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It was a well-known fact — at least to anyone with half a brain and two working eyes — that Shinazugawa Sanemi insulted Giyuu Tomioka because he liked him. The entire Corps had picked up on it, though Sanemi himself seemed blissfully unaware that his every harsh word and scowl betrayed the same thing he was trying so desperately to hide. And Tomioka, being Tomioka, wasn’t any better. He would quietly try to offer friendship — or something resembling it — through small gestures. A neatly wrapped packet of ohagi left on Sanemi’s desk. A quiet “You did well today” after a mission. Things that, to him, spoke volumes.
But Sanemi never knew how to handle it. He’d take one look at Tomioka’s awkward, sincere face and promptly lose all composure — snapping, scowling, saying something sharp and cruel that made Tomioka’s shoulders drop and his eyes flicker with hurt before he turned away. It was a tragic cycle of clumsy affection disguised as hostility.
“When do you think they’ll stop dancing around each other like that?” Uzui groaned, dragging a hand down his face as he walked down the corridor of the Butterfly Mansion with Mitsuri and Rengoku.
“Shinazugawa-san and Tomioka-san?” Mitsuri asked, tilting her head, her pink-and-green curls bouncing as she blinked in confusion.
“Who else, Mitsuri?” Uzui muttered, his voice dripping with exasperation. “Every time they’re in the same room, it’s like watching a kabuki performance directed by toddlers. One offers sweets, the other hurls insults. It’s painful.”
Rengoku laughed, loud and warm, the sound echoing down the hall. “Ah, youthful emotions! But perhaps it is not easy for the Wind Hashira to express tenderness!”
Uzui gave him a flat look. “Tenderness? That man expresses ‘tenderness’ the same way he expresses murder.”
“That’s not true!” Mitsuri protested, clasping her hands together. “He just doesn’t know how! He probably gets nervous and blurts out the first thing that comes to his mind—”
“Which happens to be an insult,” Uzui cut in, raising a brow. “Every. Single. Time.”
Mitsuri huffed. “Well, he is trying in his own way. I think he likes Tomioka more than he knows how to admit!”
“That’s obvious,” Uzui said dryly. “He looks like he’s going to explode every time Tomioka smiles at him.”
Rengoku nodded thoughtfully, crossing his arms. “Indeed. It is the fire of passion restrained by pride!” He paused dramatically, staring ahead. “But Tomioka, too, bears some responsibility! He is not entirely oblivious to Sanemi’s feelings, is he?”
Uzui let out a long, suffering sigh. “Oh, he knows. He definitely knows. But does he do anything about it? No. He just stands there, offering him ohagi like that’ll fix decades of emotional repression.”
Mitsuri frowned. “That’s so sad…” she murmured. “Tomioka-san just wants to be friends, and Sanemi-san keeps pushing him away. He must feel awful…”
Uzui groaned again, throwing his hands in the air. “Exactly! It’s painful to watch. The other day I saw Tomioka bring him tea — tea! — and Sanemi just said, ‘I don’t need your pity, water pillar.’ Can you believe that?”
Rengoku gasped, appalled. “Unacceptable! One should never reject such a heartfelt offering!”
Mitsuri covered her mouth, eyes wide with dismay. “Poor Tomioka-san… he must have been so sad…”
Uzui nodded grimly. “He was. The man just stood there, holding the cup like he’d been stabbed in the soul.”
The three of them walked in silence for a moment, the weight of their collective frustration heavy in the air.
Finally, Rengoku spoke again, his tone serious. “We should help them.”
Uzui stopped in his tracks, turning slowly to give him a look. “Help them? Rengoku, if Sanemi even suspects we’re meddling, he’ll punch first and think never.”
“That is true,” Mitsuri admitted softly, wringing her hands. “He’s so stubborn… and if he finds out that we know about his crush on Tomioka-san, he’ll probably avoid him forever.”
