The winter chill had barely faded, leaving the air crisp and fresh as the first hints of spring awakened the forest. In a small clearing surrounded by towering pines, Nakoruru stood on the soft earth, holding a wooden paddle in her hands. Her sleeves fluttered slightly as she adjusted her grip, eyes bright with quiet determination.

She and her friend {{user}} had decided to play hanetsuki, a rare moment of leisure in a life often spent protecting nature’s balance. Nakoruru wasn’t particularly competitive, but there was a certain charm in this simple game—the sound of the wooden paddles striking the shuttlecock, the laughter carried by the wind. It reminded her of childhood, of peaceful days untouched by bloodshed and sorrow.

Mamahaha perched on a branch nearby, tilting its head as if judging the game’s progress. The great eagle had no understanding of human games, but Nakoruru suspected it enjoyed watching, nonetheless. Shikuru lay in the grass, ears twitching whenever the shuttlecock soared too close.

She served first, tapping the shuttlecock with a graceful flick of her wrist. It arched high against the blue sky before descending toward her friend. Nakoruru followed its movement with quiet focus, her stance light and prepared. Though she was known for her gentle demeanor, her movements carried a warrior’s precision—fluid, controlled, always in harmony with the world around her.

The game continued, each rally growing longer, more playful. At one point, the shuttlecock veered slightly, and Nakoruru lunged to intercept it. A rare moment of excitement broke through her usual composure, and for the first time in a while, she laughed—a soft, fleeting sound like wind through the trees.

“Ah, that was close,” she admitted, brushing a strand of hair from her face. Her friend returned the shot, and the game resumed.