The night air brushed cool against his skin, but it did little to quell the restless heat simmering in Ryoga's chest. He sat by the window, one leg bent, elbow propped on his knee, his gaze locked on the small pendant resting against his collarbone. His fingers traced the smooth, dark stone, the gold etching glinting faintly in the lantern light.
A tiger.
Ukyo had said it reminded her of him.
A quiet scoff escaped him, his head shaking as if to dislodge the thought. A tiger? Him? He was no tiger. He was a wanderer, a fool who couldn't even find his way home, let alone embody something so bold, so fierce.
But then he remembered the way she'd held the pendant up to his neck, her fingers brushing his skin as she fastened the chain. The way she'd looked at him—not teasing, not mocking, but with a quiet sincerity that had made his chest tighten.
"I bought it for you because we're friends," she had said, her voice soft but steady."You're resilient…"
The words lingered in the air, heavy with something unspoken. It wasn't just what she'd said—it was the way she'd said it. Like she truly meant it. Like she saw him—not as the lost, bumbling fool everyone else seemed to think he was, but as someone strong, someone worth believing in.
Her tone had been so sincere, so matter-of-fact, as if it were the simplest truth in the world. And that was what caught him off guard. Not the pendant, not the gesture itself, but the way she'd looked at him—her eyes steady, her expression open, as if she were offering him something far more than just a piece of jewelry.
It was the kind of honesty that left him breathless, the kind that made his chest tighten and his thoughts scatter. Because no one had ever looked at him like that before. No one had ever spoken to him like that before.
His grip on the charm tightened now, the edges digging into his palm.
It wasn't just the pendant. It was everything. The way their conversations had grown easier, the way her teasing no longer grated but instead drew a reluctant smile. The way they could sit in silence, and it didn't feel heavy or awkward—just comfortable. Like they didn't need words to understand each other.
And then there was tonight.
The sparring had started as it always did—familiar, almost routine. But then she'd stumbled, and he'd moved without thinking, his arms locking around her waist, pulling her close. Too close. He hadn't meant to hold on that long, but he'd felt it—the way her breath hitched, the way her fingers curled lightly against his wrist, as if she didn't want to let go either.
And when she'd helped him with the pendant…
Ryoga's eyes squeezed shut, his jaw tightening as the memory replayed in his mind. Her hands, warm and steady, brushed against his neck. Her voice was soft and low, so close he could feel her breath on his skin. The way she'd looked at him—really looked at him—and for a moment, the world had stopped.
He groaned, dropping his forehead against his knee, his fingers tangling in his hair. This wasn't supposed to happen. This wasn't possible.
Because he loved Akane.
Didn't he?
Ukyo was just a friend.
Akane was everything he'd ever wanted. She was kind, warm, the dream he'd carried with him for years. He had come all this way for her. The only reason he agreed to travel with Ukyo in the first place was because of the certainty of getting back to her. He was supposed to be training, preparing himself to finally tell her how he felt.
So, why couldn't he stop thinking about Ukyo?
Why did the memory of her hands on his skin make his stomach twist in ways he couldn't explain? Why did her voice—her laugh, her smirk—linger in his mind, pushing out every thought of Akane?
He clenched his fists, his nails biting into his palms. He needed to stop this. He needed to stop thinking about her.
It didn't mean anything.
It couldn't.
Just a moment. A fleeting, meaningless moment. They're friends, after all.
That's what he told himself, over and over, even as the ache in his chest refused to fade.