Uzui sighed loudly, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “That’s the problem. The moment he feels exposed, he shuts down. He’ll run from Tomioka faster than he runs from paperwork.”
“Then we must be subtle,” Rengoku declared, a glint of determination in his eyes.
Uzui stared at him. “Subtle? You?”
Rengoku blinked, then smiled brightly. “Ah… perhaps not I.”
Mitsuri giggled, though she looked equally conflicted. “I don’t think any of us are subtle, Uzui-san…”
Uzui groaned once more — long, drawn out, and full of suffering. “We’re doomed. They’re doomed. It’s like watching two emotionally constipated rocks trying to court each other.”
Rengoku laughed heartily again. “Ha! A poetic comparison!”
Mitsuri smiled gently, glancing out a nearby window where she spotted Tomioka passing by, quietly feeding the sparrows in the courtyard. “Still,” she said softly, “I think it’s sweet… even if it hurts to watch.”
Uzui followed her gaze and exhaled sharply. “Sweet, sure. But if Shinazugawa doesn’t get his act together soon, I’m going to lock them in a room until they either confess or kill each other.”
“Uzui-san!” Mitsuri gasped.
Rengoku placed a firm hand on Uzui’s shoulder, grinning. “No need for violence, my flamboyant friend! Love always finds its way.”
Uzui stared at him for a long, silent moment. “…Not in this case, it won’t.”
The three hashira continued walking, voices overlapping again — Mitsuri’s gentle concern, Rengoku’s booming optimism, and Uzui’s exasperated muttering about “two emotionally dense idiots.”
And somewhere outside, Sanemi sneezed — as if he somehow knew three people were, at that very moment, plotting how to fix his disastrously obvious crush.
Mitsuri turned the corner, still chattering animatedly.
“Maybe we can lock them up together—just for a little while! Like a bonding exercise!” she was saying brightly.
Uzui groaned. “Mitsuri, that’s not subtle. That’s kidnapping.”
“But it might work!” she protested.
Rengoku chuckled, about to respond—when Mitsuri suddenly stopped mid-sentence. Her words cut off, her cheerful tone evaporating. She froze in place.
Rengoku and Uzui, caught off guard, stumbled to a stop behind her.
“What’s wrong?” Rengoku asked immediately, brows furrowing as he leaned to look past her shoulder.
Mitsuri blinked, her mouth parting in surprise. “Tomioka-san… he’s with someone.”
Uzui frowned. “What? Since when does Tomioka have friends?” He craned his neck to look over Mitsuri’s shoulder, and his jaw went slack.
Indeed, there was Tomioka — standing a few yards away in the courtyard, his usual calm expression tinged with faint discomfort. Opposite him stood a man with slick, black hair and a self-satisfied smirk that screamed trouble.
Rengoku’s face darkened immediately, his normally blazing smile replaced with a flat, unreadable line. “Who is that?” he muttered, eyes narrowing.
“I don’t know…” Mitsuri whispered, squinting slightly. “But he’s standing a little too close, don’t you think?”
“Too close?” Uzui echoed, incredulous. “He’s practically breathing the same air as him! Back up, man!”
The trio exchanged quick glances before instinctively pressing themselves against the wall, peeking around the corner like a group of gossiping teenagers.
“Subtle, we are not,” Uzui muttered.
“Shh!” Mitsuri hissed, elbowing him lightly.
They peered around the edge of the wall again. Tomioka was trying to hold a polite conversation, his voice quiet and expression unreadable as always. But his body language spoke volumes — his shoulders were stiff, his eyes flicking away, his weight subtly shifting as though he wanted to leave but couldn’t find an excuse.
The man in black hair leaned in slightly, saying something low. Tomioka blinked, frowning faintly, clearly confused.
Rengoku’s tone sharpened. “Is he harassing Tomioka?”
Uzui squinted, studying the scene. “If he were, Tomioka would’ve already walked away—or frozen him with that death stare of his. But look—he’s trying to be polite.”
