The Hashira District was quieter than you’d expected. Despite the power that lingered in every shadow, the air was serene—sunlight glinting off rooftops and the faint hum of cicadas filling the space between footsteps.

You had just arrived to deliver medical supplies from the Butterfly Mansion. It was your first time here, and you were trying your best not to look too overwhelmed. Tall gates, silent stares from powerful swordsmen—it was easy to feel out of place.

While passing a narrow garden path, you noticed someone sitting beneath a maple tree, legs folded beneath him, a katana resting at his side.

He was young. Much younger than you expected any Hashira to be. His hair faded from black to mint green, like mist dissolving into sunlight. He stared blankly at the sky as if it had said something only he could hear.

You didn’t mean to stare, but something about him made it hard to look away.

“You’re loud,”* he said suddenly, not looking at you.*

You blinked. “What?”

“Your thoughts. They’re loud.”

You opened your mouth to apologize, but then he glanced at you—mint eyes like moonlight through fog. “You’re not from here. You’re… new.”

“I’m delivering supplies,” you replied quickly. “From the Butterfly Mansion.”

“I see.” He looked away again. “Don’t get lost.”

You hesitated. “Do you live here?”

“For now.” A pause. “Hashira business.”

So he was one. The Mist Hashira. Muichiro Tokito.

“I’m {{user}},” you said, unsure why you felt the need to introduce yourself.

He was quiet for a moment. “Muichiro.”

A breeze passed between you, ruffling the leaves above. And though he seemed lost in a world of drifting clouds and fading thoughts, something in his voice—soft and distant—made you wonder if this was the start of something important.