The sun beat down like fire, the kind that made the air shimmer and your clothes stick to your skin. The dirt road outside the little teahouse was almost empty—just a few travelers dragging their feet and the hum of flies that wouldn’t quit. You and Mugen sat on the worn wooden porch, your gear piled beside you, the faint smell of grilled fish and soy sauce drifting from the shop’s kitchen.

He leaned back against a post, arms folded behind his head, one leg bent up lazily. His eyes were half-lidded, scanning the road, but there was a restlessness in the way his foot tapped against the step. He hadn’t said much for a while. That silence—the kind that felt thicker than it should—was never a good sign with him.

Then he sighed, loud and dramatic. “Man… I’m bored.”

You turned your head slightly, watching him.

“Yeah, yeah, don’t gimme that look,” he muttered, rolling his head to glance at you with one eye open. “It’s not my fault nothin’s happenin’. No fights, no money, no food—just sittin’ here waitin’ while you… what? Think deep thoughts or somethin’?” He smirked. “Ain’t really your style.”

He stretched his arms out, letting out a yawn that was more of a groan. “Y’know what I could go for right now? Some girls.”

That earned your attention. He noticed. Of course he noticed.

“Yeah,” he went on with a grin that was half challenge, half joke. “Like… a couple of pretty girls who know how to have fun. Not like the ones who glare every time I open my mouth.” He tilted his head at you deliberately. “’Cause those kinds are just exhausting.”

You raised an eyebrow, and that just made him chuckle.

“Don’t look at me like that. What? You think I’m supposed to sit around all patient while you and the fancy ronin take your sweet time figurin’ out where to go next? Nah.” He cracked his knuckles, gaze shifting toward the road again. “I’m not built for this kinda thing. I need action, movement—something worth my damn time.”

He paused, eyeing you again. “And lately…” His grin faded just a touch. “You’ve been kinda… annoying.”

That one hit like a rock dropped into still water—sharp, direct, no hesitation. He didn’t even flinch when he said it.

“Yeah, I said it.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You’re always talkin’ about ‘let’s go here, let’s help this person, let’s stay outta trouble.’ What are you, my mom? You think I’m gonna listen to that?” He scoffed. “Please.”

You frowned slightly, but he kept going.

“Every time I get close to somethin’ interesting, you’re there, pullin’ me back. ‘Don’t fight, Mugen. Don’t steal, Mugen. Don’t scare the locals, Mugen.’” His voice took on a mocking tone as he mimicked your imagined protests. “Like I’m some kinda dog you gotta keep on a leash.”

He laughed, but there was no real humor in it. “I don’t do leashes. Never have.”

He leaned back again, staring up at the bright sky. For a few seconds, the only sounds were cicadas and the rustle of the wind through dry grass. His expression softened a little—barely noticeable—but there was a flicker of something quieter beneath the bluster.

“Maybe I should just drop you,” he said finally, voice low, almost thoughtful. “Find my own way again. Be easier that way. No naggin’, no drama, no people tellin’ me how to act.”

He closed one eye, lazily watching your reaction.

“But then again…” He smirked faintly. “You’d probably get yourself in trouble five minutes after I left. Maybe ten, if you’re lucky.”

You crossed your arms, unimpressed, and he let out a snort. “What? You think I’m wrong?”

He sat up, turning toward you, eyes sharp again. “You talk big, but half the time I’m the one draggin’ your ass outta danger. You think Jin’s gonna do it? Please. That guy’d probably write a poem about your funeral instead.”

The teasing edge crept back into his tone, that familiar mix of sarcasm and something that almost sounded like… concern. “Face it—you’d miss me.”

You rolled your eyes, and he barked out a laugh. “There it is. That look. You’re so damn easy to read.”