“He’s hitting on him,” Mitsuri whispered suddenly, eyes wide.
“What?” Uzui turned sharply toward her.
“Look at the body language! The way that man’s smiling—it’s too smooth! Too confident! That’s a flirty lean if I’ve ever seen one!” she said urgently.
Uzui pinched the bridge of his nose. “Oh, for crying out loud…”
“I don’t think Tomioka realizes it,” Mitsuri continued, her head tilting as she watched. “He looks confused—like he’s trying to figure out what’s happening but doesn’t want to be rude.”
“Tomioka never realizes it,” Uzui muttered. “Someone could confess and he’d probably hand them a cup of tea and change the subject.”
Rengoku’s frown deepened. “This is unacceptable. He looks distinctly uncomfortable. Look—his hand is twitching. That is his escape hand.”
Uzui arched his brow. “Escape hand?”
Rengoku nodded seriously. “He uses it when he wants to vanish but is too polite to do so.”
Mitsuri gasped. “You’re right! Oh, poor Tomioka-san…”
The trio huddled closer, trying to hear what was being said, though the courtyard breeze carried only bits of conversation — Tomioka’s low, clipped replies and the stranger’s smooth, too-easy laughter.
“Ugh,” Uzui groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “This is so painful to watch. The guy’s laying it on thick, and Tomioka looks like he’s silently begging for rescue.”
Rengoku’s hands were on his hips now, jaw tightening. “If Shinazugawa were here—”
“He’d murder that guy,” Uzui cut in flatly.
“Rip him apart,” Mitsuri agreed softly, almost mournfully. “He’d lose it the moment that guy stepped too close.”
“Which he already has,” Uzui said pointedly.
They all peered around the corner again, holding their breath as the man in black leaned in just slightly — not enough to be overtly inappropriate, but enough to make Tomioka visibly tense.
Uzui clicked his tongue. “I swear, if this gets one inch closer to scandalous—”
“Calm yourself,” Rengoku rumbled, though his tone was anything but calm. His usual warmth had hardened into something fierce and protective. “Let us give Tomioka a chance to extract himself. He is capable.”
“He’d rather die than cause a scene,” Uzui muttered. “He’ll just stand there and endure it like some tragic romance novel protagonist.”
Mitsuri chewed her lip, anxiety flickering in her eyes. “He looks like he’s trying to smile… oh no, that’s his ‘please let me go’ smile! I’ve seen that before!”
Uzui groaned dramatically. “I can’t take this. Watching this is like watching a train wreck in slow motion.”
“Patience,” Rengoku said, though his hand twitched slightly, clearly resisting the urge to intervene.
Finally—mercifully—Tomioka took a small step back, bowing his head slightly as he muttered something that seemed to end the conversation. He turned, walking away with a quiet, polite exit.
The black-haired man looked disappointed, watching him leave with a small smirk before shrugging and heading off in the opposite direction.
Mitsuri exhaled in relief. “Oh, thank goodness! He got away!”
Uzui dropped his head into his hands. “Barely. That was torture. I aged five years just watching that.”
Rengoku nodded firmly, his expression grave. “Indeed. And thank the gods Shinazugawa was not here to witness such an encounter.”
Uzui scoffed, straightening up. “If he’d seen that, he’d have turned that guy into confetti before Tomioka could even blink.”
Mitsuri giggled nervously. “Or confessed by accident in the process…”
Uzui and Rengoku both looked at her, unamused.
“...What?” she said sheepishly, twirling a lock of her hair.
They sighed in unison — three exasperated hashira, hiding behind a corner, watching two emotionally inept men fumble their way through life and love.
“What are you three doing?”
The calm but cutting voice came from behind them, and all three hashira nearly jumped out of their skin. Mitsuri let out a startled squeak, Rengoku froze mid-peek, and Uzui’s head whipped around so fast his earrings clattered against his neck.
