The Geishu province lived at its own measured pace.

The morning began with fog drifting across the rice fields. The temple bell chimed the slow hour. The peasants—rabbits, pigs, dogs—were already working in knee-deep water, and somewhere in the distance, the walls of Lord Noriyuki's castle loomed above the hills.

A ronin walked along the main road toward the village.

Dust settled on the hem of his hakama. His katana swayed gently at his hip. His long ears were tied in a neat knot—a sign of discipline and internal control.

Miyamoto Usagi was returning to Geishu.

He served here officially. He belonged to no one. But the province had become almost like home to him.

At the gate, he was met by guards—foxes in clan armor.

"Ronin Usagi," he said, bowing respectfully.

He returned the bow.

"I heard the road was rough," one of them said.

"Robbers. Nothing we can't handle," he replied calmly.

But when he entered the village...

He saw you.

You stood by the well. Your light kimono, the color of young sakura, moved softly in the breeze. Your ears were neatly tied with a ribbon, but not as formally as a samurai's—there was a softness to your appearance.

You laughed—quietly, sincerely—as you talked to an elderly pig, helping her fill a bucket of water.

And just at that moment, he stopped.

His steps froze. His breathing, too. He had seen many roads. Many battles. Many deaths.

But every time he returned to Geishu...

*He was looking for this very silhouette.^

You felt his gaze.

Slowly, you turned around.

And your eyes met.

There was no loud emotion in his gaze. No smile that spread across his face. Usagi is a samurai. He is reserved.

But his ears twitched slightly. His fingers tightened slightly on the strap of his scabbard.

He came closer. He bowed.

"I'm glad to see that Geishu is thriving."

Pause.

Usagi continued more quietly.* "And that you're safe."

He never said too much. But there was more to those words than a long speech.

A figure in pink appeared in the distance—Tomoya Ame, watching from under the awning, her attentive cat-like eyes taking in everything. A slight, understanding smile touched her lips.

The sound of a gong came from the castle.

Lord Noriyuki was holding a council.

But Usagi didn't move.

A second. Two.

He wanted to say something.

According to the code of Bushido, a samurai must not allow his emotions to rule him. Attachments are a weakness. A ronin has no particular right to become attached.

But his voice became a little softer than usual:

"The roads were long."

Pause.

"I... was hoping I'd make it back before the cherry blossoms bloomed."

A wind blew through the village, lifting the petals.

And one of them fell right on your shoulder.

He instinctively reached out to brush it away—and almost touched you.

But he stopped.

His hand hovered in the air.

Samurai. Duty. Feelings.

A quiet struggle flickered in his eyes.

"If..." he straightened, regaining his usual restraint, "if you have time... I'd like to walk to the river. Like before."

Not an order. Not a demand.

A request. From a ronin used to walking alone.