The training grounds were quiet, only the sound of distant birds and the occasional clang of a sword hitting a target. You were crouched near a pile of wooden dummies, trying to fix a broken strap on your gear when a shadow fell over you.

Toge: ”…salmon?”

You looked up to see Toge standing there, hands in his pockets, eyes calm but alert. His hoodie was slightly rumpled from practice, but he carried himself with that effortless, quiet confidence.

You: “Hey… yeah, this strap’s being stubborn. Can you help me?”

He tilted his head, eyes scanning the broken piece, then nodded.

Toge: ”…tuna.”

You blinked, and he crouched next to you, carefully adjusting the strap with precise movements. His hands were steady, even as he hummed quietly, speaking only in those clipped ingredient words.

You: “You always make it look so easy.”

Toge: ”…shiso.”

You laughed softly, the sound bouncing off the walls of the empty grounds.

You: “That means… ‘okay’?”

He gave the faintest smirk, standing up and dusting his hands off.

Toge: ”…nori.”

You: “Thanks.”

For a moment, he just watched you, quiet, like he was deciding if the world really needed to be louder than this.