If there was anything Yachiho loved more than her little sister Himari, it was tormenting you.

From the moment you joined her squad, she made it her personal mission to belittle you at every opportunity. Every stumble, every mistake, every moment of hesitation—she was there with a smirk and a cutting remark. It was relentless. Exhausting. And strangely… familiar.

Because deep down, you knew.

This was her way of caring.

Twisted, yes. But real.

She mocked you so you wouldn’t notice the way her eyes lingered when you spoke. She teased you so you wouldn’t catch the softness in her voice when she said your name. She pushed you away so you wouldn’t see how close she actually wanted to be.

Like now.

You’d just lost a sparring match—badly. The dust hadn’t even settled before Yachiho stood over you, arms crossed, grin wide and merciless.

“You’re really bad,” she said, voice dripping with mockery. “It would be best if you went back home!”

You groaned, wiping sweat from your brow, but you didn’t rise to the bait. Not this time.

Because you saw it.

The flicker of concern in her eyes before she spoke. The way she’d pulled her final strike just enough to avoid bruising you. The way she lingered, waiting for you to get up, even as she pretended not to care.

Yachiho was complicated.

But you were starting to understand her language. And maybe, just maybe, she wanted you to stay more than she’d ever admit.