#talking shit

By the time anyone else noticed, it had already been weeks.

The girl arrived with a new batch of trainees: wide-eyed, eager, smelling of steel and nervous sweat. 

She was competent enough with a sword, quick on her feet, nothing remarkable on the surface. Just another young slayer hopeful with a hopeful future.

Y/N watched her from the engawa the first few days, chin resting lightly on her hand as she and Mitsuri shared a snack between patrol rotations.

“She looks promising,” Mitsuri hummed, chewing happily. “Good stance. Pretty eyes, too.”

Y/N smiled. “Mm. Her footwork needs work, but she learns quickly.”

At the time, there was nothing else to it.

The first time Y/N saw the girl laughing a little too brightly at something Sanemi said, she thought it was cute.

They were at the training fields, afternoon sun slanting low. 

Sanemi had just finished putting the senior trainees through a brutal sprint set: half of them collapsed in the dirt, sucking air. The girl stood, hands braced on her knees, cheeks flushed, chest heaving.

“Not bad,” Sanemi grunted, tossing her a canteen when she didn’t drop like the others. “You’re not completely useless.”

She caught it, eyes widening. “Thank you, Shinazugawa!”

Her bow was deep, earnest. When she straightened, there was a spark in her eyes. 

She tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear, stepping just a little closer than necessary to hand the canteen back.

“If you have time…” she ventured, “I would be honored if you could watch my form later. I want to be as strong as you someday.”

Sanemi blinked, visibly thrown by the directness.

He scratched awkwardly at his scarred cheek. “Tch. Just don’t die. Strength comes after not dying.”

But he didn’t brush her off completely. He corrected her grip when she approached him again, voice gruff but precise, pushing her stance lower, ordering ten more swings.

From the shade of a nearby tree, Y/N watched, head tilted, a faint amusement in her eyes.

“That one has guts,” she remarked to Inosuke, who was upside down from a branch, doing sit-ups for no discernible reason.

“She’s loud,” he declared, as if that were the only metric that mattered. “But not as strong as me.”

Y/N giggled. “Of course not,” she soothed, reaching up to poke his cheek. “You’re one of a kind.”

She didn’t think much more of it.

˖.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

The second time, it was Giyu.

Evening had draped the Estate in lavender and silver. Fireflies blinked lazily in the garden. 

Giyu was on his way back from a patrol, haori damp from a light rain, dark hair clinging in strands near his jaw.

The girl almost collided with him rounding a corner.

“I…ah! I’m so sorry, Tomioka!” she gasped, stumbling back.

He steadied her without thinking, hand catching her elbow before she could fall. The contact lasted a second, two at most, but her eyes widened as if he’d pulled her from a cliff.

“It’s fine,” he said, releasing her. “Watch the corners.”

He moved to step around her, intent on the hot bath waiting in his room.

“To-Tomioka!” she blurted, spinning back toward him.

He paused, gaze sliding back.

She seemed to gather herself. “I just wanted to say… I admire you a lot,” she said, cheeks flushing. “You’re so calm, even under pressure. It’s… really cool. And you’re very handsome, too.”

Her eyes flicked over his face, lingering in ways that were less subtle than she thought.

Giyu blinked.

“Oh,” he said.

She laughed nervously. “I mean…everyone thinks so, I’m sure! It’s just reassuring, having someone like you here. I feel safer, knowing you’re watching over us.”

He studied her for a beat, expression unreadable.

“Thank you,” he said eventually. “You should rest. Training starts early.”

He walked away.

She watched his back as he disappeared down the corridor, hands clasped behind her.

Up on the balcony, where Y/N sat with a cup of tea cooling between her hands, her lips curved.

“Cute,” she murmured to herself, amusement soft. 

“Someone’s got a crush.”

It didn’t bother her. Men like Giyu and Sanemi drew eyes. It was natural. As long as the girl’s admiration remained a harmless ripple on the surface, Y/N saw no reason to disturb it.

For a while, it was just that.

A blush when Giyu passed by. A shy smile when Sanemi barked orders. Lingering glances during drills, bright praise spilling from the girl’s lips a little too often.

“Shinazugawa, you’re amazing!”

“Tomioka, I’ve never seen anyone move like that.”

Y/N watched from the edges with a gentle expression, hiding her small, knowing smiles behind her teacup or sleeve. 

