Tatsuya sat quietly on the slanted rooftop of the Swordsman Corps Headquarters, his eyes fixed on two children laughing and playing in the courtyard below. Their laughter echoed softly, filling the empty spaces around him, but it only made his heart ache more. His mind drifted, lost in memories of Meki—flashes of her smile, the warmth in her eyes, the way she always found light in dark moments. He clenched his fists, the weight of her absence pressing down on him until he felt the tears spill over.
After the battle, they had returned here to the HQ to recover. Although though his body was healing, his heart remained raw.
He remembered spotting a young man, younger than himself but already commanding authority, issuing orders to the members of the Corps. Everyone moved under his guidance with the kind of respect that told Tatsuya he was more than just a leader—he was trusted.
Kiome, Kizutoro, Chika, Ruza, had been taken in, tended to, and then put back to training as soon as their wounds allowed it. They had offered Ruza a place in gratitude for her bravery and skill during the last fight. She'd accepted without hesitation, fitting into their world almost seamlessly, while Tatsuya felt like a visitor, still unmoored and unsure of his place. He skipped all the training sessions, not ready to move on from his past.
With a weary sigh, he turned his gaze toward the horizon. From here, atop the HQ, he could see nearly the entire Corps complex—its walls, training grounds, and dormitories all bathed in the golden light of sunset. For a moment, a calm washed over him, and he realized why Meki had loved rooftops. She used to sneak away to spots just like this, seeking solitude and peace. Back then, he never understood her habit, but now, it was as if he could feel her beside him, sitting in the fading sunlight, sharing a quiet, wordless connection.
"Maybe it's time to turn in," he murmured to himself, rubbing his eyes before they could betray more of his sorrow. "Before Aoi catches me out here and gives me a lecture."
Tatsuya made his way down the rooftop and through the hallway, his footsteps soft against the worn wooden floors. The corridors were quiet at this hour, save for the occasional shuffling of footsteps or distant voices. As he turned a corner, a soft humming drifted toward him, light and carefree. A girl was skipping down the hall, lost in her own tune, her steps almost dancing as she went.
Before he had a chance to sidestep, they collided.
"Ow! Hey! Watch where you're going, you…" The girl's initial annoyance softened as she looked up, taking in the sight of his face. "Wait… are you crying?" She blinked, her eyes wide with concern. "I'm sorry… here. Take this." She fished around in her pocket and handed him a small, brightly wrapped candy. "Here, take some candy. It helps, trust me."
Tatsuya blinked down at the lollipop in his hand, unsure how to respond, but the girl was already skipping away, humming as if nothing had happened. He let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, his fingers curling around the candy as he continued down the hall to his room.
Once inside, he lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling with the candy still clutched in his hand, gazing at the little pop as if it held a secret. and suddenly, he was transported—back to a simpler time, to the small things that made a place feel like home. Not the grand mansion he'd lived in once he'd left Paul up but the feeling of his real home.
A pang of longing hit him, and he whispered, "I want to go home… I want to see my parents again."
A flashback from earlier today filled his mind.
"Welcome back," Kenji Kai had said, his voice clipped yet holding an undercurrent of sorrow. "First, I need to apologize for our last meeting. I was… not myself. I acted on anger instead of reason."
Tatsuya had only nodded, unable to meet his gaze, his own heart tangled in conflicting emotions. "It's… it's okay," he'd murmured, eyes on the ground.
Kenji Kai's voice softened. "Regardless, you have my gratitude for defeating the demon of Gluttony. I have to ask, though… are you a member of the demon cult?"
The question had hung heavily in the air, sharp and accusing. Tatsuya could still feel the weight of it. "I… I don't know."
He studied him, eyes narrowing slightly. "We used the virtue of Humility on you. It confirmed that you're not an enemy to us."
As the memory faded, Tatsuya felt a hollow ache return. His words had been kinder than before, yet the intensity in his eyes betrayed a deeper truth. Kenji Kai might have spoken of gratitude and apologies, but trust… trust was still far off. That wariness, that glint of suspicion had never left his gaze.
