: No Strangers at Sundown

"A blade dulls when it trusts too easily. But even the sharpest sword listens before it strikes."

The path back to the Hisakawa home wound through soft-dirt trails and quiet forest roads, still damp from the afternoon rain. The clouds had pulled back, revealing an amber sky rippling into dusk. Crickets had begun their nightly orchestra, and the world was dipping into that fragile place between golden hour and shadow.

Nala led the group, ever alert. Lena chatted casually, occasionally bumping her shoulder into Nala's as if to lighten the weight on her spine. And trailing just far enough to not provoke, Hikaru walked in silence, absorbing every detail.

He noticed how Nala's steps were deliberate—quiet, but not cautious. She had nothing to fear here. This was her territory.

"So..." Lena finally broke the silence, glancing back. "You always follow girls into strange towns or is this just a hobby?"

"Only the ones carrying secrets bigger than their blades," Hikaru replied, deadpan.

Nala didn't look back, but he saw her shoulders twitch. Amused, maybe. Or irritated. Probably both.

"Maybe I just don't trust mysterious men with nice hair and shadowy glances," she murmured, voice laced with challenge.

He smirked. "You noticed my hair?"

Lena groaned. "God, you're going to be unbearable."

They passed through a bamboo grove, then up a stone pathway with solar lights blinking on one by one as they neared. At the crest of the hill stood the Akiyama home — part traditional ryokan, part modern farmhouse. Wooden beams, solar panels, glowing lanterns, and the faint aroma of simmered soy and ginger wafting from inside.

The screen door slid open before they could knock.

Kenjiro stood there like a drawn sword—tall, lean, and stern, with a stare sharp enough to wound. His white hair was tied back in a small knot, his robe plain but immaculately pressed.

His eyes locked on Hikaru immediately.

"Who's this?"

"He helped us," Lena offered brightly. "Sort of."

Nala stepped forward. "This is Tachibana Hikaru. He's... looking into the Lotus too."

Kenjiro's voice dropped. "You bring a stranger here, now?"

"I brought a fighter," Nala said, unmoved.

Hikaru gave a slight bow. "With respect, I didn't ask to come. They insisted."

That didn't help.

Kenjiro's eyes narrowed. "Your kind always hides behind half-truths."

Before the tension could snap fully, Emiko drifted into the doorway like smoke off a temple candle.

"Kenjiro," she sighed. "Stop being dramatic. You haven't smiled since the last harvest festival."

She turned her kind eyes to Hikaru. "Come inside. There's rice, soup, and still enough pickled daikon to make a samurai weep."

She winked.

Hikaru blinked. This woman was dangerous in her own way.

The low table was already set. Grilled fish. Miso soup with eggplant. Steamed rice with shiso. Handmade tofu topped with scallions. Emiko had done what Emiko did best—offered warmth with food as her weapon of choice.

They sat on floor cushions. Hikaru kept a polite posture, but his instincts screamed to stay on edge. Across from him, Kenjiro sipped tea like it was poison.

"So, Tachibana," the older man said suddenly. "You good with a blade or just good at sneaking around girls?"

Hikaru didn't flinch. "Both. But I prefer to fight with intention."

Kenjiro grunted. "We'll see."

Lena leaned toward Nala and whispered, "Your grandpa is totally going to make him duel for your honor one day."

Nala elbowed her under the table.

Later, Emiko offered a warm futon in the spare room. Kenjiro, however, decided otherwise.

"He sleeps in the stables."

"I'm not a horse," Hikaru muttered.

Kenjiro met his eyes. "Good. Don't eat like one."

So the stables it was. But even the stable was more elegant than expected. The space smelled of hay, cedar, and something faintly sweet. Clean stalls lined the walls, each occupied by sleek horses—except for one.

A stunning black stallion stood in the far corner, its coat gleaming like obsidian in the moonlight.

"That's Yoru," Nala said from behind him.

He turned.

"My horse," she added. "He doesn't like most people."

Yoru huffed in agreement.

"I see you both share that trait," Hikaru replied dryly.

She smirked, arms crossed. "Don't touch anything. Try not to freeze."

She was gone before he could reply.

The night stretched deep. Hikaru sat cross-legged near the stall doors, watching the lights dim in the house. Then something flickered — movement above.

A window.

Open. Curtains shifting.

And there she was. Nala, bathed in moonlight. She hadn't noticed her window faced the stable. Her shirt lifted over her head, revealing strong arms and the curve of her back. She moved without hesitation, like the world wasn't watching. Like she was free.

Hikaru whipped his head away, ears burning. "Tch. Great. Just what I needed."

He turned back only when he heard something soft.

Music.

A saxophone.

The warm, low hum of notes poured through the window. Nala sat at the edge of her bed, eyes half-lidded, lost in the song. It was smooth, sultry, yet tinged with grief. It wrapped around the rafters and drifted down to where he sat, stunned silent.

For the first time since the riverbank, he felt... human.