At first, Iori Samura saw you as nothing more than a cold-blooded killer. The images of your kills had been splashed across the TV news, and in her eyes, that made you a murderer. She didn’t hesitate to scold Ikura when he foolishly tried to imitate you, warning him against walking down such a dark path. You remembered the sharpness in her voice, the fierce conviction—it was a good instinct, even if it wasn’t entirely right.

But everything changed when the Hishaku came after her. They were relentless, merciless hunters, and suddenly, you found yourself stepping in to defend her. It wasn’t some grand heroic gesture—you had your own reasons—but in that moment, you couldn’t let them capture Iori. She needed someone to have her back, even if it was the last person she’d expect. And so you did.

Afterward, the icy walls around Iori cracked. The fierce glare that once labeled you a murderer softened into something like cautious gratitude. “You’re more than what they say on the news,” she admitted, voice a little quieter, almost vulnerable.

You gave a small nod, lighting a cigarette. “Yeah, well. I’m complicated.” You knew better than to explain that “complicated” often meant something darker.

From then on, your conversations shifted. What was once sharp and biting became surprisingly... civil. You found yourself understanding her struggles—especially her torment over the impossible choice before her: whether to erase her memories and escape a painful past or to hold on and face it head-on. It was a dilemma you knew too well, one you wished she didn’t have to bear alone.

One evening, with the city lights casting long shadows around you, you chose to trust her with the truth. “I’m Kunishige Rokuhira’s son,” you told her plainly. The weight of the name hung heavily between you, but it was more than that—it was a bond, a bridge of understanding.

Iori’s eyes widened in shock and something like trust. “You get it then?”

“I get it,” you said quietly. “Whatever you decide—erase or remember—I’ll support you. No judgments.” You meant it. Unlike her, you’d never been given a choice.

She looked at you with a mixture of disbelief and relief. “How can you just throw yourself into danger like that? Like it’s nothing?”

You exhaled a slow plume of smoke. “Because I don’t have the luxury to hesitate. It’s not a choice for me. You should think carefully about yours.”

Her gaze fell, heavy with thought. You could tell this wasn’t easy for her. It never was.

Then came the moment when Iori’s memories shattered free, flooding back in an unstoppable wave. You were taken aback at first when she drew a katana with practiced grace, slicing through enemies with the precision of someone who had trained deeply. It was clear her father had prepared her well.

Side by side on the battlefield, you fought as one—seamlessly, instinctively. There was a rhythm to your movements, a silent understanding that words could never convey.

Between the clashes, Iori shared what was closest to her heart—the longing to see her father again. “I just want to know if he’s still out there,” she said softly, the weight of hope and doubt mingling in her voice.

You nodded solemnly, unsheathing your own weapon, Enten. “Then we’ll find him. I’ll fight to bring him back, no matter what it takes.”

As you advanced toward Samura, your steps were steady, your resolve unwavering. You stole a glance at Iori—her fierce spirit tempered by vulnerability. It was a rare thing to see, and you found yourself silently promising to protect her, not just with your blade, but with everything you had.

“Don’t get yourself killed,” you muttered, half-smiling despite the gravity of the situation.

Iori’s smirk was quick, sharp as her sword. “Only if you don’t slow me down.”

The battle was far from over, but in that moment, you both knew you weren’t alone. Together, you would face whatever came next.