Tatsuya turned onto his side, staring at the lollipop stick in his hand as if it might somehow hold an answer. "He says he trusts me, But I can see it—he doesn't. Not really."
Tatsuya lay there, alone in the quiet, the silence thick around him like a blanket he couldn't shake off. The room was dim, lit only by the faint, distant glow from a torch on the wall. His gaze drifted to the cabinet beside his bed, where a kitchen knife lay, cold and gleaming under the soft light.
He remembered this scene, this moment. It hit him with a sickening familiarity, like a déjà vu that tightened around his chest, making it hard to breathe. He wanted to escape—the relentless flood of stress, the dull ache of loneliness, the weight of memories that pressed against him until they felt like physical wounds. It was all too much, too heavy for him to bear alone.
How many times has it come to this? he wondered, his thoughts spiraling. How many times have I felt trapped like this, cornered by the darkness in my own mind?
Before he realized it, his fingers had already moved on their own, tracing the edge of his forearm, feeling the faint, cool line of the blade as it sliced through his skin. Blood began to flow, slowly at first, then in warmer, steady rivulets. A wave of pain bloomed, raw and sharp, but somehow… it was comforting. The sting was grounding, pulling him back into the present moment, bringing a strange sense of relief.
This pain is real, he thought. This is something I can feel, something that I can control.
His hands shook—not just from fear, but from a twisted, intoxicating thrill, a rush that he both craved and hated. His heart pounded in his chest, his breath coming faster. The pain was almost like an old friend, one that he wished he didn't need but couldn't bring himself to part with. In that brief, agonizing moment, he felt a strange calm.
But beneath that calm, there was a hollowness—a void that threatened to swallow him whole. And as he looked down at the fresh bloodstains spreading across his sheets, memories surged back. The day this had all happened before, the day before he'd been sent to this world… was one of the last moments he could recall from his life on Earth.
A faint, hazy image of a the girl in the hallway flickered through his mind, her face bright and brimming with energy, a stark contrast to his own bleak despair.
How can someone be so full of life in a world like this? he wondered, bitterly, as he stared at the red streaks on his arm. How can someone find happiness when all I feel is this weight, this endless shadow?
Then, piercing the silence, he heard a voice—a soft, familiar voice that sent a chill through his spine.
"You're doing it again," a voice said gently, with a tinge of sadness. "I told you that this isn't good for you."
His head jerked up, eyes wide with disbelief. It was a voice he knew, a voice he thought he would never hear again.
"Meki…?"
There she stood, or at least, he thought she did—her outline faint, almost ethereal, as though she were a mere projection. The girl, Meki, was watching him with a small frown, her gaze slipping from his face to the blood staining his bed, her expression turning slightly angry.
"You need to take better care of yourself, you know," she said, her voice firm but tinged with worry. "Don't you remember what I said?"
Tatsuya's mind reeled, unable to make sense of what he was seeing. How…? How can she be here? She… she died. I killed her…
A wave of nausea rolled through him as the memory surfaced—the memory he'd tried so hard to bury. He'd taken her life with his own hands, left her broken and still. And yet, here she was, looking at him with that familiar, exasperated look, like she was scolding him for something as simple as forgetting to eat.
"Meki," he whispered. "How… how can you be here?"
Meki sighed, a small smile tugging at her lips, though her eyes held a sorrow that made his chest ache.
"I don't like it when you forget everything I say, Tatsuya. Don't you remember? I told you I'd always be watching over you. You're not alone."
Tatsuya felt his heart clench, a desperate hope sparking within him. He reached out, wanting to touch her, to feel her warmth just one more time.
But as his fingers stretched toward her, she began to fade, her form slipping through his grasp like smoke.
"No… please, don't go…" he pleaded, his voice breaking. He fell to the floor beside his bed, his hand still outstretched, reaching for someone who was already gone.
