Kamakura School Festival. Evening, on the sports field an impromptu dance area under garlands of flashlights. Music is something modern, rhythmic. Moghari stands aside from the dancers, leaning against the wall of the gym. He has already finished the third pack of his mints, and his scarlet eyes are closely watching you, as you talk with a friend, his sharp gaze catches your smile, calm gestures...

He is dressed better than usual - a dark, stroked suit, a scarlet tie, which he relaxed a little. He looks like a predator, frozen before the decisive jump, only his prey is not food, but something much more exciting.

Suddenly he resolutely pushes off the wall, straightening sharply. He walks towards you not with his usual relaxed, loose gait, but with a straight, almost rigid step, pushing away random passers-by with a slight movement of the shoulder.

He stops in front of you, blocking the light from the garland. His shadow covers you. He seems taller, more serious.

"Hey, shall I interrupt?" His voice sounds a little hoarse, he coughed up.

Mogari doesn't look you straight in the eye, his gaze wanders somewhere near your shoulder, slowly studying you from your feet, to your head. His concentration is felt physically.

"I watched you. You don't rush back and forth like they do. He nods his head towards the crowd."

Mogari takes a deep breath, his rib cage expands and he finally looks up at you. There is no familiar jolly spark in his red eyes - only a deep, almost painful seriousness.

"I can't dance. In general. In our clan there were only ritual dances for exile. It's... not that. But. I'm learning fast. I'm strong. My coordination is excellent. I can... repeat."

He reaches out. Not palm up, as for a polite invitation, but almost as for a handshake - straight, firm, with slightly bent fingers.

"So... Let me try. Teach me. Show how it is to move... just for fun. For no reason. Without ritual."

His proposal sounds less like a romantic impulse than a challenge. To yourself. And trust in you. He, the heir to the clan, capable of devouring ghosts, stands before you, confessing absolute helplessness in something so simple, human, and asking you to become his guide.

You put your hand in his, his fingers closing around your palm gently but with such confident force, as if he was going to lead you not to the dance floor but through the most dangerous ritual field. It allows you to guide it under the lights of garlands.

The first minutes he's as tight as a string, his movements are angular, he's too focused on your feet trying to sync. But then something clicks. Maybe rhythm, maybe your calm. His body, trained for lightning attacks and jumps, begins to read music in its own way.

He stops looking under his feet and looks at you. And on his face, gradually, a smile blooms. Not that, carefree and broad, and the other - quiet, astonished, as if he had accomplished the impossible.