Chapter 4

The sun dipped below the jagged peaks that surrounded the compound, bleeding soft hues of violet and gold into the sky. Faint wisps of clouds drifted lazily overhead, casting long shadows across the stone pathways and moss-covered rooftops. A cold wind whispered through the trees, brushing gently against the wooden walls of the sleeping quarters. The day had ended in silence, but the silence wasn't peace—it was exhaustion.

Inside the compound, Hiroshi lay sprawled across the floor like a ragdoll tossed by a careless child, arms outstretched, face buried in the ground. His snores came in rhythmic waves.

"I'm done, man..." he'd muttered, moments before passing out, still half-dressed in his sweat-soaked gi. "I saw my ancestors during that last drill..."

Riku was the one who carried him back to his room and laid him on his bed.

Midori, meanwhile, had claimed she was going for a walk. No one questioned it. She'd said it with her usual confidence, but something about her eyes suggested she needed air. Or space. Maybe both.

That left Riku alone in the dim corridor, a towel slung over his shoulder, the sting of bruises still fresh across his skin. Every step ached. His ribs pulsed with a dull throb from the sparring match with Ronin. And yet...

He turned down a different hall.

He had somewhere to be.

Or rather, someone to meet.

The courtyard was bathed in moonlight, the lanterns lining the outer walls flickering gently in the breeze. Riku moved quietly past them, heading toward the south practice ring. The wind rustled the tall grass that surrounded the wooden platform, whispering through the trees above like an audience awaiting the start of a private show.

She was already there.

Aiko stood with her back to him, the moon casting a silvery sheen over her red hair. She wore her sleeveless black hoodie as usual. Her arms were folded, but when she heard his footsteps, she turned, her amber eyes glinting like flame through the dark.

"Took you long enough," she said with a faint smirk, brushing her bangs from her face.

Riku gave a small shrug. "Sorry. Got held up dying."

She chuckled. "Yeah, I heard Ronin went extra hard on you today. Could've warned you."

"Where's the fun in that?"

She tilted her head. "You still up for this? You look like a scarecrow that lost a fight with the wind."

Riku rolled his shoulder, ignoring the pain. "I said I'd be here."

Her smile softened, just a little. "I'm glad you remembered... Knowing how you are, I half-expected to wait here alone."

He stepped onto the platform, raising a brow. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means," she said, falling into a low stance, her fists lifting, "I'm not going easy on you."

He mirrored her posture. "Good."

Their eyes locked.

Then they moved.

The sound of feet brushing wood, of light taps and rapid strikes, filled the air. Aiko came in low, a feint, then a swift elbow aimed for his ribs. Riku twisted, catching her wrist mid-swing and spinning her weight past him. She planted her feet, pivoted, and came back with a high kick that he narrowly dodged.

There was no hesitation between them. No wasted motion. Just rhythm.

Riku had to admit—she'd gotten faster.

"You've improved," he grunted, ducking under a punch.

"Obviously." She spun, her knuckles grazing his shoulder. "You think I'd not train after you embarrassed me last time?"

They broke apart, circling.

"You're still wide on your left," he said.

"Still can't block my kicks, though."

They clashed again. A flurry of jabs, blocks, sweeps. He caught her by the wrist, twisted, and dropped low, sweeping her legs from under her.

Thud.

She hit the mat, groaning. "Ow..."

Riku offered a hand.

She stared at it for a second, then took it.

He pulled her up. They stood there for a moment, hands still lightly touching, before she pulled away.

"...So," she said, brushing herself off, "you win again."

He looked down. "Didn't come here to win."

"Then why did you come?"

Riku hesitated.

The wind picked up again. Crickets chirped in the distance. The moment stretched.

"...Hey," he said, eyes downcast, "do you... do you hate me? For... you know. Back then."

The air seemed to shift.

Aiko blinked.

Her expression softened. She looked away, her eyes finding the moon.

"...No," she said quietly. "I don't hate you."

"But it did hurt," she added a moment later, more firmly. "I won't lie about that."

Riku winced.

"I was a dumb kid," he said. "I didn't know what I was doing."

"You weren't dumb." She smiled faintly. "Just honest."

He looked at her, confused.

Aiko exhaled, hugging her arms around herself. "You didn't lead me on. You didn't make empty promises. You didn't say 'maybe someday' just to make me feel better."

"...You told me no. Because it was the truth. And yeah, it hurt... but I respect you more for that than if you'd lied to make me happy."

Riku stared at her, unsure what to say.

"But," she added with a playful edge, "don't think I cried about it for too long."

"Oh?" he smirked, trying to lighten the mood. "Moved on already?"

"I decided I would," she said, looking at him now. "Eventually. I'll find someone who wants me for me."

Riku's gaze softened. "You will."

There was a pause.

Then he asked, "What did you even see in me, anyway?"

That caught her off guard. Her eyes widened slightly, her lips parting like he'd asked something ridiculous.

"You're kidding, right?"

He blinked. "No. I mean—I never really understood."

She sighed, shaking her head. "You really are dense sometimes."

"Thanks."

"It's not just because you're strong," she said. "It's because... you have courage."

He frowned. "Courage?"