The silence crept back in, thick and suffocating, as he lay on the floor, his heart pounding with a crushing loneliness.
And then, as if pulled from a nightmare, he jolted awake in his bed, gasping for breath. The room was empty, the air still and quiet.
"A… a dream?" he murmured, his voice barely a whisper, as if speaking too loudly would bring it back.
He turned to the side, his body aching, and a sharp sting made him hiss.
Ow…
As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he noticed the thin, fresh cuts across his forearm—three, four, five lines, stark against his pale skin.
They were real.
The blood was real. He stared at them, numb, before he moved automatically, cleaning them with practiced care. He knew exactly what to do; he'd done it enough times to make it a routine.
Once his wounds were bandaged, he returned to bed, curling up beneath the covers, his face pressed into the pillow. A hollow sob escaped him, and before he knew it, he was weeping, his body shaking with the weight of a grief he couldn't name.
He wept for Meki, for himself, for the endless darkness that seemed to close in tighter and tighter each day.
Why? he thought, his chest heaving. Why am I still here? Why do I keep coming back to this pain?
Part 2
The next morning, Tokagame stood at the door of Tatsuya's room, his posture tense and his expression shadowed with regret.
"Tatsuya, we need to talk. I understand if you're mad. Really, I do," he began, voice low, struggling to hold Tatsuya's gaze.
"I'm sorry about last time. I just… blindly followed the master's beliefs. I was a jerk back then, and I'm really sorry."
Tatsuya nodded, his face a mask of grief, his gaze drifting downward. He barely registered Tokagame's apology, too caught up in the thoughts spiraling through his mind.
Why is everyone apologizing to me? When I'm the one who's lying.
Tokagame left the room, leaving Tatsuya alone wondering in his own thoughts.
A knock at the door broke the silence. Ruza's concerned voice came from the hallway.
"Hey, Tatsuya, are you okay? You've been in there for over a week now. Maybe some fresh air would help…"
But before Tatsuya could answer, the door swung open with a loud bang.
Kizutoro stormed in, his eyes blazing with determination. Without a word, he grabbed Tatsuya by the collar and dragged him out of the room, tossing him unceremoniously outside.
Cold rain poured down, soaking him instantly.
"It's raining!" Tatsuya protested, irritation sparking in his voice. "Why would you do that?"
"Who cares about the rain?" Kizutoro shouted, unfazed. "The wind is blowing as fast as the clocks ticking, and there's no time for you to feel sorry for yourself! You don't have to go through this alone!"
Tatsuya shivered as the rain dripped from his hair. Ignoring Kizutoro's words, he turned back to the door, mumbling, "I'm going inside."
And with that, he retreated to his room, collapsing onto his bed. The sound of rain lulled him to sleep, but he felt no comfort in its rhythm.
When he opened his eyes again, he was outside, lying on the damp ground. The rain had stopped, and the night was silent, the air crisp.
Above him, the stars sparkled in the vast sky, but to Tatsuya, they looked like nothing more than white dots scattered across a dark canvas. He sat up, dazed, and murmured, "Where am I?"
A sudden, triumphant laugh echoed through the air. "Now you're gonna stay here until daybreak!" Kizutoro's voice boomed from somewhere nearby.
Tatsuya's eyes widened. "No, Kizutoro, please don't do this!"
"Nope! I'm going inside and locking every door!" Kizutoro yelled, his footsteps echoing as he ran off.
Tatsuya sighed, resigned. He plopped down in front of the locked door, glancing up at the full moon.
As he shifted, something slipped from his pocket—a small, brightly colored lollipop. He picked it up, staring at it blankly, but before he could put it back in his pocket, a voice piped up behind him.
"Stars are pretty, right?"
Startled, Tatsuya looked up and saw a girl standing right in front of him, her face illuminated softly by the moonlight.
She wore a gentle smile, and her eyes sparkled with warmth. He nodded slowly. "Yes, they are."
