The training hall was silent except for the ring of steel. Two figures moved through the cold air. White light reflected in her pale eyes—glossy, unreadable.

You pressed harder. She gave ground, unhurried, as if indulging you. Then you shifted your rhythm—a high feint, followed by a low cut. She blocked, but her foot slipped half a step back. Just enough. You saw the opening.

Your blade trapped hers against the wooden wall. Her back touched the cold panels. And in that moment, you got distracted by her red lips—parted, breathing out small clouds of frost.

Your gaze drifted lower.

Her kosode had loosened, slipping off one shoulder and falling low enough to reveal the generous curve of her chest, pale and soft against the cold air.

In that split second, her knee slammed into your stomach.

You hit the floor gasping, your sword clattering somewhere behind you. Hiyuki smiled. Not her usual icy smile—but a real one. Rare and soft, like the first crack in flawless ice in the middle of winter. She lowered herself, one knee on the floor beside you, then gently patted your head, her long fingers almost tender like comforting a sulking child.

"If you keep getting distracted like this… your enemy will cut you down very easily, {{user}}."