Standing a few feet away, arms crossed and his expression a perfect mix of suspicion and judgment, was none other than Iguro Obanai. His mismatched eyes narrowed slightly behind his bandages, and Kaburamaru’s head lifted curiously from his shoulder.
“Oh—uh—nothing!” Uzui said quickly, straightening up and trying to act casual. “Just… appreciating the architecture!”
“The architecture?” Obanai repeated flatly, looking past them at the plain, empty hallway.
Rengoku barked out a laugh that was far too loud. “Yes! The structure here is quite magnificent! Very… ah… wall-like!”
Uzui groaned under his breath and muttered, “Smooth.”
Obanai blinked slowly. “You three were hiding behind a corner staring into the courtyard. That’s not exactly subtle.” His tone carried that quiet, dry disapproval only Obanai could perfect.
Mitsuri, who was visibly vibrating with guilt and excitement, immediately blurted out, “Some guy was hitting on Tomioka-san!”
“Mitsuri!” Uzui hissed, smacking a hand to his forehead.
Rengoku did the same. “Ah, she said it!”
Obanai’s eyes sharpened. “Someone was what?”
“Hitting on Tomioka-san!” Mitsuri repeated, as if it were vital information for national security. “He was really close to him, and poor Tomioka looked so uncomfortable! But he finally escaped, thank goodness.”
Uzui dragged a hand down his face. “Oh, great. You told him.”
Rengoku groaned quietly. “We’re doomed.”
Obanai tilted his head slightly, a dangerous glint in his eyes. “Some man was hitting on Tomioka?” he said slowly, as though processing something both annoying and amusing.
Mitsuri nodded eagerly, completely oblivious to the tension in the air. “Mm-hm! That’s him—over there!” She pointed to the man in black who was now walking away down the garden path, completely unaware of the chaos he’d just sparked.
Obanai followed her finger, his gaze sharp as he examined the stranger from afar. “That one?”
“Yes!” Mitsuri said, puffing out her cheeks in mild indignation. “He doesn’t know personal space at all! He kept leaning in, and Tomioka-san was just standing there like a cornered kitten!”
Uzui winced audibly. “Mitsuri, you’re killing me right now.”
Rengoku rubbed the back of his neck, looking anywhere but at Obanai. “Ahaha, yes, well, you see—”
Obanai turned his gaze back on them, unimpressed. “And you two geniuses were… trying to hide that from me?”
Uzui’s confident grin faltered immediately. “What? Nooo. Hide? Us? Never!”
“You were crouched behind a wall,” Obanai deadpanned.
Rengoku’s booming laugh came out nervous this time. “We were merely… observing! For Tomioka’s safety, of course!”
“Observing,” Obanai repeated, one brow arching skeptically.
“Exactly!” Rengoku nodded vigorously.
Obanai sighed, long and tired, his patience visibly thinning. “You two are idiots.”
Uzui raised a finger. “Correction: flamboyant idiots.”
Obanai didn’t even respond to that — he just turned away slightly, muttering something about “children in grown-up uniforms.”
Mitsuri, meanwhile, was still chatting. “Oh, was I not supposed to tell you, Obanai-san?” she asked innocently, turning to him with wide green eyes.
Obanai looked back at her, his posture softening ever so slightly. “You can tell me anything, Mitsuri. You didn’t do anything wrong.” His tone dropped a fraction, quiet but firm. “Those two just don’t think before they act.”
Mitsuri giggled, her earlier tension melting into a bright smile. “Hehe, I knew I could count on you to say that!”
Uzui groaned under his breath again. “Of course she gets away with it.”
Rengoku chuckled in defeat, clapping Uzui on the back. “Face it, my friend. We’ve lost this battle.”
Uzui sighed dramatically. “I can already see Shinazugawa finding out by sunset. We’re so dead.”
Obanai gave them one last look — cool, unreadable, and slightly smug. “You brought that upon yourselves.” Then he turned, walking alongside Mitsuri as she began animatedly recounting the whole awkward Tomioka encounter again, her voice bright and bubbly as they disappeared around the corner together.
