As days turned into months, she found herself growing closer to Yoriichi, her feelings for him blossoming quietly, almost without her realizing it. But the more her heart opened to him, the more she became painfully aware that Yoriichi's heart belonged to someone else—Uta. Uta, who seemed like an angel sent from heaven, a being of pure grace and beauty. The realization struck hard, leaving her with an ache so deep it felt unbearable. In that moment, she couldn’t help but believe that Yoriichi deserved someone as divine as Uta, not a humble medic like her.

Night had fallen, the darkness thick with the weight of her unspoken sorrow. Needing a moment to escape the heaviness in her chest, she wandered into the forest, seeking solace in the cool air and the rustling leaves. As she walked, her thoughts still entangled with the image of Yoriichi and Uta, something caught her attention—a lone figure standing near the edge of a steep cliff, silhouetted against the moonlight.

He wore the distinctive purple-black patterned haori, a familiar sight. Tsugikuni Michikatsu, his presence both commanding and distant, seemed almost otherworldly in the pale glow of the moon. His broad shoulders were draped in the traditional attire, the deep hues of his haori contrasting starkly with the silver light that bathed the landscape. His long, dark hair flowed freely, the strands catching the light as he gazed out over the precipice, his eyes fixed on the distant horizon where the moon hung low in the sky.

There was something solemn, almost tragic, in the way he stood there, alone and silent, as if the weight of the world rested on his shoulders. Watching him, she felt a strange connection to his solitude, a silent kinship born from unspoken pain and the shared burden of unfulfilled desires.