Tatsuya said, Although he only saw them as a nuisances.
The girl has long, dark brown hair tied into twin ponytails with light purple-colored streaks.
She wears a standard female swordsman corps uniform with a pink bow tied on her back, flowing down until her knees.
She chuckled softly. "Do you know why all the doors are locked?"
Tatsuya sighed, glancing away. "That's why I'm out here."
The girl noticed the lollipop in his hand. "Here, let me show you something." She took it, deftly unwrapped the plastic, and handed it back, popping it into his mouth before he could protest. "It's candy! See? Sweet, isn't it?"
Caught off guard, Tatsuya blinked as the sugary taste filled his mouth. "It… it is."
The girl's smile widened. "I'm Kaida, by the way."
"Tatsuya," he murmured, watching as she climbed up the nearby fence. "What are you doing?"
"Come on up here!" she called, waving him over. Reluctantly, Tatsuya joined her, finding himself seated beside her on the rooftop.
"Look!" Kaida pointed up at the moon. "It's a silver moon tonight! That means something special is about to happen!" She beamed, her eyes wide with excitement.
Tatsuya glanced at her in mild confusion, not sharing her enthusiasm, but her warmth was oddly comforting. She studied him quietly for a moment, her expression softening. "You lost someone close to you, didn't you?"
His chest tightened, and he looked away. "…Yes."
Kaida nodded, her voice gentle. "I lost my sister not long ago. I was in the same place you are now, and talking about it helped."
Hesitantly, Tatsuya began to speak.
He told her about Meki, about how they met, about what she meant to him, and finally, about the day he lost her.
His voice wavered, his hands clenching as he struggled through the memories. By the end, he felt raw, as if a weight had been lifted but replaced by a hollow ache.
Kaida watched him with understanding, then broke the silence with a mischievous grin. "I've got an idea! I'm going to be your therapist!"
"What?" Tatsuya stared at her, bewildered.
"Yep! Come on, smile!" Kaida pressed her hands to his cheeks, guiding his mouth into a grin. They shuffled around on the roof top when Tatsuya's foot slipped and they both crashed down on the still wet ground.
Kaida layered on top of him. Despite the fall, Tatsuya felt a laugh bubble up, and soon they were both laughing together under the stars.
A voice called. "Hey! You two! What are you doing out there at this hour?"
Back in his bed later that night, Tatsuya smiled to himself. I'm glad Kizutoro dragged me outside. I actually… had fun.
The next day, Tatsuya strolled through the hallway, feeling lighter than he had in weeks.
Suddenly, he spotted Kizutoro stomping towards him, muttering angrily. "That stupid bitch blamed me for everything! I'm going to make her pay!"
Tatsuya chuckled. "Kizutoro, thank you for yesterday. I… I had fun."
Kizutoro waved him off, still grumbling. "Yeah, yeah." But a small, knowing smile crossed his face as he walked past.
Part 3
Tatsuya glanced over at Kiome, who sat with a relaxed yet guarded posture. His dark blue-black hair framed his face, two locks hanging neatly on either side, giving him a calm but intense look. The checkered black and light blue kimono he wore added to his aura of quiet strength, and his kitsune mask—polished and clean on the cheeks—rested on his belt beside a single katana. He exuded a presence that was both refined and restrained, as if always ready for anything.
"How are you doing, Tatsuya?" Kiome asked, his tone light, but there was a trace of genuine curiosity behind his words.
"Alright, I guess," Tatsuya replied, his gaze drifting to the temple's rooftops. "How are your injuries?"
Kiome rubbed the bandage on his arm, smiling wryly. "Getting there. But it's the bruises that hurt more than anything else. Training's been brutal, hasn't it?"
Tatsuya nodded, his expression softening slightly. "Yeah. They don't hold back here. Every day feels like a test of endurance." He looked at his bandaged arm. "You should give yourself a break once in a while. Pushing too hard won't help you heal faster."
