Chapter 224: Insecurities
"Do I look good?"
Marcus stood beside the pool with his hands on his hips.
Standing over six foot three, the lines of his muscles were lean and cut—symmetrical and sleek, a far cry from the slight builds common in that era.
Mitsuri stared at him and nodded in a daze.
The moment she realized how she was reacting, she covered her face with her hands, flushing red from her neck all the way to her hairline.
Marcus chuckled and stepped onto the stone tiles to get into the water.
"Splash..."
Mitsuri couldn’t help parting two of her fingers just slightly.
There was nothing to see anymore; Marcus had sat down and the water covered his chest.
Whether it was a sigh of relief or the faintest hint of disappointment, she quickly closed her fingers again.
"If you want to look, feel free," Marcus said, amused. "Beautiful things are made to be admired."
Mitsuri panicked and waved her hands frantically. "N-No, no! I wasn’t peeking!"
"I didn’t say you were peeking. This is what’s called mutual admiration."
Marcus tilted his head, and his eyes shone with a golden glint as he shamelessly took in Mitsuri’s figure.
He needed that visual aid to make out her silhouette through the steam.
Marcus’s intense gaze made Mitsuri feel even shyer.
She felt as though his stare had a temperature to it; wherever it landed, it burned.
And just as she was about to hide her body, his next words left her frozen.
"Speaking of which... Mitsuri’s figure is the most perfect one I’ve ever seen."
Mitsuri was stunned, pointing at herself.
"Me?"
"Of course," he nodded. "You’re exactly my type."
Such blunt honesty made Mitsuri blush so hard she didn’t know what to do with her hands, flailing them wildly above the water.
"Doesn’t Marcus-kun think I’m a little... a little too sturdy?"
"How could I!?"
Marcus stood up abruptly.
Mitsuri quickly covered her eyes in alarm...
He was wearing a towel.
She could hear the sound of footsteps wading through the water, coming closer and closer.
Mitsuri’s heart pounded hard, like a drum.
Marcus crouched down beside her and laid a firm hand on her bare shoulder.
The instant their skin touched, Mitsuri felt an electric jolt that left her numb from her shoulder to her fingertips.
"You have a stunning figure, full of curves but with flawless firmness. Every line of your body is perfect, strong and natural; it’s the physique of someone overflowing with life."
His voice resonated right beside her ear, serious and sincere, speaking with the devotion of a man praising a work of art.
Mitsuri lifted her head and looked at him through the gaps in her fingers.
There was nothing in his eyes but genuine admiration.
’AaAAah! He’s so close, this is so embarrassing!’
Mitsuri sank half of her face under the water, blowing bubbles.
Deep down, she carried a lot of insecurities.
Even though she’d grown up in a loving family, with parents who adored her and brothers who respected her, that sense of inferiority had never left her.
And yet, at heart, she had the temperament of a traditional woman. She longed to marry, to have children, to find a husband stronger than herself whom she could support.
That was the life she wanted.
But...
The dilemma was that this very traditional young woman had an extraordinarily strong body. Mitsuri had been born with a muscle density eight times that of a normal person; as a child she could devour in a single meal what ten grown men ate in an entire day, and sumo wrestlers were no match for her at arm wrestling.
A body like that was something a warrior would want above all else, but it was seen as a flaw in a young woman who dreamed of marrying and becoming a good wife and mother.
And then there was her long pink-and-green hair, which stood out garishly in a conservative environment dominated by black.
Her body and her hair color were the source of her insecurities.
That was why Marcus’s words hit her so hard.
At their first meeting, he had praised the color of her hair. At this second one, he had called her figure the most beautiful in the world. Apart from her parents, no one had ever said anything like that to her.
It’s worth remembering that the last person to single out her attributes was Kagaya, who told her she was a born warrior whom ordinary men would never understand; the reward for that revelation was Mitsuri joining the Demon Slayer Corps, risking her life every single day despite coming from a peaceful upbringing.
Behind her carefree façade, Mitsuri was a sensitive young woman with a desperate need for acceptance.
Seeing her under the water, Marcus sat down beside her and remarked with a laugh, "If you keep holding your breath, you’re going to pass out..."
Of course Mitsuri knew that, but she didn’t dare come up. Because she felt like her face was even hotter than the hot spring itself.
When her air ran out, she surfaced abruptly.
Marcus, however, had already stretched his arm out behind her, leaving Mitsuri sitting directly on top of it.
Mitsuri went rigid.
The blood rushed to her head, her ears rang, and her face reached an unimaginable temperature.
She had never been this close to a man... let alone in skin-to-skin contact!
"Ing~!"
With a faint whimper, her eyes rolled back and she fainted.
Leaving behind a stunned Marcus with his eyes wide open.
"Did I overdo it?"
...
As time passed, the sun climbed higher, burning off the morning chill.
At the foot of the hill, Obanai watched the summit with a furrowed brow.
"It’s already noon. Why hasn’t she come down?"
Mitsuri never skipped a meal. He’d assumed the whole "bathe until I get dizzy" thing was a joke, but he was starting to have doubts.
Kaburamaru hissed and squirmed as if answering him.
"Should I go up and take a look?"
Obanai made as if to move, then immediately shook his head. "No... What if she takes it the wrong way?"
He clenched his fists. "I’ll wait another half hour. If she isn’t down for lunch, I’ll go up and call her using that as an excuse. That way there won’t be any misunderstandings."
He thought it was the perfect pretext: he wasn’t trying to peep at her or bathe with her, just remind her about the meal.
That way, she’d never suspect any indecent intentions.
Hidden behind his bandages, the corner of his mouth curved up slightly. He leaned back against the tree trunk and started counting in silence.
He didn’t make it to a hundred.
The echo of footsteps rang out on the mountain path.
Obanai’s face lit up—then changed completely a second later.
Mitsuri’s footsteps didn’t sound like that.
He shot to his feet and looked toward the summit.
The sight froze him where he stood: the one coming down was Mitsuri, but she was being carried in a man’s arms, princess-style.
Her face burning with a blush, she shyly gripped the lapel of her companion’s bathrobe. The two of them were pressed close together, dressed in nothing but thin robes, while Mitsuri’s original clothes hung with complete shamelessness over the man’s shoulder.
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