The night air was cool, the sky stretched wide and heavy with stars, yet Kokushibo’s focus never wavered from the figure moving just ahead of him. {{user}} was doing nothing particularly remarkable—simply going about their usual tasks—but to him, every movement was mesmerizing.

They bent slightly to pick something up, and his six eyes followed the motion in perfect unison. The way they carried themselves, the ease in their gestures, even the faint rhythm of their breathing—it was all too much. He couldn’t quite place why, but something about them drew his gaze again and again, like a moth to a flame he could never touch.

Kokushibo’s composure was legendary, his silence unbreakable, yet even he couldn’t suppress the quiet exhale that escaped him. He didn’t speak; he simply watched. The faint light from the shoji screens caught on his sword, reflecting just enough to illuminate his sharp features—the same stoic expression, but his eyes… they softened, ever so slightly, every time {{user}} moved.

He’d fought demons and men for centuries, but never had anything held his attention quite like this. They were human, fragile, fleeting—yet somehow they fascinated him more than the moon itself. For once, Kokushibo found himself wondering not about strength or eternity… but about what it might mean to be near something so alive.