"True… but I don't want to fall behind. There's something about this place that makes me feel like I need to get stronger, faster." He looked up, the fire of determination in his eyes.
"Hey, Tatsuya, have you ever heard about that place?" He asked, his eyes sparkling with excitement.
Tatsuya raised an eyebrow. "Which place?"
He shot up, his energy spilling over. "You know, the training hall. The one they say only the best warriors get to enter!"
"Oh, that one." Tatsuya chuckled, shaking his head. "You mean the Hall of Divine Blades? The one they say is hidden deep in the mountains and only reveals itself to those 'worthy of legendary strength'?"
Paul told me stories about that, he told me that he got to train there in his past.
Kiome's eyes widened. "Yes, exactly! Can you imagine? Training there! Learning secret techniques passed down through generations! They say just touching the floor there makes your sword skills level up instantly!"
Tatsuya smirked, clearly amused. "So, you want to go there?"
"Of course I do! Someday, I'll walk through those doors and be greeted like, 'Welcome, Kiome! We've been waiting for you!'" He clasped his hands together, looking off into the distance. "And then the masters will teach me techniques so advanced, I'll probably grow just from holding my katana."
Tatsuya sighed, giving his a sidelong glance. "You realize this is probably a bunch of old legends, right? Stories they tell kids so they'll train harder."
"Hey!" Kiome pouted. "Just because you don't believe in it doesn't mean it's not real!"
Tatsuya shrugged, trying to hold back a smile. "Sure, but if it's so great, how come nobody's ever come back with proof? You don't see anyone around here glowing with legendary sword skills."
Kiome leaned closer, wagging a finger at him. "Ah, that's because anyone who makes it there becomes so powerful that they don't need to show off. They're too enlightened for that."
"Or… maybe it's because they just disappear," Tatsuya countered, smirking. "Maybe the masters are so strict that the second you mess up, they kick you out and wipe your memory so you don't remember a thing."
Kiome stared at him, horrified. "You think… that's really what happens?"
Tatsuya scratched the back of his head. "No of course not, but I have to go. Need to get my wound checked up."
Part 4
Tatsuya wandered outside, his footsteps quiet as he moved along a narrow, wooded path. The sky was clouded, casting a soft gray light through the branches overhead. Just ahead, nestled among the trees, he spotted an unexpected sight—a small, worn shrine surrounded by gentle winds that seemed to whisper secrets as they passed through.
A shrine? he thought, eyes widening. I didn't know there was one here. What kind of shrine could this be? Yomi? Maho? He hesitated, curiosity piqued. I should check it out.
As he approached the shrine, Tatsuya noticed the faint scent of incense lingering in the air, a subtle reminder of the countless prayers offered there.
Sitting in front of the shrine was a figure, motionless in a posture of reverence, his back to Tatsuya.
His cloak was patched in dark shapes that seemed to shift with the wind, giving him an almost otherworldly presence. A katana rested at his side, the handle worn yet elegant, hinting at battles long past.
Oh, I should be quiet, Tatsuya reminded himself, halting his steps. Better not distract him.
Just as he thought he was unnoticed, the figure spoke in a low, steady voice, laced with a strange warmth and something… mysterious.
"Welcome, young child. You're the one they call the one with the scent of the devil, aren't you? I envy you for having such a cool nickname."
Tatsuya stiffened, blinking in surprise. He noticed me? I thought I was being pretty quiet.
Awkwardly, he scratched the back of his head and replied, "Well, it brings me more trouble than anything cool, honestly."
The figure chuckled softly, a sound that was neither mocking nor kind, but somewhere in between—a mere brush of emotion that left Tatsuya wondering about its meaning.
His presence was powerful, almost overwhelming, yet oddly comforting, like a storm that threatened but never fully broke.
The man's back remained turned, revealing only his long, spiky hair cascading down like a wild, untamed mane.
His cloak bore dark, irregular patches, and below it, Tatsuya could see the sturdy, standard pants of a swordsman corps member.
