#gxg

For you, [Y/N], this world initially seemed alien and frightening. As the younger sister of Gyokuyou, the Emperor's favorite concubine and mistress of the Jade Pavilion, you entered these gates not as a captive, but as an honored guest. Having inherited the same striking features from your Western ancestors as your older sister—rose-colored hair and eyes resembling two sparkling emeralds—you instantly became an object of intense scrutiny. You and Gyokuyou were destined to shine, but while your sister bore the heavy burden of being the Emperor’s favorite and the mother of his child, you, as a seventeen-year-old girl, enjoyed a unique freedom. You were untouchable. And it was precisely this freedom that allowed you to find the most unusual friend in the Rear Palace imaginable.

Maomao.

An apothecary girl with an eternally imperturbable face, a dusting of artificial freckles on her nose, and eyes that ignited with a manic gleam only at the mention of poisons, rare diseases, or strange medical anomalies. While other maids trembled before your lineage, Maomao treated you with pragmatic calm. To her, you weren't the "Honorable Sister of the Lady," but simply [Y/N]—a girl who wasn't afraid to get her hands dirty helping her transplant medicinal herbs, and who listened with genuine curiosity to her long lectures on the properties of poisonous mushrooms.

You became inseparable. Wherever Maomao appeared, you followed like a shadow, creating an incredibly contrasting yet harmonious duo.

Morning at the Jade Pavilion began, as always, with bustle. Maids scurried about with basins of hot water, brushing Gyokuyou’s hair and preparing breakfast. You sat on the edge of the veranda, swinging your legs in the air, watching Maomao methodically grind dried leaves of some plant in a stone mortar. The scent of wormwood and mint tickled your nostrils.

"If you continue to watch me with such diligence, [Y/N]-sama, I’ll begin to think a rare form of mold has grown on my face," Maomao said without looking up. Her voice was even, devoid of any emotional coloring.

You laughed softly, jumping down from the veranda and walking closer. "I asked you, Maomao. Just [Y/N]. No 'sama.' We’re the same age, and here in the garden, there is no one to reprimand us for breaking etiquette. What are you preparing?"

"An ointment for calluses," the apothecary answered dryly, adding a drop of oil to the mortar. "The maids from the laundry complained about cracks on their hands yesterday. The lye they use is too aggressive. If I add calendula extract and beeswax, it will create a protective film."

"You always take care of others, even if you try to hide it behind your eternally bored expression," you tilted your head with a smile.

Maomao only shrugged ever so slightly, ignoring the compliment. At that moment, the pavilion doors slid open with a clatter, and Hongniang—Gyokuyou’s head lady-in-waiting—appeared on the threshold. Her eyebrows were sternly furrowed, and her hands were planted on her hips.

"[Y/N]-sama! You are distracting Maomao from her work again!" Hongniang said sternly, though her eyes held more weary motherly concern than genuine anger. "And look at the hem of your dress! You were sitting on the wooden boards again. Lady Gyokuyou asked me to tell you that today is relatively calm, and if you wish to take a walk, you should take a guard with you."

"No guards, Hongniang!" you waved your hands, wrinkling your nose. "They walk on my heels and scare everyone away. I’ll go with Maomao. She was just about to take the ointment to the laundry. Right, Maomao?"

You looked expressively at the apothecary girl. She sighed heavily, understanding that she couldn't refuse the mistress's sister, and honestly, your company didn't annoy her at all. You were an excellent buffer between her and the meddlesome inhabitants of the palace.

"Yes," Maomao confirmed calmly, transferring the finished ointment into a small ceramic jar. "We’ll walk to the laundry, and then I need to stop by the eastern gardens. I saw some wild garlic sprouts there that I’d like to gather for supplies."

Hongniang rubbed the bridge of her nose in despair. "Two seventeen-year-old girls... One is the sister of the Emperor’s favorite concubine, the other is a poison-obsessed herbalist. What could possibly go wrong?" she muttered under her breath. "Go. But I beg you, don't get into trouble! If any of the High-ranking Consorts decide to pick on you, [Y/N]-sama, use your status. And you, Maomao, see to it that she doesn't eat anything questionable from the bushes!"

Having received permission (and a portion of lecturing), you left the safe walls of the Jade Pavilion, stepping into the labyrinth of the Rear Palace.

A walk with Maomao was always like an educational excursion. As you walked along the winding paths paved with white stone, she continuously scanned the flowerbeds, shrubs, and trees. For an ordinary person, it was just a beautiful landscape; for Maomao, it was a vast, living pharmacy and a potential arsenal of poisons.

You walked beside her, hands behind your back, enjoying the warm spring sun. Your path led through the eastern gardens—a place where maids from different pavilions crossed paths. Here, a silent, implicit hierarchy reigned.

Suddenly, a quiet, stifled sob drifted from behind a thicket of blooming camellias.

You stopped instantly, your face turning serious. In the Rear Palace, sobbing rarely meant anything good. More often than not, it was a harbinger of cruel bullying by senior maids. You exchanged glances with Maomao. There was no sympathy in her eyes, but there was a cold, analytical interest. You turned off the path simultaneously, pushing aside the branches of the bush.

On a stone bench sat a young girl in the uniform of a low-ranking maid. She was rocking back and forth, cradling her hands, which were covered in a terrifying, bright red rash that was turning into blisters. The girl was gasping through her sobs, her face swollen from tears.

"What happened?" your voice was soft but authoritative. You approached her, while Maomao remained standing a little way off, her eyes already scanning the affected areas of skin.

Hearing your voice and seeing your luxurious rose-colored hair, the maid jumped up in terror and tried to bow despite the pain. "M-Mistress... forgive me, I didn't mean to disturb you with my unworthy appearance!" she stuttered.

"Forget the bowing," you gently sat her back down on the bench. "Show me your hands. What happened to them? Were you punished? Scalded with boiling water?"

"N-no, Mistress," the maid sniffled, struggling to hold back tears. "I was just cleaning my mistress’s chambers, wiping dust off the new lacquered boxes that arrived yesterday. And then... my hands started itching unbearably. I washed them, but it only got worse. The senior maids chased me away, said I was contagious and could infect the Mistress. They said they would kick me out of the palace!"

Maomao, who had been silent until this moment, approached silently. Her face remained impassive, but a gleam of professional excitement appeared in her eyes.

"Let me take a look," the apothecary commanded, taking the maid’s hands into her own, unceremoniously but gently.

The girl flinched, but you nodded encouragingly: "Trust her, she is the best healer in this palace."

Maomao carefully examined the blisters, smelled the skin, and then looked at the girl’s reddened eyes and slightly swollen face.

"This is neither an infection nor a curse," Maomao stated, releasing her hands. "It is contact dermatitis. A strong allergic reaction. You said you were wiping new lacquered boxes?"

"Yes," the maid nodded timidly.

"The lacquer for them was likely made from the sap of a lacquer tree (Toxicodendron vernicifluum)," Maomao began her lecture, her voice becoming more animated. "The drying process for lacquer takes a long time and requires specific humidity conditions. If the boxes were delivered in haste, the lacquer might not have polymerized completely. The sap of this tree contains urushiol—a potent allergen. It causes contact dermatitis in most people. You simply touched the wet lacquer and then, likely, touched your face."

"And what should I do?" the maid asked in a panic. "The blisters hurt so much..."

Maomao reached into the bag she always carried and pulled out that very jar of ointment she had prepared in the morning. "It’s your luck that we were on our way to the laundry. This ointment based on calendula and wax will soothe the skin and relieve the itching. You need to thoroughly wash your hands with an oak bark decoction or a weak salt solution to wash off the remaining urushiol oil, and then apply the ointment. Do not scratch the blisters, or you will introduce an infection, and then your hands will truly have to be amputated."

The maid turned pale at the word "amputated," but accepted the jar with gratitude.

At that moment, three senior ladies-in-waiting appeared in the alley. Seeing their subordinate, they sneered contemptuously. "Xiao-Ling! We ordered you to get out of sight! Do you want to infect us with your leprosy?!" one of them barked.

You slowly straightened. Your softness vanished instantly, replaced by the icy aura of an aristocrat. You turned to the ladies-in-waiting, folding your arms before you. Your green eyes narrowed dangerously.

"I thought that senior maids should possess at least basic knowledge before sowing panic in the palace," your voice was quiet, but it cut through the air like a blade.

The ladies-in-waiting froze, finally recognizing you. The color of their faces instantly matched the color of bleached silk. They collapsed to their knees in unison. "[Y/N]-sama! F-forgive us, we didn't notice your presence!"

"This girl is not contagious," you continued coldly, looking down at them. "She suffered from poor-quality lacquer on the new boxes. This is a result of negligence by those who accepted the goods, not the fault of this poor girl. You not only showed incompetence but also cruelty by chasing her away without help. If I hear one more time that younger maids are being bullied in your pavilion, I will personally report it to Lady Gyokuyou, and through her, to the Emperor himself. Is that clear?"

"Y-yes, Mistress! We apologize a thousand times over!" the women wailed, trembling with fear.

"Take her, ensure her rest, and do everything as my apothecary ordered," you commanded, turning away. "Let’s go, Maomao. We have other things to attend to."

Maomao followed you in silence. When you had walked a sufficient distance, she gave a quiet hmph. "Impressive. You use your sister’s status like a club to hit fools over the head. That is... effective."

"I hate cruelty based on ignorance," you shrugged, and the icy mask fell from your face, returning your usual soft smile. "Besides, without your knowledge, I wouldn't have been able to prove anything to them. We’re a great team, Maomao! You make the diagnosis, and I carry out the sentence."

The freckled girl only sighed heavily, but the corners of her lips twitched ever so slightly in a semblance of a smile.

Your path led further, past the luxurious Crystal Pond pavilion. Concubines of medium rank lived here, desperately fighting for scraps of the Emperor’s attention. The atmosphere here was always saturated with envy and gossip.

Passing by the open windows of one of the rooms, Maomao suddenly stopped. Her sensitive nose caught a strange, barely perceptible scent. She sniffed, frowning, and turned off the path right toward the open window.

"Maomao, what are you doing? They might accuse us of espionage!" you hissed, trotting after her.

But the apothecary was already looking inside. Real turmoil reigned in the room. A young concubine sat on the floor before her vanity, throwing cosmetics around in hysterics. In her trembling hands, she clutched a silver hair ornament. The ornament, which should have been sparkling with clean metal, was covered in a ghastly, coal-black film.

"It’s a curse! It’s witchcraft!" the concubine screamed at her terrified maids. "They want me dead! Look, the silver has blackened! That means there was a deadly poison in my food or cosmetics!"

At the word "poison," Maomao’s eyes flashed. She could no longer restrain herself. Forgetting all etiquette, she vaulted over the low windowsill and found herself right in the room.

"Maomao!" you clutched your head in horror, but realizing there was no other way, you climbed in after her.

The concubine shrieked and recoiled upon seeing two uninvited guests. The maids tried to shield their mistress, but you quickly stepped forward.

"Calm down!" you said loudly, raising your hands in a conciliatory gesture. "I am [Y/N] from the Jade Pavilion. We heard your screams and decided to come to your aid. My companion is an outstanding apothecary. Let her take a look at the hairpin."

Hearing about your lineage, the concubine calmed down a little, but was still trembling, clutching the blackened silver to her chest. "Mistress [Y/N]... They want to poison me! I read in ancient scrolls that silver turns black when it touches deadly poison! My rivals have cursed me!"

Maomao, not waiting for permission, approached the concubine and unceremoniously snatched the hairpin from her hands. She held it up to the light, sniffed the blackened metal, and then began methodically sniffing all the jars of cosmetics on the table.

You stood nearby, watching her work. You knew that look. Maomao was in her element.

"Have you recently changed your face powder?" Maomao asked sharply, pointing to a small porcelain box with white powder.

"Y-yes," the concubine answered uncertainly. "It was sent to me as a gift from my home province. It’s a special mineral-based powder from healing hot springs. It’s supposed to rejuvenate the skin... What does that have to do with anything? Silver turns black from poison!"

Maomao rolled her eyes with such expressive contempt for someone else’s stupidity that you had to cough to hide a chuckle.

"Silver doesn't turn black from 'poison' or curses," the apothecary began in a dry, lecturing tone, turning to the concubine. "What you read in the scrolls are outdated tales based on the fact that arsenic used to often contain sulfur impurities due to a poor purification process. Silver reacts specifically to sulfur, forming silver sulfide—that very same black film."

She took the powder box and held it up to the concubine’s nose. "You said the powder is from hot springs? Hot springs of volcanic origin are extremely rich in sulfur compounds. You were generously applying this powder to your face and hair, and then sticking a silver hairpin into your hairstyle. Moisture from the air and your sweat provoked a chemical reaction. Your hairpin was covered in silver sulfide. No one cursed you or tried to poison you. You ruined your own jewelry with your own cosmetics."

A dead silence hung in the room. The concubine looked at Maomao with her mouth wide open, trying to digest this stream of complex chemical terms that had destroyed her tragic theory about an assassination attempt.

You, realizing that Maomao’s bluntness could be taken as an insult, stepped forward gently.

"What my apothecary is trying to say, Mistress," you smiled your most charming and sympathetic smile, "is that you are in absolute safety. There is no conspiracy. Your gift from home is truly unique; it simply requires other jewelry. Perhaps you should use gold or jade hairpins while you use this powder. And silver can be easily cleaned with salt and ash."

