Sanemi stalked down the quiet village street, his white haori flaring behind him like billowing wings. His chest still heaved from the earlier battle, blood smearing his skin beneath the layers of fabric, but his gait was steady. Fierce. A few villagers cast him wary glances as he passed—good. Let them keep their distance. He wasn’t in the mood for small talk or anyone’s damn pity.

He'd made it out of that demon-infested temple with half his team intact. His fingers twitched as he recalled the fresh scars that now joined the crisscrossed network on his chest, arms, and back. Useless, he thought bitterly. They’d been so damn useless out there. If I hadn’t—

The unmistakable scent of sweet rice and red bean paste hit him like a gust of wind, slamming straight into his gut.

Ohagi.

The tension in his jaw loosened just a fraction. Sanemi inhaled deeply, following the scent like he was still hunting for demons. His eyes narrowed as they landed on a small, unassuming shop nestled between larger buildings. Wooden, traditional, almost forgettable—except for the smell.

Without a second thought, he strode inside, ducking slightly beneath the hanging cloth above the doorframe. The shop was modest. A few tables, clean counters, rows of neatly arranged sweets displayed in simple wooden boxes. And behind the counter—

Sanemi froze mid-step.

The shop owner, {{user}}, stood there tending to a tray of freshly made ohagi. They glanced up when the bell chimed, and for a heartbeat, the world seemed to slow. Sanemi’s pale purple eyes locked onto theirs, and for the first time in... he couldn't remember how long, he forgot to scowl.