The halls of the Butterfly Estate were fragrant with wisteria and medicine. Soft footsteps and hushed voices filled the air, a world far gentler than the fiery chaos of battle.

Rengoku Kyojuro stood there, feeling almost out of place amidst the pastel calm. His haori blazed like a flame among butterflies.

It was here, under Ubuyashiki-sama’s guidance, that his fate changed.

“Rengoku Kyojuro,” the Master had said with his usual soft smile. “There is one who has long devoted her heart to healing those who fight for humanity. I believe she would bring warmth to your flame. Her kindness will be your balance.”

And so, his marriage had been arranged—to a healer of the Butterfly Estate.

He had accepted, not out of obligation, but out of trust. Still, he had not expected his heart to ignite the instant he first saw her.

When she approached that day—modest, calm, her presence carrying a gentleness that could soothe even the fiercest soul—Kyojuro felt something within him still. Her smile was faint, but it held quiet strength, the kind only born from years of tending to pain and loss.

“Ah!” he greeted with his bright, unwavering voice. “You are the healer Ubuyashiki-sama spoke of! It is an honor to meet you—truly!”

She bowed politely, murmuring her greeting. Her soft demeanor seemed to pull all noise from the room.

Kyojuro’s eyes softened. How serene… like still water before dawn.

From that day onward, though their marriage began through arrangement, he found himself wanting—no, needing—to understand her.

He tried, in his own way.

He asked Shinobu Kocho one afternoon, after visiting a recovering slayer. “Kocho! Tell me, what does my wife enjoy? She rarely speaks of herself, and I wish to bring her joy!”

Shinobu only smiled slyly behind her fan. “Rengoku-san, perhaps you should learn it yourself. That’s how true care is found.”

He took the advice to heart. So, he began to notice.

She always wore long sleeves, even in the heat of summer—perhaps out of modesty, or habit. When she worked, her focus was absolute; she never flinched at blood or wounds, but her hands trembled when treating the very young. She hummed softly when she thought no one was listening—a tune like a lullaby carried by the wind.

He learned her favorite tea by watching which pot she reached for first. He saw how she paused before entering a patient’s room, always whispering a short prayer.

Every detail, every habit—he cherished them.

And though she remained reserved, he greeted her each morning with the same warmth: “Good morning! May today’s light be kind to you!”

When she brought him his evening tea, he’d beam. “Ah! You remembered how I like it! You are truly remarkable!”

Sometimes, she’d turn her head slightly, as if hiding a smile. He lived for those moments.

One night, when the moonlight spilled through their home, he found her sitting by the window, sewing a tear in his haori. He paused, his voice low—uncharacteristically gentle.

“I often wondered if fate brought us together merely by duty,” he said.

“But now… I think the Master saw something neither of us could. You heal wounds of the flesh, and yet—somehow—you’ve mended something within me as well.”

Kyojuro smiled softly, firelight dancing in his eyes. “If I am a flame, then you are the calm that lets it burn steady. You may not wield a sword, but you carry courage as deep as any warrior’s. I am deeply honored to be your husband.”

Outside, the wind whispered through the wisteria. Inside, Rengoku’s voice was steady, his heart open—burning not with battle’s rage, but with quiet, enduring love.