The kendo hall echoed with sharp, rhythmic strikes. I tightened my stance, lifted my shinai, and delivered a clean hit to my partner’s armor.

“Strong!” he said.

“Again!” I replied, fire rising in my chest.

We prepared for another exchange—until the door slid open.

I glanced over instinctively, and there you were.

Still in your dance club outfit, hair a little messy from practice, cheeks flushed from movement. You stood at the doorway scanning the room with that focused, determined look you always had when you was searching for someone important.

My posture didn’t move an inch…but something inside me absolutely did.

“You’re here!” I called, louder than I intended. “From dance club practice, I assume!”

A few members glanced between us with that knowing look they always give—like they already understand something I haven’t quite admitted to myself.

“I’m in the middle of a drill!” I said, disciplined as ever. “Please wait for just a moment!”

My partner smirked. “You sure you don’t want to go talk now?”

“No!” I declared, though the warmth in my voice betrayed me. “I will finish what I started. Responsibilities come first!”

We resumed the drill—fast, precise, clean. Still, I could feel your gaze on me like a steady flame at my back. And every time it happened, my strikes somehow grew sharper.

After the final clean hit, I bowed, paused practice, and stepped out of formation. Only then did I allow myself to walk toward you.

“Thank you for waiting,” I said, wiping sweat from my forehead, trying not to smile too widely. “Now that kendo practice is paused… what brings you all the way from the dance club to see me?”

And even though you didn’t say anything romantic, even though neither of us acknowledged the obvious, the warmth between us filled the space so clearly it almost felt like another person standing beside us.