Chapter 145: Uzui Tengen: Don't Hit My Face
Inside the spacious, sunlit residence of the Sound Hashira, Kanzaki Akira sat cross-legged before a polished vanity mirror. He wiped away the last traces of the garish, exaggerated makeup smeared across his cheeks, nodding in quiet satisfaction as his own handsome, unblemished features finally stared back at him. The ridiculous disguise was gone.
He tossed the damp cloth aside and turned his gaze toward the three beautiful women kneeling respectfully at the edge of the room.
"So," Akira began, his voice calm but carrying a distinct edge of amusement. "Why are the three of you the ones here helping me remove this mess? Where exactly is Uzui Tengen hiding?"
"Lord Tengen is— mgh!"
Before the simple-minded Suma could finish her sentence, Makio and Hinatsuru lunged forward, slapping their hands over her mouth in perfect unison.
Makio shot Suma a sharp, warning glare, silently demanding her cooperation. Once the youngest wife stopped squirming, Makio turned back to Akira, forcing a stiff, polite smile. "Lord Tengen is resting in the master bedroom. He mentioned that this last mission was incredibly exhausting... Lord Kanzaki should also get some proper rest. After all, it was a brutal battle against an Upper Rank. Even with your overwhelming strength, you must be fatigued, right?"
"Hmm. I do indeed need a good rest," Akira replied smoothly.
He observed the three slightly trembling kunoichi, his sharp eyes catching a subtle shift in the lighting. A faint, unmistakable shadow was desperately trying to flatten itself against the corner of the hallway doorway.
A small, predatory smile tugged at Akira's lips. He deliberately raised his voice, letting it echo down the wooden corridor. "In fact, I'll do him a favor and request a few days off on his behalf so he can recuperate at home. After all, he suffered such terrible injuries during our battle against Upper Rank Six."
"Eh? Lord Tengen was injured? That's not right! Clearly he..."
Suma, having just peeled Hinatsuru's fingers away from her face, immediately voiced her confusion. As his devoted wives, how could they possibly not know if their husband was hurt? They had thoroughly inspected every inch of Tengen the moment the two slayers returned to the estate.
"The opponent was an Upper Rank demon, Suma. It is perfectly normal to sustain a few injuries in such a high-stakes clash," Akira interrupted, speaking loud enough for the hallway to hear. "Don't worry, it's just a minor wound. He'll recover after resting in bed for three to five days. It's no trouble at all. I will take over his patrol duties for the time being—consider it my personal apology for failing to protect him properly."
"But Lord Tengen clearly doesn't have a single scratch on him?" Suma blinked, her brow furrowed in genuine bewilderment.
Beside her, Makio and Hinatsuru exchanged a horrified glance. A deep sense of impending doom settled over them.
As if to confirm their worst fears, Akira nodded at the three women, his smile widening into something dangerously bright. "It's alright. He'll have some very soon."
"Eh—?!" The three wives gasped in unison. Hearing the sheer confidence in Akira's tone, even the slow-witted Suma finally realized exactly what was about to happen.
They opened their mouths to plead for mercy, but a sudden gust of wind swept through the room. Akira's figure vanished from the vanity cushion.
Out in the hallway, Tengen, who had been quietly inching his way toward the back exit, froze. Akira was already standing directly in his path, blocking the escape route.
"Relax," Akira said, his voice light and breezy. "Like I said, it will just be a minor injury. Just enough to justify letting you rest for a few days."
Akira wore a remarkably sunny, gentle smile—the kind of expression that, combined with his striking looks, would normally make anyone drop their guard. Yet, staring down at that smiling face, every honed shinobi instinct in Tengen's body screamed in absolute terror.
Running away was no longer an option. The Sound Hashira swallowed hard, squaring his broad shoulders to face the inevitable.
The best way to overcome a crisis is to face it head-on, Tengen chanted internally, trying to force his flamboyant bravado back to the surface.
Adjusting his stance, Tengen crossed his arms and offered a strained grin. "Then... should I say thank you?"
"Hmm... You're welcome?" Akira tilted his head, his eyes glinting.
"Whew... Let's go."
Accepting his fate, Tengen took the lead, marching heavily toward the open courtyard used for daily training. Akira followed closely behind, his footsteps completely silent against the wooden floorboards.
Truth be told, despite the dread pooling in his gut, a small part of Tengen—a man who had trained in the lethal arts of the shinobi since childhood—actually wanted to test Akira's true strength. Watching the young man fight from the sidelines was one thing, but crossing blades directly was the only way to truly measure a warrior's caliber.
Of course, he would have vastly preferred to schedule this spar on a day when Akira wasn't actively looking to vent his frustrations over a makeup prank.
A mutual exchange of blows was called a spar. What Tengen was walking into felt distinctly like a one-sided execution.