Her trust in her men was bone-deep; she’d seen their love in battlefields and bedrooms alike, in quiet acts of devotion when no one else was watching.

Let her look, she thought. It costs me nothing.

But weeks wore on, and the flirtation did not stay sweet for long.

It sharpened.

What started as shy compliments became lingering touches.

The first time the girl’s hand slipped around Sanemi’s bicep, lingering to squeeze, Y/N felt something in her chest go still.

They were at the practice yard again. He’d demonstrated a combination kata; the trainees panted, sweating, some nursing bruises from when he’d “corrected” their forms with blunt force.

“Your arms are incredible, Shinazugawa,” the girl laughed breathlessly, fingers sliding over muscle like she had a right. “I’ve never seen anyone so well—built. No wonder everyone’s scared of you.”

Sanemi flinched at the contact like she’d jabbed a knife into his ribs.

“The hell are you doing?” he barked, yanking his arm back. His voice was rough, annoyed, but not cruel. There was no real threat in it, more startled discomfort. 

“Focus on your own strength. Mine’s none of your business.”

She bit her lip, misreading his reaction as embarrassment rather than warning. “Oh…sorry,” she said, though her eyes gleamed. “I just really admire strong men.”

Across the yard, Y/N’s lashes lowered.

Her smile remained, but the edges cooled.

Mitsuri, beside her, hummed under her breath, following her gaze. “She’s getting pretty bold,” she murmured. “Does it bother you?”

Y/N’s fingers traced the rim of her cup.

“Not yet,” she said. “He can handle himself. They both can.”

And he did. Sanemi barked at the girl to go run laps until she couldn’t breathe, grumbling under his breath for good measure. The girl scampered off, shoulders shaking with suppressed giggles.

But days bled into more days, and the touches didn’t stop.

A hand on Giyu’s sleeve as she “asked a question.” 

That same hand slipping down to his forearm, thumb brushing the firm lines of muscle through the fabric.

“It’s reassuring,” she murmured one afternoon as he stood by the koi pond, delivering a rare quiet lecture on breathing techniques. “You being so solid. I feel like nothing could ever knock you over.”

Giyu removed her hand gently, step subtle but decisive.

“Keep your guard up,” he said. “Demons won’t care how reassured you feel.”

She only laughed, undeterred.

“Of course, Tomioka,” she purred. “I know I’d be safe if I stayed near you.”

Y/N watched from under the shade of a wisteria, her expression unreadable.

Her hand, resting in her lap, stilled mid-motion.

“Inosuke,” she said idly.

“Huh?” he grunted from where he was crouched by the pond, flicking pebbles into the water.

“What do you think of her,” Y/N asked, voice smooth.

He glanced over, frowning. “That loud one? She smells annoying.”

Y/N’s lips twitched. “Annoying?”

“Like someone trying too hard,” he declared. “Keeps swinging her sword too wide. And she touches Water Pillar too much.” His nose wrinkled. “Makes my fur stand up.”

Y/N exhaled a soft little laugh.

“Mm,” she said. “Mine too.”

˖.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

The shift from harmless to venomous was subtle.

At first, the comments were made when she thought Y/N wasn’t listening.

“My, the Celestial Hashira is really something, isn’t she?” The girl’s voice carried across the courtyard as she sat with a group of trainees, stretching sore muscles. “So composed. So perfect. It must be exhausting.”

A few of the others murmured agreement, not sure where this was going.

“She’s beautiful,” one boy offered hesitantly. “Like a goddess.”

The girl’s smile went tight. “She’s pretty,” she said lightly. “In a delicate way.”

Her eyes skimmed over the training grounds to where Y/N stood in her usual haori, hair swept up as she spoke quietly with Shinobu.

“But don’t you think she looks a little fragile?” the trainee continued. 

“Like one of those porcelain dolls. All thin. I always thought warrior women would be more…” Her gaze dropped meaningfully to her own chest, then to her hips. “Substantial. Soft in the right places, you know? More like women men actually want to hold.”

Inosuke’s head whipped around so fast a vertebrae probably protested.

“Oi,” he snapped, stomping over without preamble. 

“Y/N isn’t fragile. She’s strong. Stronger than you. And her body is perfect.”

Some trainees choked. A few girls laughed, not unkindly.

The girl blinked, feigning innocence. “Oh, I didn’t say she wasn’t strong,” she cooed. 