A traditional kitsune mask was fastened to his head, obscuring his face. Due to his seated position, Tatsuya couldn't make out the mask's design, but the mystery only added to the figure's enigmatic aura.
After a pause, Tatsuya found his voice again. "So… are you one of the Heavenly Saints I've heard so much about?"
The man's response was soft, almost wistful, as if he were remembering something long buried. "No," he murmured. "Not anymore."
Not anymore? Tatsuya's curiosity flared. Did he… retire? Or was he expelled? Judging by his slim build and stature, Tatsuya guessed he was perhaps no older than a middle schooler, but his tone carried the weight of someone far older.
"Why…?" Tatsuya asked, leaning in ever so slightly, as if afraid his question might shatter the delicate silence around them.
The man's voice was a mere whisper this time, laced with bitterness. "I got kicked out. They… didn't trust me."
Tatsuya's eyes widened. Kicked out? The idea seemed absurd, considering the man's presence alone was so solid, so assured.
But then, he felt a sense of kinship—a resonance that stirred something deep within him.
"You have the same thing, don't you?" the man asked, breaking the silence with a question that felt almost accusatory.
Tatsuya swallowed. "Yes. Wait… do you also have the…?" His voice trailed off, the words caught in his throat, as if saying them aloud would break an unspoken taboo.
Before he could finish, the man cut him off with a gentle yet firm tone. "I sincerely apologize, but I must continue this in silence. It was… interesting, speaking with you, young child."
As Tatsuya turned to leave, he cast one last glance at the man's back, wondering about the secrets hidden behind that kitsune mask and the life he had led.
Not a Heavenly Saint anymore, he thought, stepping away. But what is he now?
Part 5
"Okey! let me look at it, your forearm right." A cutie beast-volk feline race. Spoke with kindness in her heart.
her pastel blue hair cascading down in long, silken layers reaching all the way to her hips. The ends of her hair swayed softly with each breeze, and nestled within those lustrous cascades were two delicate, silver cat pendants, each one carved with intricate detail.
These little charms, depicting cats with playful, happy expressions, dangled just below her shoulders, adding a whimsical sparkle to her serene appearance.
A small hairpin, shaped like a tiny blue blossom, rested just above her ear, enhancing the elegance of her look.
Her striking blue eyes were deep and reflective. Her bangs were impeccably cut, framing her delicate face in a way that softened her features.
A few strands fell gracefully across her forehead, parted slightly to the left, drawing subtle attention to her calm, poised expression.
Her outfit bore the standard design of the female swordsman corps, yet it was distinctively hers, with the sleeves torn off, leaving her smooth, pale arms bare. The ripped sleeves gave her a look of both rebellious freedom and quiet strength.
The short skirt had a sharp, yet playful cut, ending just above her thighs, while her high boots wrapped snugly around her legs, reaching up to her knees.
Around her neck hung a silver collar with a gleaming diamond-shaped pendant that rested against her chest, catching and scattering light with every move she made. The pendant's facets mirrored the color of her eyes, making it seem as though her very spirit was captured within the gem.
Perched slightly askew on the left side of her head was a Kitsune mask, its presence giving her a hint of mystique and concealed power.
The mask was meticulously crafted, painted in snowy white and accented with subtle, soft hues that matched her pastel hair.
Its design mirrored the happy kittens she wore in her hair; two playful cat faces adorned each cheek of the mask, while a third one smiled coyly from above the mask's left eye. The mask was positioned to cover her left ear, adding an element of mystery, as though she wore it in readiness for the battles yet to come and the secrets she chose to keep.
Tatsuya sat quietly on the edge of the medical bed, his gaze fixed downward as he absentmindedly rubbed his left forearm. A gentle warmth filled the room, not just from the soft glow of the lamps but from Aimi herself, standing gracefully before him.
What's this feeling that I have? I can't describe it.
