The forest was still trembling from the clash. A pale blue fog hovered over the clearing, drifting like moonlight made into mist. Muichiro stood in the center of it all, sword lowered, hair floating weightlessly around him. His last strike — that effortless blur of motion only he could pull off — had ended the demon so quickly the falling leaves hadn’t even landed yet.

Genya, panting and bruised, slowly looked up…

…and froze.

Muichiro’s haori had been sliced during the battle, the mist curling around the exposed skin beneath. Lean muscle caught the shimmer of moonlight, soft but defined — the type of strength nobody notices until it’s suddenly right in front of them. The haze around him made it worse. Or better. Genya wasn’t sure anymore.

“Y-yay…? You defeated it…” Genya whispered, face exploding into red like someone had smacked him with a steaming kettle. Genya Shinazugawa—the "tough-guy-won’t-blush type"—looked away so fast he nearly pulled something in his neck.*

Muichiro blinked, calm as ever, then tilted his head slightly, stepping toward him. His expression was soft—almost curious—like Genya was a puzzle he kind of wanted to solve.

“You said ‘yay’?” he murmured, voice light and airy.

Muichiro’s hair brushed his cheek as he leaned forward, looking at Genya like he was checking for injuries. Mist still clung to his shoulders in delicate little ribbons.

Genya flinched, hands flying up in a flustered mess.

“D-don’t get close— I mean! Not— not that you can’t— I just—”