snow, moon, and flower

by nyxomniax

Shinazugawa Sanemi does not believe in fate. People do not ask for the lives they lead; they work, they fight, and they die for their beliefs. For the sake of his family, Sanemi will sin, lie, and kill. For the happiness of those he loves, Sanemi would give his life. [Shinazugawa Sanemi x OC] [Rengoku Kyoujurou x OC]

2. shibui - the stillness of persimmons

through times of spring (1908)

渋い; shibui; the stillness of persimmons

He's lost in the sight; in movements and grace which are subtle, simple, and soft, like the stillness of persimmons.

chapter cw: implied/referenced child abuse, period typical attitudes

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Breathing is simple - it is easy. Sanemi never had any reason to question it. It was a subtle and indistinguishable facet of life that he always took for granted; unquestionable, irrevocable, and true. Only when the breath from his lungs was taken from him did he come to understand its value.

Air connects all life. Living creatures cannot exist without it. It drives his movements, his sword strokes, his swift strides - each breath carrying a pump of oxygen that reignites the fuel of his lungs that pushes him to newer heights and limits he never thought achievable. One must learn to walk before they seek to run; before he can master the sword, Sanemi must master his breath. This is the lesson that Master Akihito wishes to teach him - it is the lesson he learns from Masachika.

It is the early evening, and Sanemi makes the long trek down from the mountaintops of Asama-yama alone, where Masachika has taken him to train for the past week. The sky is painted a deep purple-pink as the sun disappears from the horizon, its last kiss of light reaching towards the moon. The air here is thin, and it forces Sanemi to carefully control each contraction of his diaphragm and each movement of his muscles so as to not needlessly waste his energy. He had sparred with the boy on the summit the day they had arrived, and to his chagrin, had collapsed within mere minutes from his poor breathing form.

He learned quickly though. Masachika was ever ready to teach - and Sanemi was ever ready to learn.

While he can be a fool at times, too jovial and boisterous for Sanemi to handle for more than a few minutes, Masachika can also be wise, disciplined, and patient. He's learned much from the older boy, who is very much his teacher's pupil. Masachika's movements mirror the master's in such a way that he'd be forgiven for mistaking one for the other in terms of swordplay alone. Though he is a bumbling fool most days, with a sword in hand, Masachika is the trained and beloved student of a hashira - and it shows in a way that Sanemi has yet to replicate.

Masachika calls him a prodigy. Sanemi is a boy at the tender age of fourteen, who two months ago had never held a sword, but now moves like a samurai pulled from the past. In one week, he perfected Total Concentration Breathing. In two weeks, he had expert control of the first and second forms of wind breathing. In three, he could execute the third form from reflex alone. In four, he slayed his first demon with an expert execution of the fourth form at the summit of Asama-yama. Masachika had told him it was a near perfect kill.

But to Sanemi, near perfect was not enough. Near perfect meant more to learn. Near perfect meant the ceiling still loomed above him. Near perfect did not mean mastery.

And Sanemi wanted to be a master of wind breathing.

So when Masachika had called an end to their training in the late afternoon, Sanemi refused to trek down the mountainside with him.

"Another hour," he had said. "You go. Don't let Sado-san worry. I'll be down after nightfall."

Wind is an element of freedom. It represents unlimited movement, but also unlimited power. It is unpredictable and ever changing; like a raging hurricane, the wind is fierce, erratic, and destructive. Sanemi feels he takes to it so well due to his own nature, which mirrors the foundations of the technique in an eerily similar manner. As a martial style made strictly of strong, hard, offensive techniques, Sanemi can match each stroke with his own aggressive strength. Wind is cold and unyielding; and so is he.

He had been told that wind breathing was the most aggressive of all the breathing techniques, and it is because of that that there are few who can master it. Even within the Kakutani family, the ancient ancestral cultivators of the martial technique, there were many who could not attain the same perfection or poise that Masachika or Akihito had. Many esoteric arts have been lost to the pages of history due to the destruction wrought by demons - but wind breathing stood upon the precipice of extinction due to its difficulty to perfect.

"You must have a strong will," Master Akihito had told him. "You must always make the opening strike, and you must strike with intent. These forms are executed to kill. Do not falter - a soft or gentle heart cannot master the rage of the wind."

Sanemi scoffs at the memory, running the fabric of his sleeve across his forehead as he wipes the sweat from his brow. Yes, it was apt indeed that Sanemi was taken as a student of wind breathing. Soft and gentle were words that did not belong anywhere near him. Rage was something he felt he belonged to.

A little more than halfway down the mountainside is the small, isolated wooden house with a connected stone kiln shed that they've occupied for the last week they've been on Asama-yama. It is called a wisteria house, he had learned from Masachika - homes marked with the crest of a wisteria blossom that subtly marked a safe place of sanctuary to the Demon Slayer Corps, where its members may rest and recuperate free of charge. The sweet aroma of the blossoms permeated the air, and the smoke from the incense blended seamlessly with the fog of the mountain. Gently in the distance, Sanemi can hear the sound of the half a dozen furin wind chimes singing in the wind. When Sanemi sees the familiar shape of the disused kiln through the tree trunks, he straightens his back and cracks his knuckles.

It did not feel right to Sanemi to occupy this home free of charge, regardless of whatever affiliation it had with the corps. Isolated on the edge of the forest halfway up a mountain, the wisteria house is inhabited only by a lone elderly woman. Her name is Sado, and she is kind and doting. Sado accepted no offer of money, and busied herself upon their arrival by cooking for them and tending to their laundry and other needs. She accepted no offer from either of the boys for help with these tasks, despite her frail, shivering hands that ached from the cold in a way that made Sanemi feel almost ill with discomfort.

Most wisteria homes house the families of those who feel indebted to the corps. Very few belonged to the corps itself. Where local authorities or prayers to uncaring gods had failed to protect them from the rage of demons, the corps had stood in their defence. It was not lost on Sanemi the implications that fell into place when he examined Sado's quiet home that stood meekly at the edge of the world. He saw one woman alone in a home with three rooms that could easily house a family of four - a stone kiln shed with enough tools to indicate it belonged to a master of crafts, but with little sign of use - playful trinkets left on display that were meticulously clean, free of dust or wear - and near the front of the house, unassuming and plain, a small kamidana shrine where Sado laid three cups in silence each night.

So when they had run low on firewood on the second night, Sanemi wordlessly picked up the hatchet from behind the home with no regard for Sado's protests and began to chop. Every evening, after Sanemi and Masachika spent hours at the summit sweating and freezing from their training, Sanemi took that same hatchet in hand and split wood with the determination to line the back of her home with enough firewood that Sado could conceivably keep her irori alight all year round.

"Sanemi-kun," a voice calls from the home that emerges from behind the parting trees. It is Masachika, sitting crossed leg at the edge of the engawa, with Yousato, his crow, perched on his arm. Several colourfully decorated wind chimes echo softly above him as they dance in the wind. Sanemi only grunts in acknowledgement as he grabs the hatchet and begins to sift through the logs.

"You stayed much later than I thought you would," the elder boy continues, a familiar pout returning to his lips. He is tying a scroll to Yousato's leg, scratching her cheek as he chastises Sanemi. "Aren't you exhausted? You've chopped enough firewood to last Sado-san most of the year. Don't push yourself so hard, Sanemi-kun."

Sanemi clicks his tongue in annoyance as he positions a suitable log on the thick tree trunk he'd been using the past week.

"Stop acting like my mother," he retorts as he swings the axe cleanly above his head and strikes it through the log, effortlessly splitting it in two.

"I might not be your mother," Masachika sighs as Sanemi lines up another. "But I am your senpai. Be a good kohai and listen to my advice!"

"Your advice is shit," Sanemi scoffs. "I'll listen when it's good."

Another log splits in half from the force of Sanemi's swing, and Masachika lets out his classic whine as he gently kisses Yousato's head, bemoaning his kohai's disrespect. Sanemi swears he can hear the bird tutting in disapproval of him, but he couldn't care less about the opinion of a mouthy, flying, black-feathered chicken who's taken to chastising him just as much as her master. Sanemi lines up another log and brings his axe down again as Masachika coos at Yousato and tosses her into the air. The crow takes wing and disappears into the horizon alongside the other forest birds who retreat from the treetops at the sound of each split log.

Masachika likes to write, Sanemi has noticed. He writes every day, and Yousato dutifully delivers all his letters to the far corners of the region, returning every morning for another task from her master. The bird dotes upon Masachika as much as he dotes back on her. Sanemi was promised his own kasugai crow once he passed final selection, though he'd much prefer to take the nichirin blade on its own. He has no one to write to, no family to receive letters from. A blade in his hand is all he needs to fulfil his duty.

"I give very good advice, thank you very much," Masachika says as he hops off the engawa, patting down his pants. "Who's been dutifully training you the past month?"

"You parrot the lessons Akihito-sama has instilled in you," Sanemi retorts, splitting another log. Masachika grabs the coiled rope from nearby and begins to bundle the split logs together as Sanemi works.

"And that, in and of itself, is a very valuable skill, my dearest pupil!" Masachika says. "Poor dictation would only mean I'm teaching you everything wrong, after all."

"For all I know, that's exactly what you've been doing," Sanemi shrugs. "Akihito-sama hasn't assessed me in a fortnight. You could be teaching me all the wrong forms. It'll be a pain to fix your bad habits."

"I would never!" Masachika feigns shock and abject horror, dramatically dropping the bundle of logs in his arms. "After all, that just means more work for me to re-teach you, and I've been through too much with you to bear any more! I'm the elder, and yet here I am working overtime on your part time job as a lumberjack!"

"No one said you had to help."

"No one said you had to start. You're such a masochist for hard labour. I should have found a sweet little kohai who actually lets me dote on him. Can't you pretend, even for a few minutes?"

"In your dreams."

"Yes - yes exactly, it is in my dreams! Let's make it a reality, please!"

Sanemi scoffs and shakes his head, rapidly covering the earth with more and more logs. There's a creeping smile at the corner of Sanemi's lips that he can't force down, and Masachika can see it, he knows he can, because the boy has an expression of utmost amusement that betrays the feigned hurt of his words.

"Kumeno-san, Shinazugawa-san, you aren't both still working away into the night, are you?" a small, elderly voice calls to them from the heart of the house. Sanemi wipes his brow and turns to see the shoji screen slide open as Sado's kind face peers at them, a look of exasperation upon her brow.

"Almost done," Sanemi raises his voice slightly so she can hear him and lines up the last log for the night.

"Sado-san, Sanemi-kun is working me to the bone right now!" Masachika whines as Sanemi huffs, lifting the axe a final time over his head.

"I'm the one doing the actual word here!"

Sanemi's arms are starting to ache after a day of training on top of the additional wood work, but he takes a small breath to pump the oxygen back into his body and channels it to his arms - a small burst of energy that helps push the axe down and split the log so thoroughly, the tree trunk beneath it cracks as well, and the head of his axe lodges firmly into the wood.