The concubine, finally realizing that her life was in no danger, burst into tears, but now from relief. "Oh, Mistress [Y/N]! Your apothecary... she is simply a genius! Thank you! You saved me from a heart attack!"

Maomao only snorted dismissively, muttering under her breath about "the ignorance of palace women who believe in fairy tales instead of studying the basic properties of minerals."

You left the Crystal Pond pavilion, leaving behind a calmed concubine and maids who looked at you with awe.

The sun had finally set when you returned to the Jade Pavilion. Paper lanterns had lit up in the garden, casting a soft, warm light on the wooden paths. The air had turned cool, bringing relief after the long, bustling day.

Gyokuyou was waiting for you on the veranda. She was reclining on silk cushions, sipping tea. Seeing you, her face lit up with a happy, relaxed smile.

"[Y/N]! Maomao! You’ve returned," she waved her fan gracefully. Hongniang, standing behind her, breathed a sigh of relief. "Hongniang had already managed to turn gray, thinking you had run away from the palace. I hope your walk passed without incident?"

You exchanged glances with Maomao. The apothecary, as always, maintained the face of a stone statue.

"Absolutely without incident, sister," you smiled mischievously, sitting down next to Gyokuyou and pouring yourself tea. "We were just enjoying the spring air. Maomao gathered some wild garlic, and I... I was simply breathing in freedom."

Gyokuyou laughed quietly, not believing a word you said, but didn't pry. She knew you both too well.

Maomao bowed and walked quietly to the far end of the veranda, pulling the gathered herbs from her bag and beginning to sort them methodically. It was her way of meditating, her protection from the complexities of this world.

You left Gyokuyou to discuss evening attire with Hongniang and approached Maomao, sitting down next to her on the mat.

"You know," you said quietly, looking at her skillful hands sorting the green stems. "I always thought the Rear Palace was a terrible place. That it was a prison full of poisonous snakes. And in part, that’s true."

Maomao didn't stop working, but tilted her head slightly, showing she was listening.

"But today..." you smiled, looking at the starry sky. "Today I realized that even in the most poisonous place, you can find an antidote. You are an amazing person, Maomao. Your knowledge saves people. And your straightforwardness makes me bolder. I am glad I came here. I am glad I met you."

Maomao’s hands froze for a second over the pile of wild garlic. She wasn't used to such sincere, sentimental speeches. In her world, people usually said pleasant words to each other only when they wanted something. But there was no falsehood in your voice. Only pure, unmasked friendship.

The apothecary slowly turned her head toward you. Her face remained imperturbable, but something warm appeared in her deep, dark eyes, like the reflection of a lit lantern.

"You are too sentimental, [Y/N]," Maomao muttered, returning to the herbs. But her voice sounded softer than usual. "I am just doing my job. Poisons and medicines are the only things that interest me."

"And yet," you squinted cunningly, moving a little closer, "admit that you like wandering around the palace with me and uncovering other people’s secrets. You would be bored without me."

Maomao sighed heavily, gathering a bunch of herbs and tying it with twine.

"Boredom isn't the scariest thing in the Rear Palace," she noted philosophically. "But, perhaps... your company makes this palace slightly less unbearable."

This was the highest form of recognition Maomao was capable of. You laughed happily, leaning back against the wooden pillar of the veranda.

Your first and most beloved victims were the Kochou sisters. You grew up together, sharing the same training, the same joys, and the same fears. But your way of coping with fear was fundamentally different from their methods.

Late one night, as the three of you sat on the veranda of the Butterfly Mansion, a sharp, unnatural crunch of a breaking branch echoed from the darkness of the garden. Kanae, always more gentle and impressionable in those years, flinched in fright and clutched her hands to her chest. Little Shinobu instantly frowned, her hand instinctively reaching for her training blade.

You, however, didn't move a muscle. Slowly taking a sip of green tea, you fixed your gaze on the pitch-black thicket of bushes. Your face was absolutely stony. Not a single muscle twitched.

"It’s an Upper Moon," you said in an even voice, devoid of any emotion. "We’re all going to die. This is the end. We should start writing our wills right now. I’ll leave my collection of dried bugs to the Kakushi."

Kanae turned pale as a sheet. "A-An Upper Moon?! Y/N, are you sure?! Oh god, we need to wake the adults! We need to raise the alarm!" She began to panic, her eyes filling with tears of terror.

Shinobu jumped to her feet, drawing her blade. Her small face twisted into a grimace of fury and determination. "I’ll hold it off! Onee-san, run! Y/N, get ready to fight, why are you sitting there like an idiot?!"

You continued to sit with an absolutely dead, serious face, watching as Shinobu took a combat stance and Kanae prepared to scream. The tension reached its climax. And at that very moment, lazily stretching and meowing discontentedly, an old, fat ginger cat that hung around the kitchen crawled out of the bushes.

Dead silence followed.

Shinobu slowly lowered her sword. Her gaze shifted from the cat to your impassive face. "Y/N..." she growled, her voice beginning to tremble with burgeoning anger. "That... that is a cat."

"Yes," you nodded just as imperturbably. "Apparently, the Upper Moon took the form of a ginger cat to lull our vigilance. Such treachery."

"I AM GOING TO KILL YOU!" Shinobu roared, throwing herself at you with her fists.

You dodged with ease, hiding behind the back of the still heavy-breathing, but now smiling, Kanae. Driving young, hot-headed Shinobu to a boiling point was your favorite pastime.

Your methods weren't limited to words. You were a master of stealth. While others trained their Breathing, you trained your ability to blend into the shadows. When the Kochou sisters walked through the dark hallways of the mansion, you could hang from the ceiling, hooked onto the beams, and as they passed directly beneath you, you would jump down silently with a wild, guttural scream: "BOO!"

Shinobu would jump on the spot every time, bursting into a stream of curses, promising to feed you to the demons, while you stood before her with the face of someone who had simply stepped out to get some fresh air.

Your penchant for trolling didn't go unnoticed. When you grew older and joined the ranks of the Slayers, you found a kindred spirit. A person who had elevated theatrics to an art form. Tengen Uzui, the Sound Hashira, became your unofficial mentor in driving people insane.

You often sat on the rooftops of the headquarters, developing new "brilliant" plans. Tengen preferred loud, flashy provocations, while you were a sniper of imperturbability. And your favorite, sweetest target was Sanemi Shinazugawa.

Sanemi was a ball of raw nerves, aggression, and scars. Provoking him was like poking a grizzly bear with a stick, but for you, it was just another Tuesday.

One day after a Hashira Meeting, as everyone was preparing to leave, you walked up to Sanemi. Your face was so serious that even Oyakata-sama likely would have believed you.

"Shinazugawa-san," you addressed him, looking straight into his mad, bloodshot eyes. "I need to discuss an extremely important tactical matter with you."

Sanemi frowned, crossing his arms over his chest. "What do you want? Speak fast; I don't have time for your delusions."

"It concerns your secret obsession with ohagi," you stated, as if reporting a breakthrough in demon defenses.

Sanemi choked on air. His face instantly broke out in red blotches. Giyu Tomioka, standing nearby, perked up his ears suspiciously. "WHAT ARE YOU BABBLING ABOUT?! WHAT OHAGI?! I’LL RIP YOU TO PIECES RIGHT NOW!" the Wind Hashira shouted, grabbing the hilt of his katana.

You didn't even blink. "Shinazugawa-san, denial is the first stage of acceptance. You don't need to be ashamed of your passion for bean paste. I’ve already ordered the Kakushi to deliver three crates of sweet rice balls to your estate. They will be tied with pink ribbons to emphasize your tender nature hidden behind those manly scars."

Sanemi roared like a wounded beast. He lunged at you, but with the grace of a dancer, you dodged, hiding behind the back of the loudly laughing Tengen. "Brilliant, Y/N! Just brilliant! Look how the vein on his forehead is pulsing to the rhythm of a waltz!" laughed Uzui, parrying the furious Sanemi’s attacks.

You stood to the side, with the same impassive face, only occasionally adjusting your cuffs. Bickering with Sanemi was akin to meditation for you. The louder he yelled, the calmer you became. You could spend hours proving to him that his scars suspiciously resembled a star map, or that his sword style would be much more effective if he yelled an octave higher. Sanemi hated you, but in that hatred was a strange, distorted spark of camaraderie.

When new faces appeared in the Corps—Tanjiro, Zenitsu, and Inosuke—you realized the heavens had sent you the greatest gift. The "Kamaboko Squad" was the perfect, undefended target for your trolling.

Tanjiro was too trusting. His crystal-clear soul simply couldn't recognize your lies because you spoke them with the face of a saintly martyr. During one of the training sessions at the Butterfly Mansion, you approached him as he was trying to master Total Concentration.

"Kamado-kun," you began thoughtfully. "Shinobu-sama asked me to pass on that your breathing won't become perfect until you master the 'Boiling Bowl' technique."

Tanjiro, covered in sweat, immediately straightened and bowed. "I am ready, Y/N-san! What do I need to do?!"

"You must place a cup of hot tea on your head and fight Inosuke for an hour. If a single drop spills, your training will start all over again. It’s an ancient Hashira technique."

You watched as Tanjiro, with an absolutely serious, determined face, balanced a cup of tea on his head and tried to dodge Inosuke’s wild attacks, moving like a broken robot. You stood by the wall, sipping your own tea, not revealing your amusement by a single muscle.

With Zenitsu, it was even easier. You just had to walk into a dark room where he was sitting and say: "You know, Agatsuma, they say the spirit of an old demon-maid haunts this wing of the mansion. She feeds exclusively on blonds who cry too much. Oh, and she comes when she hears a squeak..."

Zenitsu would fly out the window with a shriek, leaving behind only a cloud of dust and broken shoji.

And Inosuke... Inosuke was a victim of your genius reverse psychology. "Hey, Boar," you would throw over your shoulder. "See that huge boulder by the gate? That’s the King of Rocks. No human in history has been able to out-yell him. He just ignores everyone. They say he’s the strongest on this mountain."

For the next three hours, the entire Butterfly Mansion enjoyed watching Hashibira Inosuke, spitting saliva, stand before an ordinary rock and yell at the top of his lungs, demanding it acknowledge defeat, until he lost his voice completely. During that time, you sat on the veranda, filling out reports with the face of a monk who had achieved nirvana.

Your trolling knew no bounds and made no exceptions, even for mortal enemies. You were a strong swordsman, but your true weapon—the ability to throw others off balance—worked on demons just as well as a Nichirin blade.

Demons loved theatrics. They loved giving long, pretentious monologues about their tragic pasts, the greatness of Lord Muzan, their unrivaled power, and their Blood Demon Art. Most Slayers listened to this in horror or anger. You, however, listened with infinite, yawning boredom.

An mission led you to an old temple. A demon, draped in gruesome amulets, spread his arms wide.

"You pathetic little humans!" he roared, his eyes burning with madness. "You do not understand true power! My Blood Art grants me power over shadows themselves! My flesh is invulnerable, and my lord has bestowed upon me a drop of his blood, which..."

"Excuse me," you interrupted him. Your voice was monotonous, like a bureaucrat reading dry statistics. You stood leaning on your sword, looking at the demon with an expression as if he were a commercial break before an interesting play. "Could you speak a little faster?"

The demon faltered. His jaw dropped. "What?! You dare interrupt me, you pathetic bug?! I am telling you of your imminent demise!"

"Yeah, yeah, imminent demise, Muzan's superiority, power over shadows, all very interesting," you demonstratively checked your wristwatch (which you didn't even have). "But the thing is, I have tea cooling on the stove. And I also need to feed the cat. So, if you don't mind, let’s get to the part where you try to kill me, I dodge, and we end this drawn-out play."

The demon gnashed his teeth. His pride was wounded so deeply that he lunged at you in a rage, forgetting his vaunted shadow technique. He attacked blindly, driven by a wounded ego.

That was exactly what you were aiming for. An off-balance enemy is a dead enemy. Your breathing was even, your movements economical. One precise, mathematically calculated swing of your blade, and the demon's head, still screaming of its greatness, flew off its shoulders.

"See," you said, looking at the head crumbling into dust with the same imperturbable face. "And you were worried. Take care, give my regards to Muzan."

But while your trolling was obvious (albeit imperturbable) with demons, Sanemi, and the youngsters, with Shinobu, once you both reached adulthood, it took on entirely different, incredibly subtle forms.

Kanae’s death left a gaping wound in Shinobu’s heart. She wore a mask of a constant smile, hiding her anger. You saw right through that mask. But instead of pressing on her with pity, you continued to do what you did best—drawing her out of her zone of fake comfort.

Your dynamic began to resemble an elegant, almost romantic dance. You loved Shinobu. You loved her poisonous character, her brilliant mind, and her fragile shoulders bearing such a heavy burden. And your trolling became your language of love.

You were sitting in her lab. Shinobu was absorbed in a microscope, studying a new composition of wisteria poison.

"Shinobu," you called her in your usual, even voice.

"Yes, Y/N-san?" she didn't even lift her head; her smile was automatic.

"I was reading new medical treatises from Europe today. It turns out that excessive use of wisteria extract in an enclosed space leads to irreversible mutation of the hair follicles. Your hair could turn bright green within the next twenty-four hours."

Shinobu froze. Her eye twitched nervously. She slowly pulled away from the microscope and looked at you. You sat with a perfectly straight back, turning the pages of some old book. Your face was a monument to seriousness.