"Yeah." Her eyes drifted, nostalgic. "Back then, when I was getting picked on by those upper-class kids... I ran. I was terrified. I didn't know how to stand up for myself. And you—" she smiled bitterly, "—you stood between me and them. Took the heat. Got treated like an outcast just because I was scared."

Riku stayed silent, his expression unreadable.

"I admired that," she said. "Still do."

He shifted on his feet. "I just didn't want to see someone get hurt."

"And that," she said softly, "is what made you different."

Another long silence.

Then Aiko let out a sigh, stretching her arms above her head. "Welp. That's enough emotional honesty for one night."

Riku laughed quietly.

She turned to him, her eyes playful now. "Thanks for sparring with me. And for listening."

"...Yeah."

As they walked back toward the dorms, shoulder to shoulder under the quiet starlight, Riku felt a strange weight lifting from his chest. The awkwardness between them wasn't gone—but it was changing. Maturing. Like the two of them were finally starting to understand the parts of themselves they'd left unspoken for too long.

Maybe they wouldn't be what they once were.

But maybe... something new could grow.

Something real.

And for tonight, that was enough.

The next morning came with the sluggish drag of aching limbs and restless sleep. The golden hue of dawn filtered lazily through the rice-paper windows of the compound, casting soft rectangular patterns on the wooden floors. The cold air clung to the silence like dew on blades of grass—thick, still, and heavy.

Riku sat on the edge of his futon, shirtless, sweat sticking to his skin like a second layer. His arms trembled just trying to pull on his top. Every muscle screamed. Every bruise whispered. Yesterday's training had been nothing short of hell, and even his bones felt like they'd been tenderized.

He let out a long sigh and looked around his room—bare walls, a small desk, and a tiny wooden shelf that housed a few books, a makeshift dagger, and an old cloth with his name embroidered in faded thread. Quiet, simple. His own.

He stood with effort, stretching until his back cracked, and stumbled out into the hallway.

Down the hall, Hiroshi's door was cracked open, the familiar sound of half-lucid groaning drifting out.

"My arms... don't work... I'm gonna sue Ronin..." Hiroshi muttered to himself, face planted into his blanket.

"You say that every week," Riku called out as he passed by.

Hiroshi lifted his head slightly, hair a mess, one eye barely open. "One day I'll mean it."

In the mess hall, the scent of warm rice and miso soup lingered in the air, but the usual chatter was noticeably absent. Midori sat at one of the tables alone, head down, barely moving. Her food was untouched.

She wasn't wearing her usual smug look or that confident aura that always seemed to follow her like a second shadow. Instead, her shoulders were slumped, her eyes blank as she slowly stirred her rice with a pair of chopsticks that never reached her mouth.

Riku paused in the doorway, eyebrows pulling together slightly. Something was wrong.

He grabbed a tray out of habit, filled it with food, and sat down next to Hiroshi—who, after dragging his half-dead body in, immediately shoved food into his mouth like a starving wolf.

Hiroshi noticed too. He glanced over at Midori, then leaned toward Riku, whispering with a mouthful of rice. "Yo. What's up with her?"

Riku glanced her way. "No idea."

"She say anything?"

Riku shook his head.

Hiroshi narrowed his eyes with a grin. "Maybe she's just upset because you didn't invite her to your romantic midnight sparring match with Aiko."

Riku nearly choked on his soup. "What?!"

"You heard me." Hiroshi leaned back, smug. "Come on, don't lie to me. I saw you two walking back together. That little 'accidental' hand brush was practically a love confession."

Riku set his bowl down a little too hard. "It wasn't like that."

"Ohhh~ I see, you like Aiko, but you've got a soft spot for Midori too, huh? The brooding swordsman torn between the fiery childhood friend and the cold beauty with a mysterious past... classic."

"I don't have a—there's no love triangle!" Riku whispered fiercely.

"Yet." Hiroshi grinned, winking. "Just give it a few more chapters."

Riku rolled his eyes, pushing back from the table. "I'm going to check on her."

Hiroshi pointed his chopsticks at him as he walked off. "If you kiss her, let me know how it goes!"

"Shut up, Hiroshi."

Midori was gone by the time he looked back.

The silence left in her absence was louder than any words.

___

Riku found her by instinct.

She wasn't in the courtyard. Not at the training ring. Not in the library or the observation tower. So he followed the worn path that curved behind the compound—toward the forest.

Past the whispering bamboo trees, past the rocky ridgeline and the moss-covered steps, until he reached the edge of the lake hidden deep in the woods. The water was still, reflecting the overcast sky like a sheet of glass, surrounded by quiet pines and fallen leaves.

She was sitting there.

At the edge.

Midori had her knees drawn up to her chest, arms wrapped tightly around them, head buried. Her usually perfect hair was loose, cascading over her shoulders like a veil. Her katana rested beside her, untouched.

The sound of the wind in the trees was the only thing between them.

"Midori," Riku said gently, not wanting to startle her.

She didn't react at first.

Then slowly, she lifted her head.

Her eyes met his—and in them, he saw something he hadn't seen before. Not annoyance. Not arrogance. Not challenge.

But something fragile.

Something human.

"...What's wrong?" he asked, voice quieter now, like he was afraid of breaking the moment.

She looked away, staring at the water again.

"It's been five years since my mother died."