"Oh my," Sado-san gasps. Sanemi blanches slightly; he hadn't meant to split the trunk as well, but Masachika had annoyed him just enough to edge him towards a more aggressive swing.

"Well," Masachika laughs nervously as he collects the split logs. "If that's what he does to a log, imagine what he could do to a demon! I'm glad that's not my head!"

Sanemi shoots the elder boy an annoyed glare before Sado lets out a gentle chuckle.

"Such strong young men in the corps," Sado muses. "I feel very safe indeed. Thank you so much for chopping those logs for me, Kumeno-san, Shinazugawa-san. You've saved an old woman much trouble. Now, I've prepared dinner. Won't you come join me?"

Sanemi leaves the axe where it is, making a mental note to himself to prepare a new trunk before they leave - though he hopes that with the amount of wood he's prepared, Sado will have little need for it once they are gone.

"We'd love to join you, Sado-san!" Masachika replies with a toothy grin as he throws his arm around Sanemi's shoulder. He grunts, and uselessly pushes the boy's chest - it does little to budge him, though Sanemi had not expected it to do much at all. "You prepare the most delicious meals. The smell has been captivating me all evening!"

"You praise me far too highly, Kumeno-san. It is only salt-grilled fish with rice and miso, just like it has been the past two nights."

"Your cooking is good, Sado-san," Sanemi says as he elbows Masachika in the ribs. "Particularly when Kumeno doesn't help you."

Sado's refusal to allow the boys to assist her came not only from her own sense of hospitality. The first night they had arrived, Masachika had all but forced himself into helping - the charred remains of something as simple as onigiri thoroughly convinced Sado to not let the boy anywhere near the irori again.

"Sanemi-kun!" Masachika whines and clings even harder onto him, and Sanemi practically has to drag him to the engawa since he refuses to use his own legs. "You're so mean to me! I'm your senpai, your senpai! You have to be kind to me!"

Sado can only stifle a chuckle as Sanemi knocks the elder boy's head with his fist and reprimands him to act his age.

This is their routine for the past week. Sanemi is up at the crack of dawn to train until the calluses on his hands harden like thick leather - he chops the fire wood for Sado-san until she chases him away from the axe with her gentle chastisement - and he endlessly exasperates Masachika as much as the boy does him, because that is the relationship they have fostered.

They huddle around the warmth of the irori as Sado serves them each a sizable portion of rice, fish, and miso soup. It is a simple meal, but not an unwelcome one - it is warm and made with affection, which is more than what Sanemi can say of the food he'd been eating for the almost two years he spent wandering the region before Masachika found him.

"Thank you for this meal, Sado-san! It smells delicious!" Masachika says with a polite and low bow as she hands him his bowl.

"Thank you, Sado-san," Sanemi echoes as well when she serves his own. He bows too, though it's more of a nod - but Sado's lips blossom into a smile nonetheless at his gesture.

"Such polite boys," she muses as she takes a seat. "It is my pleasure and honour as your host. Now, go ahead."

Sanemi was used to conservative meals, small morsels consumed not for enjoyment but for sheer necessity - but since his change in circumstances and the vigorous training that Akihito and Masachika put him through, Sanemi has come to eat with a vigour he'd never had before. He quickly finishes three bowls in silence, sure to thank Sado each time she offers him more.

"I have more fire wood than I know what to do with, thanks to you boys," Sado muses idly as they eat. She often makes conversation with Masachika during their meals - Sanemi isn't much for idle chatter.

"Could you sell some?" Masachika suggests between mouthfuls. If they were closer, Sanemi would elbow the boy for his poor manners.

"I suppose, though that would mean carrying it down the mountain…I wouldn't get very far with very many."

"I can send some of the corps trainees here to assist you, Sado-san."

"No, no, that won't do…you all have far better things to worry about than to waste time on me."

"It's not a waste," Sanemi interrupts softly, careful to avoid Masachika or Sado's eyes. "You help the corps. The corps will help you in return."

"Sanemi-kun is right, Sado-san!" Masachika nods eagerly. "Even though he has only been with us for a month, Sanemi-kun has such great understanding and respect for the wisteria houses. The corps could not operate without people like you!"

Sanemi says nothing as Masachika continues. He has never liked others speaking for him, but this once, he makes an exception, because nothing Masachika says is untrue.

He knows the value of the wisteria houses. He empathises with Sado's pain, even if she does not voice it. He feels the gratitude and warmth in her gentle words, their presence ebbing away at the pain of loss and loneliness the longer the two boys stay at her home.

At night, when the mountain and the forest sleep, Sanemi would lie on his back and stare up at the ceiling from his futon, counting every line upon the grain of the wooden plank ceiling as sleep eluded him. He'd say nothing every time Masachika turned and whispered to him - and after receiving only silence in reply, the elder boy would leave him be, but Sanemi knew better than to assume he had fooled Masachika into thinking he was asleep.

Each night, Sado would enter their room, her light footsteps lingering at the head of their futons as she left freshly laundered clothes and unspoken feelings of a lifetime of heartbreak at her feet. Sanemi would shut his eyes and still his breathing as she lingered. On more than one occasion, she had gently reached her quivering fingertips over Sanemi's hair to brush it from his face. She'd adjust the covers of their futons to ensure they were comfortably warm. Sanemi let her, and made no mention of it - and Masachika did as well, because he knew the boy feigned sleep just as often as he did.

"I have no use for money," Sado sighs in a way that pulls Sanemi from his thoughts and back to their conversation. "After all, the corps provides me with all the food and necessities an old woman could ever need…if you send anyone to sell the excess wood, please keep the funds for the corps. It is better used for your cause. It brings me great joy to see your smiling faces. I'm quite content to spend the little time I have left hosting the brave members of your corps. There's nothing else I want."

He doesn't know when the conversation took such a sombre tone, and glances at Masachika, who wears an expression that Sanemi seldom sees on the chipper boy's face. It clings to him like a mask, unnatural against his kind features. Sanemi knows the feeling all too well, because it's a mask he has worn for so long, he no longer believes he can remove it.

It is grief.

"Sado-san, surely there is something we can do to show our gratitude, though," Masachika says gently. His signature charismatic smile is gone, and his voice is soft and low.

"You do more than enough, Kumeno-san," she says with a genuine smile. "You fight tirelessly to protect people like me. I am truly indebted to demon slayers like yourself. Now, come on, please eat more. Surely you are still hungry? Growing young boys such as yourself need to eat to maintain your strength. Please, go ahead."

She busies herself by filling their bowls once again, which Sanemi recognises as her own little way of ending the conversation before it can become too dark. Masachika takes a glance at him, and Sanemi can only give him a sombre look - they both know better than to push the topic.

"Do you have any requests tomorrow?" Sado asks. "I know I've not much variety here, but I'm sure you're both sick of salt-grilled fish…perhaps some zosui? I harvested some mushrooms today, and they'd stew quite nicely if you'd like something heartier."

"Oh, actually, Sado-san…there was something I wanted to bring up tonight," Masachika says. His usual upbeat tone has not returned, so Sanemi listens with rapt attention.

"We were supposed to stay another week more, however Akihito-sensei has returned early from his latest assignment. Also, Sanemi-kun has progressed much faster than I ever anticipated…he is a bit of a prodigy, don't you think? He's completed the drills I had planned for our time here on Asama-yama already. Akihito-sensei has requested we return so I can return to active duty while he trains Sanemi-kun himself."

Masachika shoots Sanemi a remorseful looking, as if to apologise.

"I should have told you earlier," he says softly. "I had only just received word from Yousato, and I wanted to send off a reply as soon as I could. That's when I saw you coming back down the mountain. It would be best for us to leave tomorrow morning. We should arrive back at the Spring Estate in two days' travel."

Sanemi only nods in acknowledgement. He's not mad at Masachika at all - and he's not particularly heartbroken to leave either - but he understands the gentle tone Masachika is using is not for him, but for Sado. When he chances a glance at her, he feels his gut twist uncomfortably at the look of forlorn she wears.

"Oh, I understand. Kakutani-sama has returned already?" she hides her sorrow behind her shaking hands that busy themselves with cleaning up their empty bowls. "Such a dutiful man. It would do you well to train directly under him, Shinazugawa-san. I will be sure to prepare you food for your travels, then. Will you leave at dawn? You're both up so early, I know you don't like to linger."

She's referring mostly to Sanemi, who rises with the sun and sleeps lighter than a feather. He has learned that despite the years of discipline under Master Akihito, Masachika still struggles to rise before noon. Sanemi has to kick the boy awake each morning.

"No," Sanemi says softly. "We're ahead of schedule, then. Kumeno will be grateful to sleep in for once."

It's not for Masachika's sake that he says that, and the three of them know it, even if they won't say it.

That night, while the mountain and the forest sleep, Sanemi lies on his back and stares up at the ceiling from his futon, counting every line upon the grain of the wooden plank ceiling as sleep eludes him. Masachika turns in his futon and whispers to him.

"Sanemi-kun?" he says so softly, he strains to hear it. Instead of silence though, Sanemi replies gently.

"Yeah."

"When you pass final selection, you'll get your own kasugai crow," he says.

"Yeah."

"It would be nice to write to Sado-san now and then, don't you think?"

"...yeah."

Sanemi can hear Masachika shuffling in his futon, and they say no more to each other. After midnight, when the shoji screen of their shared room slides open, Sanemi knows they are both still awake. He shuts his eyes though and steadies his breathing, and Sado brushes aside the hair from his face with her quivering, frail hands. She adjusts their covers and leaves their laundered clothing by the door, and Sanemi hears her shuffling with what sounds like a bag - surely the promised supplies and food for their journey back to the estate.

When she leaves, Sanemi can feel her gaze on him, and the shoji screen slides shut with a sigh that echoes her own.

He wakes at the crack of dawn, like usual, unable to cling to more than three or four hours of fleeting sleep. The faintest glow of the morning sun has lit up the room as gentle rays of sunlight flit through the open window. Sanemi spends a few moments watching the particles of dust dancing in the sunbeams, pensive in his thoughts. He steadies himself as he practises total concentration breathing, and the world seems to spin slower as those motes of dust hang suspended in rays of light.

It's hard to admit to himself that he is comfortable. He's not happy - Sanemi can't remember the last time he was happy - and he's not at peace or in a state he could ever call calm or composed. All Sanemi knows how to feel…is rage. Rage at his father. Rage at his poverty. Rage at his own weakness, his own failings, his own shortcomings. Sanemi had become very good at channelling everything he felt into rage, and fueling all that rage into whatever ramshackle tool he could conceivably pass off as a weapon.

But Sanemi does not feel rage when he breathes like this. He does not feel rage with a katana in hand, stance strong and low to the ground. He does not feel rage when Masachika instructs him to move his body in tandem with the wind.

He doesn't know what he feels. Is it really a feeling, though - an absence of feeling? There's no rage, no calm, no joy, no sorrow. Only him and his blade and the focus of his attention. As Sanemi stares at the sunlit wood of the wall and breathes deeply and slowly, everything else seems to stop, and a little bit of colour returns to his world.