Uzui and Rengoku stood in silence for a long moment.
“…We should probably start writing our wills,” Uzui muttered.
“Agreed,” Rengoku said solemnly.
And with matching, weary sighs, they trudged off in the opposite direction — the quiet, sinking realization hitting them both that Shinazugawa was going to hear about this very soon.
****
Shinazugawa’s estate was quiet that afternoon, save for the steady rhythm of wood striking wood. The sharp crack of Sanemi’s practice sword echoed through the courtyard as he moved with quick, violent precision — sweat glistening on his skin, breath controlled, eyes burning with that usual wild intensity.
Iguro stood by the entrance for a few moments, watching in silence. His arms were crossed, Kaburamaru shifting lazily around his shoulders. He let out a slow sigh — part exasperation, part pity — and muttered under his breath, “May the gods protect Uzui and Rengoku…” before finally stepping forward.
Sanemi caught the movement out of the corner of his eye and turned. “Iguro? What’s up?” he asked, rolling his shoulder and propping his wooden sword casually against it. His tone was relaxed — though the edge in his voice never really went away.
Iguro hesitated. That was never a good sign. He rarely hesitated around Sanemi.
“…What, you forget how to talk?” Sanemi said, raising a brow.
Iguro exhaled slowly through his nose. “Listen,” he began carefully, his tone low and deliberate, “I need to tell you something. But you’re going to have to promise not to break something when I do.”
Sanemi’s brows furrowed immediately. “That’s not exactly reassuring,” he muttered.
“I’m serious,” Iguro said firmly, folding his arms tighter. “I don’t want to hear later that you’ve chased someone across the Corps grounds or—”
“Just spit it out, man,” Sanemi interrupted, already growing impatient. “You’re stalling.”
Iguro’s mismatched eyes flicked away for a second, as though deciding whether this was worth it. “Fine,” he said finally, exhaling again. “But remember, you told me to say it.”
Sanemi looked unimpressed. “You’re really dragging this out, Iguro. What’s going on?”
Iguro rubbed his temple, clearly regretting every decision that had led him to this point. “Alright. So—” He paused again.
Sanemi groaned. “For the love of—just say it!”
Iguro glanced up at him, voice going flat but careful. “…A guy was hitting on Tomioka earlier.”
Sanemi blinked once. “What.”
“And,” Iguro continued quickly, before Sanemi could explode, “he was apparently standing a little too close, and Tomioka looked uncomfortable. It wasn’t… anything extreme, from what I heard, but—”
“What did you just say?” Sanemi’s tone was deceptively calm — too calm. His grip on the wooden katana tightened until the wood creaked.
Iguro immediately held up both hands in self-defense. “Don’t look at me like that, I didn’t see it happen. Uzui, Rengoku, and Mitsuri did.”
Sanemi’s jaw flexed, his teeth grinding audibly. “They what?”
Iguro sighed. “Yeah. I caught them whispering about it afterward — looked suspicious as hell — so I went up to them and asked what was going on.”
Sanemi’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “And?”
“Uzui and Rengoku tried to play dumb, like they always do,” Iguro said, irritation creeping into his voice. “But Mitsuri… well, she’s Mitsuri. She told me everything before they could stop her.”
Sanemi’s grip tightened even more. His knuckles went white. The calmness in his tone was gone now, replaced with that low, volatile simmering that Iguro knew meant trouble.
“So,” Sanemi said slowly, the words sharp as glass, “a random guy was hitting on Tomioka. He was uncomfortable. Uzui, Rengoku, and Mitsuri saw it happen, and then they decided to hide it from me?”
Iguro nodded grimly. “Pretty much.”
There was a long silence. The kind that vibrated with restrained fury.’
Sanemi’s nostrils flared. He exhaled heavily through his teeth, setting the wooden blade aside only to grab his haori and shrug it on with jerky, agitated movements. “Those bastards.”
