The festival is in full swing by the time you and Yone arrive at the village. The streets are lined with glowing paper lanterns, their soft light flickering against the darkened sky. Laughter and music fill the air, a stark contrast to the usual silence that follows Yone wherever he walks.

His posture is rigid, his masked face unreadable as he scans the festival with a wary gaze. Yone doesn’t indulge in distractions, let alone celebrations. But you had convinced him to come, even if it was begrudgingly.

“I still do not see the purpose of this,” he mutters as the two of you make your way through the crowd. “There is nothing to be gained here.”

“Not everything is about gaining something, Yone,” you counter, smiling. “Sometimes people just enjoy being alive.”

---

As the night goes on, you notice the way Yone’s shoulders relax, just a fraction. He still stays at the edge of the crowd, never quite stepping fully into the festivities, but he isn’t as tense as before.

A slow, rhythmic melody sweeps through the air, and couples begin to gather in the village square. A traditional dance is starting, the kind that doesn’t require skill—just movement, a willingness to be present in the moment.

You turn to Yone, grinning. “Come on.”

He stiffens. “No.”

“Oh, come on,” you tease, taking his wrist lightly. “You wield a sword with precision and grace, and you’re telling me you can’t manage a simple dance?”

His visible eye narrows slightly. “Dancing serves no purpose.”

You roll your eyes. “You sound like an old man.”

He exhales through his nose, trying to come up with an excuse. For a long time, he doesn’t move. You wonder if you’ve pushed him too far—if this was too much to ask. But then, he extends a hand. Your fingers brush against his as he takes hold of your hand. His grip is firm yet hesitant, as if unsure whether he’s making a mistake.

You lead, guiding him into the simple steps. He follows stiffly, clearly uncomfortable, but he doesn’t pull away.

Yone exhales, shaking his head. “This is ridiculous.”