He's not sure how many minutes or hours have passed when he finally sits up. Beside him, Masachika is snoring - genuinely snoring, because at some point the exhaustion must have kicked in and he finally fell asleep. Sanemi gets up to get changed, replacing his clothes with the fresh ones Sado had laid out for them last night. He makes no effort to soften his footsteps or movements - an earthquake would sooner wake Masachika than Sanemi could.

Sanemi neatly folds up the yukata that Sado had loaned to him for sleepwear. He spies the bag she had left for them both, and pulls it towards him to examine the things she'd packed. There's a small bento box that Sanemi opens to find neatly lined onigiri - some bandages and other medical goods wrapped in a handkerchief - and a small lacquer box that bears the Kakutani family kamon that is just big enough to fill his palms. The sight of the golden foiled kamon catches his eye. He takes out the box and examines it meticulously.

Sanemi knows nothing about craftsmanship, but even he can tell the woodwork of the box is of the highest quality. It is smooth and shiny with expertly coated layers of urushi lacquer, and the golden foil catches the light beautifully. Looking closer, he can see the delicate linework on the sides that depict a flowering plum blossom tree. It is exquisitely beautiful, and far too valuable to be sitting in Sanemi's pack.

Curiosity gets the better of him, and he gently flicks open the clasp and peers inside the box. On a bed of cushioned fabrics lies a simple glass furin wind chime. The gaikan bell exterior of the chime is the size of a fat persimmon, a round bulb like the head of a jellyfish. The zetsu, the thin glass bell clapper that sits inside of it, makes a gentle click against the gaikan as Sanemi lifts it closer to examine. There is no paint or decoration on the furin - it is simple and plain. The paper strip tanzaku that hangs from the zetsu is the only decorated piece - it is a plain strip of white paper with delicate calligraphy written upon it.

家内安全 - kanai anzen. It is a prayer for safety, peace, and prosperity in the household.

Sanemi gently shuts the lacquer box and clicks the clasp closed once again. He holds it firmly and safely in his hands and slides the shoji screen open as he steps out from the room and makes his way to the engawa at the front of the house, determined to wait for Sado to rise so he can return the box to her. Near the front of the house, however, he does not expect to see her kneeling at the small kamidana, head bowed low and hands clasped together in prayer.

He feels awkward intruding on this moment, and turns on his heel to quietly retreat back into his room. Sado-san turns as he does though, as if she knew he was trying to run away, and calls out to him gently.

"Shinazugawa-san, good morning," she says with a smile. "I thought you would have joined Kumeno-san for a bit of a sleep in."

Sanemi turns back to face Sado, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. He grinds his teeth together and slowly walks towards her.

"I like waking up early," he says simply.

She turns slightly from in front of the shrine, peering at Sanemi with fond eyes.

"Would you like some breakfast?"

Sanemi wants to politely turn her down, but his body makes no such decision for him. Instead, his stomach grumbles softly, and he feels his cheeks flush bright red. He had eaten so much for dinner, how could he possibly be so hungry?

"You're a growing boy, Shinazugawa-san," Sado says with a sweet tone of voice. "I made onigiri for your travels, but I prepared extra for your morning meal."

She moves to get up, but she struggles from her kneeled seiza. She looks so very small and old, more so than usual, that Sanemi's heart twists uncomfortably. He is moving before he even realises it, tucking the lacquer box into his shirt before reaching out to support Sado's waist and arm. He helps her slowly rise to a stand.

"Oh, thank you, my dear," she says affectionately to him, tapping his elbows appreciatively. "These old bones don't take well to kneeling anymore."

He makes a wordless sound of acknowledgement and follows her dutifully to the low table near the irori, where she shuffles and presents him with two wrapped onigiri rice balls.

"Thank you," he says softly as he takes one, sitting at the table with her. When she doesn't take the other, he nudges the plate towards her.

"No, no, you have them. You're a growing boy," she protests. Sanemi stubbornly pushes the plate closer to her.

"You need your strength too," he says firmly - then, very softly, he adds, "...please."

He feels the flush returning to his cheeks and the tips of his ears when Sado mouths a soft oh in surprise. It's quickly replaced by a warm smile though, and she takes the other onigiri on the plate.

"Very well, then. I can't say no to such a kindly made request from you, Shinazugawa-san."

Sanemi bites into the onigiri. It is delicious - the rice is seasoned well, and in the centre, the sweet taste of konbu delights his tongue.

They eat in silence. It's Masachika who likes idle chatter. He's the one who is good at conversation. Sanemi can only sit in silence and wish he was someone else - someone better - someone who could say something or anything that wasn't nothing.

When he is finished, he reaches for the lacquer box in his shirt and places it gently on the table.

"You - you accidentally left this with my pack," he says quietly, avoiding her eyes. "I want to return it."

Sado laughs gently at him. His hand is still on the box, and she places her own fingertips on top of his.

"It was no accident, Shinazugawa-san. It is a gift for you."

"I can't accept it," Sanemi says immediately, and it's a little more forceful than he intended. The creeping rosy glow returns to his ears.

"Please, I insist," Sado gently pushes back. "Besides, the box itself is not my own. It belonged to the late Kakutani-sama. He gave it to me many years ago, but I want to give it to you instead. The furin wind chime as well - it was the last piece of glass my husband blew before he passed."

"Then - then that is all the more reason why I cannot accept such a gift," Sanemi shakes his head. There is too much value in this box - he refuses to taint it with his hands. Sado shakes her head though, and firmly refuses when he tries to push the box again.

"Please, take it. I want you to have it," she tells him, and her earnest desire leaks through her voice in a way that Sanemi struggles to refuse.

"This box was given to me by Kakutani Atsuhito thirty years ago," Sado tells Sanemi after a long pause and a gentle sigh, her voice soft. "Atsuhito was the former Wind Hashira and head of the Kakutani household. He was Akihito's eldest brother. A very kind man, so full of life and vigour. He saved my life and the life of my youngest son."

There is a mixture of unfathomable sadness and bitterness in Sado's voice that Sanemi is far too familiar with. Sanemi says nothing, and listens respectfully as the elderly woman continues.

"I lived here with my husband and my two sons. My husband built this house with his own bare hands. He was a very talented craftsman. The stone kiln shed was his workshop - he was talented at so many things. Glassblowing was his true passion though. His favourite thing to make was these furin wind chimes. We used to sell them together at the markets of the local village at the foot of the mountain."

There is a wistful nostalgia in Sado's voice as her words carry her away into a world of fond memories. As she speaks, her features glow with adoration and love, and Sanemi thinks she looks ten years younger with such a warm smile gracing her features. And in a single moment, it all fades away. Her tender glow of warm nostalgia fades away into that same mask of grief that Sanemi is so terribly, deeply familiar with.

"A demon attacked our home in the middle of the night. It all happened so suddenly…it pains me to remember it. All I remember was clutching my youngest son in my arms as he bled - I was sure that monster would kill us all. I begged and begged - I wanted the thing to take me instead, to leave my last son alone, because it had already taken my husband and my eldest. It refused.

"I remember hearing him before I saw him…the sound of the wind chimes dancing in his wake. There was a great gust of wind alongside the sound of gently singing glass...and suddenly, the demon was dead, and in its place stood Kakutani-sama."

Sanemi knew that Master Akihito had a brother. He recalls that his brother's child is now his heir and a hashira too, and that terrible circumstances had lost him his own wife and child. Sanemi has become better at listening after a month with Masachika, and he is slowly retaining more and more information about the corps and the five great families. Respectfully, though, he has never pried or pressed for more information about the Kakutani household, letting the knowledge come to him instead in small moments of conversation between the Doumae girls or Masachika. The pain is fresh there, he can feel it. It lingers like a gloom whenever anyone mentions or alludes to it. This is the first time someone has ever spoken of the late Kakutani Atsuhito directly to him, however.

"He came with his wife, the sweet lady...Isane-sama was a kakushi. She tended to my son and stitched his wounds so expertly. I remember sobbing into Kakutani-sama's haori. I was grateful, of course…but also, I was so terribly angry and sad. Why couldn't he have come earlier? Why couldn't it have been me and not my eldest? I said awful things to the man who saved me and my son, and even though I know he never held it against me, I regret how I treated those two so terribly."

Sanemi has to avoid Sado's sorrowful gaze, because in her glassy eyes he sees reflected his own feelings of grief and desperation. He understands Sado's feelings so intimately.

Why did I live? he had asked himself as he cradled his mother's mangled and bloodied body. Why did it have to be me?

He remembered the broken corpses of his younger siblings, the way Hiroshi's once vibrant violet eyes were matte and dull with fear and confusion. He would have given anything to die instead, even if it meant one of them could live. He would have gladly died for Koto, his little brother of only two years, to see the rising sun once more. He would give anything to preserve Shuya's laughter.

Sanemi blinks and shakes his head gently, banishing the memories from his mind. Sado does not notice - he silently listens as she continues.

"Isane-sama left me this box. It was where she stored her medical supplies. She left salves and tonics for me and taught me how to tend to my son's wounds after they left - and she came back every month, without fail, for almost half a year to check on us. Such a kind and selfless woman. She tried her very best for my son. She was there when he passed away a few months later. I think he was grateful for the extra time she was able to give him. I was grateful as well."

Sanemi isn't sure why she's telling him all this, but he listens dutifully. Her hands do not leave his, and at some point, he has taken them in his own. Her fingertips are wrinkled, cold, and frail. He tries his very best to warm them the same way his mother used to warm his. She slowly pulls her hands away, and Sanemi reluctantly lets go as she opens the lacquer box to reveal the furin wind chime.

"My husband never finished the furin inside this box. He made the gaiken and the zetsu, but he never finished the tanzaku. I am not well versed in crafts the way my dear husband was, but art is a subjective matter, don't you think? I like to think my calligraphy isn't so bad, and it's filled with my sincere wish for you and Kumeno-san. As two wards of the Kakutani household, it would bring me great honour and joy to know these passed to your hands. You are as much a part of the Kakutani family to me as their true born children. Please, accept this gift from me. I pray it keeps you safe. I know the gaiken is undecorated, but I think there is a charm to its simplicity, don't you agree?"

"Yes," Sanemi agrees softly. "It's beautiful."

Sado closes the lacquer box gently, once again nudging it towards Sanemi. This time, though, Sanemi accepts it. He holds it protectively with box hands and bows his head to Sado.

"Thank you," he says. "I will cherish it."

Sado smiles at him, and Sanemi returns it with his own rare smile. For once, the feeling in his heart is not engulfed by the sea of rage he is so familiar with. It's a strange feeling - but it is not unwelcome.

"I know I said last night that there was nothing else I wanted, however…if you could allow this old woman one small, selfish request, it would make her very happy indeed."

"Of course," Sanemi says. "Anything."

"Won't you write to me, Shinazugawa-san? I do enjoy your company."

Sanemi nods and promises her.

"I will," he says.

For the first time, he thinks that having his own kasugai crow would not be so bad after all.