“I just meant I’m surprised she managed to hold on to two of the strongest Hashira when she looks like that. Men usually like a little more to grab, don’t they?”

Inosuke bristled like a cat.

“Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum love her,” he snapped. “She could look like a stick and they’d still want her. But she doesn’t. She looks like…” His brain scrambled for words. “…like a star you can touch. Shiny and soft and pretty.”

Y/N, nearby, had paused mid-conversation with Shinobu, the faint rise and fall of their voices stilling as the exchange drifted over on the wind.

Her smile didn’t falter.

Her eyes, however, went distant for a heartbeat.

Shinobu hummed, following her gaze. “Shall I have a word?” she asked sweetly, smile sharpening. “I’m very good at deflating swollen egos.”

Y/N inhaled slowly, smoothing her sleeve down with practiced grace.

“No,” she said quietly. “Not yet. A few loose words won’t kill me.”

Her hand, hidden inside her sleeve, pressed for a second over the star pendant at her throat.

She released it, smile returning.

But the air around her had cooled by a few degrees.

˖.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

It didn’t stop.

If anything, the girl grew bolder as days passed without overt consequence.

She lingered near Sanemi and Giyu whenever she could, asking unnecessary questions, laughing too hard, “accidentally” brushing shoulders or clinging to their arms under the guise of imbalance.

“Shinazugawa, your chest is so broad,” she’d say with a breathy giggle after he caught her from a staged stumble. “No wonder demons run.”

“Don’t touch me,” he’d snap, shoving her upright, jaw tight. “Stand on your own damn feet.”

She only smiled, cheeks pink. “You’re so shy.”

Giyu fared no better.

During a joint training session, Y/N watched from the sidelines as the trainee stepped a fraction too close every time Giyu corrected her form, eyes drinking in the flex of his hand on his blade, the calm, controlled power in his stance.

“You’re amazing, Tomioka,” she sighed afterward, fingers trailing lightly down his forearm as if she had any right. “I don’t know how Y/N can stand being between you and Shinazugawa all the time. I’d melt.”

Giyu’s hand moved away like her touch burned.

“Focus on your training,” he said curtly. “Not on things that don’t concern you.”

Her smile flickered.

“But it does concern me,” she said softly, almost petulant. “You’re my superior. My safety. I worry, sometimes, that she’s taking too much of your attention.”

The words barely left her mouth before the air shifted.

Y/N stepped into their little circle: quiet as falling ash, presence as deliberate as a drawn blade.

“My,” she said, tone warm but edged in something bright. “I hope I misheard.”

The girl jolted.

“C-Celestial Hashira,” she stammered, bowing quickly. “I didn’t see you there.”

Y/N’s smile was serene. “Clearly,” she said. “You seem to have trouble seeing anything beyond your own nose lately.”

A few trainees nearby went very still.

Giyu’s jaw flexed faintly, though his face remained calm.

Y/N turned her gaze to him, eyes softening for a heartbeat. “Tomioka,” she said gently, “you look tired. You’ve been out on missions nonstop. Go rest. I’ll handle afternoon drills.”

He hesitated. Something in her eyes: quiet, steady, asking him to trust her convinced him.

“…Alright,” he said. His gaze slid to the trainee for a brief, assessing second. “Don’t make more trouble than you’re worth,” he advised her, voice mild. Then he turned and walked away.

Sanemi drifted in shortly afterward to bark at another group, but even he felt the change in the air.

Y/N’s smile, when turned to the trainee, was still elegant. Still gentle.

But the light in her eyes had cooled into starlight: beautiful, distant, and dangerous if you stared too long.

“You seem very invested in my men,” she observed lightly, tilting her head. “I hope your training is going just as well.”

The girl flushed. “Of course,” she said. “I only want to learn from the best. They’re incredible. You’re very lucky, Y/N.” 

Her gaze flicked over Y/N’s slim frame in a quick, assessing sweep she didn’t bother to hide this time. “Some of us have to work a bit harder to get noticed.”

Y/N’s lashes lowered.

“Is that so?” she asked, voice smooth. “And you believe draping yourself over their arms will get you there faster?”

A few trainees choked on their own spit.

The girl stiffened. “I don’t mean any disrespect,” she said quickly. “I just think maybe it’s selfish. For one woman to hog both of them. Some of us don’t even get a chance to try. Especially when…” 

Her eyes slid down, blatant now. “some of us have more to offer.”

The quiet that fell was immediate and profound.

