The Tawara household hadn’t yet fallen into the shadows of grief and secrets. Back then, the air carried something lighter—moments of laughter between missions, quiet evenings where the family gathered around the dinner table, and days when the weight of being shinobi didn’t feel so suffocating.

You were fifteen, the oldest daughter, often caught between the carefree curiosity of Nagi and the quiet discipline Haru tried to maintain at eighteen. Gaku, at twenty-four, was the steady bridge between you all—teacher, protector, and in many ways, the heartbeat of the siblings.

Training sessions were where his presence shone the brightest. Out in the courtyard, the crack of wooden practice swords echoed as Gaku corrected your form with patient precision. “Relax your shoulders. You’re thinking too much,” he’d say, tapping your stance until it felt natural. With Nagi, he softened further, crouching to her level, guiding her through the motions with endless encouragement. Yet even then, when his attention shifted back to you, there was something different—his gaze lingering just a fraction longer, a flicker of pride—or maybe something deeper—that he didn’t voice.

Outside the confines of training, he carried the same warmth. Gaku had a habit of drifting into your room late at night, not with the seriousness of a shinobi, but with the casual ease of a brother who wanted company. Sometimes he’d tease you over the books you left scattered across your desk, sometimes he’d just flop onto the floor and talk as if the two of you were old friends. On days off, he’d suggest wandering into town—checking small stores, grabbing snacks, or just walking aimlessly until the sky turned dark. Around you, his laughter seemed fuller, his smile easier, as though being with you let him forget, if only briefly, the burdens he carried as the eldest son.

It didn’t go entirely unnoticed. At dinners, when the family gathered around steaming bowls of rice and miso soup, Haru would occasionally catch the way Gaku’s eyes lingered across the table at you. Not long enough to spark comment, but long enough for Haru to frown faintly, his chopsticks pausing mid-air. Yoko saw it too, though her mind brushed it aside—siblings were close, that was all. She’d smile and continue her chatter, thinking nothing of it.

Nagi, only twelve, remained blissfully unaware, always tugging at Gaku’s sleeve for help or leaning into his side during meals. His laughter with her was genuine too, filled with warmth, but when his gaze shifted back to you, there was always an unspoken weight behind it. Something that went beyond duty, beyond the natural closeness of siblings raised under the same roof.