Aimi Koneko, the Heavenly Saint of Charity, radiated a calm and serene aura.
She examined the injury on his forearm, the faint marks of fresh scars woven into the fresh wound.
Her expression was calm, yet there was a glimmer of sadness in her eyes, as though she sensed something beyond the physical wound.
"You did a fine job cleaning the wound yourself, Tatsuya," she said gently, her voice as soft as a breeze. "Tell me, have you had medical training in the past?"
Her words seemed simple enough, but they stirred something painful within Tatsuya. A deep ache settled in his chest—a familiar pang that always surfaced when he was reminded of his self-harm past.
"I… I can't use healing magic," he replied, his voice steady but subdued. "So I've mostly learned from my own experiences."
Aimi's eyes softened, and she took a small step closer, her hands reaching out but pausing just before his arm, as if waiting for his permission.
There was no judgment in her gaze, only a boundless kindness that seemed to embrace every corner of the room.
I feel scared, it feels like I am exposing myself. Like giving away a dark secret I want to bury but also can't let go of.
Aimi spoke in a tone as gentle as a lullaby.
"Oh, Tatsuya," she murmured, "learning through pain can leave heavy scars, both seen and unseen. But no matter how deep the wound, it doesn't diminish your worth. Remember that. You deserve care, just as anyone else does."
Do I? Someone like me?
She knelt beside him, her hands glowing with a soft, celestial light as she placed them over his injured arm.
Tatsuya extended his arm with a slight hesitation, feeling a strange mix of vulnerability and relief.
As her healing magic began to flow through him, a warmth spread from his forearm, soothing the sharp sting of the wound. The light crept beneath his skin, sealing the injury with a tender touch that felt as if it were mending more than just flesh.
"You must be careful with injuries like this," Aimi continued, her voice barely above a whisper. "The forearm is delicate—so many blood vessels, so many ways the body can be hurt if we aren't gentle with it." Her fingers traced around the wound with a feather-light touch, her gaze focused and caring.
Tatsuya's throat tightened, unsure of how to respond. He had never been tended to with such gentle hands, nor spoken to with such undemanding kindness.
There was a peace in Aimi's presence that felt almost foreign to him, as though he were standing in the calm eye of a storm.
As she worked, Aimi glanced up at him with a soft smile, her eyes filled with a warmth that made the room feel safe, like a sanctuary.
"The body," she said, her voice filled with a gentle wisdom, "is a precious vessel, Tatsuya. We are given this life, this form, not to punish it but to cherish it, to use it for good, to protect others and ourselves. You, too, deserve to be gentle with yourself."
Is that what Kaida ment, talking to others about my problems? Will they really listen? Who would listen to me?
As Tatsuya thought about it only one name came to his mind. "Ruza…." He said softly.
Aimi didn't seem to notice, too busy with the wound.
I don't know, back home no one listen to me. No one came to help me so why would they do it now?
The pain in his chest returned. He only forgot about it for a moment.
He swallowed, her words sinking into him, brushing against places he'd long ignored.
Her kindness was like a balm, soothing not only his wound but the ache in his chest that he had never quite been able to understand. For the first time, he allowed himself to meet her gaze fully, searching her face for any hint of pity or judgment. But all he found was acceptance.
Aimi finished her healing, withdrawing her hands slowly, though the warmth of her touch seemed to linger.
She rose to her feet with an effortless grace, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear.
"Thank you," Tatsuya managed.
Aimi's smile grew, gentle and radiant. "You never need to thank me, Tatsuya. Healing is my gift, and it brings me joy to share it. Remember," she said softly, her hand resting briefly on his shoulder, "no matter how strong you are, it's okay to let others help carry the weight. Sometimes, allowing yourself to be healed is the bravest thing you can do."
She turned to leave, pausing at the door as though sensing he might have more to say.
But Tatsuya only watched her, a faint glimmer of something he hadn't felt in a long time—a fragile hope.
"Maybe… I should give it a try?"