"Y/N-san..." Shinobu’s voice held a faint, barely perceptible threat. "That is impossible from a chemical perspective. Wisteria does not affect melanin."

"European scientists claim otherwise," you turned a page without blinking. "I’m just warning you. If you wake up tomorrow looking like fresh cabbage, don't say I didn't care about your image."

Shinobu drilled you with her gaze. Her analytical brain feverishly sifted through chemical formulas, trying to find a drop of truth in your words. Anxiety began to creep into her soul. She reached for a strand of her hair, checking its color.

And then, your perfect facade developed a tiny, microscopic crack. The corner of your lips twitched, rising by literally a millimeter. A mischievous, warm spark flashed in your eyes.

Shinobu exhaled noisily. The fake smile fell from her face, yielding to a sincere, stifled chuckle. "Y/N... you are unbearable," she threw a crumpled piece of parchment at you, which you caught without even looking. "I almost believed it. You lie so convincingly that it’s scary."

"I am not lying. I am providing alternative hypotheses," you finally allowed yourself a light, sincere smile.

Shinobu walked over to you, leaning her arms on the back of your chair. Her face was so close to yours that you felt the scent of herbs and poisons emanating from her skin. "Your alternative hypotheses will send me to my grave faster than the demons," she whispered, and her voice held such deep, vulnerable tenderness that your heart skipped a beat.

In these subtle exchanges of barbs, invisible to others, lay your true connection. You forced her to take off her mask. You forced her to be angry, to doubt, to get irritated—to feel alive. And she loved you for it. She knew that behind your stony face lay an ocean of devotion.

But all comedies come to an end when the curtain rises for a tragedy.

The Infinity Castle was a place where laughter died before it could escape your lips. Space distorted, gravity changed direction, and the air was saturated with such a thick thirst for blood that breathing became physically painful.

This was the only place and the only time in your life when you didn't joke. There was no irony, no sarcasm, no imperturbable jibes. Your stony face, which used to be a tool for trolling, now became a mask of absolute, lethal concentration.

You were separated. The chaos of the Castle scattered the Hashira like pawns on a madman’s chessboard. You knew where Shinobu was. You knew who she was striving for. Doma. Upper Moon Two. Her sister’s killer.

Your blade hacked through the demons blocking your path with mechanical, ruthless efficiency. Your thoughts were cold and clear: reach her. Protect her. No jokes about pathetic speeches. No mockery. Only blood, sweat, and the beating of your own heart.

When you broke into the hall with the lotus pond, the air was already saturated with Doma’s icy mist. Shinobu was there. Wounded, breathing heavily, her lungs freezing from the demon’s poisonous air.

"Ah, another guest!" Doma sang joyfully, waving his golden fans. "Have you come to join our celebration of salvation?"

You didn't answer. You didn't interrupt his monologue with sarcasm about cooling tea. You simply lunged. Your Breathing was at its limit, your muscles tearing from the tension. You stood between Shinobu and the Upper Moon.

"Y/N... leave... this is my fight..." Shinobu wheezed, coughing up blood.

"Shut up, Kochou," your voice was stripped of its usual warmth. It was the voice of a soldier going to their death.

The fight was short but incredibly brutal. You knew you couldn't defeat Doma alone. You knew of Shinobu’s plan to sacrifice herself to poison him. And you made a decision that canceled that plan.

When Doma’s ice clones rushed at the weakened Shinobu, you shielded her with your body. The pain was blinding. Icy blades pierced your ribcage, lungs, and stomach. Blood gushed from your wounds, staining the ice around you crimson.

You collapsed onto the wooden floor. Doma sighed disappointedly, losing interest in you, but you had won precious seconds. Seconds that allowed Kanao and Inosuke to burst into the hall, changing the course of the battle, saving Shinobu’s life, not allowing her to be consumed by the demon.

You lay in a pool of your own blood. Cold numbed your body. Shinobu crawled toward you, her hands, covered in cuts, frantically trying to staunch your wounds, but there were too many.

"Y/N... no, no, no... don't you dare! You can't!" Shinobu sobbed, her perfect mask shattered to pieces. Tears fell onto your paling face. "You promised... you promised me... say something! Say something stupid! Make a joke about me, I beg you!"

You looked into her beautiful, tear-filled violet eyes. You tried to raise your hand to touch her cheek, but you had no strength. Your lips twitched. You wanted to tell her you loved her. You wanted to tell her you were glad she was alive. You wanted to make one last joke about how European scientists were wrong about her hair after all.

But only a bubbling wheeze escaped your throat. Your eyes closed, and the last thing you heard was the heartbreaking, agony-filled scream of Kochou Shinobu calling your name.

Your last joke remained untold.

Darkness retreated. Instead of pain and icy cold came a sensation of absolute, weightless peace.

You opened your eyes. An endless meadow bathed in soft light stretched out before you. Beneath your feet rustled green grass, and the air was filled with the fragrance of flowers you had never seen in the real world. There were no wounds, no blood, no fear.

You stood up, looking around. In the distance stood people. Familiar, beloved silhouettes.

Kanae. She stood there, smiling that same warm, motherly smile you remembered from childhood. Beside her stood others—fallen Slayers, friends, those whose lives were cut short far too soon.

And among them was her. Shinobu.

You knew she had died in that battle too, despite your attempt to save her. Poison in her body, her determination—she had perished during the battle with Muzan.

Shinobu turned. Her eyes, free from the shadows of the past and anger, widened. She ran toward you, tangling in the hem of her haori, and you stepped forward to meet her. You collided, hugging tightly. You both fell onto the soft grass.

Tears—real, bitter, but cleansing tears—poured from your eyes. For the first time in your entire life, you sobbed uncontrollably. You cried for those you had lost, for the pain you had endured, for the fact that your life on earth ended so cruelly. Shinobu cried with you, her hands desperately clutching your uniform, as if she feared you would disappear again. It was a moment of absolute, crystalline vulnerability. You were just two souls, finally finding peace in each other’s arms after decades of nightmare.

Kanae stood nearby, quietly wiping away tears of joy, watching your reunion.

The sobbing gradually subsided. You were still sitting on the grass, hugging. Shinobu stroked your hair, her breathing leveling out. A moment of incredible, bright sentimentality had arrived. The afterlife seemed like a paradise where there was no room for pain and anxiety.

You slowly pulled away. Your face was wet with tears. You looked at Shinobu, then at Kanae. Your eyes narrowed slightly. Your gaze became empty and absolutely serious again. You wiped your tears with your sleeve, adjusted your collar, and took a deep breath.

"You know," you said in your signature, imperturbable, emotion-less voice, which used to make Hashira shudder in the world of the living. "It’s very nice here, of course. The meadow is beautiful. The climate is pleasant."

Shinobu smiled happily, nodding.

"But," you looked at them with the face of a person stating a global catastrophe. "I think, before heading into the Infinity Castle, I forgot to turn off the iron in the laundry room of the Butterfly Mansion. If it’s still running, the mansion will burn down. I’m afraid I’ll have to go back. I can’t stay here while my shirts are at risk of thermal destruction."

Dead silence hung in the air.

Kanae, who still had tears glistening on her lashes, blinked in stunned confusion.

Shinobu slowly, very slowly realized what you had just said. Her perfect, peaceful afterlife smile wavered. On her temple, even here, amidst eternal peace, a familiar, irritated vein began to pulse.

"Y/N..." Shinobu growled, her voice gaining those same familiar, steel notes. "We are dead. Why the hell are you talking about an iron?!"

You didn't even blink. "Death is not an excuse for violating fire safety rules, Kochou. That is irresponsible. I am filing an official complaint with the local deities about the inability to return to resolve household issues."

"I AM GOING TO KILL YOU AGAIN!" Shinobu roared, throwing herself at you with her fists, while Kanae burst into clear, sincere laughter, the echo of which carried throughout the entire afterlife.

You dodged her blow easily, your face remaining just as stony, but somewhere deep inside, where no one could see, you were smiling.

You were the student council president. Your name consistently topped the honor rolls every semester, whether it was for complex higher mathematics exams, wins at national literature Olympiads, or brilliant debate performances. Your uniform was always impeccably pressed, your posture remained perfectly straight, and a light, polite half-smile—which drew the gaze of absolutely everyone in the hallways—invariably played on your lips. Your natural, effortless feminine charm drove many mad. You were graceful, intelligent, and incredibly beautiful.

Naturally, there was no shortage of admirers. Senior boys, captains of sports teams, heirs to major corporations—many tried to win your favor. But no one, absolutely no one, could get even a step closer to you. Your rejections had become a kind of school legend.

One such brave soul, the captain of the basketball team, blushing and stammering, handed you a love letter under a spreading sakura tree in the schoolyard. You stopped, elegantly tucked a stray lock of hair behind your ear, and looked at him with your calm, deep gaze.

"Your words have touched me deeply," your voice sounded soft, like the chime of silver bells, but it lacked a single drop of warmth. "It is a great honor to be the cause of such sincere feelings. However, my path is already charted, and my heart is entirely and completely given over to my duties to the school and my family. I sincerely wish for you to find one who can appreciate your courage as it deserves and gift you the time that I, alas, do not have."

You bowed gracefully. The boy, disarmed by your sophistication and completely non-aggressive rejection, simply froze, lost for words. He could neither be angry nor persist. He merely nodded and wandered slowly away, feeling as if he had just touched something divine, but utterly unreachable.

Watching this scene from the window of the medical office was Kocho Kanae—the school psychologist, biologist, and a woman whose empathy bordered on a superpower. Kanae smiled warmly, but a shadow of concern flickered in her violet eyes. While the entire school saw you as a perfect, unattainable porcelain figurine, Kanae saw something entirely different.

She saw the tension in your shoulders. She noticed how you would subtly massage your temples when you thought no one was watching. She saw a girl who was slowly but surely suffocating under a titanic weight of expectations. Your perfect facade was not a display of arrogance, but a brilliantly constructed armor protecting an incredibly weary soul.

Kanae did not act head-on. She knew that wild, frightened birds fly away at any sudden movement. So, she began to act with her characteristic softness and grace.

At first, it was chance encounters in the library, where she would offer you tea from a thermos with a light smile, noting that you had been at your textbooks for four hours. Then, casual conversations about school projects, during which Kanae never pressured you, allowing you to set the pace of the conversation yourself. You were used to adults always demanding perfect reports, high results, and unquestioning obedience, but this woman with butterfly hairpins merely asked softly if you had slept well that night.

One day, when you were dropping off documents at the medical office, Kanae invited you to sit.

"[Y/N]-san, I would like to ask you for one huge favor," Kanae began, pouring you fragrant chamomile tea. "My younger sister, Kanao, is in her first year. She is an incredibly smart girl, but she finds it very difficult to concentrate on certain subjects, and she has some minor difficulties with socializing. Shinobu and I are too busy with work and university to give her enough time. Would you agree to be her tutor?"

You froze, holding the cup in your hands. Your schedule was planned down to the minute, but looking into Kanae’s sincere, warm eyes, you suddenly realized you didn't want to refuse. There was something about this woman that made your armor develop tiny cracks.

"I would consider it an honor, Kocho-sensei," you replied politely, bowing your head.

"Oh, please, call me just Kanae when we are outside of school!" the woman clapped her hands joyfully, and her smile lit up the entire office.

Thus began your visits to the Butterfly Mansion—the spacious, traditional home of the Kocho family, drowning in flowers. At first, you behaved there just as you did at school: perfectly straight back, formal phrases, impeccable manners. Kanao, a quiet and reserved girl, often just looked at you with big eyes, not daring to speak. And Shinobu, the middle sister, initially treated you with evident suspicion.

"Onee-san, are you sure this 'Snow Queen' is a good choice?" Shinobu whispered sarcastically in the kitchen one day, thinking you couldn't hear. "She looks like she has a calculator built in instead of a heart."

But Kanae merely laughed warmly, patting her sister on the head: "Just give her time, Shinobu. She will surprise you."

And Kanae was right.

The time spent in the Kocho house became a breath of fresh air for you. This was a place where no one expected business plan presentations from you, where you weren't evaluated on a hundred-point scale, and where no one tried to use your status for their own ends.

Gradually, unnoticed by yourself, you began to relax.

Kanae began to notice the little things you hid so carefully from the whole world. She noticed that when you solved a particularly complex math problem with Kanao, you would funnily wrinkle your nose and start humming a popular pop tune to yourself, almost inaudibly. She saw how your eyes would go wide and how sincerely, like a child, you would rejoice when Shinobu—changing her anger to mercy—prepared an incredibly delicious strawberry cake for you. It turned out that the perfect student council president had a colossal, almost uncontrollable weakness for sweets.

You no longer sat with a perfectly straight back. You tucked your legs under you while sitting on the tatami. You began to laugh sincerely at Shinobu’s sarcastic jokes. Your strict blazers were replaced by soft, oversized sweaters that Kanae would lend you in the evenings when it got chilly.

Once, Kanae walked into the living room and caught a scene that made her heart skip a beat. You and Kanao had fallen asleep right by the kotatsu, surrounded by textbooks. Your head rested on your crossed arms, your hair was disheveled, and a mark from a notebook leaf was imprinted on your cheek. You looked so defenseless, so real and alive, that Kanae couldn't resist. She approached, carefully covered you with a blanket, and touched your forehead with her lips weightlessly.

Kanae fell in love. She fell in love not with the perfect statuette that the whole school admired, but with the tired, sweet girl who funnily frowned over her textbooks and who so desperately needed warmth.

