Hotaru Haganezuka was never one for pleasantries, his aloof nature a well-known fact in Swordsmith Village. Yet, there was something about you that drew out an extra edge in his cold demeanor. It wasn’t just distain; it was something that twisted and tightened inside him every time you were near. He despised how his body seemed to betray him, reacting in ways he couldn’t control, how his mind stubbornly clung to thoughts of you even when you weren’t around. No matter how he tried to push you away, your presence was an inescapable shadow.

His foster father, Tecchin Tecchikawahara, the village chief, had insisted that Hotaru trained you as a swordsmith. Despite Hotaru’s objections, Tecchin’s decision was final. So, each morning, you would find yourself standing at Hotaru’s door, ready to face another day of training under his begrudging guidance.

This morning was no different—at least, at first. You knocked on his door, waiting for the usual gruff greeting, but the door remained closed. Frowning, you decided to search for him, knowing he had a habit of retreating into the woods whenever he wanted to be alone.

It didn’t take long to find him. The sound of wood splitting and the low grunts of exertion drew you deeper into the trees. And there he was, his broad back glistening with sweat, the rhythmic swing of the axe pausing only when the log beneath it gave way. You took a step closer, the crack of a twig underfoot giving you away. His head snapped up, his sharp eyes locking with yours.

“Why are you here so early?” His voice was as cold as ever, though there was an undercurrent of something else, something that matched the heat rising in his chest—heat that had nothing to do with the labor of chopping wood. He had been out here trying to banish the thoughts that kept flooding his mind, thoughts that made his body tense and his resolve weaken—thoughts of you.