All at once it became clear: this wasn’t clueless admiration. This was envy with sharp teeth.

Y/N’s smile never faltered.

Her chin lifted a fraction, eyes gleaming.

“Is that what this has been about?” she asked softly.

The girl swallowed. Pride pushed her forward where sense should have pulled her back.

“You’re beautiful,” she said, as if the admission pained her. “Everyone says so. But beauty isn’t everything. You’re so…” She gestured vaguely at Y/N’s waist. 

“Delicate. Some men like women with real curves. Softer. You can’t keep them all to yourself just because you got there first.”

No one moved.

Inosuke, who had been about to launch into a set of push-ups, froze on his hands, head snapping around so fast his boar pelt slipped askew.

“Take that back,” he demanded.

She sniffed. “It’s just the truth.”

Y/N exhaled slowly through her nose.

The air around her stilled.

“You speak very confidently,” she said, voice still soft. “For someone whose sword has not yet tasted a demon.”

The girl flushed. “I train every day,” she snapped. “I’ll be a Hashira someday. Maybe I’ll even surpass you. Then we’ll see who they choose.”

A hum rippled through the watching trainees: disbelief, a touch of excitement, more than a little horror.

Y/N’s lips curved.

“Is that a challenge?” she asked politely.

The trainee straightened, emboldened by her own bravado and the attention.

“Yes,” she said. “Me and you. Why don’t we see who’s better?”

A collective gasp fluttered through the yard.

Inosuke slapped a hand over his face. “She’s stupid,” he muttered. “Pretty One, can I fight her instead? I’ll knock some sense in.”

Y/N’s gaze never left the girl.

There was a part of her that wanted to walk away. To let the insult slide off her like rain off her haori. 

She’d endured worse words. Worse assumptions. She didn’t need to prove anything.

But this wasn’t just about her.

It was the way the girl spoke of Giyu and Sanemi like prizes to be won by the most persistent hand. 

The way she spoke of other women: of Mitsuri, of the Corps girls who fought and bled alongside them, as if their worth was measured purely in the swell of their chests or the width of their hips.

Y/N could accept being insulted.

She would not accept another woman being taught that this was normal.

She smiled.

“Very well,” she said simply. “A spar, then.”

“Y/N-” Shinobu started from the edge of the yard, but Y/N only lifted a hand, the motion small and composed.

“Wooden swords,” she added. “We are comrades, after all.”

The trainee rolled her shoulders, mistaking the calm for concession. “Afraid to really fight me?” she taunted.

“No,” Y/N replied, voice silk over steel. “Just kind enough to let you walk tomorrow.”

˖.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

They gathered on the nearest practice field.

Someone ran to fetch bokken. Word spread like wildfire; within minutes, a loose ring of trainees, Kakushi, and a few off-duty slayers had formed around the sparring ground.

Y/N shrugged off her haori, folding it neatly and handing it to a waiting Kakushi. 

For once, she did not re-dress in a thinner outer layer.

She stepped forward in only her Corps uniform.

Her hakama hugging her hips before flaring, side slits tied with subtle cords that allowed for fluid movement. 

The black fabric contrasted sharply with the pale line of her throat, the small glimpse of collarbone above the uniform’s high closure.

She looked, quite frankly, devastating.

Inosuke whistled low. “Pretty,” he declared to no one in particular. “I mean she’s always pretty, but this is… extra pretty.”

Sanemi, arriving halfway through the crowd with a stack of reports he’d been forced to abandon, stopped dead.

He’d seen her in her uniform a thousand times.

But something about this: about her hair down, about the sharp line of focus in her eyes, about the way the late afternoon sun traced the fine sheen of sweat at her temple made his brain short-circuit for a beat.

“What the hell-” he started.

Giyu appeared on his other side, equally caught, words dying in his throat.

She turned her head slightly, just enough for them to see the faint curve of her lips, the glint in her eyes.

Oh, that look said. You’re here.

They moved to the front of the crowd without speaking, both men suddenly very invested in what was happening.

The trainee rolled her shoulders, bokken tapping lightly against her palm. She was strong, that much showed in the set of her muscles, the confidence in her stance. She fancied herself a rising star.

“First to yield?” Y/N asked calmly, bokken held with casual ease.

“If you can make me,” the girl shot back.

Y/N’s smile sharpened.

“Begin!” someone called.

The trainee lunged.

She was fast. 