But just when it seemed the ice had finally melted, a storm broke.

Everything changed in one day. It happened after your phone rang during one of your sessions. You glanced at the screen, and Kanae saw all the color drain from your face at once. You apologized in a dry, brittle voice, walked into the hallway, and talked to someone for a long time. Returning, you quickly gathered your things, put on your "perfect president" mask, and, after a brief goodbye, left.

The next day, you didn't come to school. Nor the next.

When you finally appeared, nothing remained of the relaxed, smiling girl the Kocho sisters knew. You had become even colder, even more distant than on the first day you met. Your gaze was empty, and deep shadows lay beneath your eyes, as if you hadn't slept for many nights in a row.

You avoided Kanae. You canceled all lessons with Kanao, citing work in the student council. When Kanae tried to approach you in the hallway, you would bow elegantly and find an excuse to leave, dissolving into the crowd of students with the grace of a ghost.

Shinobu, seeing how upset her elder sister was becoming, was furious. "I told you she was an ice block!" she vented in the kitchen, violently chopping vegetables. "She played at friendship and abandoned us. Typical elite."

But Kanae wasn't angry. She felt everything inside her constricting with anxiety. Her intuition was literally screaming that you were on the verge of a catastrophe. You weren't pushing them away out of arrogance. You were pushing them away out of fear.

And Kanae Kocho was not going to give up.

It was Friday evening. The school had long since emptied, and a heavy, torrential rain was falling outside. Kanae knew you were still in the building—the light in the student council office was still on.

She opened the door without knocking. You were standing by the window, leaning your hands on the sill, watching the streams of water hitting the glass. Your shoulders slumped helplessly. Hearing the sound of the door opening, you instantly straightened up, turned around, and plastered that same polite, cold half-smile onto your face.

"Kocho-sensei. The school is already closing. Can I help you with something?" your voice was smooth and colorless.

Kanae closed the door behind her, turned the key in the lock, and walked slowly toward you. "Enough, [Y/N]. Please. Stop."

You tilted your head slightly to the side, demonstrating perfect incomprehension. "I don't quite understand what you mean, sensei. My duties..."

"I am not your subordinate and I am not your admirer, [Y/N]," Kanae interrupted her softly but firmly. She approached until you were almost touching, leaving you no path of retreat. "Your perfectly calculated phrases don't work on me. I see that you are suffering. I see how you are suffocating. What happened? Why did you run away from us?"

Your smile wavered. You tried to take a step back, but your back hit the windowsill. Your hands nervously gripped the edge of your blazer. "You... you are exceeding your authority, Kocho-sensei. My personal life does not concern you. I simply realized that tutoring was taking up too much time, time I should be spending on more important..."

"Don't lie to me!" Kanae’s voice broke for the first time, and it held such desperate pleading that your eyes widened. The woman reached out and gently but firmly cupped your face in her palms. Her fingers were warm, contrasting with your icy skin. "[Y/N], my dear, look at me. You can fool the whole school, but not me. Please, let me help. Let me share this burden."

Those words, spoken with such boundless, sincere love, were the final blow to your facade. The armor you had built for years crumbled into dust.

Your lips trembled. Your perfectly straight posture broke, and you suddenly let out a quiet, broken sob. Tears, which you had been holding back for so long, burst from your eyes. You covered your face with your hands and slowly sank to the floor, sobbing so bitterly and desperately as only a child who has been forced to become an adult too early can sob.

Kanae immediately sank to her knees beside you, pulling you into a strong, warm embrace. You buried your face in her shoulder, convulsively clinging to her cardigan, while your sobs echoed through the empty office.

"I can't... I just can't anymore, Kanae..." you whispered, choking on tears. "They will take everything... They will take you away..."

When the hysteria subsided a little and you could breathe, the truth finally broke out.

Your parents weren't just rich people. They were the owners of one of the largest international conglomerates in the country. From the moment of your birth, your life had been planned down to the second. You were to become the perfect heir, a machine without emotions, capable of running an empire.

"That call... it was my father," your voice trembled. "He found out I was spending time at your house. That I... laugh. That I eat sweets and help Kanao just because, without profit. He said I’m losing my edge. That attachment to people is a weakness, a distraction, unacceptable for a future CEO."

You raised your tear-stained, reddened eyes to Kanae. "They threatened that if I didn't stop seeing you, they would take me out of school. Send me to a closed boarding school in Europe. Forbid me from seeing any of you. Kanae, I was so scared... I tried to protect you by pushing you away. I thought if I became the perfect doll again, they would leave me alone. But it hurts so much..."

Kanae listened to you, and her heart was breaking with pain and anger. How could one treat their own child like that? How could one break such a beautiful soul for the sake of ambition?

She gently stroked your hair, kissing the top of your head. "Silly, brave girl. You don't need to protect us. We can stand up for ourselves."

You sniffled, looking at her with desperation. "But what should I do? I don't want to go back to that empty, cold house. I don't want to be a machine."

Kanae looked into your eyes, and a steel determination appeared in her violet gaze. "Then don't go back. Let's go home, [Y/N]. To our home. You will stay with us."

That evening, you crossed the threshold of the Kocho Mansion not as a tutor, but as a person seeking sanctuary. Shinobu, seeing your tear-stained face and hearing the brief explanation from her sister, instantly changed her anger to mercy. All her hostility evaporated, giving way to a fierce, almost motherly protective instinct. Kanao silently brought you a blanket and placed your favorite box of strawberry mochi beside you. For the first time in your life, you felt what a real, unconditional family meant.

But the illusion of safety lasted only briefly.

The next day, toward evening, three black, tinted SUVs stopped at the gates of the Butterfly Mansion. Tough-looking men in sharp suits stepped out—the personal security service of your parents.

The doorbell rang like a gunshot. You flinched, curling into a ball on the sofa. Your fear was palpable.

Kanae gently squeezed your hand, gave an encouraging smile, and went to open the door. Shinobu, whose eyes had narrowed in anger, followed her.

Standing on the threshold was the head of security, a tall man with a stone face. "Good evening. We have been instructed to take Young Mistress [Y/N] and deliver her to the residence. If necessary, we will use force."

Kanae maintained her soft smile, but her voice was as cold as ice. "Good evening. I’m afraid [Y/N]-san is busy now and does not wish to go anywhere. This is private property, and I must ask you to leave."

The guard took a step forward, trying to push Kanae aside, but Shinobu blocked his path. In her hands, a huge sprayer filled with some suspicious, bright purple liquid swayed threateningly.

"One more step," Shinobu sang out, her smile truly frightening, "and you will learn on your own skin why the chemistry lab in our school has been closed for repairs after my experiments. This compound eats through even reinforced plastic. Do you want to check what it will do to your expensive suits and skin?"

The guards froze. There was so much insane, murderous confidence in this petite girl that they instinctively backed away.

At that moment, you appeared in the hallway. You were no longer trembling. Seeing how these two women were prepared to risk everything for you, you felt a previously unknown strength burgeoning within. Your perfect facade returned, but now it was not armor against pain, but your own personal weapon.

You walked to the door, standing beside Kanae, and looked at the head of security with your signature, icy gaze that used to make boys at school lose their words.

"Tell my father," your voice was hard as diamond, "that I am not returning. I will be filing for emancipation. If he tries to use force against the Kocho family, I will personally leak information to the press about the company’s illegal dealings in Southeast Asia, documents of which I had access to. Get out."

The guards, taken aback by your coldness and the threat, exchanged glances and, without another word, retreated to their cars.

A week of silence passed. You expected a strike, but instead, you received a request for negotiations.

On Saturday afternoon, a single car, modest by their standards, pulled up to the gates of the Butterfly Mansion. Your parents stepped out. They looked... tired. Without their entourage and bodyguards, they seemed like just aging people who had encountered something they couldn't buy or control for the first time.

The conversation took place in the Kocho living room. Kanae sat beside you, never letting go of your hand.

Your father was silent for a long time, watching how you had changed. He no longer saw the perfect robot he had created himself. He saw a living, breathing girl who had found the strength to challenge him.

"We thought we were doing what was best," he finally said, his voice stripped of its usual imperiousness. "Business is a cruel world. Attachments make you vulnerable. But when it was reported to me how you protected these people... How you were prepared to sacrifice everything, even your own freedom, for them... I realized I was wrong. Strength is not in the absence of feelings. Strength is in who you are willing to fight for."

Your mother sobbed quietly, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief. "Forgive us, [Y/N]. We pressured you so much. Please... we don't want to lose our daughter."

The atmosphere in the room eased. Tears, apologies, and long, difficult conversations finally led to a fragile but sincere truce. Your parents agreed to ease the pressure, allow you to choose your own path, and, most importantly, for you to remain living with those you now considered your real family.

When it was time to say goodbye, your father stopped at the door. He looked at Kanae, his gaze heavy, evaluating.

"Kocho Kanae-san," he said, bowing slightly. "You did what we could not. You made our daughter truly happy. I ask you, continue to take care of her."

Your cheeks flushed. You felt incredibly embarrassed by your father’s sentimentality, which sounded almost like a transfer of guardianship. You opened your mouth to smooth over the situation, but Kanae beat you to it.

She stood straight, her eyes shining with absolute confidence and soft light. She looked at your father, then at your mother, and spoke words that made time in the room stop.

"I promise you that I will protect [Y/N] at the cost of my life," Kanae’s voice was firm and clear. "And since you have brought it up yourself, sir... I respect you immensely, but I do not want to be just her guardian or her friend. I love your daughter with all my heart. And I ask for your daughter’s hand."

The silence that hung in the hallway was deafening. Shinobu, eavesdropping around the corner, dropped her towel. Your parents stared at Kanae with wide-open eyes. And you... you simply stopped breathing. Your face turned a color that could rival a ripe tomato. Your brilliant brain, capable of solving the most complex problems, shut down completely.

Your father blinked. Then again. He shifted his gaze from the incredibly serious Kanae to you—red, shocked, but not denying her words. The man’s lips twitched, and he suddenly let out a hoarse chuckle that turned into sincere laughter.

"Well then..." he said, shaking his head. "You, Kocho-san, possess a grip that any businessman would envy. My blessing still needs to be earned, but... I don't object. See you at the family dinner next weekend."

When the door closed behind your parents, Shinobu came around the corner, swirled a finger at her temple, and, muttering something about "crazy romantics," went to the kitchen, leaving you alone.

You stood in the middle of the hallway, still unable to comprehend what had happened. Kanae turned to you. A light blush played on her cheeks, but she regretted nothing.

"Kanae... you... you just asked my parents for my hand?" your voice sounded like a squeak. The perfect student council president now resembled a stuttering teenager.

Kanae stepped up to you, took your trembling hands in hers, and tenderly kissed your knuckles. "Yes. And I wasn't joking in the slightest, [Y/N]."

She led you away, out to the veranda of the inner courtyard, where wisteria was blooming, filling the air with a sweet, calming scent. The setting sun painted the sky in shades of pink and gold.

Kanae stopped, turned to you, and looked deep into your eyes. "I’ve been watching you since the very day I saw you under the sakura in the schoolyard," her voice was velvet, full of tenderness. "I saw your pain, your strength, your kindness. I fell in love with the girl who frowns over her textbooks, who falls asleep by the kotatsu, and who is prepared to sacrifice everything to protect those dear to her. You are the most beautiful thing that has ever happened in my life, [Y/N]. I love you. And I want to be with you always. Not hiding, not afraid."

Your heart was beating so loudly that you were sure—she could hear it. All that fatigue, all that pressure you had lived with for years, finally dissolved into the warmth of her words. You looked at this incredible woman who had broken through your armor, who hadn't been afraid to engage in battle with your past and your family. The woman who had given you a real home.

Tears welled up in your eyes again, but this time they were tears of absolute happiness.

You slowly raised your hands, cupping her face in your palms, repeating the same gesture with which she had shattered your facade in the empty school office.

"You saved me, Kanae," you whispered, your voice trembling with overwhelming emotion. "I thought I had to be perfect to be loved. But you loved me when I was broken. I never let anyone close, but for you, there was always a place reserved in my heart. I love you too. I love you more than anything in the world."

Kanae’s smile became radiant, outshining even the setting sun. She wrapped her arms around your waist, pulling you close, and your lips finally met.

The kiss was soft, trembling, full of promises and unspoken tenderness. You closed your eyes, surrendering to the feeling, tasting her lips and the scent of chamomile tea, which you had always associated with safety. In that kiss, there was no room for fear, expectations, or perfect facades. There were only two souls who had found each other amidst the chaos.

When you reluctantly pulled away, breathing heavily and pressing your foreheads together, Kanae squinted playfully.

"You know," she whispered, stroking your waist. "Now that your parents have given their preliminary consent, I’ll need to buy a ring. What stone does the perfect student council president prefer?"

You laughed quietly, sincerely, burying your face in her neck, inhaling her scent. "Any, Kanae. The only thing that matters is that you are the one who gives it to me."

You were human. Absolutely, one hundred percent, biologically human. Your blood was red and warm; you could stand under the scorching sun, enjoying its rays; and you ate ordinary human food. But nature, as if deciding to play a cruel and wicked joke, had gifted you with an appearance that forced random passersby to cross the street in terror. Your nails were unnaturally sharp and strong, resembling real claws, and when you opened your mouth to speak or smile, elongated, sharp fangs were revealed. Your facial features held a sort of primal, predatory sharpness.

To a world traumatized by demons, you looked like a nightmare walking in broad daylight.