Iguro stepped back instinctively as Sanemi’s energy shifted — the relaxed posture gone, replaced by that raw, bristling intensity that made even demons hesitate.
“Sanemi,” Iguro began, tone cautious, “don’t—”
“Don’t what?” Sanemi snapped, tying his haori roughly. “Don’t confront them for hiding something like this? Don’t get angry that some creep thought he could make Tomioka uncomfortable while they stood there and watched?”
Iguro’s mouth twitched under his bandages. “I’m not saying you shouldn’t be angry. I’m saying maybe don’t—”
“—break their bones?” Sanemi cut him off, already storming toward the door. “Too late.”
Iguro sighed deeply, muttering under his breath, “Why did I even bother warning him gently…”
Sanemi paused only long enough to glance back, eyes still blazing with cold fury. “Those two better pray,” he growled, voice low, “because if I find them before they find me, it’s not going to end pretty.”
And with that, the Wind Hashira stalked out of the estate, his footsteps heavy and quick, leaving Iguro standing in the doorway, pinching the bridge of his nose as Kaburamaru flicked his tongue lazily.
“Uzui and Rengoku,” Iguro murmured under his breath, “you’re on your own now.”
****
Uzui and Rengoku had been avoiding Sanemi for days. They were legends on the battlefield, but when it came to an enraged Wind Hashira, they might as well have been mice hiding from a cat. Unfortunately, their luck was about to run out.
The Master had called for a Hashira meeting.
Rengoku and Uzui stood just outside the estate gates, beads of sweat already forming on their temples.
“Maybe,” Uzui muttered, gripping the edge of his flamboyant coat, “he won’t come.”
Rengoku turned toward him, his usual confident grin flickering with unease. “He always comes, my friend. Even if he’s dragging a corpse, Sanemi always comes.”
Uzui groaned. “We’re dead. He’s going to kill us in front of everyone. The master will have to bless our graves.”
Rengoku gave a forced laugh that cracked mid-way. “Perhaps he will wait until after the meeting? Sanemi has… some sense of decorum.”
“Some,” Uzui repeated, eyes narrowed. “You’re being generous.”
Still, neither dared to skip the meeting. That would only make things worse. They entered the Master’s estate and found their place in the garden, trying to look calm and collected as the others began to gather. The air was peaceful, the faint scent of flowers in the wind—but for Uzui and Rengoku, every leaf rustle sounded like Sanemi’s footsteps.
And then he arrived.
Sanemi walked beside Iguro, who looked like a man walking a bomb into a temple. The Wind Hashira’s expression was sharp, his eyes stormy. His knuckles were white around the edge of his haori, and even his steps radiated irritation.
Uzui whispered, “Oh no. Oh no—he looks like he’s about to kill someone.”
Rengoku swallowed. “Perhaps he’s in a bad mood for other reasons?”
“Yeah, sure, like I’m that lucky.” Uzui’s voice turned into a mutter.
Sanemi’s sharp gaze swept the garden—and then landed on them.
Uzui’s blood went cold. “He’s looking. He’s looking at us.”
“Oh shit, oh, we’re so dead,” Uzui hissed.
Rengoku chuckled nervously, his usual thunderous laugh reduced to a trembling, “Ahaha…! Shinazugawa-san! How are you this fine afternoon?”
Sanemi didn’t even blink. His scowl deepened. “You know,” he said, voice low and dangerous, “I heard something really interesting from Iguro.”
Uzui tried to play dumb. “Oh? Really? And what might that be?”
Sanemi’s eye twitched. In one swift movement, he grabbed Uzui by the collar and yanked him forward, their faces mere inches apart. The beads on Uzui’s headband rattled as Sanemi’s grip tightened. Then, with equal aggression, he snatched Rengoku’s collar and dragged him close too.
“You two bastards tried to hide this from me?” Sanemi snarled, his voice echoing across the garden.
Rengoku and Uzui froze like scolded children.