Not Hashira fast, but quick enough to punish sloppiness. Her strikes came hard and aggressive, aiming for Y/N’s ribs, her shoulders, her legs.

Y/N flowed.

Her bokken moved in clean, economical arcs, catching each blow on the flat of the blade, turning the force aside with minimal effort. 

She stepped where she needed to, no more, no less. 

The world narrowed to rhythm: wood meeting wood, breath and movement and the whispered thud of feet on packed earth.

“Why do you even want both of them?” the girl taunted between strikes, voice breathy but still sharp. “Isn’t one man enough to keep you warm at night?”

Murmurs rippled at the brazenness of the words.

She let the next blow slide past her shoulder with an almost lazy twist, hair lifting in the wake of the strike. Her expression didn’t flicker.

“If I were you,” she said mildly, “I’d worry more about keeping your guard up.”

The girl snarled and swung harder.

Y/N’s brows knit delicately, not in anger but concentration. 

Her bokken snapped up, parrying, redirecting. A twist of her wrist, a shift of her weight, and the trainee’s balance faltered.

“You talk about women’s bodies like commodities,” Y/N continued, voice smooth despite the flurry of movement. “As if curves and softness are coins to be traded for affection.”

She pivoted, sliding past the trainee’s attempted feint with a grace that drew a quiet, involuntary sound from several watching men.

Her uniform clung, for a heartbeat, to the line of her waist, the subtle curve of hip where hakama met belt. A thread of hair stuck to the sheen of sweat at her neck.

“You insult me,” she went on, “but it isn’t really me you’re hurting.”

Her bokken flashed low, knocking the girl’s legs just enough to make her stumble. Y/N didn’t press the advantage. Not yet.

“It’s the younger girls who hear you,” she said. “Who hear you say that they must be ‘fuller’ or ‘softer’ or ‘more this’ and ‘less that’ to be loved. To be chosen.”

Her gaze was calm. Cold.

“Their worth is not measured,” she said, “by what men want to grab.”

The trainee snarled, cheeks flushed with more than exertion.

“What would you know?” she spat, swinging wildly now, anger driving her. “You’ve never had to try. You walk in and everyone loves you. You don’t know what it’s like to be ignored for someone who’s more…more perfect.”

For a flicker of a second, something vulnerable flashed through her expression: an ugly, raw hurt.

Y/N’s heart twinged.

Ah, she thought. There it is.

Loneliness. Inferiority. The bitter conviction that she would always be second choice.

She knew that feeling. Intimately.

The girl came at her again, overhead strike heavy and telegraphed.

Y/N stepped in.

Her bokken angled up, catching the blow and sliding along it in a clean line. She twisted her wrist, pivoted on the ball of her foot, and all at once the trainee’s world flipped.

Her back hit the dirt.

The breath whooshed out of her lungs, eyes flying wide.

When her vision cleared, Y/N was already there.

Looming above her, one knee bent, the other leg extended for balance, bokken pressed gently, but unmistakably, across the girl’s throat.

Her chest rose and fell in quiet, controlled breaths. 

Sweat dampened the hair at her temples, making the loose strands cling to her cheeks. Her lips were parted slightly from exertion, the faintest flush coloring her cheekbones.

She looked utterly, ruinously beautiful.

The yard went silent.

Then:

“Whoa,” someone whispered.

“Did you see that footwork?”

“Her hips are so-” another boy hissed, then quickly shut up when Inosuke elbowed him in the ribs.

Giyu’s fingers had unconsciously curled into fists. 

Sanemi’s jaw was clenched so tight a muscle jumped.

They were both staring.

Not because of the way the uniform hugged her body (though that did not go unnoticed; they were only human) but because of the way she looked in that moment: eyes narrowed, lips curved, power coiled beneath her skin like a held breath.

Y/N smiled down at the girl.

It was beautiful.

It was not kind.

“I suppose,” she murmured, voice low enough that it felt like it brushed along the trainee’s skin, “you lost.”

The words weren’t cruel.

They were simple fact.

The girl stared up at her, chest heaving, eyes glossy with a mixture of humiliation and something like awe.

“I…” she croaked, then swallowed. “I yield.”

Y/N stepped back immediately, lowering her weapon. She extended her free hand, offering to help the girl up.

For a moment, pride warred with exhaustion. Then the trainee gripped her hand and let herself be pulled to her feet.

Up close, Y/N’s gaze softened.

