~ Tatsuya ~
The door opened as if my footsteps had been heard even before I had walked across the gravel. The man in the entrance bowed briefly, with the respect befitting an old order — not feigned, but deeply ingrained.
I entered. The gate closed behind me with a barely audible sound.
The Fushichō-ikka estate smelled of cedar wood, wet stone, and something else — warmth, perhaps. I knew places like this. Calm on the surface, movement beneath. You didn't just walk in. You were seen. Examined.
I walked on. Not too fast. Not too slow.
Before I reached the courtyard, she came to meet me: Misaki's mother.
Miyo
A woman with an upright posture and a clear gaze. Not one to waste her words, and not one to be underestimated.
"Tatsuya-san," she said with a slight smile. "Welcome."
"Thank you for receiving me," I replied.
She looked me over for a moment — not unkindly, but not naively either.
"Come. I'll have tea brought."
I followed her. The room where I sat down was bright and quiet. The floor was immaculate, with a view of a small courtyard framed by bamboo. She sat down across from me, her movements calm and unhurried.
"I'm sure you want to see Misaki," she said.
"Yes."
No further hesitation. Why should there be?
She seemed satisfied with the answer and then turned to the side.
"Hina."
A bright "Hai!" came from the hallway. Footstep — then a girl with flying pigtails and wide eyes, looking at me curiously as if I had come from another country.
"Please take Tatsuya-san to Misaki. She's practicing."
The child nodded eagerly. "He's dressed all in black!" she whispered to her mother.
I couldn't help but smile slightly.
"I know," Misaki's mother replied simply – and then looked back at me. "She's in the garden. At the back, in the old spot. I think you'll find her there."
"Thank you," I said quietly – and stood up.
"Go!" Hina called, turning around and skipping ahead.
Miyo stood up and walked past me.
"If you hurt her in any way..."
The words were quiet. But they cut deep.
"...whether intentionally or out of weakness, ambition, or carelessness..."
She paused. And then, with a gentleness colder than any knife:
"You definitely won't want to get to know me."
A moment of silence.
Then — almost as if on cue — she put on a gentle smile.
Not fake. Just controlled. Like someone who knows exactly what she just said—and doesn't need to repeat it a second time.
"Have a pleasant journey, you two," she said kindly to Hina — but her gaze fell on me once more. Fleetingly. Scrutinizingly.
Not threatening, but clear.
She turned away and left us behind.
Did she just threaten me?
Hina grabbed my hand before I could think about it any further and pulled me on through the estate. We walked through a narrower corridor where the light fell like liquid gold on the floor. Somewhere outside, a bird chirped. The sound seemed out of place — too cheerful for the tension that still lingered in my shoulders.
"Nee-chan is in the back," she said, "right by the old bamboo grove. That's where she likes to train because it doesn't get so hot there."
"I see."
I followed behind Hina. She hummed a song and skipped along. Her braids swung back and forth.
"Do you like cherry blossoms?" she asked suddenly.
I blinked. "I... don't mind them."
"Good. Misaki likes them."
Then, with a conspiratorial grin:
"That means you're not completely unsuitable."
I laughed softly.
"Tell me, Hina, what's Misaki like?"
Hina paused briefly, as if she had to weigh something up. Then she hopped on.
"She doesn't talk much. But she sees everything. And she's braver than anyone else here."
"Even braver than you?"
"I'm nine."
She shrugged as if that were explanation enough.
"What does she do when she doesn't like someone?"
Hina thought about it. Then she looked at me searchingly.
"Depends on how much she doesn't like him."
I raised an eyebrow.
"Sometimes she ignores them. Sometimes she lets them have it. Sometimes she hits them. But only if it's worth it."
"And what does she do when she likes someone?"
Hina grinned.
"You can tell. She has her own way of expressing it."
"Really?"
"Hai!" she said.
We walked on, then I heard it.
The sharp hiss of a blade through the air.
A cut, a counterattack. Then silence again. Only the soft scraping of wood on the floor. I stepped closer, just carefully enough that my shadow didn't immediately fall.
And there she was. Next to her, probably Haruki. Definitely not Sota or Yuki.
"Look, over there! She's training." She raised her finger and put it to her lips. "Shh."
"Misaki, we've been training for hours. Isn't that enough?" asked Haruki.
"Really? It's only been half an hour," Misaki said to Haruki.
I stood behind Hina for a moment, letting my gaze wander through the dense green bamboo. Light flashed between the trunks, dancing across gravel, moss, and polished wood.
"You're staring," Hina whispered quietly beside me. She had also held back, standing next to me with her arms crossed.
"Mhm," I murmured.
"She'll notice."
"I know."
"She doesn't like being stared at."
I nodded.
But I didn't stop.
Misaki.
Her hair tied back in a ponytail, her sleeves rolled up. Her feet bare on the wood, her grip on her bokken secure, her focus unwavering.
Haruki was her partner—trying hard, but overwhelmed. He wasn't doing badly, I had to give him that.
He moved with concentration, but too cautiously.
But Misaki?
She danced.
Not in the classical sense. Her movements were precise, purposeful—but there was something in them that I could only describe as a quiet joy.
Not for show. Just for herself.
Every turn, every strike, every step seemed as if it had long been a part of her. As if her body remembered before she had to consciously act. As if the floor was her ally, not just her foundation.
I leaned lightly against one of the wooden posts, letting my gaze rest on her.
There was no weakness, no carelessness in her posture—only focus. And at that very moment, I realized:
She was dangerous.
Not because of her strength, but because of her calmness.
"How long are you going to stare at us, Tatsuya?"