---

He's an idiot. He's a fucking idiot. He's a dumb, obnoxious, annoying, brainless fucking idiot and Sanemi cannot believe he's been forced to suffer from his stupidity. Masachika drives him so insane, he wonders if he'll even make it to final selection, because the corps are against infighting and Sanemi is convinced he'll kill the boy before he gets a chance to make it to Fujikasane-yama.

It started as a silly game to pass the time as they approached the last few hours of their journey back to the estate. I bet I can reach the inn before you can! and I bet I can climb up that hill faster than you can!

Sanemi humoured him at first, because it was easier to humour Masachika than it was to ignore him. But then it became less and less worthwhile to follow his antics, so Sanemi shrugged and let Masachika win their little one-sided competitions instead. The ego boost fed into him like a starving man at a feast though, and somewhere along the line, Masachika's little show-off antics that I'm the strongest and I'm the faster became I'm the only one who can climb that tree and pick that apple hanging from that precarious branch that definitely can support the weight of a fifteen-year-old teenage boy.

Despite Sanemi's protests that this was stupid, that this was a waste of time, that he won't participate in a child's game with him - Masachika climbed that fucking tree anyway, and the branches predictably snapped under his weight and he crashed into the ground in a pile of leaves, twigs, and dirt.

So now Sanemi has a stupid, brainless, idiotic, whinging boy crying from his back as he drags Masachik's sorry ass to the Butterfly Estate where someone can tend to the large gash on his arm.

"You're a fucking idiot," Sanemi says for the thirteenth time as they wait in one of the rooms at the Butterfly Estate where a nervous young kakushi has left them. Masachika is sitting on the edge of a tall western-style hospital bed while Sanemi has taken to an armchair in the far corner of the room.

"I know…" Masachika whines, tears in his eyes. The man is a demon slayer, so a gash like that can't possibly bring him to tears from pain. Sanemi wonders if he's crying from embarrassment or shame. "I really hope they send in a kakushi…I really don't want the girls at the Butterfly Estate to see me like this…"

"Then you shouldn't have been a fucking idiot!"

"I knooooooow!" Masachika drags the last syllable out in a pathetic whine that makes Sanemi truly believe he lied about being older than him.

There's a gentle knock on the door and a soft call of 'Excuse me' before it swings open. Two young girls stand at the doorway, dressed in simple white western-style dresses layered with the white nurse's attire that Sanemi saw the other Butterfly Estate attendants wearing. As they enter, Masachika pales with shock.

One of the girls is older, perhaps their age, if Sanemi had to guess. She is very beautiful. Her long, black hair is tied back loosely into a low tail, and on each side of her head by her temples sits two ornate pink and green clips that resemble butterfly wings, which pull her hair from her face. She has soft features and kind lavender eyes, and when she sees Masachika, she smiles sweetly at him.

The other is younger and shorter - perhaps Daiya's age - and while she is just as beautiful, her features are sharper. Her eyes are a darker, deeper shade of purple, and her hair is short and tidy, pulled into a tight bun that is clasped together by a similar purple and green butterfly hair clip that matches the elder girl's. Her lips are downturned into a slight frown, and her brows are slightly furrowed, as if she is annoyed to be here. When she looks at Masachika, it's clear that she is.

"You idiot!" the younger girl chastises him as she waltzes into the room. Masachika looks panicked and whines as the young girl grabs his arm, which has been loosely wrapped in gauze. "Gotou-san told me this isn't even from a demon! You got it from climbing trees? Are you a demon slayer or are you a child?"

Sanemi smiles at her and laughs. Oh, he likes her. He likes her very much indeed.

"And you!" she turns on him, and Sanemi blanches. "You let him? You're just as bad as he is! Imbeciles! Both of you!"

"I- I- what?" Sanemi can only spit out in confusion. He takes it back. Maybe he doesn't like her.

"Now, now, Shinobu-chan. Masachika-kun is our patient. You must speak gently and treat him kindly. It's important to foster a warm bedside manner with your patients, after all."

The elder girl's voice is soft and delicate, a contrast to the younger's stern tone.

"Sister," the younger girl sighs. "Kumeno's behaviour is unacceptable! He is the Wind Hashira's tsuguko, yet he acts like a child! You should have more decorum! You are in the care of the Spring Estate, act like it!"

She turns her sights back to Sanemi and nearly growls.

"You must be Shinazugawa. You should know better than to let your senpai run off like that."

"Oi," Sanemi snaps now, because this young brash girl is being far too pushy for his liking. Masachika, his arm still grasped in the girl's hand, has gone from white as a sheet to beet red. He is looking down at his lap in embarrassment. "I'm not his caretaker - don't blame me for his stupidity. You said it yourself, he's supposed to be my senpai - he's older than me. I'm not taking care of his ass!"

The elder girl claps her hands twice, slow but firm, and they all stop to peer at her. The younger one drop's Masachika's arm from her grip and quickly turns to straighten her back at her elder sister.

"There is so much negative energy in this room!" She says wistfully, as if she was addressing children. "That won't do at all. This is a place of healing, after all. Let's cleanse away some of this dreary aura!"

She strides confidently into the room as if it were her own quarters, her white dress billowing behind her, and pulls open the window curtains and pushes the glass open. Sanemi can hear her muttering something that almost sounds like a prayer - she bows her head slightly and closes her eyes, then claps twice. She turns on her heel and strides back across the room and sits on the bed beside Masachika, so close that their shoulders almost touch. Masachika looks like a scared deer as she takes his arm and gently removes the gauze to examine the wound.

"Oh, it's not too bad…" she murmurs as she examines him. "You'll only need a few stitches. I doubt it will scar."

"K–Kochou-san," Masachika barely manages to get the words out.

"Now, now, Masachika-kun. How many times have I told you to call me by my first name? There's no need for you to reserve your keigo for me."

"Koch– Kanae-san, why are you here? Surely you have better things to attend to…"

"Masachika-kun, when Gotou-san told me it was you in the waiting room, I knew I absolutely had to be the one to see you! Though it sounds like you only got into a light tumble, hmm?"

She leans forward as she teases him, and Masachika is lost for words. Sanemi watches, enraptured. He has never seen Masachika in such a state before; has never seen him left speechless. He almost wonders aloud how to get the boy to speak to him with the same amount of deference when the memory of the name Kochou flutters back into his mind.

The Butterfly Estate is the home of one of the five great families, he remembers. It's the first time he has been here, but after a month of listening to Masachika, some of his ramblings have managed to stick in his mind. Like how the Spring Estate houses the Kakutani household, or the Chrysanthemum Estate houses the Rengoku household, Sanemi remembers that the Butterfly Estate is home to the Kochou household.

"You're Kochou Kanae and Kochou Shinobu," Sanemi says suddenly.

The two girls turn to face him - the elder, Kanae, looks at him curiously, while the younger, Shinobu, seems more annoyed that he'd address her.

He pulls together small pieces of memory. Where the Kakutani and Rengoku households are the ancestral cultivators of wind and flame breathing, Sanemi recalls that the Kochou household is the same with flower and insect breathing - and like those two families, the Kochou household had a history of producing famed and talented hashira. He recalls with sadness what Daichi had told him though when he had asked her for more information.

"The Kochou household is quite wealthy, and they're renowned for their medical innovation," she had told him as she neatly folded the laundry she'd retrieved from the line, her expression pensive. "But even they have not been spared from the hardships of this life…the current head of the household is only fifteen, and her little sister only eleven. Two years ago, they lost their aunt, the Flower Hashira, then just last spring, they lost their mother and father too. Those two…they are the only ones left. The world is so terribly cruel."

"Yes, that would be us," Kanae replies with a sweet smile. "It's very nice to finally meet you, Sanemi-san. I've heard so much about you!"

Shinobu doesn't share her sister's enthusiasm or kindness, and simply huffs as she crosses her arms. Though he was annoyed at her rude behaviour before, he lets himself soften slightly with the memory and knowledge that she is only eleven and has endured terrible hardships, just as he has. Of course she holds the same bitterness as him.

Sanemi sighs and shakes his head.

"Of course you have," he says, shooting a scathing glare at Masachika, who wilts. "From the idiot who can't keep his mouth shut."

"I've only ever shared glowing praise for you, Sanemi-kun!" Masachika pipes up. "There's no need to be embarrassed! I would never gossip about your more personal habits or anything, like your sweet tooth or your fondness for dogs or your-"

When Sanemi stands, he almost knocks over the armchair, and Masachika clamps his mouth shut when Sanemi's rage radiates out into the room like a dark gloom. Oh, he is going to kill Masachika before he ever makes it to final selection.

Kanae's tittering giggles are light and airy, and they effortlessly combat the dark energy Sanemi emits. Even Shinobu, who was brooding in the corner before, shares a laugh with her sister. It is only because the two Kochou girls are still in the room that Sanemi has not descended upon the elder boy to strangle him.

"Well, I certainly don't know anything about sweets or dogs, but I do know you are Kakutani-sama's newest student," Kanae says as she lifts a finger to her lips. "I've heard you've been taking quite well to wind breathing already. It's a terribly difficult martial style to learn, yet Masachika-kun has written much praise about your progress. Will you be going to the final selection at Fujikasane-yama in a month's time?"

"If Akihito-sensei deems me ready," Sanemi says. "I still have five forms to master."

"You have five forms to learn, Sanemi-kun," Masachika tries to correct him. "It takes years for anyone to master them. Even I barely have. You're too much of a perfectionist!"

"I can't afford not to be," Sanemi retorts.

Masachika sighs at that and folds from the argument. It's one they've had too many times, and it's the only one that Masachika has ever willingly resigned from. Next to her sister, Shinobu is smiling, and she makes a soft hmph that sounds suspiciously like approval.

"More people should approach their training with the same attitude," she says.

"Sanemi-san," Kanae continues as she cleans Masachika's wound. He winces as she dabs a cotton swab of antiseptic onto the cut. "If you are going to next month's final selection, I'll feel very at ease."

"Why is that?" he asks her. Next to Kanae, Masachika is bright red, almost shaking every time Kanae touches him. He and Shinobu roll their eyes at the boy. Surely it can't hurt that much, Sanemi thinks.

"I'll be going to the same selection," Kanae explains. "Kyouojurou-san and Iguro-san will be attending as well. Why, with you three at the summit of Fujikasane-yama, I feel it's almost not right for me to be assessed at the same time. You'll leave no demons for me to slay!"

She's threading a needle now, carefully assessing Masachika's arm as she works. There's several times where she needs to gently tap his shoulder or knee to get him to move into the proper position.

"So you are in training to be a demon slayer as well," Sanemi confirms, half to himself.

"Oh yes," Kanae continues as she sutures Masachika's skin together. "Shinobu as well, though she's still a little too young to go anytime soon. We took up our training late compared to the other families. We didn't expect to… well… we just thought we had more time."

Sanemi clenches his fists and stares out the window of the room instead of facing either of the Kochou girls. Though Kanae looks solemn, in Shinobu, he sees a reflection of himself - weak, desperate, and terribly angry. He hates that these girls, who are young and beautiful and deserving of better, feel compelled to fight against demons just as he does.

