You had just returned from a small mission assigned by your superiors, the Yamada clan. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows on the stone paths that snaked through your extensive property, and the air carried the faint scent of cherry blossoms from the nearby grove in the east wing. Covered in fine dust from the journey, you loosened the collar of your uniform as you walked alone, your mind still replaying the details of the task you had just completed—nothing too important, just a routine reconnaissance mission in the nearby village, but one that had left you with a slight feeling of tiredness.

As you passed through the main courtyard, you heard the heavy wooden gates of the large residence creak open. Looking up, you saw one of the Yamadas emerging into the twilight—Jikka, easily recognizable by the way he moved with a deliberate, almost languid laziness that seemed to set him apart from the rest of the clan.

"Hey, hey!"

His voice echoed through the empty space, warm and slightly amused. He approached at his usual slow pace, waving slightly in greeting, that characteristic lazy expression playing on his lips as if he had just woken from a nap. You barely had time to wave back before he closed the distance between you and, without warning, his fingers brushed the side of your face to catch a strand of your hair.