Your first meeting with the Kocho sisters happened many years ago, when you were all still children just stepping onto the path of Slayers. Oyakata-sama, possessed of incredible insight, accepted you into the Corps without hesitation, but the others did not share his calm.

Kanae and Shinobu ran into you in the training camp courtyard when you were all still young. You were sitting on the edge of a wooden veranda, trying to carefully file down your sharp nails, which made it difficult to hold a bamboo training sword correctly.

Upon seeing you, Shinobu froze in her tracks. Her hand instinctively reached for her training blade, and her eyes narrowed. Kanae, always more gentle and diplomatic, merely blinked in surprise but remained where she was.

"You..." little Shinobu’s voice was sharp and clear, slicing through the courtyard silence. "Why are you here? How did you get past the wisteria barrier?"

You slowly raised your head. Your gaze was absolutely calm, devoid of aggression or fear. You parted your lips to answer, and your fangs gleamed in the sun.

"Shinobu, wait," Kanae stopped her gently, placing a hand on her younger sister’s shoulder. "She doesn't smell like a demon. She has the aura of an ordinary human."

"But look at her, Onee-san!" Shinobu wasn't about to back down. She stepped closer, her eyes drilling into your face, studying every detail with painful curiosity and suspicion. She wasn't trying to insult you; she was driven by pure, crystalline directness. "This is highly strange. You have claws. You have fangs. Your eyes look creepy. How can a human look so terrifyingly similar to a demon while still being human? Is this some kind of mutation? A disease?"

You weren't offended. You had long since grown used to such reactions. "I was born this way," your voice was level, quiet, and surprisingly deep. "The doctors in my village said it was just a rare bone tissue and nail plate development defect. I don't eat people. And I don't burn in the sun."

Shinobu drilled you with her gaze for a few more long seconds, as if expecting you to shed your human mask and attack at any moment. Then she snorted, crossing her arms over her chest. "That is extremely illogical. Nature is a very strange thing to create such errors. It will be difficult for you in the Corps. People here strike first and ask questions later."

"Shinobu!" Kanae gasped, covering her mouth with her hand. "How rude! Forgive her, please; she didn't mean to offend you."

But you only shrugged. "She’s right. It is illogical. But I’m used to it."

That day, Shinobu understood two things: first, you really weren't a demon, and second, your calmness was as impenetrable as a rock.

Shinobu was right. Life in the training camp, and later among the rank-and-file Slayers, became a true ordeal. Rumors spread like a forest fire. Other recruits whispered behind your back, moved away from you in the mess hall, and some, particularly boisterous ones, didn't shy away from expressing themselves.

"Hey, half-breed, watch you don't bite your tongue with those fangs!" "Oyakata-sama probably felt sorry for her like a stray dog. Who needs an ally who looks like an enemy?" "Don't turn your back on her, what if her demonic blood wakes up?"

In the first few months, those words stung. You were a teenager torn from home, and every stone of contempt thrown in your direction left bruises on your soul. You tried to hide your hands in the long sleeves of your haori, tried to speak less, and never smiled so as not to show your fangs. You felt insecure, constantly apologizing for your very existence.

But the human psyche is an amazing mechanism. Over time, in order not to break, you began to build armor. Pain and resentment were replaced by cold, indifferent acceptance. You realized you couldn't change your face or erase your fangs. You began to react to mockery calmly and apathetically. If someone called you a monster, you simply walked past without even slowing your step. Your defense mechanism took the form of absolute apathy.

But if you had learned to ignore your tormentors, someone else hadn't.

Shinobu Kocho, the very girl who was the first to point out your strangeness, became your most fierce and unpredictable protector.

You were sitting on the porch of the Butterfly Mansion after a grueling training session when a group of low-ranking swordsmen walked by. One of them, laughing loudly, pointed a finger at you and threw out another cruel joke about how you belonged in a cage, not the Corps.

You didn't even raise your head, continuing to drink your tea calmly. But the cup in Shinobu’s hands shattered with a loud crack.

Before you could even blink, Shinobu bolted from her spot. Her face was distorted by a grimace of absolute, uncontrollable rage. She rushed at the boy, grabbing him by the collar of his uniform with such force that he choked.

"Repeat what you said, you piece of pathetic trash!" Shinobu snarled, her voice stripped of its usual sweetness; it rang with metal and fury. "You dare insult her just because your tiny, chicken brain is incapable of distinguishing appearance from essence?! She has killed more demons this month than you have in your entire worthless life! Apologize, or I will make you eat your own sword!"

"Shinobu, it’s alright," you stood up slowly, approaching her. "It doesn't bother me. Leave him."

"BUT IT BOTHERS ME!" she shouted, not letting go of the terrified boy. "They are idiots! They have no right to talk to you like that! You can't change how you were born, and they are punishing you for something that isn't your fault! It’s unfair!"

You literally had to call for Kanae’s help. The elder sister ran to the commotion and, gently apologizing to the pale-faced swordsman, dragged the hissing, enraged Shinobu back into the mansion by her haori.

That evening, while treating the cuts on her hands from the broken cup, you asked quietly: "Why are you so angry for my sake? I said I didn't care."

Shinobu turned away, her chest heaving. "Because someone has to be angry. Just because you swallow this injustice doesn't mean it disappears. They are blind idiots. And their stupidity makes me sick."

You looked at her furrowed profile, at how angrily her eyes glinted. Unlike many others who tried to hide their emotions, Shinobu burned. And in that fire, there wasn't a single drop of falsehood.

Kanae’s death changed everything. It shattered Shinobu’s world into thousands of sharp, bleeding shards. In an attempt to honor her sister’s memory, Shinobu donned a mask of constant, gentle smiles, hiding her true nature, her anger, and her pain beneath an impenetrable layer of friendliness. She began to behave the way Kanae would have.

But the mask was heavy. Wearing it every day, smiling at the very demons she hated with every fiber of her soul, was an incredibly exhausting task.

The only place where that mask cracked was in your presence.

Despite your "demonic" features, you possessed an aura of absolute, unwavering calm. Your kindness wasn't loud or intrusive. It manifested in small things: in a cup of perfectly brewed tea placed on Shinobu’s table after a hard day; in the way you silently helped her in the lab, sorting herbs and poisons; in the fact that you never demanded smiles from her.

You were the person who made others feel less insecure about their own flaws. Shinobu often felt guilty that she couldn't be as kind and forgiving as Kanae, that poison and hatred churned inside her. But you never judged her.

You often sat in the evenings on the engawa of the Butterfly Mansion. Shinobu could spend hours complaining to you about Tomioka Giyu’s stupidity, about unbearable patients, about how difficult it was to synthesize a new poison. Sometimes she got carried away; her voice would break, and her words would become sharp and prickly.

You simply sat next to her, cross-legged, and listened. Your face with its predatory, sharp features remained peaceful. Even if the topic of conversation was completely uninteresting to you, you didn't interrupt. You nodded, poured her more tea, and looked at her with your deep, calm eyes.

Shinobu’s prickly character, her sarcasm, and her quick temper never bothered you. Moreover, you enjoyed them.

"Why are you smiling?" Shinobu once asked, abruptly breaking off her angry monologue about how one of the Kakushi had mixed up bandage dosages. She squinted suspiciously, looking at your face, which wore a light, half-smile revealing your fangs. "I’m here, actually, complaining about blatant incompetence."

"I’m sorry," your voice was soft. "It’s just... I like it when you’re angry."

Shinobu was taken aback. Her eyes widened. "You like it when I’m angry? Y/N, you have strange inclinations. Most people find that scary."

"Not in the sense that I want to provoke you," you explained calmly, turning to her. "It’s just... when you’re angry, you’re real. You aren't hiding behind that fake smile you show everyone else. Your anger is part of you. It’s a living, human emotion. And I appreciate that you trust me enough to be real with me, Shinobu. You’re a person who doesn't need to pretend in front of me."

Shinobu froze. Her heart, encased in armor of duty and revenge, suddenly skipped a beat. The air in her lungs vanished. She looked at you, at your sharp nails resting on your lap, at your fangs, which now didn't seem frightening, but rather an integral part of the safest person in her life.

She realized she had become attached to you. And this attachment began to slowly but inexorably grow into something much deeper, more frightening, and warmer. Shinobu Kocho, the Insect Hashira, had begun to fall in love.

Months passed. Shinobu’s feelings grew stronger every day, but she never found the strength to confess. She was afraid to destroy the fragile, perfect balance that had been established between you. She was afraid that you would reject her, that you would find her feelings inappropriate against the backdrop of the war with demons.

She began to show more care; her gazes became longer, her touches—when she treated your scratches after missions—lingered on your skin. She would blush if your hands accidentally brushed, and she often lost the thread of conversation while staring at your profile.

Shinobu thought she was hiding everything perfectly. She was mistaken.

Your problem was that you were raised in an incredibly strict, traditional, and conservative family living far in the mountains. Homophobia was the norm there, and the very idea that two girls could be in a romantic relationship didn't even occur to you because you had never heard of such a thing. But despite that, you were incredibly direct and observant. You saw all the biological and behavioral signs.

One evening, while you were both drying herbs in the lab, the silence was broken by your perfectly calm, mundane question.

"Shinobu, why does your pulse quicken when I stand next to you?"

Shinobu, who at that moment was pouring dried wisteria into a jar, flinched so hard that half the purple petals spilled onto the table. "Ah? What? What are you talking about, Y/N?" Her voice cracked, and a treacherous blush instantly appeared on her cheeks.

You set down the mortar and turned to her, crossing your arms over your chest. Your gaze was attentive and absolutely imperturbable. "Your face is flushing. You’ve started avoiding eye contact, but you look at me when you think I’m not seeing. You’ve started touching me much more often. I’ve analyzed these behavioral patterns. They are identical to those described in books as signs of romantic infatuation. But I cannot understand how that applies to us."

Shinobu was ready to sink through the floor. Her brilliant brain momentarily shut down from the directness of your statement. "I... I just... i-it's..." she exhaled deeply, covering her face with her palms. All her Hashira grace had evaporated, leaving only a terrified, embarrassed girl. "Yes. You’re right. You have amazing analytical abilities, Y/N."

You frowned slightly, sincerely puzzled. "But why?"

Shinobu pulled her hands away from her face. Her violet eyes looked at you with desperation and hope. "Why did I fall in love with you? Because you are the kindest, most understanding person I know. Because next to you, I don't have to be perfect. Because your soul is more beautiful than any flower in my garden."

You blinked. Embarrassment, for the first time in a long time, pierced your armor of apathy. Your cheeks also flushed, and your sharp nails nervously dug into the fabric of your haori. "But... I look like a demon, Shinobu. Why would you love someone who looks like the creatures you hate most in the world? And besides..." you stumbled, feeling foolish. "We’re both girls. Is that allowed? In my village, they said love is only between a man and a woman, for the sake of continuing the family line. I didn't know girls could... be together."

Hearing this, Shinobu blinked, and then her nervous tension eased slightly. Her habitual logic and desire to explain woke up in her. She straightened her back, cleared her throat, and, still blushing, stepped closer to you.

"Y/N, first of all, I absolutely don't care what you look like. To me, your fangs and nails are just part of you, just like the color of your eyes. You are a person, and your heart is human. And second..." she took your hands in hers, her warm palms covering your cold fingers. "What they said in your village is dictated by the limitations of their world. From a biological and psychological point of view, love is a complex chemical process in the brain—a release of endorphins, dopamine, and oxytocin—triggered by attachment to a specific person. These chemical reactions don't depend on gender. A relationship between two girls is little different from a relationship between a guy and a girl. It’s the same care, the same support, the same desire to be near, to protect, and to bring joy to each other. The physiology of gender is secondary to the connection of souls and minds."

She said this so confidently, laying it all out as if giving a lecture on pharmacology. But her trembling fingers and blush betrayed a storm of emotions.

You stood in silence, processing the information. Your brain analyzed her words. There was indeed logic in it. If love is attachment and the desire to protect, then... hadn't you felt the same way about her? Hadn't you wanted to be near her constantly? Hadn't you admired her strength and her real, sincere anger?

Your face softened. You looked at your intertwined hands, then at Shinobu’s face. "So... this is normal? That you want to be with me? And that I... don't mind being with you?"

Shinobu exhaled noisily, her eyes shining. "More than normal. This... this would be the greatest happiness for me."

You smiled easily, baring your fangs in a sincere, tender smile that was meant only for her. "Then, I suppose we can try this... relationship. But you’ll have to teach me a lot, Shinobu."

The Insect Hashira laughed happily, pressing her forehead against your shoulder. "I will gladly be your teacher, Y/N."

Years passed. You grew older, more experienced. You reached unprecedented heights in the Corps, proving to everyone that your appearance was merely a shell, beneath which lay unwavering devotion to humanity. Shinobu became one of the most respected and deadly Hashira.

Your relationship remained your quiet, cozy secret, but those who were perceptive enough had figured it out long ago.

People still teased you. But now, when you were in the circle of other Hashira, those jokes lost their venom. They became light, comradely.

"Hey, Y/N!" Uzui Tengen once shouted at a meeting, flashing his bright smile. "Didn't you have breakfast today? You’re looking at Himejima like you want to bite his arm off with those demonic fangs! That would be very 'un-flamboyant' of you!"

Sanemi Shinazugawa, standing nearby, chuckled. "Oh, give it a rest, Uzui. She wouldn't even hurt a fly unless it was a demon. Though, with those nails, she doesn't even need a katana—she could just scratch an enemy to death."

