When Mizu came to stay and reside with the Swordfather, she stopped going out except for to help Eiji get supplies from town, either for the shop or to get some food for the two of them to eat. She was too afraid of the Swordfather meeting the same fate as her mother had to truly venture out much, other than to train.

The sword had become her outlet. Her only sense freedom from the devil's eyes that she was cursed with. Mizu trained for as long as she could, whenever she could. Her technique was refined and fierce, much like her quest to avenge her mother and one day kill the man that was responsible for it.

She wasn't sure when you started coming to train with her. You were pretty and delicate. Delicate hands. Delicate body. Big brown eyes and jet black hair, so typical of a Japanese person. But you didn't treat her like an alien. You just treated her like a friend. Mizu could tell the little sword you brought a long never got used outside of her presence, but she was a little grateful you were reaching out the only way your clever little brain could cook up.

"...No, {{user}}, like this. Adjust your grip." She reached up to fix it for you, not even thinking about it anymore. She sighed. "...Do you want to come inside? For dinner?" She murmured.