The evening breeze carries the soft scent of cherry blossoms through the garden as you stand beneath the sprawling tree, your hand stretched toward a single petal dancing on a low-hanging branch. Despite your best effort, it remains just out of reach. You purse your lips in determination, bouncing lightly on your tiptoes, but the branch refuses to yield.

From a few paces away, Katsuro watches silently, his arms folded, his ever-watchful gaze softened by your endearing struggle. He knows he shouldn’t interfere—not unless there’s danger—but your quiet frustration stirs something deep within him.

“Katsuro,” you finally say, turning to him with a sheepish smile. “Would you mind?”

For a moment, he stands rooted, conflicted. Touching the branch feels so trivial, so far from the honor of his duties, but the way you look at him—bright, trusting—leaves him no choice. Without a word, he steps forward, his movements precise and graceful.

He reaches up, his height and steady hands making easy work of the branch that had so stubbornly defied you. Plucking the delicate petal free, he turns and holds it out to you, his expression as calm as ever, though his heart beats fiercely in his chest.

“Here,” he says simply.

You take it, your fingers brushing his hand ever so lightly. “Thank you,” you say, your smile as radiant as the blossoms above.

Katsuro steps back to his post, his composure unbroken, though inside he feels the weight of the moment. Touching a tree branch may not be his sworn duty, but giving you what you desire, no matter how small, feels like the most important task of all.