of Tamayo's medicine, his eyes fluttering shut as the heavy sleep claimed him. The tension in the hallway thickened, heavy and suffocating.
It did not take long for the changes to manifest. A sickly, unnatural pallor crept over Tanjuro's already jaundiced skin, blooming from his chest and spreading rapidly to his extremities. Thick, dark veins bulged against his neck and arms, pulsing with a violent rhythm. His already emaciated frame seemed to shrink even further, the skin pulling taut over his bones, yet a terrifying, explosive kinetic energy now coiled beneath that fragile exterior.
The deep weakness of his human body seemed to supercharge the demonic hunger. Even lost in the depths of the anesthetic, Tanjuro's face contorted into a ferocious snarl. His jaw locked, teeth grinding together with enough force to crack bone, as if he were battling an invisible monster within his own mind.
His fingernails elongated, darkening into wicked, razor-sharp talons. His hands stretched, becoming unnaturally slender and predatory. In a spasm of unconscious agony, his fingers dug into the tatami mat beneath him, shredding the thick woven straw and gouging deep grooves straight through the wooden floorboards.
Akira observed the entire ordeal through the lens of the Transparent World. His vision pierced through flesh and bone, mapping the complex, violent cellular war waging inside the older man.
Tanjuro's surface muscle tissue was actively decomposing, breaking down to fuse with a sudden, massive surge of foreign demonic energy. This volatile mixture was being forcefully redirected inward, desperately patching up his failing internal organs, which had been worn down to literal shreds by years of extreme overexertion.
It was a brutal biological equivalent of robbing Peter to pay Paul, cannibalizing his exterior to save his core. Yet, the therapeutic effect was obvious.
Previously, Tanjuro's internal organs had been so severely compromised that they could not even process basic medicinal treatments. Any attempt to heal him had been restricted to mild dietary adjustments and minimal physical strain—measures that offered more psychological comfort than actual life extension.
It was the classic medical paradox: a body too weak to tolerate the cure. His failing organs simply could not withstand the metabolic stress of absorbing potent medicines. A tonic meant to nourish the liver or stomach would inevitably overload his failing kidneys; conversely, a kidney treatment would severely irritate his gastrointestinal tract and demand too much from his liver.
But now, the demonic regeneration had forcibly bridged that gap. Though Tanjuro looked more skeletal than ever on the outside, the critical deficiencies within his core had been violently replenished. His organs were finally stabilized enough to absorb and metabolize real medicine. He now had a genuine chance at recovery.
In fact, with his internal systems functioning at a healthy baseline, Tanjuro would not even need heavy medication. A long-term, nutrient-rich diet would be enough to slowly rebuild the fat and muscle he had sacrificed today.
The most ideal scenario would have been to flood his body with external energy immediately after the transformation, preventing his body from cannibalizing itself. Without it, the therapeutic efficiency dropped significantly. Tanjuro's life was officially saved, but he faced a long, grueling road of recuperation before he could be considered truly healthy.
The simplest way to bypass this recovery time, of course, was to feed. But a demon's diet was a line Tanjuro refused to cross. Even consuming a minimal amount of human blood, as Tamayo did to survive, was a horrific concept to an ordinary, righteous man.
Given the sheer scale of Tanjuro's physical deficit, the amount of blood required to instantly heal him would have been staggering. Normally, demonification granted immense physical strength. Yet, even as a demon, Tanjuro's current muscle mass was weaker than that of an average adult male—a grim indicator of just how close to death he had truly been.
Because of this, he had resolutely rejected the option of blood consumption beforehand. He would rather endure a painfully slow, natural recovery. As long as the treatment worked and he could stay with his family, the pace of his healing did not matter.
Minutes ticked by like hours. The terrifying physical emaciation finally halted, but the massive energy drain sent his demonic hunger into overdrive. The muscles in Tanjuro's face pulled taut, his jaw locking so hard it trembled. His hands clenched into tight fists, the newly formed talons piercing his own palms and drawing beads of dark blood.
Seeing the critical threshold reached, Tamayo moved with practiced precision. She quickly injected the reversal serum directly into his bloodstream.
The effect was instantaneous. Tanjuro's rigid, trembling frame went completely slack. The ferocious tension melted away, and he sank into a deep, peaceful sleep.
The frightening, corpse-like pallor began to recede, replaced by a warm, rosy flush of humanity. It was a bizarre, almost jarring contrast—a vibrant, healthy complexion stretched over a skeletal, skin-and-bones frame. His internal organs were fully restored. His blood circulation and metabolic rates had skyrocketed back to the levels of his absolute prime, bringing a natural flush to his cheeks. He simply needed time and heavy nourishment to fill out his withered frame.
Within moments, the last lingering traits of his demonic state vanished. The sharp nails dulled, the fangs receded, and the bulging veins smoothed out. His steady, rhythmic breathing hitched slightly.
Slowly, Tanjuro opened his dark red eyes.
A wave of deep physical exhaustion washed over his limbs, heavy as lead. Yet, the agonizing, hollow sensation—the feeling of his very life force leaking out from the inside—was completely gone. Even without relying on his own mastery of the Transparent World, he could feel the vibrant, steady thrum of his newly healed organs. The desperate gamble had worked.
"Thank you..." Tanjuro rasped softly. His voice was dry and brittle, but the sheer clarity in his tone proved he was fully conscious and entirely human.
At the doorway, Kie and her children broke down. Hot tears spilled over their cheeks. They clamped their hands tightly over their mouths, stifling their sobs, terrified that even the slightest noise might shatter the miraculous, dream-like reality unfolding before them.
Beside the weeping family, Sawaki stepped forward, swallowing the heavy lump of emotion in his own throat to professionally assess Tanjuro's vitals.
Sawaki had slipped into the house midway through the procedure. Anticipating the severe physical toll the treatment would take on Tanjuro, Akira had sent a message to the Butterfly Mansion before he and Tamayo even departed for the Kamado residence. Due to the distance, Sawaki had only just arrived in time for the aftermath.
After a thorough check, Sawaki pulled out a notepad and quickly drafted a complete restorative prescription. As his pen scratched against the paper, he gently instructed the tearful Kie on how to balance the heavy medicinal tonics with Tanjuro's daily meals to maximize his recovery.
"Thank you... thank you so much..." Kie whispered, her voice trembling with overwhelming gratitude. She accepted the slip of paper with trembling hands, not even glancing at the words before carefully tucking it into the breast of her kimono, terrified her falling tears might smudge the ink.
She turned, and alongside Tanjiro and the children, bowed deeply to Akira and the medical team, a cascade of endless thanks pouring from their lips.
"Direct your thanks to Lady Tamayo and Uncle Sawaki," Akira said, his tone calm and understated as he stepped slightly to the side, refusing to accept their bows. "The main credit does not lie with me."
It was the truth. The monumental task of developing a serum to reverse demonification had been almost entirely led by Tamayo. Even Shinobu, despite collaborating with the demon doctor for the past two years, had not been able to contribute much to that specific project. Shinobu's genius leaned heavily toward crafting lethal wisteria poisons to eradicate demons. When it came to the cure, Shinobu herself freely admitted she was merely helping out on the sidelines.
"You cannot say that," Kie replied, shaking her head with absolute solemnity. Her tear-stained face was filled with fierce conviction. "If it weren't for you, Akira, how could our family possibly have the life we have today?"
Refusing to be deterred, she and her children shifted their stance, stepping directly in front of Akira to bow deeply once more.
Faced with the sheer, unyielding weight of a mother's gratitude, Akira let out a quiet sigh. He offered a small, gentle nod, finally accepting their thanks.
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