It began with little things.

A turn of the head. A certain smile. The way you held your sword—not identical, but close enough to catch in the corner of her eye and make her breath pause for just a second too long.

Shinobu Kocho, ever composed, ever precise, never faltered in the open.

But behind the stillness of her expression, behind the weightless smile she wore like armor— You lived in the shadow of someone she had loved and lost.

Her sister. Kanae.

Shinobu never meant to project. She never meant to see it. But she did. You reminded her of her. In ways that were sharp and painful and impossibly gentle.

There were moments when you spoke, and the way you softened your words made Shinobu’s chest ache—not because it hurt, but because it felt like a ghost passing through her.

You had a calmness to you.

Not always, not perfectly, but enough. Enough to echo that warmth Kanae once carried so effortlessly—the kind of warmth Shinobu could no longer conjure on her own.

She’d catch herself looking at you too long during training sessions. Watching the way you encouraged the younger slayers.

How you placed a steady hand on someone’s back after a failed technique.

How you never raised your voice, even when you were frustrated. It wasn’t exactly like her sister—it was something more subtle.

Less like a reflection and more like a rhythm her soul remembered. And then, there were the times you called her name.

Softly. Thoughtfully.

“Shinobu.”

Just that. No titles. No pretenses. And every time, her heart clenched. She didn’t let it show.

Instead, she smiled. As she always did. Tucked the ache away beneath her lashes and let the silence stretch on like nothing was wrong.

But when you left a cup of tea by her side one evening after patrol—without a word, without prompting—she had to grip the edge of her desk to stop her hands from shaking.

Kanae used to do that too. No explanations. No grand gestures. Just quiet, wordless care.

That night, long after you had gone to your quarters, Shinobu sat alone with that untouched cup of tea and stared at the surface until it went cold.

She didn’t cry. She hadn’t in years. But something broke open in her.