As a child, those words would have made you withdraw into yourself. But now, you only laughed quietly and sincerely. "I’m afraid, Shinazugawa-san, my nails aren't long enough for that. But I’ll take your advice into account for close-quarters combat. And you, Uzui-san, don't worry. Himejima-san’s musculature is too tough for my digestion."

The Hashira laughed. You had learned to use humor as the perfect defense mechanism. By laughing at yourself with them, you stripped their jokes of any hurtful subtext. This became your new armor—light, casual, and absolutely bulletproof.

But Shinobu, standing next to you, tensed. Her smile became rigid, and her hand moved to the hilt of her sword. Even though the jokes were friendly, the same primal, protective anger from your childhood still lived within her. She still hated it when anyone drew attention to your appearance.

"I think you should devote more time to training rather than discussing the appearance of my colleagues," she hissed through her teeth, and the air temperature around her seemed to drop by a couple of degrees. "Otherwise, I might accidentally add something... muscle-relaxing... to your tea. Forever."

Uzui and Shinazugawa immediately fell silent, feeling the deadly aura emanating from the Insect Hashira.

You sighed softly. Unnoticed by the others, you reached out and interlaced your fingers with Shinobu’s. Your touch was cool, soothing. You squeezed her hand slightly, moving closer so that only she could hear your words.

"Shinobu, it’s alright," you whispered, your voice like the soothing flow of a river. "They’re just joking. It doesn't hurt me anymore."

Shinobu turned her head to you. Her angry gaze softened upon meeting your warm, peaceful expression. "I know," she replied just as quietly, not breaking eye contact. "But it still pisses me off. They don't understand how beautiful you are. They only see the surface."

"But you do," you smiled, and your fangs gleamed in the sunlight. "And that is more than enough for me. I don't need the whole world to see me the way you do. I only need you."

Shinobu took a deep breath, and the tension finally left her body. She relaxed her hand on the hilt of her sword and squeezed your fingers a little tighter in response.

That same evening, when the meeting ended and the Corps' business was settled, you sat on the wooden veranda of your private quarters in the Butterfly Mansion. The night sky was scattered with stars, and the air smelled of blooming wisteria and cool night air.

Your head rested on Shinobu’s lap. She was slowly, methodically, and incredibly tenderly running her thin fingers through your hair. This was your private ritual, a time when all masks were removed, and only the two of you remained.

You closed your eyes, savoring the moment. "You know," you broke the silence, your voice deep and sleepy. "I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said today. About them only seeing the surface."

Shinobu stopped her hand in your hair. "I didn't mean to upset you, Y/N."

"You didn't," you opened your eyes and looked up at her. In the moonlight, her face seemed carved from marble, but her eyes radiated so much love that it took your breath away. "I was just thinking about how lucky I am. I was born with the face of a monster in a world where monsters are humanity’s greatest enemies. I should have been an outcast. I should have lived a life of solitude, hiding from the gazes of others. But instead... I am lying here."

You raised your hand with its sharp, claw-like nails and carefully, with your fingertips, touched her cheek. Shinobu immediately pressed against your palm, closing her eyes.

"I am lying here," you continued, "with the most beautiful, strongest, and most incredible woman in the world. A woman who wasn't afraid of my fangs. Who taught me that love doesn't have the boundaries invented by the people in my village. Who gets angry for me when I forget how to get angry myself."

Shinobu opened her eyes, which were brimming with unshed tears. She leaned over and pressed her lips to yours in a long, trembling kiss. There was no passion or urgency in this kiss—only infinite, deep gratitude and devotion.

When she pulled away, her forehead remained pressed against yours. "You aren't a monster, Y/N," Shinobu whispered. "Demons are hollow inside. They have no heart. But your heart... it is so huge that it took in all my pain and all my anger and turned them into something bright. You are the most human creature I know. And I swear that I will be by your side until the very end. No matter what happens in this war."

You smiled, and this time your smile was wide, sincere, revealing all your "demonic" features, which you were no longer ashamed of. Because in the eyes of the woman looking at you now, those features were a symbol not of a threat, but of protection.

"And I will be by your side, Shinobu. Until the very end, and even after it."

That night, the air was crystal clear, autumn-chilled and crisp. You were adjusting the focus, trying to catch the Andromeda Galaxy in the lens, muttering calculations of light-years and parallaxes to yourself. You were so absorbed in the grandeur of stars, whose light had been traveling to Earth for millions of years, that you had completely forgotten about earthly threats.

The stench of decay and rotten blood hit your nose before you heard the crunch of branches.

You pulled away from the eyepiece, and your heart skipped a beat. From the thick bamboo thickets, illuminated only by the pale moonlight, a demon emerged. It was grotesque, with unnaturally long limbs and a maw from which viscous saliva dripped. Its bloodshot eyes focused on you.

"Such... tender... flesh," the monster wheezed, lunging toward you.

Fear paralyzed your body. You backed away, tripped over your telescope tripod, and fell onto the cold grass. The demon leaped, its claws gleaming in the moonlight. You squeezed your eyes shut, bracing for unbearable pain, but instead heard only the quiet rustle of fabric and a sound like the fluttering of a giant butterfly's wings.

"Insect Breathing. Butterfly Dance: Caprice."

A flash of violet cut through the darkness. The air instantly filled with the thick, sweet aroma of wisteria. The demon roared, but its scream quickly turned into a gurgling wheeze. You opened your eyes and saw the monster collapse to the ground, its body beginning to be covered in black veins, and then it crumbled into dust.

Standing before you was a girl of incredible beauty. Her haori resembled butterfly wings, shimmering with shades of pink and turquoise. In her hand, she held a strange, thin blade. She turned to you, and a soft, flawless smile lit up her face.

"Good evening," her voice was melodic, like the chime of silver bells. "Are you not injured? Wandering here at such an hour is extremely dangerous."

You sat on the grass, breathing heavily, your gaze darting from the crumbling ash to her face. "I... I'm okay," you muttered, your trembling hands adjusting your disheveled clothes. "Thank you. You... you saved my life."

The girl gracefully sheathed her blade and stepped closer. Her huge, violet eyes, devoid of glints, suddenly stopped on your telescope. "What an unusual device," she said with sincere curiosity. "I've seen similar instruments from scientists in the capital, but this one looks different. What is it for?"

Your fear began to slowly recede, giving way to your true passion. "It's... it's a telescope," you stood up, dusting off your skirt. "I use it to observe the stars. You see, the light from the stars takes so long to reach us that when we look at the night sky, we are literally looking into the past. We see the universe as it was thousands, millions of years ago."

The girl's smile became a little more thoughtful. She approached the telescope and gently touched the cold metal. "Looking into the past..." she echoed. "How poetic. My name is Kocho Shinobu. I am the Insect Hashira of the Demon Slayer Corps. And what is your name, lover of stars?"

Thus began your acquaintance. An acquaintance that forever changed the orbits of your lives.

After that night, you began to see each other more often. You continued to come to your hill, despite the danger, because the stars were your addiction. And Shinobu... Shinobu began including this hill on her patrol route.

Every Friday, when the moon entered a new phase, she would emerge from the darkness, silent and graceful. She would sit next to you on the spread-out blanket, pulling her knees to her chest, and listen.

You told her about quasars, about the birth and death of stars, about black holes and the infinity of the cosmos. You were an introvert, an ordinary girl, but when you talked about the universe, your eyes lit up with an incredible light, and your voice became confident and passionate.

For Shinobu, this was a breath of fresh air. Her entire life was soaked in death, poisons, blood, and an endless, exhausting war against demons. Her smile was a mask, hiding a deep, seething rage for her fallen sister. But next to you, listening to the scale of the cosmos, her problems seemed tiny for a moment. You didn't see a Hashira in her, you didn't expect orders or medicines from her. You saw in her just a person with whom you could share the beauty of the night sky.

"You know, Y/N," Shinobu said quietly one day, looking through the telescope's eyepiece at the craters of the Moon. "What you do... it's amazing. My job is to take the lives of monsters and save human bodies. But your gaze is directed where we can never reach. You look for light in the deepest darkness."

You looked at her profile, illuminated by the moonlight. Your heart beat traitorously faster. This had been happening for several weeks—this slow, viscous feeling budding in your chest. You were falling in love with her.

"Stars die too, Shinobu-san," you replied softly, moving a little closer, so that your shoulders almost touched. "But when a massive star dies, it explodes as a supernova. This explosion scatters elements across the universe from which new planets are later formed. And even we ourselves. We are literally made of stardust. Death in space is always the beginning of something new."

Shinobu turned her head to you. Her violet eyes studied your face intently. Her eternal, perfunctory smile disappeared, giving way to something incredibly gentle and vulnerable. She slowly raised her hand and touched your cheek with her fingertips.

"Stardust..." she whispered, and her touch scorched your skin. "What a beautiful philosophy, Y/N."

The tension between you grew with every meeting. Long glances, accidental touches of hands when handing a cup of tea from a thermos, quiet conversations until dawn. But neither of you dared to cross the invisible line.

With the onset of winter, demon activity in your region increased sharply. Shinobu began to arrive at the hill looking more and more tired, and traces of blood were often visible on her haori.

One night, she didn't even let you set up the telescope. She emerged from the forest, grabbed your wrist, and looked you in the eyes seriously.

"This is going too far, Y/N. Yesterday, two kilometers from here, I killed a demon that had almost mutated to the level of a Lower Moon. You cannot be here anymore."

"But Shinobu, my observations..." you began, but she interrupted you, her voice uncharacteristically stern.

"Your observations are not worth your life! If something happens to you..." she trailed off, sighing heavily, and her grip on your wrist softened. "If something happens to you, I will never forgive myself. I cannot always be around to protect you."

You lowered your gaze, understanding she was right. "What should I do? The stars are my whole life."

Shinobu was silent for a few seconds, as if weighing a decision. Then she lifted your chin, forcing you to look into her eyes. "Move to the Butterfly Mansion."

You blinked in surprise. "To the headquarters of the Slayers? But I'm a civilian."

"I am a Hashira, and I have the right to invite guests. We have an inner courtyard, protected by wisteria on all sides. Not a single demon will get in there. The sky is just as visible there as it is here. You will be in absolute safety, Y/N. And..." she looked away slightly, her cheeks blushing faintly. "And we will be able to see each other more often. I would really like that."

Your heart fluttered joyfully. It was impossible to refuse such an offer.

The move went quickly. The inhabitants of the Butterfly Mansion—Aoi, Kanao, Sumi, Naho, and Kiyo—accepted you with great joy. Your telescope took pride of place in the center of the inner courtyard.

Life in the Mansion brought you even closer. You became an integral part of each other's daily lives. During the day, you helped the girls dry medicinal herbs and make entries in medical journals (your analytical mind as a scientist turned out to be very useful here). And at night... at night, Shinobu came to you.

She would sit next to you on the wooden engawa (veranda), covering you both with one warm blanket. Sometimes, when she was too exhausted after missions, she would simply lay her head on your shoulder and fall asleep to your quiet stories about the constellations. You would stroke her dark hair with its violet tips, inhaling the scent of wisteria, and feel that you had found your own, most important universe.

But love, like the cosmos, does not tolerate stagnation. It requires gravitational collapse to turn into something more. And this collapse was inevitable.

It happened in the middle of August. According to your calculations, a rarest meteor shower was expected that night, like which had not been seen for the last hundred years. The problem was that the Butterfly Mansion was in a lowland, and the surrounding mountains blocked the horizon necessary for observation.

You knew you couldn't leave. Shinobu had strictly forbidden you from leaving the territory protected by wisteria. Moreover, that night she herself was on an urgent mission in a neighboring town.

But a scientist's passion turned out to be stronger than the voice of reason. "It's just for a couple of hours," you tried to persuade yourself. "I'll just go up to the Dragon's Tooth Pass. It's not that far. I'll be careful."

Armed with a small travel telescope, star maps, and a lantern, you secretly left the Mansion while everyone was asleep.

The climb up the mountain was difficult. But when you reached the summit, the view exceeded all expectations. The sky was literally ablaze with falling meteors. You took out a notebook, avidly recording the trajectories, having forgotten everything in the world. You were so happy that you didn't notice the air temperature drop sharply and the cicadas go silent.

An icy hand covered in scales grabbed you by the throat with such force that cartilage crunched.

You were lifted off the ground. The telescope fell to the rocks with a crash, the lenses shattered. The demon, huge and muscular, with three pairs of eyes, smiled predatorily, squeezing your throat.

"What luck," it growled. "A human female, climbed so high. No one will hear your screams."

You tried to resist, kicked it, scratched the scaly arm, but couldn't even take a breath. Your lungs burned, black spots swam before your eyes. In your head, only one thought pulsed: "Shinobu... forgive me..."

And at the moment when your consciousness was ready to fade, space tore apart.

It wasn't like the graceful dance you saw on the first night. This was concentrated, insane, blind rage.

"Insect Breathing. Butterfly Dance: Wriggling Centipede!"

Shinobu appeared from nowhere. She moved in zigzags with such superhuman speed that the wooden bridge of the pass creaked under her feet. Her face was distorted with horror and anger. She didn't try to prick the demon gracefully. She drove her blade straight into its eye, piercing the skull through and injecting a lethal dose of poison.

The demon howled, letting you go. You collapsed onto the rocks, greedily gasping for air, shaking in a violent cough.