Sanemi swears to himself that he will go to final selection. He will go, he will kill every demon on that mountain top, he will protect Kanae and all the other trainees who join him, and he will become a demon slayer worthy of Master Akihito's tutelage. He will destroy all evil demons.

Masachika whimpers slightly, and Kanae clicks her tongue at him as she ties off another stitch.

"Masachika-kun, please, don't move so much," she chastises him. "It does make this more difficult, you know."

"S-sorry…" he mutters.

Who is this boy who has taken Masachika's face? Where is the confident and annoying elder he has grown accustomed to tuning out? Why can't he always be like this - quiet and polite?

Sanemi shakes his head and sighs. He feels restless now. While this little detour provided at least some marginal entertainment, Sanemi's hands ache to grasp his katana and train. He's already lost at least two hours of sunlight to Masachika's childish antics. He won't lose any more that can better be spent at the Spring Estate's training grounds.

"I'm going back to the estate," Sanemi says as he walks to the door.

"Eh?" Shinobu whips her head around. "You're just going to leave him?"

"He has two working legs, doesn't he?" Sanemi shrugs, looking over his shoulder. "I won't lose any more daylight here. I have training drills to complete."

"How very pragmatic of you," Kanae says, tying off another stitch.

"W-wait, Sanemi-kun!" Masachika calls out to him, looking panicked and red. "D-don't leave me alone! Please!"

"Bye," Sanemi says firmly, and he throws a wave over his shoulder and grins smugly to himself as he leaves Masachika with the two girls. He can hear Shinobu's chastisements and Kanae's tittering laughs as he turns the corner of the hallway.

As he makes his way to the entrance, Sanemi takes the quiet moment he has to himself to examine the estate. A month ago, he couldn't fathom a property larger than the Spring Estate. Today, he finds himself in one. At least the Butterfly Estate has more reason for its size though, as it doubles as an informal hospital and the primary place of care for the corps. There are over a dozen rooms labelled very clearly as medical bays, and the estate has two long wings that house countless expensive tools and supplies that Sanemi feels he could actually find in a legitimate hospital.

While the layout of the estate is very clearly traditional, as he passes by each medical room, he peers inside the open doors to glance at the very western-style decor inside. He has no idea what half the tools and contraptions he walks by are, but he thinks they look rather odd juxtaposed beside the simple traditional Japanese decor he is so familiar with. Some rooms have foreign paintings too, and he squints curiously at all the different depictions of creatures he's never heard of before and fashion that looks more stupid and uncomfortable than practical. There are even photographs hanging on some of the hallway walls, which Sanemi avoids like a plague.

Sanemi does not like photographs. He doesn't like the unsettling, soulless gaze of the people portrayed within them - he prefers sketches and paintings, which are expressive and show the soul of the author. Photographs were a luxury, and Sanemi had only ever seen a very small handful before he came into the care of the Spring Estate. In the past month, Sanemi has eyed more of these strange suspended moments in time than he ever wanted.

Sanemi nods curtly at the kakushi by the entrance of the estate, who kindly points him towards the direction of the Spring Estate. It will be at least another hour's walk.

Growing up poor in the Kyobashi ward meant he never often got to see the western influence of foreign cultures bleeding into the heart of Tokyo. He has seen people in those strange, suffocating-looking clothes before as they passed by the small wooden house his family had called a home. He hated the way they looked at him with pity and disdain, laughing behind frilly hats and pointing at the other dirty, hungry children like they were animals to be gawked at. The cost of imported goods was high, and with the country's ever growing desperation to obtain all the fineries of the foreign world, Sanemi knew that only the poor would be left behind to honour the ways that came before.

He doesn't see the appeal himself. Western sensibilities seem to value being direct and bold - their fashions harsh, cold, and overwhelming. Sanemi preferred the traditional beauty that hid in plain sight in front of him - beauty that is transient and subtle, that could be found in each blade of grass in the Spring Estate gardens, or in the plum blossoms that sprouted from the cold snow of winter.

He is lost in thought as he wanders back to the estate, and time passes so quickly, he finds himself following the familiar brick fencing around the boundary of the property where the Kakutani kamon is proudly displayed before he even realises. When he turns the corner, he sees Daiya sweeping the entrance of the estate, her lavender hair neatly braided as usual, in a soft pink kimono and darker hakama, sleeves tied back by her white tasuki. She glances up when he approaches, and she bows deeply to him.

"Sanemi-san, welcome back," she says politely. She tilts her head curiously when she straightens her posture and sees he is alone. "Masachika-san is not with you?"

"Thank you. It's good to return," Sanemi says with a nod. "No, he's in a medical bay at the Butterfly Estate."

"What?" The broom drops from Daiya's hands, clattering onto the ground as the colour drains from her face and her features stiffen. "No one told us - Yousato mentioned nothing about - what happened? Is he okay? Did Kumeno-sama get injured by a demon? Why didn't anyone send wo– "

"Hey, hey, steady," Sanemi says, immediately rushing to her. He drops onto his knees in front of the girl as he gently places his hands on her elbows. "He's fine. It wasn't a demon. He fell from a tree, because he's an idiot. He's okay. He's fine. Hey – look at me. Doumae-san, look at me."

Daiya, much like her elder sister, is usually the picture of grace. She is so very young at only nine, yet she holds more poise and grace than most women thrice her age. The Daiya in front of him, who is pale and jittery, her breathing shallow, is not the Daiya he had come to know this past month.

"Doumae-san," Sanemi gently calls her name, trying to meet her frantic eyes. "Doumae-san, look at me – Daiya-chan, please look at me. Hush, shh…it's okay. Look at me."

When he calls her name, she glances up, her glassy purple eyes shaking. Sanemi very gently lifts his right hand to run his fingers through her hair, patting her gently - and suddenly, it is not Daiya who shakes in front of him, and he is not at the entrance of the Spring Estate. Suddenly, he is twelve again - it is late, past midnight, and he crouches beside his sweet, precious Teiko, who sobs into her hands as the lingering remnants of a nightmare chase her into the safety of her own home.

"It's okay," he says to her, hushing her softly. "Everything is okay."

She tentatively grips onto his shoulder, as if to steady herself - as if to wordlessly ask permission - and Sanemi pulls her into a gentle embrace, patting her hair. She doesn't cry or sob - she just breathes, taking in a long, shuddering breath. In his arms, his dear, sweet Teiko fades away, and Daiya returns as she rubs her eyes.

"I'm sorry," she says eventually, pulling away from him. "I-I didn't mean to lose my composure. That was unbecoming of me."

"You have nothing to apologise for," Sanemi tells her. "I am the one who is sorry. I spoke very carelessly. I didn't mean to cause you undue stress."

Something happened to this family. Something horrible. He sees it in the shadows of their eyes, in the weary lines that don't belong on the faces of people who are so very young. The sheer terror and panic in Daiya's voice was not a normal reaction someone her age should have. The weight of his guilt feels unbearable upon his shoulders.

"Are you okay?" he asks her softly.

"Yes, I'm okay," she says with a quick nod. A small blush creeps to her cheeks. "P-please don't tell my sister that happened…"

Sanemi smiles softly at her, and lifts his hand again, extending his pinky.

"Of course," he promises her. "Our secret."

Tentatively, Daiya reaches out her hand and hooks her own pinky with his. She smiles gently at the gesture, and she looks more like the composed and refined young girl he remembers.

"Come, you must have had a long journey," she says, then reaches for his pack. "Allow me."

"It's fine," Sanemi assures her. "I can carry it."

Daiya clicks her tongue, but there's no real annoyance or disapproval there. She smiles and relents and leads him into the estate - when she offers him tea, he politely declines.

"I want to train a little, actually," he tells her.

"Did you not just return from more than a week of nothing but training?" Daiya seems a little exasperated at his words.

"And?" he questions her, and she shakes her headbwith a sigh.

"Alright. I'll bring prepare fresh towels and leave them in your quarters. First, let me tell my sister you've arrived home, and let her know about Masachika-san. Will he stay the night at the Butterfly Estate?"

"No," Sanemi shakes his head. "Just a graze on his arm. He looked mortified to be there, so I doubt he'd stay. He was embarrassed to have the Kochou girls caring for him."

"Oh?" Daiya tilts her head at this. "The Kochou girls are caring for him?"

"Is that unusual?"

"Oh, no, not at all…you said he looked rather…mortified?" Daiya presses on.

"Red as the sunset," Sanemi confirms. "He barely let Kochou Kanae touch him."

"I…see," there is something else behind her words. Sanemi glances at her - she has an almost sly smile on her face.

"What?"

"Oh, nothing. I'm glad he is getting the best of care from the Butterfly Estate," Daiya says, then bows at the front of the dining hall. "Good luck with your training, Sanemi-san. I will help sister prepare dinner for us. It's been a very long while since we had a full house again."

She bows and smiles sweetly at him, her glance lingering for just a moment before she disappears through the shoji screen doors. Sanemi makes his way around the edge of the engawa towards the back of the estate. He glances at the master's quarters, where he sees a very thin trail of smoke emerging from the roof.

Akihito-sensei has returned, he reminds himself. He contemplates greeting his master, but decides against it. He's in his private quarters after a long mission - Sanemi does not want to intrude. They will see each other soon enough, so he continues down the familiar dirt path towards the primary training grounds at the back of the estate.

He cracks his knuckles and rolls his neck as he reaches for the blade he has sheathed at his hip, eager to hold a sword in his hands once again. Though the journey back from Asama-yama was only two days, they did not stop to train beyond their nightly sessions practising Total Concentration Breathing. Sanemi's muscles itched at the idea of a proper workout. There was not much that brought him comfort the way a lone training session did.

But when he turns at the edge of the estate, at the corner of the training grounds, he finds that he is not alone. There is someone who appears to be dancing at the far edge of the grounds, a good twenty feet from him. For a second, he thinks it is Daichi - but a flash of long black hair convinces him otherwise.

Who…?

She is about his height, dressed in a simple white kimono, deep red hakama, and a black haori with what looks to be pale golden patterns at the hem. Although her sleeves are tied back by a golden tasuki, the fabric still billows in the wind with each movement, suspended in the air like motes of dust flickering in afternoon sunbeams. She is surrounded by six tameshigiri tatami mat target stands.

There is something so very simple about her movements, yet also so very complex. Each time she pauses, she holds her stance in such a way that Sanemi can see through the folds of her clothing that she is expertly trained with a perfect form.

Why here, though? Is she another of the Doumae girls? No - he's met the entire servant household, they would have told him if there was another. Sanemi recalls that there have been many who have sought tutelage under Master Akihito, and some have been granted leave to use the Spring Estate's training grounds for their own needs - but Sanemi has never seen her in the month he has made residence at the estate. And her movements, her forms - they are not the strong, firm, aggressive stances found in wind breathing.

No, her form is gentle, and she looks more like she is dancing than training. He doesn't even notice he's wandered closer and closer, only a few feet away as he watches her. He's about to open his mouth to call her attention, to ask who she is and what she is doing, when she suddenly jumps, arms outstretched, the fabric of her clothes twirling midair in a flash of red that looks like a rising sun. He's lost in the sight; in movements and grace which are subtle, simple, and soft, like the stillness of persimmons.

