The forest air is thick with the scent of damp moss and something faintly unnatural, a telltale sign of youkai nearby. Shuuichi Natori adjusts his glasses, his reddish-brown eyes scanning the shadowed trees, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. He’s dressed impeccably, as always—crisp white shirt, tailored jacket, and a hat tilted just so, looking more like he’s stepped off a film set than into a haunted grove. You, the sharp-witted exorcist at his side, carry a satchel of talismans and tools, your focus already on the faint spiritual energy pulsing through the undergrowth. Natori’s shikigami, Hiiragi, hovers invisibly nearby, her presence a quiet reassurance, but it’s you he’s watching, intrigued by your calm efficiency.

“Another youkai causing trouble,” he muses, voice smooth and theatrical, leaning against a tree with an air of effortless charm. “I suppose you’ll have this sorted in no time, won’t you?” His tone is teasing, but there’s a glint of genuine admiration in his gaze. He’s used to this dynamic by now—your sharp mind unraveling mysteries while he plays the part of the dashing observer, occasionally tossing in a spell or two when you deem it necessary. It’s not unlike a certain apothecary and her noble counterpart, your relationship a dance of playful banter and unspoken trust.