For the past six months, every Sunday had become a sacred day for Johnny. Not for religious reasons, but because it was the one day he could shed the mask of the "Mad Dog of Sector 7" and simply be a human being.
Johnny parked his matte black motorcycle in front of the church and stepped inside. His usually heavy footsteps were careful now, as if he were afraid to disturb the tranquility of the sanctuary.
Afternoon sunlight pierced through the unrepaired holes in the roof, creating shafts of divine light that illuminated motes of dust dancing in the air. There, amidst a sea of lilies that were now far more lush—thanks to the expensive fertilizer Johnny routinely supplied—Aerith was kneeling, tending to the yellow petals.
The church was in much better condition than before.
Every week, Johnny spent hours here. He hammered down warping floorboards, reinforced crumbling pillars, and sealed cracks in the walls with fresh cement. The pews, small chairs, and tables that had once been scattered like loose teeth were now arranged neatly on the left and right.
Although it wasn't perfect, the place had begun to possess a faint aura of majesty. To Johnny, this silent, sacred atmosphere reminded him of the chapels of the Holy See in his past life—before those places were stained by blood and demons. This was his sanctuary.
The girl heard Johnny's footsteps. She didn't turn around immediately. She waited a moment, as if savoring the rhythm of the heavy gait she knew so well, then pivoted with a movement as light as a flower petal caught in a breeze.
"Haaai, Johnny!"
That greeting.
It wasn't just a word; it was a melody. Aerith always elongated the opening note just a little, ending with a smile that crinkled her eyes into perfect crescents.
The moment their gazes met, Johnny felt the mental fortress he had built to withstand thugs and monsters crumble instantly into dust.
Aerith's green eyes weren't just beautiful; they were alive. In those eyes, Johnny didn't see a reflection of himself as a monster, a killer, or a bouncer. He saw himself as... worthy.
Johnny's face, which had been hard and cold while watching the bloody bouts at the Colosseum just yesterday, suddenly felt hot. A deep flush crept rapidly up his neck, past his cheeks, and turned his ears a burning shade of red.
He ducked his head slightly, burying part of his face in his high jacket collar, trying to hide his acute embarrassment.
"Afternoon... Aerith," Johnny mumbled stiffly. His voice, usually a heavy, intimidating baritone, came out quiet and slightly husky.
Aerith giggled. Her laugh was crisp, like small silver bells. She knew exactly the effect she had on Johnny, and truthfully, she liked it. She loved seeing how this warrior, feared by monsters, transformed into a bashful boy in her presence.
"You're five minutes late, Sir Shield," Aerith teased as she walked closer, her hands folded sweetly behind her back. "I almost asked Ivalera to come fetch you."
"I... was tuning my bike's carburetor," Johnny offered a lame excuse.
In reality, he had frozen in the market, standing like a statue in front of an accessory shop for twenty minutes, just to buy a bright pink hair ribbon that he was now clutching inside his jacket pocket—too afraid to give it to her yet.
However, there was one important thing Johnny had to give for Aerith's defense. He reached for the long package he had leaned against the entrance.
"I brought this," Johnny said, proffering the bundle.
Aerith accepted it and undid the wrapping cloth. Her eyes sparkled as she saw the Guard Stick, crafted from polished ironwood and tipped with elegant metal. It was far superior to the whack-a-mole stick she had been using.
"Johnny... it's beautiful," Aerith whispered, stroking the smooth wood surface.
"It's eco-friendly," Johnny added awkwardly, quoting the description from Izo's shop. "And it won't snap if you hit a Drake in the head."
Aerith laughed again, then set the staff down. She stood right in front of Johnny. They were close. The scent of vanilla and wet earth wafted from her, banishing the smell of oil and blood that clung to Johnny's memory.
"Sit down," Aerith said gently, patting the wooden floor beside her. "Thank you for the weapon. But today, we practice 'Listening'. You've used your muscles too much this week. I can feel it through our bond. You're coiled tight as steel wire."
They sat cross-legged, facing each other in the sea of flowers. The sunlight bathed them in warmth.
"Close your eyes," Aerith commanded.
Johnny obeyed. Darkness. There was only the sound of the wind and Aerith's steady breathing.
"Now... extend your hand."
Johnny held out his right hand—large, rough, and covered in scars.
Aerith placed both of her small hands above and below Johnny's palm, sandwiching the iron fist in gentle warmth.
Aerith's skin was so smooth, a stark contrast to Johnny's, which felt like coarse sandpaper.
"Don't fight it," Aerith whispered, her voice sounding closer now. "Feel the flow. The Materia in your pocket... it isn't just a stone. It is memory. It wants to protect you, just as you want to protect me."
Johnny tried to focus. But it was hard. Extremely hard.
Not because the magical technique was difficult, but because his heart was beating too fast, hammering against his ribs like one of Izo's mallets. The touch of Aerith's hand sent an electric signal stronger than any attack from Reno.
Johnny opened one eye slightly, peeking.
He saw Aerith with her eyes closed in serious concentration, her lips moving in a silent prayer. The sunlight hit the side of her face, making the peach fuzz on her cheek glow gold, and her brown hair shine like an angelic halo.
Beautiful, Johnny thought. It was an alien word in Guts' blood-soaked dictionary. She is too radiant for this dirty world.
And that was when Johnny fully realized it.
He didn't just want to protect Aerith because of a duty from Gaia or the Lifestream. He didn't just protect her because she reminded him of Casca or the past.
He liked this girl.
He liked the way Aerith scolded him if he forgot to eat lunch. He liked the way she hummed off-key tunes while watering the flowers. He liked the "Haaai" and "Hellooo" that always welcomed him home.
Unconsciously, Johnny tightened his grip on Aerith's hand just a fraction.
Aerith opened her eyes, surprised by the physical response. She looked at Johnny.
This time, Johnny didn't look away. With a face still tomato-red, but with a gaze full of honesty, he looked back into those emerald eyes.
"I feel it," Johnny said quietly, his voice deep. "Warm."
Aerith paused for a moment, a faint blush coloring her own cheeks. Then she smiled again. This time it wasn't a teasing smile, but one that was softer, more mature, and full of understanding.
"Good," she whispered. "Hold onto that warmth, Johnny. Carry it with you when you fight. It will make you stronger than any iron sword."
In Johnny's pocket, Puck held his breath, covering his mouth with both tiny hands to keep from ruining the sacred moment with a silly quip.
Meanwhile, from behind the lily petals, Ivalera smiled proudly, patting her chest as if to say: "That's my knight."