When she lands with perfect poise in a low stance, Sanemi hears the familiar sound of a sword returning to its sheath. He hears a sharp exhale of breath, and a whisper, barely audible.

"Adjusted Fifth Form: Pass of the Sun."

Sanemi feels the faintest breeze at his cheek when, suddenly, all six of the tameshigiri tatami mat stands split clean in half. It is a perfect, clean cut - a single circular sword stroke that effortlessly bifurcates the half dozen mats in the blink of an eye.

"You must be Shinazugawa Sanemi," the woman says as she stands, straightening her back. "I'm glad to finally meet you. Masachika has told me much about you."

She turns and smiles at Sanemi, who is lost for words. She is a beautiful young woman, likely around his age. Her long black hair cascades across her shoulders like a river, and her sharp, almond eyes are the colour of amber; bright yet delicate, like the first rays of sunrise. She glances at the sword in his hands and gestures towards it.

"Here to train?" she asks him. "Would you care to join me?"

He blinks at her sheepishly and says the only thing he can think of.

"What stance was that?" he asks. "I've never seen that before. Is it wind breathing?"

She tilts her head at him, a slightly quizzical expression on her face.

"I made it," she tells him simply.

"Made it?" he asks immediately. "Who are you?"

"You…?" she starts a question with a quirk of her brow, but then clamps her mouth shut. The puzzled expression leaves her, replaced with a serene smile.

She approaches him, removing the sword at her hip and placing it on the rack beside Sanemi. From this close, Sanemi can see she is taller than him, albeit only by a few inches. There is a familiar quality to her face that he cannot place. She replaces her sword with two wooden training katana; she sheathes one at her hip, and the other, she twirls in hand. Gripping the wooden blade, she points the hilt at him.

"Spar with me?" she asks. Sanemi huffs.

"You didn't answer my question," he says as he warily eyes the wooden blade.

"Spar with me," she says again. "There's no greater way to get to know someone than with a friendly match, don't you agree?"

There's a moment where Sanemi wants to decline. He has only sparred with a small handful of corps members - most of his sessions with Masachika, who he can tell holds back against his untrained kohai. The others are new recruits the few times they've visited the Sunrise Estate, and he trounces them handily, despite his inexperience. All of them, however, have been boys his age or younger.

Once, before his world turned upside down and he was cast into the wilds alone on his errant journey to eradicate demons, Sanemi thought girls were to be protected. He thought women to be like his mother - sweet, kind, and so gentle that the thought of conflict made her ill. He thought all girls were like Teiko or Sumi, frail and small but filled with love, affection, joy - all the things that Sanemi never felt but desperately wanted to protect.

Sanemi isn't a fool though. He is pragmatic and clever, and he knows better than to misjudge a woman - particularly one who belongs to the corps. He remembers Urokodaki Ritsunoko, the Water Hashira who he has only ever met once - but recalls the story that Masachika had told him - a fierce woman, daughter of the former Water Hashira, who earned her title after slaying over one-hundred-and-twenty-one demons by the age of twenty-one.

So Sanemi contemplates declining this girl's offer to spar, but only for a moment. Then he reminds himself of the grace of her movements, juxtaposed against the efficiency of her sword strokes, and he tells himself - this is no untrained girl from the streets of Kyobashi. She is a demon slayer, one whose calibre sits above his own. Sanemi would be a fool to turn down such an opportunity.

"Fine," he says as he grips the wooden blade with his free hand. He places his own katana on the stand next to the girl's. "Let's spar. What's your name?"

She smiles when he accepts, a twinkle of excitement alight in her eyes. She walks away from him, making her way back to the far end of the training ground. Sanemi follows her after a moment's pause.

"I'll tell you after," she says, turning on the spot. Her right hand crosses over her waist and hovers by the hilt of the sheathed wooden katana on her hip.

"But you know my name already," he says with a scoff. "That hardly seems fair."

"By now, I'm sure you know just as well as I do that Masachika can run his mouth for days," she tells him. "His letters are just as exciting, of course. He's told me much about you."

"Of course he has," Sanemi growls and rolls his eyes. "He's an idiot and a gossip."

The woman laughs at him. It is light and airy, and it sounds like a spring breeze.

"You know him quite well, then," she muses. "He hasn't told you about me?"

"He's told me about a lot of things and a lot of people. It would be easier to recall if he's told me about you if I had a name to go with the memory."

"How very curious," she says with a tilt of her head. Her smile is wide, and she looks deeply amused by this all. "I'm sure you'll connect the dots soon enough."

Sanemi feels the hair on the back of his neck stand on end - from what though, he isn't sure. He can't tell if he's embarrased, because before him stands another woman who knows too much about him and he, nothing of her - or if he's aggravated, because this would all be so much easier if she would tell him her name.

"Try to pin me down. First to yield or be pinned for three counts loses."

Sanemi must make a face at her, because she chuckles at him.

"Disarming is enough," he says, but she shakes her head.

"A poor attitude," she says to him. "A disarmed demon is still a demon."

Her words catch him by surprise, and he stiffens.

"You're not a demon though," he says. "And a pinned demon is still a demon."

"Ah, too true," she says with that same, wry smile. "But still, it does you no favours to underestimate your opponent, Shinazugawa-san."

Sanemi sighs. Sparring is one thing, but he can't conscience physically overpowering a girl his age and pinning her to the floor. His distaste must show on his face when she finally shakes her head at him.

"Fine," she relents with a shrug. "First to yield or fall loses. You only need to knock me off balance."

"Alright," Sanemi twists the wooden sparring blade in his hand as he rolls his neck. "Fine."

Sanemi grips the sword with both hands, steadying his breathing. He raises it above his head and brings it down before him; one strong swing as he nods to the girl. She nods back at him, hand still hovering at the hilt of her sword.

"Begin."

Sanemi quirks his brow at her, apprehensive for a moment. She does not move from where she stands, nor does she unsheath her sword. For a second, he wonders if he misheard her, because she is as still as a statue, silently waiting.

So she wants me to make the first move, Sanemi thinks. Fine.

Sanemi takes in a deep breath, letting the oxygen flow through his body to fuel his muscles. He adjusts his grip slightly and dashes at the girl, bringing his blade above his right shoulder. When he brings it down, though, the loud clap of wood against wood echoes through the courtyard, and in an instant, Sanemi's blade is in the dirt as the girl twists away from him, the fabric of her clothes fluttering like errant wingbeats. He quickly turns to see her stanced exactly as she was before - they've swapped positions, yet she is perfectly still, a wry smile upon her lips as her golden eyes twinkle with curiosity. Sanemi notes the still-sheathed wooden training katana at her hip.

He heard it - he knows he did. The sound of wood against wood, undeniably his blade echoing off her's - he glances quickly at the wooden blade. In the centre, he sees a small chip in the wood.

Did she parry my blow? he wonders to himself.

"A wide opening attack," she tells him. "Strong, but slow. Easily predictable - easy to counter."

Sanemi adjusts his grip again, takes another breath, and lunges towards her. This time, he tries a horizontal slash - he draws his blade to his left, plants his right foot into the ground just before he reaches her and twists his body, swinging the blade right –

Another echo of wood against wood, and suddenly, the tragectory of his swing is completely wrong. It's supposed to be a simple horizontal slash - one swift, strong, aggressive movement from left to right - but half way through, his swords swings upwards, towards to sky, and Sanemi can't comprehend what went wrong. He feels a sharp impact at his ribs and jumps back with a small, surprised gasp.

She kicked him. He watches as she lowers her right leg back to the ground. This time, her sword is in hand, but if it weren't for the loud clap of their blades meeting at some point during his attack, Sanemi would not think she'd even used her's. He did not see her move at all.

"Better!" she praises him. "But you put too much force into a single swing. Sweeping blows like this can be easily parried - all your momentum lost at once."

"Is this a spar or a lesson?" he asks, frustrated.

"Isn't every spar a lesson?" she asks in return. "Isn't every training session an opportunity to learn?"

Sanemi huffs. Who is she? She speaks like Master Akihito; a fount of knowledge at her fingertips and an eagerness to teach and assess.

"Again," she urges him. She sheathes her sword once more then stills until she is like a statue, her clothing rustling slightly in the wind.

Sanemi takes a moment to consider his next move. She is waiting for him to act first, that much is clear. He has barely seen a single sword stroke from her. Two large chips eat at his wooden blade, so he knows she has parried him twice now, but she has moved so quickly, Sanemi could only catch the sight of her sword well after the second counter.

Another exhale, deeper this time, and Sanemi crouches into a lower stance - across the training grounds, the girl watches him curiously. He'll have to match her speed. An adjusted wind breathing stance will do - the fastest one he knows.

"First Form," he exhales. "Dust Whirlwind."

He lunges forward at a blinding speed, but around him, Sanemi sees the world move at half the speed. With expert control over his breathing, Sanemi calms his heart to a steady rhythm, and everything around him seems to slow ever so slightly.

A feint will end this quickly. Sanemi grips his blade, trailing it to his right. He starts another open swing as he sees the girl adjust her stance ever so slightly to dodge a horizontal strike. At the last moment, when he is less than a metre from her, Sanemi ducks into a low, crouched stance, twisting his blade into his right hand to adjust from a slash to an uppercut. He brings his sword up - sees the blade barely touch the hem of her sleeve - and suddenly, she's shifted.

The next few movements happen in an instant. Her stance has shifted from square to bladed, and she swiftly dodges his blow. His uppercut hangs in the air, touching nothing but the sky. Sanemi suddenly feels her left hand grip tightly onto his right wrist. Her right arm shoots out and firmly grabs him by the collar of his jinbei - Sanemi sees the briefest flash of her black hair as she steps forward and pushes him, his head snapping backwards as she rotates inwards, then, all at once, Sanemi feels himself lifted from the ground as she pivots him forward and flips him effortlessly over her shoulder and into the dirt.

Sanemi looks up at her from the ground, speechless as her golden eyes twinkle above him. She is kneeling at his head as she smiles.

"I win," she whispers.

He doesn't move from where he lies, back rooted to the ground as he stares up into the sky. The girl stands and stretches slightly, but when she notices that Sanemi has not moved, she leans over and extends her hand.

"Here," she says.

He tentatively takes her outstretched hand and she firmly grips it, pulling him to his feet with a surprising amount of strength.

"Very impressive," she says to him when he steadies himself. "Your control over your breathing is impeccable, and your stance was perfect. It's only been a month, hasn't it?"

Sanemi grunts in reply.

He doesn't know what to say to that. The praise feels like it should be hollow, because he lost, didn't he? But her voice is warm and her eyes are sincere in a way that reminds Sanemi of the kindness in his mother's. It feels genuine. It feels real.

When Sanemi realises his hand is still grasped in hers, he quickly tugs it away and pats down his hakama.

"That was –" Sanemi stops and searches for words. He settles for honesty. "I didn't expect that. You were right."

"About?"