Stepping onto the packed dirt of the courtyard, both men selected solid oak wooden swords from the weapon rack. Tengen gripped his dual bokken, settling into his unique, wide stance.
Before Akira could move, Tengen quickly raised a hand. "Is it okay if you don't hit my face?"
"Of course."
The very instant the syllable left Akira's mouth, the gravel beneath his sandals exploded.
He vanished. In the span of a single heartbeat, Akira crossed the several-meter gap, materializing directly inside Tengen's guard. The sharp, whistling shriek of a wooden blade tearing through the air followed a fraction of a second later.
Tengen's eyes widened. He reflexively snapped his right bokken up to block.
CRACK!
A deafening, crisp impact echoed across the courtyard. The sheer kinetic force traveling down the wooden shaft nearly ripped the weapon straight out of Tengen's grip. His wrist burned, the bones rattling from the heavy blow.
Relying on pure muscle memory, Tengen swung his left bokken in a vicious backhand arc to counter—but it cleaved through empty air.
A sharp, stinging pain instantly bloomed across his shoulder blades.
Akira had already pivoted flawlessly to his blind spot. Seeing Tengen expose his back for the counterattack, Akira simply tapped him across the spine. The strike wasn't bone-breaking, but it carried enough localized force to guarantee a nasty, dark bruise.
Gritting his teeth, Tengen spun like a top, his dual swords weaving a tight, defensive perimeter meant to deflect attacks from all directions.
Smack!
A sharp agony flared in his right calf, causing his entire body to pitch forward. Instinctively, Tengen lowered his guard to protect his legs, leaving his upper body momentarily exposed.
Akira, possessing reflexes that bordered on precognition, naturally did not let the opening slip by. He casually flicked his wrist, sending the flat of his wooden blade upward for a very intimate "close encounter" with Tengen's cheek.
Thwack!
The impact was carefully calculated—just heavy enough to rattle Tengen's skull and blur his vision, but light enough to avoid any actual brain trauma.
Taking full advantage of the Sound Hashira's momentary dizziness, Akira unleashed a torrential downpour of strikes. The wooden blade became a blur of motion, raining down on Tengen from impossible angles.
"Gah! Damn it!" Tengen groaned, gritting his teeth as the staccato rhythm of wood striking flesh echoed relentlessly through the courtyard.
Realizing he was completely outmatched in speed, Tengen abandoned all pretense of a counter-offensive. He threw his arms up, desperately shielding his head and face at the expense of his torso and limbs.
Getting battered across his ribs and legs would only hurt for a few days. But if his incredibly flamboyant, handsome face took too much damage and ended up disfigured? That was a tragedy he simply could not allow.
An indeterminate amount of time passed in a flurry of bruises and dust.
Finally, Akira stepped back, tossing his wooden sword onto the dirt. He rolled his shoulders, exhaling a long, satisfied breath. The lingering annoyance from the prank had completely evaporated.
"Phew. That felt good."
"Hiss... That hurts like hell! Kanzaki, you really didn't hold back at all, did you?!"
Tengen lay sprawled flat on his back in the dirt, chest heaving. His entire body throbbed, covered in an array of fresh, blossoming black-and-blue marks. Despite his best efforts to guard it, his left cheek sported a prominent, red swelling.
"Aren't you fine?" Akira walked over, his tone light and teasing. "I promised I'd give you a reason to rest for a few days, and you even thanked me for it. Isn't this just me keeping my word?"
Reaching down, Akira grabbed Tengen's forearm and hauled the massive shinobi back to his feet.
At that moment, Makio, Hinatsuru, and Suma rushed into the courtyard. They immediately swarmed their husband, dabbing at his bruised cheek and dusting off his uniform. Though they remained silent, the side-eyes they shot Akira were laced with a mild, protective resentment.
However, seeing that Tengen was grinning through the pain and held no actual anger toward the younger slayer, the wives swallowed their complaints. After all, if they traced the root cause of this beating, it fell squarely on Tengen's shoulders for deliberately painting Akira's face to look like a clown earlier that morning.
Given the monstrous physical vitality of a Hashira, these superficial bruises would fade completely within two days. Since Akira had officially requested a three-day medical leave for Tengen, the extra day of rest could be considered a generous compensation package.
While time always seems to fly when a person is deeply engrossed in a task, it slips by even faster when one is enjoying a period of absolute leisure.
In the blink of an eye, the three days of Akira "covering" for Tengen's patrols came to an end.
Just as expected, a Kasugai Crow descended upon the estate, officially delivering the summons for a mandatory Hashira Meeting.
After all, an Upper Rank demon had finally been slain. Even though the circumstances surrounding the battle had been somewhat chaotic and haphazard, an achievement of this magnitude demanded a formal gathering of the Demon Slayer Corps' highest-ranking warriors.
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