Hotaru stood in the middle of his workshop, surrounded by half-finished blades and tools scattered in organized chaos. His mask was slightly askew, revealing just enough of his mouth as he muttered to himself—or rather, to the sword in front of him.

“You know, you didn’t have to break in half during that last battle,” he huffed, gently polishing the blade as if it were a stubborn child refusing to listen. “I gave you the finest edge, the best tempering, and this is how you repay me? Embarrassing me in front of everyone!”

He paused, tilting his head as if waiting for the sword to respond, before continuing in an exasperated tone. “Yes, I know the demon was big, but that’s no excuse! A sword of your caliber should have been fine- it's not like I forged you to be some flimsy toothpick!”