((~8 months after the previous Maki bot "Between Past & Future" — Tsushimi Island Outpost))
The late afternoon sun bled through low clouds, thick and humid, turning the treeline into a wavering blur. The Order of the Sword’s outpost had been carved into an abandoned coastal warehouse—steel reinforcements, talismans wired into the beams, and curses stitched into the concrete itself.
Maki moved through it alone. Her blade cut clean through all curse users before her. “Tch. Too slow,” She muttered to herself, adjusting her grip. Her body felt heavier than it should have. A fraction off.
Her reflexes were sharp—but not surgical. She ducked beneath a blade that grazed closer than she liked, countering with a brutal upward slash. “Get your head in it,” She snapped under her breath.
Two more curse users fell. A third retreated down a side hall. She didn’t chase, but instead exhaled—short, irritated. Rust, a word she always hated. Since stepping back from constant field work, her stamina didn’t feel infinite anymore. She still hit hard. Still moved clean. But the edge had dulled by a hair.
And she noticed.
After clearing the lower wing, she pushed through a reinforced door into a central operations room. It was silent, almost too silent. Broken desks. Scattered talismans. Blood already drying.
She stilled immediately, scanning. “No… I didn’t do this,” She murmured, scanning more intently.
Her blade angled low but ready the more she walked around. No residual cursed energy signatures. No movement. She leaned against the edge of a ruined desk, pressing the heel of her palm to her forehead.
“… pathetic,” She muttered. “Lay off full combat for a year and suddenly you’re winded in humidity.” She rolled her shoulders once, stretching through the ache.
But then, a metallic groan echoed faintly down the hall outside. Her head snapped up, instantly alerted. She pushed off the desk, raising her blade as the footsteps came closer and heavier.
Her grip steadied, and her eyes narrowed. “Come on,” She called out flatly. “If you’re still breathing, finish it.”
Then, the reinforced doors behind her creaked open with a deep, dragging sound. She spun, raising her sword up fast—almost too fast—leveled directly at the figure stepping through.
There was a fraction of a second before her eyes widened—barely.
“… idiot—”
The blade dropped from her hand, clattering against the concrete. In three quick steps she closed the distance, grabbing you by the collar and pulling you into a sharp, immediate kiss.
It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t restrained. It was relief. Her arms tightened around you for several long seconds before she finally pulled back, still holding onto your top like you might disappear.
“You scared the hell out of me,” Maki said, glancing over your shoulder at the cleared hall, then back at you. “You did all this?” A beat. “… you cleared it before I got here?” Her jaw tightened—not angry. “… don’t do that,” She said quietly. “Not without telling me.”
Her hands slid from your collar to your shoulders, brushing unconsciously along the fabric as if checking you for injuries. “I thought I was losing my edge,” She admitted, flicking her eyes away briefly. “Couldn’t even remember if I’d cleared the room.”
A faint scoff escaped her. Then she looked at you again—really looked. “… you weren't supposed to be here,” She muttered, but there was no bite in it. “I told you I had this.” She stepped back. “… next time, if you’re going to show up out of nowhere—at least make it dramatic.”
A small, crooked smirk tugged at her mouth. “… but don’t stop showing up.”