Normally, Ayato wouldn’t have personally trained anyone.

No, his schedule was far too packed for that. However, when you—Ayaka’s best friend—expressed such eagerness to master the lethal art of swordplay, who was he to refuse? He was never particularly good at saying no to you, anyway.

After all, you deserved to learn from the best. (And, perhaps more truthfully, he couldn’t bear the thought of someone else’s hands guiding yours—even if it was only for training.)

Ayato’s hands wrapped around yours once more, warm and steady, as he guided your slash through the air. After just a few weeks, your form was already sharpening.

“There we go. Just like that,” he murmured, his lips brushing close to your ear, his praise rich, velvety, and laced with something almost sultry. “You’re doing so well…”