"Underestimating you. It didn't do me well at all. You're…stronger than you look."

"I'm really not," she admits with a shake of her head. "In a match of pure strength against you, I would not win."

"You still won," Sanemi argues. "Sheer strength can only carry you so far."

"Quite right, Shinazugawa-san," she says. "Just because one is small or weak does not mean they're unable to counter. A strong opening offensive will get you far, but learn to parry and use your opponent's strength against them, and you will go even farther."

"Teach me that move," Sanemi says suddenly. "The way you redirected me."

The way she threw him was flawless and too well trained to be simple luck. Sanemi knows nothing about the martial arts beyond wind breathing, but he knows that some unarmed arts, like juujutsu and aiki-juujutsu, are cultivated in dojos across the nation. If this is something one can learn, then Sanemi endeavours to learn it. Anything to become stronger. Anything to go farther. Anything to destroy demons.

Something akin to surprise flickers across the girl's features. She stares at him, as if to appraise him.

"Now?" she asks. "You still don't know my name."

He had all but forgotten that was even a concern. So focused on the need to learn, Sanemi lost sight of everything else. It all begins with the first step though, he supposes.

"Okay," he says. "Tell me your name, and then teach me."

Instead, she laughs at him. Sanemi frowns. What's there to be amused at?

"You are…" she starts, as if she doesn't know the right words. "Different from what I imagined…yet somehow also exactly as described."

Sanemi brow's furrow until they almost meet at the centre of his forehead. He still doesn't know who this girl is, and he'd like to find out sooner rather than later, but his curiosity has peaked.

"And exactly what did you imagine?" he grumbles, mind wandering at what Masachika could possibly have said about him.

"I…" she brings a finger to her chin, her eyes darting to the sky as she thinks. She takes her time to choose her words, then smiles and shrugs. "Masachika said you were mean."

"He –" Sanemi stammers, a grimace blossoming on his face. "He fucking said what?"

She laughs at him as she explains.

"He said he was so excited to have a kohai, but that you liked to tease and bully him. That you never listen to him and are always so serious and straight to the point. He also mentioned you having a sweet tooth, and that you threatened him whenever he tried to indulge it."

Sanemi is fuming. He groans and smacks his forehead against his palm. He knew that idiot was spouting bullshit, he knew he was spreading nothing but gossip and tall tales to - to who? To strangers?

"Who the hell are you, anyway?" Sanemi growls at the girl, who only smiles. "Why the fuck are you getting letters about me?"

"Ah, so there's the temper," she muses with a laugh. Sanemi feels himself go red, but he's not sure if it's from embarrassment or rage.

"How many damn people is Kumeno going to run his mouth off about me? If he thinks I'm a bully now, he's got another thing coming the second I see that stupid face of his!"

"I'll hold you to that," she laughs. "Gods only know he needs someone to help put him in line. That mouth has gotten him into trouble countless times."

"I'll rip it off," Sanemi promises. "What else did he fucking say about me?"

He doesn't expect it when her smile softens, eyes warm with affection. She regards him slowly, and when she speaks, her words are kind, gentle, and genuine.

"He also said that underneath that tough exterior, you were kind with a good heart. He said that you were driven and dedicated - that it had been years since he saw someone with the same sheer natural talent as you. He said you surpassed all his expectations. Not just his, either. Uncle told me you were passionate. It's been so long since I've seen him so happy. He sees great potential in you, and so does Masachika. I think I see it too, now."

Sanemi feels his jaw fall slack. He's bad at this; bad at accepting praise that is open, honest, and kind. Praise that is not honeyed and sweetened for his ears, but genuine and true for someone else to hear. Masachika has no reason to speak so highly of him to a stranger he has never met.

But there's something else to her words, something that catches his attention and makes him wonder. Uncle told me, she had said. Uncle…?

Sanemi blinks and practically barks his next few words.

"Your name," he asks again. "You said one can learn a lot from people from a spar, but I still haven't learned your name. Isn't that the least you can do?"

"Ah, of course. Thank you for humouring me for so long, Shinazugawa-san," she bows to him, a perfect one that is low and refined and tells him she is no commoner. "My name is Kakutani Yoake, and it is a pleasure to meet you."

"Kakutani…" Sanemi repeats and digests the introduction.

In the month that Sanemi has resided at the Spring Estate, the only member of the Kakutani household he has seen is Master Akihito. He had assumed that the other members of the household were also corps members, sent to various regions across the land on missions, and that he would meet them all soon enough. But as the days passed one by one, and he learned more and more about the family's history through hints of sombre conversation he pieced together himself, Sanemi came to suspect that there were no others remaining except for Master Akihito and his heir.

The realisation washes over him like a bucket of cold water doused from head to toe. Sanemi stammers slightly, trying to compose himself. He feels his cheeks flush red when the girl - when Kakutani Yoake - chuckles at him.

"You're Master Akihito's heir," Sanemi says - half a statement, half a question.

"Correct. I am."

"You're his former tsuguko, the one who became a hashira."

"Also correct," she says with a nod. "I am the Crane Hashira. It's good to meet you properly, Shinazugawa-san."

Yoake brings her arms together, her hands lightly touching her knees as she leans into another perfect bow.

Sanemi feels his head spin only slightly. He had wanted to meet Akihito's heir in… different circumstances, he admits. He recalls the crass language and rough attitude he's been using this entire time and stifles a groan.

In his attempts to remain respectful of the household, Sanemi did not pry into the matter of his master's late wife or child. He did not pry into the circumstances that cost the lives of the master's brother and his wife. Foolishly, he had assumed Master Akihito's heir was his brother's son.

"You assumed I was a man," she says when she straightens, as if reading his mind.

"I- I never pried into Master Akihito's personal life or affairs -" Sanemi starts, but Yoake waves away his words.

"A common mistake," she assures him. "My apologies for not telling you sooner. When I realised you did not know who I was, the opportunity simply seemed too tempting. People tend to treat me differently when they know who I am. The way you speak to me…it's refreshing. No false praise and respect for only a name."

Sanemi considers her words. There is a part of him, the part at the back of his head, the part taught by his mother, that knows certain people are owed certain respects. Those who are wealthy, influential, or royal should be given respect - not because it is owed, but because it is expected.

But Sanemi has never cared for the ways of the world as such. Respect was given when it was earned - it was one of the many reasons he'd spend nights doubled over in pain, clutching his stomach as deep purple bruises blossomed on his skin like a sickness. His father never earned; only demanded. Only took.

He respects Master Akihito because he's seen the way the man moves - seen the way he carries himself with purpose and dignity and poise. He is the master, and Sanemi is the student. The respect is deserved.

He respects Masachika, even if he won't admit it aloud. Not because he is his senpai, but because he is kind. He is infuriating, aggravating, annoying - but he is patient, genuine, and attentive. He is Sanemi's teacher as well. The respect is deserved.

"I don't give false praise," he tells Yoake. "False praise leads to false expectations."

She contemplates his words, then nods in approval.

"When what you expect does not meet what is real, you will underestimate your enemy and overestimate your skill. When you are a demon slayer, you have no such luxury."

He can see it now - that faint hint of recollection when he looked at her earlier turns into recognition. She reminds him of Master Akihito.

"Yoake," a voice calls from afar. "Sanemi."

There is the faint sound of approaching footsteps against the gravel of the path from the main estate to the primary training grounds. Sanemi turns to see Master Akihito approaching, as if summoned from the mere thought of his name. He is not in his uniform - instead, he wears a simple forest green kimono with his usual haori. It billows in the wind as he approaches. Beside him, Yoake has leaned into a low bow of deference. Sanemi mimics her motions immediately.

"Uncle," she says, raising her head. "It is good to see you before dinner. Have you finished your reports?"

"No, but moment of respite from paperwork is welcome," Akihito replies, voice deep and slow, like a monk's. "I see you have met Sanemi."

"Yes, uncle," Yoake replies. "We sparred together."

Her tone is different. The way she speaks to her uncle is not at all the way she spoke to him. The levity in her voice is gone - that gentle quality that Sanemi likened to the sound of a spring breeze is instead replaced by a tone that is low, serious, and deeply polite. She keeps her head low, respectfully avoiding her uncle's gaze.

"Your appraisal, then?" he asks with the faintest hint of amusement in his tone. "Does my new student have your approval?"

"You hardly need my approval at all, Uncle. You are my teacher as well."

"I was your teacher, but now you are a master all your own. You stand at my level as a hashira. So tell me, is he a worthy successor to the art of wind breathing?"

Yoake glances at Sanemi, her expression serious. Sanemi feels uncomfortable under her appraising gaze. When she speaks, she speaks slowly.

"The first time he ever held a sword was only one month ago, is that right?" she asks.

"Correct."

"Then he is a prodigy. He controls his breathing expertly, and his stance is strong. He has a firm grip and moves fast. I've only seen him perform one form, yet after only a month, he has performed it with a mastery even I could not obtain. Even Masachika did not take to the art so quickly - it took him months to perfect the first stance. He is curious, and his desire to improve and learn is admirable. He reminds me of –"

Yoake's voice trails away, and she avoids Sanemi's gaze. She looks distant suddenly, as if she's in a different place entirely. She almost looks lost. Akihito is still and silent, and Sanemi realises he is holding his breath. It's only now that he realises that it is so very quiet at the estate.

"He reminds me of Kousuke," she whispers after a pause that lasts too long - after a silence that it seems even the wind was too scared to break.

Akihito gives her a look of shock, one that surprises Sanemi. His master is usually so stoic and calm - smiles are rare and laughs rarer. He has never seen Akihito express such a look of bewilderment, though.

"That is high praise," Akihito says, his features returning to their usual stoic look. "You have never valued empty praise."

"No, uncle. I have not."

"I see," Akihito seems lost in thought for a moment, then turns to Sanemi. "Where is Masachika?"

Sanemi chooses his words very carefully to avoid repeating his earlier encounter with Daiya.

"Kumeno-san is having a medical check up at the Butterfly Estate, he cut his arm on a tree."

"On a tree?" Yoake almost laughs. "That's new, even for him."

"He was being an i–" Sanemi swallows his words. "He proposed… a foolish wager with me. I declined, and he did it anyway to prove that he could."

Akihito sighs, looking only slightly exasperated. He shakes his head.

"The boy has more energy than sense."

To put it lightly, Sanemi muses, biting the inside of his cheek to hold himself back from saying it aloud.

"Yoake-tan!" A young voice calls. "Yoake-tan!"

It's Miharu, Sanemi recognises from the sweet, childish tone of her voice. He can hear her skipping from around the corner, accompanied by another set of footsteps. From around the bend, he spies Daichi and Miharu coming into view, and Miharu barrels ahead of her mother in an excited run.

"Yoake-tan! Yoak–"

When Akihito turns to face them, she stops dead in her tracks, the colour draining from her face. Behind her, Daichi seems startled before she quickly shuffles to Miharu's side. She leans into a deep bow, and Miharu does the same before she retreats behind her mother's legs.