“For what it’s worth,” she said quietly enough that only the girl and those nearest could hear, “you’re not invisible. Not to the people who matter.”

The girl blinked, stunned.

Y/N went on, gaze steady. “If a man cannot see past the size of your chest or the width of your hips, he is not worth your time.” 

A faint, wry smile curved her lips. “And he certainly isn’t worth fighting another woman over.”

The trainee’s throat bobbed.

“I…” Her voice shook. “I was just… jealous.”

Y/N’s eyes gentled.

“I know,” she said. “It doesn’t excuse you. But I know.”

She tilted her head, hair sliding over her shoulder. 

“Work hard. Become strong. Not to be seen as someone’s potential lover. But to be seen as yourself.”

Her smile brightened, a sliver of warmth cutting through the chill.

“You might be surprised,” she added softly, “how many people are already looking.”

The girl’s eyes went glassy.

She bowed, deep.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” she said, louder this time. “I spoke badly. About you. About other women. I won’t do it again.”

A murmur rippled through the onlookers: some approving, some merely surprised.

Y/N inclined her head once, accepting.

“We all say foolish things when we feel small,” she said. “Just don’t stay small.”

Inosuke flopped dramatically onto the ground. 

“Boring,” he declared, though his eyes were suspiciously bright. “You should’ve let me beat her up.”

Y/N laughed, the sound light and genuinely amused now.

“Next time,” she promised. “If she bothers you.”

He perked up immediately.

The crowd began to disperse, energy buzzing. 

Trainees buzzed about what they’d seen; Kakushi whispered about Y/N’s form. A few girls, eyes shining, looked at her as if they’d just seen a new way to carry themselves.

Giyu and Sanemi waited until the edge of the crowd thinned, then approached.

Y/N had just retrieved her haori and slipped it over her shoulders when their shadows fell over her.

Up close, they both looked a little… off-balance.

Sanemi’s ears were a bit red. Giyu’s gaze kept flicking to her loosened hair, then away, then back again like he couldn’t quite help himself.

“Yes?” she asked sweetly.

Sanemi cleared his throat. “You, uh,” he started eloquently. “That was…”

“Reckless,” Giyu said at the same time.

They glared at each other.

Y/N’s lips curved.

“Reckless, hm?” she echoed, eyes dancing.

Giyu met her gaze, some of the tension in his shoulders easing. “You didn’t have to take that personally,” he said quietly. “We don’t care what she thinks. About us.”

“I know,” she said softly. “It wasn’t for me. Not really.”

His brows knit.

“For the other girls,” she added, tipping her head toward the younger slayers who still watched her with wide, shining eyes from the edges. 

“They deserve better than to grow up thinking they’re in competition with every other woman they meet.”

Sanemi huffed, crossing his arms. “Still,” he grumbled, eyes raking over her with barely concealed appreciation, “next time you’re gonna fight in your uniform with your hair down and look like that, give us a damn warning.”

Y/N blinked, then laughed: a real, bright laugh that softened everything in her face.

“Does it bother you?” she teased. “You were both staring quite hard.”

Giyu’s ears colored faintly. “We were appreciating,” he admitted after a struggle. “Our girlfriend showing off.”

Murmurs from a few nearby trainees suggested that particular word choice had not gone unheard.

Y/N’s cheeks flushed, beautifully.

“My, Tomioka,” she murmured, voice low and pleased. “So bold in public.”

Sanemi clicked his tongue, but his eyes were warm. “You were incredible,” he said bluntly.

“Scary. Pretty. Annoying. I wanted to kiss you and punch the ground at the same time.”

She tilted her head. “In that order?”

“Don’t push it,” he muttered.

Her smile turned gentle.

She stepped closer, letting the edge of her haori brush their hands. The training yard was noisy again, but for a moment, it felt like there was a little bubble around the three of them: quiet and still.

“You were perfect,” he said quietly. “Not just in the fight. In what you said after.”

Her heart squeezed.

She reached out, fingers brushing briefly over their knuckles: a soft, grounding touch before she withdrew again, aware of watching eyes.

“Come find me later,” she murmured, voice dropping so only they could hear. “When drills are done. I might need help … stretching.”

Sanemi’s breath hitched.

Giyu swallowed. “We’ll be there,” he said.

She smiled, star-bright and serene.

“Good,” she said. “It’s only fair. You stared enough to earn it.”