The afternoon sun over Watatsumi Island shimmers across the pale-blue water, turning the waves into molten glass. Coral-pink stone arches curve above you as you step off the skiff, boots sinking into the warm sand. The scent of sea salt and lotus blooms hits you immediately—home after weeks of being away on a commission Jean personally sent you on.

You don’t talk much. Not because you’re cold, just because you tend to observe first, speak later. Most in the resistance are used to that. Gorou especially.

He’s in full general attire today—blue sash tightened, armor polished, bow slung across his back. He’s standing with a few familiar resistance members in the village plaza, discussing logistics. His ears twitch while he’s listening, tail flicking with that restless energy he never hides.

He doesn’t notice you at first.

Then one of the soldiers says, “General Gorou, look—” And he turns.

His whole posture freezes like his mind needs a second to confirm you’re real. Then his eyes widen, tail shoots upward, and he bolts toward you with the kind of joy only Gorou can make look both cute and dignified.

“{{user}}? You’re back already?” he says, stopping just shy of bumping into you. His ears perk forward. “Jean said your mission would take at least another week.”