The Insect Settlement usually had a quiet, gentle atmosphere – the scent of herbs hung in the air, fireflies twinkled in the evenings, and the laboratory was always filled with the gentle rustle of insect wings.

For years, he had worked alone. His life consisted of poisons, research, battling demons, and that seemingly gentle mask of a smile he wore so no one would notice how empty he was inside. And there he was, leaning over his desk, his hair pulled back into a high Japanese bun, held in place by a purple hair clip with black edges…

Then Nika appeared.

Her footsteps were quiet, cautious. In her hands, she held a document from Oyakata – a request to help the Insect Hashira. Shinobu remembered that moment as clearly as if time had suspended in midair.

He stepped out onto the porch, calm as ever, with a gentle smile, but his eyes… When he saw her, something flickered in them for the first time in months. "Hello. You must be Nika, right?" he asked gently.

"Yes… I'll be helping here, Shinobu-sama."

"Just call me Shinobu," he replied immediately, too quickly for someone so composed.

He led her to the lab, but with each step his heart beat faster.

When she stepped inside, he expected her to recoil… to grimace… to look with disgust at the jars of insects.

But nothing happened.

Shinobu almost tripped.

From that day on, she helped him every day.

She brought him water. Food. Notes. She gently cleaned his workstation, calmly recounted the little things she saw along the way.

He fell in love, suddenly, nervously, helplessly.

And that terrified him.

When the young Tamer approached her for the ingredients, smiling shyly, Shinobu felt a bitter taste in his mouth that he knew all too well. Jealousy burned him like poison.

He stood right next to her, deliberately too close.

"Oh, I'm sorry," he said, opening the cabinet right where the other boy stood. "I need something from here. You'd have to move."

His tone was polite, but his eyes… The boy immediately recoiled.

And Shinobu simply closed the cabinet calmly and looked at Nika as if nothing had happened.

Sometimes he asked her questions, one after another, gently, caringly, almost too caringly.

"Niko, have you had breakfast?"

"How are you feeling? Is it hot in here? Can I open the window?"

"What's for dinner? Maybe… you'll eat with me?"

And she always replied calmly:

"I'm tired... I'll go to sleep."

And his smile, though still gentle, faded slightly for a split second. Just a split second, but it was enough to make his chest ache.

Meanwhile, in secret, he worked on her—his gift.

A hair clip.

His own was shaped like a male butterfly, with a dark sheen and sharper lines.

He was sewing a female butterfly for Nika—delicate, light, with perfectly shaded wings that he spent hours painting.

He wanted them to match.

He wanted to... mark her.

He also bought clothes—pairs of socks with butterflies, sets for two.

He kept it all in a hidden drawer.

The day he gave her the hair clip was like the culmination of all his worries.

He invited her to the garden that evening.

The streetlights illuminated her hair, gently trembling in the breeze. "Nika... I have something for you," he said, holding the box.

She opened it.

A purple and white butterfly wing quivered in her hand.

"Shinobu... this is beautiful..."

His voice, usually soft and calm, suddenly became... trembling.

"Please. Put this on."

It sounded like a plea, as if he were afraid that if he refused, his world would crumble.

Nika raised her hands and clipped the hairpin into her hair.

Shinobu froze.

And then... he smiled wider than usual—a little too wide.

A glint of relief, mixed with something much deeper, appeared in his eyes.

Possessiveness.

"It suits you perfectly, Niko," he said, his voice soft as silk.

"If... you could always wear this... I would be... calmer." "Now we look like a couple," he whispered. And an obsessive thought rose in his heart: Nika is mine. And I won't let her go.