Shinobu didn't stop. Even when the demon began to disintegrate, she continued to strike the crumbling ash with her sword, breathing heavily, as if having lost her mind.

"Shinobu..." you wheezed, trying to lift yourself up.

She turned sharply. The sword fell from her trembling hands. In two steps, she was next to you, falling to her knees on the sharp stones. Her always perfect, impenetrable mask of calm collapsed completely. Tears streamed down her cheeks, her eyes were wide with the horror she had endured.

She grabbed your shoulders and shook you with force. "What the hell are you doing here?!" her voice broke into a scream, full of despair. "Do you have any idea what I felt?! I returned to the Mansion, you're gone! Kakushi said they saw you on the path! I thought I was too late! I thought I lost you, like I lost my sister!"

"F-forgive me... the meteor shower... I thought..." you cried, feeling incredible guilt.

"Damn your meteors! Damn the stars!" she shouted, pressing you to her with such force that it hurt. "If you had died, Y/N... If you had died, my world would have gone out. I wouldn't have survived it. Do you hear? I wouldn't!"

There was so much primal pain and love in her cry that your heart constricted. You hugged her back, burying your face in her shoulder, inhaling the scent of blood, sweat, and wisteria.

"Forgive me. I will never leave you again. I swear," you sobbed.

She stroked your hair with trembling hands, convulsively inhaling your scent, as if making sure you were alive.

The return to the Mansion passed in absolute silence. Shinobu did not let go of your hand for a second. Her fingers dug into your palm like a vice.

She took you straight to her private chambers, bypassing the infirmary. Locking the shoji door, she sat you on her futon and brought a first-aid kit.

Only the dim light of a paper lantern burned in the room. Shinobu silently began to treat the abrasions on your knees and hands. Then she moved closer to examine your neck. Where the demon's fingers had closed on your throat, terrible, dark bruises had already begun to show.

Shinobu touched them with her fingertips. Her hand was shaking. "Does it hurt?" she asked quietly, her voice still hoarse from recent tears.

"Tolerable," you whispered, not taking your eyes off her face.

She applied a cooling ointment to your neck. The distance between you was negligibly small. You felt the heat of her body, saw how her chest rose under the Slayer uniform. The tension that had been accumulating between you for months, multiplied by the adrenaline from the near-death experience, had reached critical mass. The air in the room became thick and heavy, as if before a thunderstorm.

Shinobu did not remove her hand from your neck after she finished with the ointment. Her fingers dug into your hair at the nape. She lifted her gaze, and her violet eyes met yours. There was no more fear in them. In them was a wild, all-consuming hunger and a desperate need to feel that you were here, that you were alive and belonged to her.

You took the first step. You leaned forward and covered her lips with yours.

Shinobu let out a quiet, almost animal moan and responded to the kiss with such greed that your head spun. This was not a gentle, romantic touch. This was a kiss born of the fear of loss. Her lips crushed yours, her tongue assertively penetrated your mouth, tasting you, dominating, demanding total surrender.

Your hands instinctively gripped her waist, pulling her closer. She threw a leg over your hips, sitting on top of you. Her hands frantically slid over your clothes.

"Y/N... my Y/N..." she whispered between hot, wet kisses, covering your jaw, collarbones with them, carefully avoiding the bruises on your neck.

"Shinobu..." you were suffocating from the feelings that had rushed in. Your fingers tangled in the buttons of her uniform.

She helped you, with a sharp movement unbuttoning her jacket and throwing it aside. Your clothes followed. The cool night air touched your bare skin, but was immediately replaced by the scorching heat of Shinobu's body.

She was stunningly beautiful. In the light of the lantern, her pale skin seemed porcelain, with faint scars from battles that only made her sexier. Her small, neat breasts rose from heavy breathing.

You reached out to her, caressing her breasts, running your thumbs over her hardened nipples. Shinobu arched her back, throwing her head back, and a sweet, long moan escaped her throat.

"Yes... please, Y/N... make me forget this fear. Make me feel only you," she whispered, looking at you with eyes darkened by lust.

She pushed you onto the futon, looming over you. Her kisses went lower. She kissed your breasts, your stomach, making you writhe under her. You gripped the sheets when her lips touched the inside of your thigh.

"Shinobu, I..." you couldn't string two words together, your analytical mind completely shut down, giving way to pure instincts.

Her fingers gently parted your folds. You were already incredibly wet, ready for her. Shinobu looked you in the eyes, enjoying the power she had over you in this moment. She slowly inserted one finger, making you gasp loudly. Everything inside you constricted, pulsing with pleasure.

"You're so tight... so hot," the Insect Hashira whispered, her voice vibrating with excitement.

She added a second finger, beginning to move rhythmically inside you. At first slowly, stretching, and then faster and deeper. With her other hand, she unerringly found your clitoris, caressing it with circular motions.

It was too good. Your hips instinctively moved to meet her hand, begging for more. All the pain from the fall on the rocks disappeared, washed away by waves of mounting ecstasy.

"Sh-Shinobu! Harder... please!" you sobbed, unable to restrain your moans.

She increased the pace. Her movements were precise and unrelenting. She knew human anatomy perfectly, and now she used this knowledge to drive you to madness.

"Surrender to me, Y/N. Show me how much you love me," she whispered hotly into your ear.

The tension in your lower abdomen twisted into a tight spiral, and then exploded. You screamed her name, convulsively arching, your internal muscles tightly gripping her fingers, pulsing from a powerful, destructive orgasm. Stars flashed before your eyes—the same ones you loved to study—but now they were here, in this very room.

When you finally went limp on the futon, breathing heavily, Shinobu slowly withdrew her fingers and lay down next to you.

But you were not going to leave her without an answer. Your body was still humming with pleasure, but you wanted to give her the same.

You turned over, ending up on top. Shinobu sighed in surprise when your lips covered her nipple. You caressed her breasts, moving down with kisses until you were between her legs.

"Y/N..." Shinobu swallowed convulsively, her fingers digging into your hair.

You gently kissed her loins, and then your tongue found her sensitive center. The Insect Hashira, the scourge of demons, trembled beneath you like an autumn leaf. You acted diligently, pouring all your love into the caresses. Your tongue moved quickly and confidently, while two fingers slid inside her.

Shinobu turned out to be loud. Her moans filled the room, she tossed, arching her back, unable to control her body.

"God... Y/N... yes... don't stop!" she screamed, her nails leaving red streaks on your shoulders.

You accelerated your movements, feeling her approach the peak. Her thighs tightened around your head, she trembled with her whole body, and with a loud, piercing cry, an orgasm washed over her. Her body shook in your hands, juices washed your fingers.

You moved up to her, lying next to her and pulling her into your embrace. You were both covered in sweat, breathing heavily, but your hearts were beating in unison.

Several hours passed. The night had deeply come into its own, but neither of you was sleeping. You lay under one light blanket, pressed closely to each other. Your head rested on Shinobu's chest, and you listened to her steady heartbeat. Her fingers gently toyed with your hair.

"You know," Shinobu broke the silence quietly, her voice full of languor and calmness. "I wasn't angry at you just because of fear."

You propped yourself up on your elbow, looking into her eyes. "Then because of what else?"

Shinobu smiled weakly, running a finger along your cheek. "Because I realized I had lost. I am a Hashira. I swore to give my life to the Corps and to revenge for my sister. I shouldn't have had attachments that could make me weak. But then you appeared with your telescope and talk about the cosmos. And I realized that my oath had cracked. I fell in love with you so much, Y/N, that the thought of your death scares me more than defeat at the hands of Muzan."

Your eyes filled with tears. You leaned over and kissed her gently on the lips. "You're not weak, Shinobu. Love doesn't make us weak. In astrophysics, there is a concept of a 'binary star system'. This is when two stars revolve around a common center of mass. Their gravity holds them together, making the system incredibly stable. They feed each other. We are the same kind of stars. I will be your support, and you will be mine. I love you. I love you more than the entire universe."

Shinobu laughed happily, hugging your neck and pulling you back onto her chest.

"What a nerd you are, my beloved astrophysicist," she whispered, kissing you on the crown of your head. "A binary star system... I like that."

"So, are we a couple?" you asked with timid hope, burying your nose in the crook of her neck.

"We are a couple," Shinobu answered firmly and confidently. "And from now on, if you want to look at the stars, we will only do it together. And preferably from our inner courtyard, protected by wisteria. Otherwise, I will tie you to the futon. And believe me, my methods of tying are very... specific."

You blushed upon hearing the playful notes in her voice, but laughed happily.

You were a racer. One of the best in the series, a pilot whose name made the stands erupt in delight and rivals grit their teeth in frustration. Your driving style was aggressive, confident, and full of that raw, primordial power that contrasted so sharply with your personal life. Because there, beyond the track, in your team's pits, stood her.

Kanae.

You threw a quick glance at the rearview monitors, but in your mind, you saw only her. Your girlfriend, the owner of the world's most tender lilac-colored eyes, stood in the pit lane wearing massive noise-canceling headphones over her dark hair, adorned with her signature butterfly clips. She always stood out against the backdrop of rough mechanics and stern engineers. Her femininity, her softness, her elegant hands that so often calmed you after grueling races—all of this was your personal oasis in the middle of a roaring desert of motorsport.

And today, you were going to make that oasis yours forever.

The race was going quite well. You were holding firmly in third place, which for this stage of the championship was a brilliant result. The car, painted an aggressive red, obeyed your every movement as if it were an extension of your own body. The engine roared, devouring miles of the track, and the aerodynamics allowed you to take corners at speeds that would have made an ordinary person’s vision go dark.

But motorsport isn't just technique. It’s psychology. And your main rival, running in second place, knew this all too well.

Through the radio, which was sometimes intercepted on common frequencies, or through aggressive maneuvering on the track, he pressured you. He cut you off on turns, forcing you to brake sharply; he loomed in your rearview mirrors, playing on your nerves.

"You're losing your touch," his car roared past yours by mere inches, nearly peeling the paint off your right side. It was a risky, almost dirty maneuver.

Your jaws clenched so tightly your teeth creaked. You couldn't give in. Not today. Especially not when in the inner pocket of your fireproof suit, right against your heart, lay a small, hard velvet box. You felt its weight. You knew you had to reach the podium. You imagined stepping out of the car, taking off your helmet, and Kanae running toward you to congratulate you, and right there, under the flash of cameras and the roar of the crowd, you would drop to one knee. You wanted to give her the world. You wanted this victory to be the backdrop for the most important question of your life.

"Y/N, box! Pit stop this lap!" your race engineer’s voice suddenly cut into your helmet’s headset. "Telemetry shows critical wear on the right rear tire. Come in, we’re losing grip!"

You looked at the track. Your rival was right in front of you. The distance was closing. If you pitted now, you would lose precious seconds. You would come out of the pits in fifth, maybe sixth. Making up that time by the end of the race would be almost impossible. Your mind, clouded by adrenaline, anger at your rival, and a desperate desire to win for Kanae, made a fatal decision.

The psychological pressure had become too much. You simply couldn't let him pass you so easily; you couldn't let him smirk while watching you surrender and pull into the pit lane.

"One more lap," you barked into the microphone. "I’ll take him on the straightaway. The tires will hold."

"Y/N, no! Don't risk it! The tire temperature is off the charts!" the engineer was almost screaming, but you had already cut the channel, focusing on the bumper of the car ahead.

You gripped the steering wheel, your muscles tensing under the suit's fabric. You were strong, accustomed to bending circumstances to your will. You believed in your reflexes. You believed you could hold the car, even if it tried to spiral out of control.

Determined not to fall behind by an inch, you pushed the engine harder than it had ever gone before. The speedometer needle crept upward, inexorably approaching the critical mark. The speed climbed past 200 mph. Every component of your red car, every screw, every centimeter of carbon fiber, was working at the absolute limit of its physical capacity. The engine wailed like a wounded beast, and the vibration traveled through the seat directly into your bones.

The pressure became too much. The g-forces pressed you into the seat, but you only squinted predatorily as you entered a long, sweeping turn, intending to pass your rival on the outside.

It was at that exact moment that physics took its toll.

One of the overheated tires, worn to the cord, suddenly failed.

The sound was like a cannon shot—deafening, sharp, drowning out even the engine’s roar. A loud bang pierced the air, and the tire instantly shredded into tatters. Shards of white-hot rubber went smoking across the track, striking the bodies of the cars following behind.

You instantly lost stability.

Time seemed to slow down, stretching into an endless, sticky syrup of terror. The steering wheel jerked in your hands with such force it nearly dislocated your wrists. The rear end of the car swung violently to one side. You tried to stabilize the vehicle, instinctively counter-steering into the skid, but at over 200 mph with no grip on the asphalt, it was useless. The red car skidded sideways across the asphalt, emitting a piercing, soul-chilling screech of grinding metal.

Kanae, standing in the pits, was watching the large broadcast monitor at that moment. Her hands, gripping the radio, suddenly went cold. She saw a cloud of white smoke and then saw your car, having lost all control, carrying inexorably straight into the wall.

"Y/N..." her voice was just a soft exhale that drowned in the collective gasp of horror sweeping through the stands.

The car slammed into the outside retaining wall with tremendous, crushing force.

The impact was so great that the front of the car crumpled like a paper napkin. You were thrown forward; the seatbelts dug into your collarbones and chest, nearly breaking bones. Everything went dark. From the kinetic energy of the impact, the car was launched high into the air. Gravity ceased to exist.