"Kakutani-sama," Daichi says, her voice quiet. "My apologies, I had thought you were in your quarters. Forgive me, I did not mean to interrupt –"

Akihito raises his hand, and Dachi swiftly quietens. Beside her, Miharu stares intensely at the hem of Akihito's hakama. She is pale and quiet, and Sanemi does not understand why. He has never seen her like this before.

"It's quite alright. I was on my way. A small sojourn from my quarters and scrolls for fresh air," Akihito says, voice stiff. He turns to nod at Sanemi and Yoake. "I'll be leaving now. I will join you in the dining hall for tonight, rather than take my supper in my quarter's."

That's different, Sanemi thinks. That's not his routine. Akihito is a creature of habit, and he rarely breaks his routine. He is a private man who prefers to take his meals alone - outside of the training grounds, Sanemi has seen little of him despite the time he's spent at the Spring Estate. A flutter of nerves hits him - he's never dined with his master before. He doesn't know why it makes him nervous, but there is a pressure on his shoulders that was not there before.

"I look forward to it, uncle," Yoake says and dips into a bow. Akihito nods at them both and begins to walk away.

As he passes Daichi and Miharu, who both bow respectfully, Sanemi sees Akihito lean down to whisper to Daichi. He cannot hear what he says, but he sees Miharu stiffen.

Daichi's bow dips even deeper as she whispers a dutiful 'yes, Kakutani-sama', and Akihito disappears from the training yard with a nod.

Although the Doumae family is the servant household of the Spring Estate, Sanemi has never seen Masachika treat them anything less than like family. Sanemi rarely sees Akihito outside of the training grounds, but the man has always seemed stiff without a sword in hand. He's noticed that the Doumae girls are deeply respectful to him, even more so than they are to Sanemi or Masachika. He assumes it is because Akihito is master of the estate and head of the household - even Miharu knows to hold her tongue around him.

A few quiet moments pass when Sanemi hears Yoake sigh beside him. She crouches down as she looks at Miharu.

"Miharu," she says, voice gentle and sweet. "Come here, won't you? Have you met Shinazugawa-san?"

Miharu quickly runs to Yoake and grips her hand tightly with her small fingers. She looks to Sanemi and smiles as she nods. The sparkle in her eye returns, and her voice sounds lighter when she speaks. The girl he remembers is back.

"Yes," Miharu says. "I've met Sane-tan!"

"Sane-tan?" Yoake repeats with a smile as she looks up at Sanemi. "How very cute. Did Masachika come up with that one?"

Sanemi can't help the groan that escapes his throat. He runs his hand through his hair.

"Don't start," he quips.

"Shinazugawa-sama," Daichi interrupts them with a bow. "Forgive me, Daiya had told me you'd returned, but I was busy with another matter. I should have taken your things and prepared you tea. Did you come straight to the courtyard?"

"I did. And it's fine. That's not necessary," Sanemi shakes his head and Daichi's insistent politeness. It's something he still struggles with. She spies his pack on the ground by the rack and gestures to it.

"Shall I bring your things back to your quarters?"

"No, it's fine," Sanemi refuses again. He's not annoyed - he's long become used to Daichi's ways - but he still cannot accept her offers.

"I see," she bows again. "As you wish, Shinazugawa-sama. Welcome home. It is very good to see you again so soon. Daiya told me that Kumeno-sama is receiving a medical review at the Butterfly Estate, is that correct?"

"Apparently Masachika took a bit of a tumble," Yoake interjects. "He's getting patched up."

Daichi quickly turns her head.

"It's nothing serious, is it?"

"Just a scratch," Sanemi quickly adds. "He's fine. Just stupid."

Daichi sighs and shakes her head.

"That boy…" she mutters.

Sanemi can't help the small smile at the corner of his lips. At least everyone else can also see Masachika for the fool that he is. He feels a small tug on his hakama and looks down to see Miharu, her hand on his hip.

"Is Masa-tan coming home?" Miharu asks.

"He'll be back in time for dinner," Sanemi tells her as he ruffles her hair. She laughs at his touch, and that small smile he tried to hide begins to blossom.

"Shinazugawa-sama, you've traveled quite a while," Daichi says. "I will draw a bath for you. And you as well, Kakutani-sama - you haven't left the training grounds since the morning."

"Oh, but we're not done," Yoake starts. When Daichi eyes her intently though, Yoake laughs nervously. "You're right, I've been here since morning. A bath would be nice."

Daichi smiles and nods approvingly, and she takes Miharu's hand in her own.

"Come now, Miharu. You can help me prepare the baths," she says then bows to Sanemi and Yoake. "They will be ready within the hour. I will send Miharu to your quarters to let you know."

"Thank you, Daichi."

Daichi bows, and Miharu runs to Yoake and catches her in a hug so suddenly, the older girl makes a small oof at the impact. Yoake pats her head and Miharu let's her go as she scrambles back to the estate, her mother following behind her.

"My apologies, Shinazugawa-san," Yoake says to him once the two Doumae girls have left. "I'm afraid we'll need to go through that lesson tomorrow instead. It seems I've been placed under a curfew."

Daichi has a way with them that Sanemi finds both aggravating and endearing. There have been several times when she's caught him in the training grounds well after sundown, and while she never demands he stop, she always looks at him in such a way that he finds he cannot say no. It is the piercing glare of a mother, and even if she is not his own, he dreads the idea of disappointing her. Like Sanemi, Masachika is also not immune to the intensity of her gaze - and it seems that Yoake is no different.

"Why haven't I met you before today?" Sanemi asks suddenly. The curiosity is eating away at him at the back of his mind, and he can't stand to wait any longer. His question catches her by surprise.

"I've been away on a mission. They don't usually take as long as this, but it was not a routine patrol of my region. I'm not fond of being away for so long, truth be told."

Sanemi nods, contemplating. More and more questions tumble out of his mind and his mouth before he can stop them.

"You said you are the Crane Hashira?"

"Yes, correct."

"You don't practice wind breathing?"

She doesn't reply immediately. There's something of a sad look in her eyes.

"I do not," she tells him eventually. "I began training very young. Wind breathing is our family's ancestral art, however I found that the style was not…suited to me."

"That form you practice earlier," Sanemi continues. "You said you made it?"

"I did. Crane breathing is an esoteric art derived from wind breathing. I adapted it to suit my weaknesses."

"And your strengths," Sanemi muses.

Yoake does not reply to him. She looks at him curiously, an unreadable emotion in her golden eyes.

"You adapted your weakness into a strength," he says.

"How very observant of you," she replies. "My mother was an accomplished juudouka and dabbled in daitou-ryuu aiki-juujutsu, the art of manipulating the flow of energy. She helped me adapt wind breathing into something that suited my own needs."

Suddenly, Sanemi remembers Sado. He recalls the tale she had shared with him.

"Your parents - are they Kakutani Atsuhito and Isane?"

He speaks before he thinks, and immediately wishes he could take it back. Kakutani Atsuhito and Isane are dead. He feels nothing but dread and exasperation at his own lack of courtesy and tact.

But Yoake doesn't seem to mind - or at least, she doesn't show it. Though her eyes seem sad, the smile doesn't leave her face.

"Yes, they are," she tells him. "Has Masachika told you about them?"

"I – sort of. Well…not really," Sanemi scratches the back of his head while he searches for the right words. He decides to show, not tell, and gestures towards his pack.

Sanemi shuffles through his bag and retrieves the beautifully crafted lacquerbox that Sado had given him. When he shows it to Yoake, her eyes widen and she gasps at the sight of the golden foil kamon.

"Where did you get this?" she asks him.

"We were at Asama-yama for the past week to train. A woman named Sado hosted us at a wisteria house. She said your mother and father saved her many years ago. She said your mother gave her this box. She wanted me to have it."

Yoake's eyes are transfixed on the box, golden rings that so perfectly mirror the foil in the lacquer. She reaches for the box, then stops herself.

"May I?" she asks tentatively. Sanemi nods and lifts it closer to her.

She takes it from him, her fingertips delicately tracing the ring of plum blossoms encircling the rising sun that is her family crest. Her eyes dart from each brush stroke, admiring every petal, bud, and branch of the plum blossom tree that crawls up the sides of the box. Her eyes have a glassy quality to them that was not there before.

"My mother was famed for her skills in lacquerware," Yoake tells him. "She marked her work with our kamon, and gold foil was her signature. She made this. This has to be more than thirty years old."

When she places the box back into his palm, Sanemi reaches to open the golden clasp. He carefully takes the furin wind chime from its soft cushion, holding it close to his chest. He pushes the now empty box back to Yoake.

"Take it," he says. "It belonged to your mother. It belongs to you."

Her eyes widen.

"What?"

"This furin - Sado-san gave it to me. Her late husband made it, and she wanted me to have it. But this box belonged to your mother. You're the rightful owner."

Yoake looks at the lacquer box like it is the most valuable thing in the world. He sees the reflection of the golden kamon in her glassy eyes, and he thinks it is fitting. Plum blossoms and the rising sun bloom in the eyes of the Kakutani family's heir.

She reaches for it - then closes the lid and shuts the clasp, pushing the box back towards his heart.

"This is your's," she tells him. "Mother made this, but she passed it to the woman in the wisteria house - and that woman passed it to you. You are the rightful owner, Shinazugawa-san."

When Sanemi tries to push the box back towards her, her fingers tighten around his own.

"Please," she says. "That my mother's own creation has landed in your possession… I do not believe in fate. But this feels right. Please keep it. For good luck."

Her fingers are warm against his own. She wraps her hands around his - he feels the callouses on her skin, which are tough and hardened, and yet her touch is somehow so delicate and soft. It reminds him of his mother's gentle hands - hands that she worked to the bone until the skin was dry, broken, and hard, yet filled with such affection that her love seeped through the cracks and made every touch feel so warm.

Sanemi pulls the box back to his chest. When she lets go of his hands, he feels bereft. He gently opens the clasp and returns Sado's furin wind chime to the cushion.

"Thank you, Kakutani-san," he whispers.

"Yoake," she replies, golden eyes gentle and warm. "Please call me Yoake."

"I–" Sanemi stutters, then swallows. "Sanemi – call me Sanemi, then…Yoake-san."

The smile she gives him is simple, subtle, and soft, like the stillness of persimmons.

"Okay," she says. "Sanemi-san."

---

Author's Notes:

I would like to note that this chapter is (obviously) told from the perspective of Sanemi, who I would like to reiterate is a young fourteen-year-old teenager who has grown up in poverty in Meiji-era Japan. He is an unreliable narrator with traditional sensibilities and preferences in a time where great change was sweeping across a former strictly isolationist country that is also known for its stark differences in gender roles. A reminder that one of the tags for this story is period typical attitudes, and while I approach a lot of these attitudes in a much 'lighter' fashion (as KNY itself does, as there is very little mention of how outlandish a woman holding a katana in this era would be), there will still be themes that are considered sexist or xenophobic in our modern era.

A reminder that you can find chapter notes over at snowmoonandflower on tumblr. I would deeply appreciate your thoughts on this chapter; if you are enjoying the story, please let me know in the comments 3