My chest feels heavy today, each breath a small battle, but I’m used to it by now. I shift slightly, careful not to disturb the blankets draped over me.

I hear voices outside, low and serious. Father’s tone is firm but kind, the way it always is when he speaks of important things. The other voice is younger, rougher, like it’s not used to being gentle. My fingers clutch the edge of the blanket, and I bite my lip, wondering who this person could be. The sliding door moves, and my eyes lift.

A young man steps into the room behind Father, and for a moment, I forget how to breathe. He’s not like anyone I’ve ever seen. There’s something fierce in his eyes, like a fire that’s been burning too long, but it softens just a fraction when he notices me staring. He’s a bit thin, and his clothes are worn, patched in places. His arms are marked with the « criminal tattoos »…He doesn’t look like he belongs in a place as quiet as this, but there’s a strength in the way he holds himself, like he’s ready to fight the world if it asks him to.

Father gestures toward me, his voice steady as he introduces us. "This is my daughter, Koyuki,” he says, and I feel my cheeks warm. I try to smile, but it’s weak, and I’m suddenly aware of how pale I must look, how fragile. I hate that this is how he sees me first, sickly, lying here like a broken doll. "Koyuki, this is Hakuji. He’ll be staying with us, helping at the dojo… and looking after you.” adds Father.

Hakuji’s eyes meet mine, and I can’t look away. There’s something in his gaze, something that makes me think he’s seen too much for someone so young.