You tumbled, flipping repeatedly. The world behind your helmet’s visor turned into a mad carousel of gray asphalt, blue sky, and blinding flashes. Fountains of sparks sprayed from the car’s body as it was torn to pieces. Pieces of red bodywork, carbon fiber, shattered glass, and mangled metal flew in every direction, littering the track like bloody remains after an explosion.

Each time the mangled car hit the asphalt, metal screeched, and a new, even brighter shower of sparks erupted before inertia threw it into the air again. One, two, three, four flips. The roll cage groaned, taking on the monstrous impacts, saving your life at the cost of its own destruction. Your body dangled limply in the seat, your head hitting the protective padding. You saw and heard nothing anymore; consciousness had left you after the second impact with the ground.

Eventually, the mangled piece of metal that had been a work of engineering art a minute ago landed upside down. The car continued to slide down the track on its roof, leaving a long, fiery trail of sparks behind it. The sound of grinding metal was unbearable. Finally, catching on an uneven patch of asphalt, the vehicle flipped one last time, crashing heavily back onto its wheels—or rather, what was left of them.

The car stopped. It stood in the middle of the track, broken, crushed, and smoking. Thick black smoke billowed from under the mangled hood, mixing with steam from a punctured radiator. The silence that hung over the circuit in the first seconds after the accident was deafening. And then the sirens of emergency crews wailed, rushing toward the scene of the catastrophe.

Chaos reigned in the pits. Engineers were shouting into microphones, trying to make contact with you. "Y/N! Y/N, do you hear me?! Respond!" the chief engineer’s voice trembled.

But only the hollow hiss of static responded.

Kanae didn't hear the shouting. She didn't see the bustle around her. Her world had narrowed to one single image on the monitor—the smoking, torn red car. Her heart seemed to stop in her chest. Her breath caught, and everything swam before her eyes. The woman she loved more than life, her strong, unshakeable, incredible Y/N was inside that metal coffin right now.

Instinct worked faster than reason. Kanae ripped the headphones off her head, throwing them aside. Her usually smooth, graceful movements were now full of wild, animal panic and determination. She started to run.

She ran along the pit lane, paying no attention to the shouts of marshals trying to stop her. "Miss, you can't go there! The track isn't clear!" they shouted after her, but Kanae didn't even turn her head.

She ran out onto the asphalt of the track, her light sneakers sliding on scattered carbon fiber and debris. The acrid scent of burning oil and hot metal hit her nose. The medical team and firefighters were already at the car, spraying the engine with foam and trying to pry open the jammed door.

"Get back! Let me to her!" Kanae’s voice, usually so soft and melodic, had now broken into a desperate, piercing scream. She ran to the car, shoving away large men in fireproof suits as if they were made of paper.

"Ma'am, get back, it's dangerous! There might be a fire! We have to extricate her!" shouted one of the rescuers, trying to pull Kanae away by the shoulders.

"Don't touch me! That’s my Y/N! I won't leave her!" Kanae broke free, her eyes full of tears and fury. She rushed to the driver’s side window. The protective netting was torn.

Inside the cabin, everything was flooded with foam and blood. You were hanging by the seatbelts, your head slumped limply onto your chest. Your helmet was scratched and cracked. Your suit was torn in several places.

Kanae didn't remember exactly how it happened. Her hands—the very same hands you loved to kiss—were now being covered in soot and blood as she helped the rescuers cut the seatbelts. She didn't feel the cuts from the shattered glass. When the door finally gave way, Kanae literally threw herself inside, wrapping her arms around your shoulders.

Together with the medics, she pulled your limp, heavy body from the mangled wreckage. They carefully laid you on rigid stretchers, stabilizing your neck with a special collar.

"She has a weak pulse! Heavy bleeding from a laceration on her thigh, suspected rib fractures, and internal injuries! To the ER, urgently!" the lead medic shouted.

The stretchers were rolled toward the ambulance. Kanae ran alongside, not letting go of your hand in its fireproof glove for a second. Her tears dripped onto your dirty sleeve.

"Hold on, my love... please, hold on," Kanae whispered like a mantra, swaying from side to side. Her heart was breaking into a thousand shards with every intermittent beep of the cardiac monitor. You were always so strong. You were her protector, her masculine, confident rock. Seeing you this vulnerable, broken, was unbearable.

The hospital greeted them with the blinding white light of fluorescent lamps and the scent of antiseptics. As soon as the stretchers were rolled out of the ambulance, a crowd of doctors and nurses formed around them. They rushed you down the corridors toward the emergency surgery unit.

Kanae ran after, until someone’s hands stopped her before the double doors labeled "Emergency Surgery. No Entry."

"You can't go further, miss. We will do everything possible," said the doctor before the doors closed in her face.

Kanae was left alone in the empty, echoing corridor. Her legs gave way, and she slid down the wall to the floor, burying her face in her knees. She didn't know how much time had passed. Minutes stretched into hours. Her clothes were stained with your blood and machine oil, but she didn't even notice.

At some point, a nurse approached her, carrying a plastic bag in her hands.

"Miss... these are the pilot’s belongings. We had to cut the suit in trauma to get access to the wounds before surgery. You can take them."

Kanae lifted her tear-filled eyes and nodded. She took the bag. Inside lay your racing suit. The very one you had been so proud of. Now it was a pathetic sight: cut by scissors along the seams, soaked in sweat, blood, and fire extinguisher foam, it smelled of catastrophe.

The nurse led Kanae to a small waiting room for relatives. Once there, alone, Kanae dumped the contents of the bag onto the floor. Pieces of thick fabric with sponsor patches and your last name fell onto the linoleum with a dull thud. Kanae sank to her knees next to the mangled suit. She touched the fabric, feeling the sobs rising in her throat again. She lost track of time, simply sitting on the floor of the hospital waiting room, trying to grasp the full horror of what was happening.

Her fingers idly sorted through the pieces of fabric until they suddenly bumped into something hard in the inner pocket of the jacket. The pocket was hidden under a protective layer, right at heart level. Where your heart was.

Kanae frowned. She pushed her hand into the cut in the fabric and felt a small, rectangular object. Pulling it out into the light, she froze.

It was a small, dark blue velvet box. It had miraculously survived, only slightly covered in soot.

Kanae’s hands shook even harder. She slowly, as if in a dream, opened the box.

Inside, on white satin, lay a ring. An elegant, strict, but insanely beautiful white gold ring with a neat diamond surrounded by small sapphires. It was exactly as Kanae had imagined it in her deepest dreams—the perfect combination of her love for refinement and your impeccable, strict taste.

Kanae’s breath hitched. She pressed the box to her lips, and a new stream of tears flowed from her eyes. Now she understood everything. She understood why you had been so desperately rushing for the win, why you hadn't pitted, why you had risked your life. You had wanted to win this race for her. You had wanted to propose right there, at the top of the podium.

"Stupid... you are so stupid, Y/N," Kanae sobbed, sitting on the hospital floor, clutching a mangled piece of your suit in one hand and the ring that was supposed to be the symbol of their eternal love in the other. "I don't need your victory. I only need you. Just stay alive. I beg you, just survive."

The surgery lasted almost seven hours. When the surgeon finally came out to Kanae, he looked tired, but there was no grief on his face.

"She’s a fighter," the doctor said, taking off his surgical cap. "She has multiple rib fractures, a complex spiral crack in her right femur, a severe concussion, and numerous lacerated wounds. We stopped the internal bleeding and stabilized the bones. She is in a medically induced coma in the ICU now, so her body can handle the pain shock. The next few days will be critical, but the prognosis is cautiously optimistic."

It felt to Kanae as if a concrete slab had fallen off her shoulders. She sobbed right onto the chest of the startled surgeon, incessantly muttering words of gratitude.

You were unconscious for two long days.

All this time, Kanae didn't leave your bedside for a step. She slept in an uncomfortable chair, holding your hand in hers. She listened to the even beeping of the ventilator and watched your chest, bound in tight bandages, heave. Your face was covered in bruises and abrasions, but to Kanae, you remained the most beautiful person on earth. She gently wiped your face with a damp sponge, told you stories about how beautifully the butterflies were blooming in her garden now, and sang quiet lullabies to you.

On the third day, your eyelids flickered.

Consciousness returned slowly, pushing through the thick, viscous haze of medication and throbbing pain. The first thing you felt was the smell of sterility. Then—a dull, aching pain in your chest that hindered a deep breath, and a fire blazing in your right leg.

You groaned, trying to move, but your body felt like it was filled with lead.

"Shhh, don't move. Please, lie still," a painfully familiar, gentle voice whispered nearby, trembling with tears.

You opened your eyelids with difficulty. The light in the room was dimmed. Kanae was leaning over you. Her hair was disheveled, deep shadows of sleep deprivation lay under her eyes, but her face shone with such absolute, all-consuming joy that your breath caught.

"Kanae..." your voice was a hoarse, barely audible croak. Your throat was dry.

She immediately brought a straw with a glass of water to your lips, helping you take a few sips. Then she gently kissed your forehead in an uninjured spot, her tears dripping onto your cheeks.

"You’ve returned to me," she whispered, pressing her cheek to your hand. "My brave, strong girl. You’re alive."

Memories of the accident crashed down on you like an avalanche. The tire popping, losing control, the insane spinning, the grinding of metal, and the pain. You closed your eyes, swallowing hard.

"The race..." you rasped, feeling the bitterness of defeat. "I lost. The car is destroyed... I messed up so badly, Kanae. I wanted..."

"Quiet," she interrupted softly but firmly, her fingers gently stroking your cheek. "I don't care about the race. I don't care about the car. The only thing that matters is that you are breathing. That I can hold your hand right now. That I can look into your eyes."

The next few days blurred into a sequence of medical procedures, painkillers, and sleep. Your strong body recovered slowly; every movement caused pain. You were angry at your helplessness. You hated that you couldn't walk to the bathroom yourself, that Kanae had to help you with food and care.

But Kanae was the embodiment of patience. She tended to you with such tenderness and devotion that your anger melted under her touch. She brushed your hair, changed your dressings with the dexterity of a professional nurse (even though her hands often trembled), and sat beside you for hours, simply holding your hand, reading books aloud. In those moments, you realized that you loved her so much that the feeling wouldn't fit in your chest.

A week passed. You were moved from the ICU to a regular room. The pain became more tolerable, and your mind clearer.

It was a quiet evening. Outside the window, it was raining, the drops drumming softly against the glass. The room was lit only by a small nightlight, casting warm shadows on the walls. You were lying in bed, feeling better than you had in days. Kanae was sitting nearby, her head resting on the edge of your bed, dozing peacefully.

You carefully reached out with your healthy hand and buried your fingers in her dark hair. Kanae sighed quietly, opened her eyes, and smiled sleepily, looking at you.

She straightened up, stretched, and suddenly, as if remembering something, her face became serious, but her eyes shone with hidden emotions. She reached for her purse on the nightstand and pulled out a small, slightly soot-stained velvet box.

Your heart skipped a beat. The ECG monitor next to the bed betrayed you by beeping a little faster.

"Your suit had to be cut when you were brought into surgery," Kanae began quietly, looking at the box in her hands. Her voice was soft, overflowing with love. "I found this in the inner pocket."

She looked up at you, eyes shimmering with tears. "You wanted to do this after the finish, right? You risked so much because you wanted to win for me?"

You swallowed the lump in your throat. Your cheeks, despite the bruises, flushed slightly pink. You, who had always been so rough and guarded, were now incredibly vulnerable lying here before her, revealing your most tender secret.

"Yes," you rasped, holding her gaze. "I... I planned to get down on one knee right on the podium. With the trophy in one hand and the ring in the other. I thought it would be cool. Worthy of you. And instead... I’m lying here, broken like an old toy, and you’re cleaning up after me. This is not at all the finale I planned."

Kanae laughed quietly and melodically through her tears. She placed the box on your chest, right over your hospital gown, and then covered your hand with her palms.

"Y/N, my beloved, stupid racer," she whispered, leaning in so close that her breath warmed your face. "I don't need trophies. I don't need podiums or crowds of fans. My greatest prize is that you are alive. That I can hold your hand right now. That I can look into your eyes."

She traced your cheekbone with her finger, avoiding the bruises. "I saw the ring. It’s stunning. But..." Kanae smiled slyly, her eyes flashing through a veil of tears, "I want you to ask me yourself. For real."

Your breath quickened. You looked at the box lying on your chest, then at the woman who had become the meaning of your existence. Your pain faded into the background. You slowly, overcoming the discomfort in your ribs, propped yourself up on your elbow. With your free, healthy hand, you took the box, clicked the latch, and opened it. The diamond sparkled in the light of the nightlight.

You looked into Kanae’s eyes. All your confidence on the track was nothing compared to the determination that burned in your gaze now.

"Kanae," your voice was quiet but incredibly firm. "I’ve been racing my whole life. I thought the finish line was the only thing that mattered. But at the moment the car was flying into the wall, the only thing I thought about... was you. You are my home. My victory. My life. I might not be on the podium right now, and I can't drop to one knee... but I promise that I will love you, protect you, and be with you through every turn of our lives."

You held the ring out to her, your fingers trembling slightly.

"Kocho Kanae... will you marry me?"

Tears poured from Kanae’s eyes in a torrent. She didn't say anything. She simply nodded, quickly and desperately, and threw herself onto your neck, trying not to crush your broken ribs. She kissed your face, your lips, muttering words of consent and love.

You awkwardly, but with incredible tenderness, put the ring on her finger. It fit perfectly.