“W–Wait—Sanemi, it’s not like that!” Uzui stammered, hands raised. “We just—uh—thought it wasn’t necessary to—”
“To what? Tell me that someone made Tomioka uncomfortable while you two stood there like idiots?”
Rengoku quickly cut in, his usual booming voice now shaky. “We didn’t want to cause you unnecessary anger—!”
“Well, congratulations,” Sanemi spat, releasing them with a shove. “You failed miserably.”
Uzui and Rengoku stumbled backward, rubbing their throats. Sanemi crossed his arms, eyes blazing, waiting for an explanation.
By now, the other Hashira were watching the chaos unfold. Shinobu tilted her head in amusement, whispering to Muichiro, “It seems Shinazugawa has found new prey.”
Muichiro, usually expressionless, looked mildly curious. “What did they do?”
Mitsuri nervously wrung the sleeve of her haori. “Well, um… me, Rengoku-san, and Uzui-san saw someone hitting on Tomioka-san, and he looked uncomfortable…” Her voice trailed off as Sanemi turned his glare toward her.
Shinobu hummed. “Oh? Someone hit on Giyuu?” she said, tone dripping with curiosity. “That’s rare.”
Muichiro’s eyes darkened instantly. “Who did it?” he asked in a dangerously calm voice.
“Oh boy…” Iguro muttered under his breath.
Rengoku and Uzui were still trying to stammer through their explanation when Muichiro stood up, the air around him suddenly chilling.
“So… you saw that,” he said softly, “and didn’t do anything?”
Uzui raised a finger. “Technically, we did something—we discussed it—”
That was all the justification Muichiro needed. In one quick motion, he dashed forward and kicked Uzui square in the knee. The sound was sharp—an audible thud—and Uzui dropped to one knee, wincing.
“Hey—!”
Before Rengoku could react, Muichiro spun and hit his other knee with equal precision. “Ow—Muichiro-kun! That’s not very—!”
“Deserved,” Sanemi growled from behind him.
Rengoku rubbed his knee with a wince. “You’re worse than Shinazugawa!”
Muichiro crossed his arms and glared up at them, his expression far too cold for his youthful face. “You don’t let people treat Tomioka like that. Idiots.”
Gyomei sighed softly, beads clinking in his hands. “Perhaps we should begin the meeting before more limbs are broken.”
And right then, as if on cue, Tomioka walked in.
The entire group froze and turned to stare at him.
Tomioka blinked. “…Why are you all looking at me like that?”
Silence. The tension in the air was so thick it could have been sliced with Sanemi’s blade.
The Master’s gentle voice finally broke the awkward quiet. “Let us begin.”
And everyone straightened immediately—Rengoku and Uzui still nursing their knees, Sanemi simmering beside Iguro, and Tomioka completely unaware that he had just walked into a storm.
****
After the meeting ended, the Hashira began to disperse one by one. The Master’s gentle voice faded behind them as the doors slid shut, leaving the quiet hum of cicadas and the rustle of distant leaves.
Tomioka walked out first, silent as always, his expression calm but his posture faintly tense. The late afternoon sun filtered through the trees, painting the path in gold and shadow as he made his way toward his own estate. He gave no indication that he noticed anyone else behind him.
Rengoku and Uzui followed after, though their steps were much less steady. Both men looked around like hunted prey, half-expecting Sanemi to leap out from a tree or a bush with his sword drawn.
“Keep your guard up,” Uzui muttered under his breath. “The moment we think we’re safe, he’s going to jump us.”
Rengoku gave a tight laugh that didn’t reach his eyes. “You underestimate his patience. He’ll wait until the perfect moment to strike.”
“Perfect moment? He’s Sanemi. The man’s definition of ‘perfect moment’ is whenever he can see your terrified face.”
Behind them, Sanemi walked out beside Iguro and Mitsuri. His face was unreadable, but his eyes—sharp and stormy—were locked entirely on Tomioka’s back as the Water Hashira walked down the path. Every subtle movement, every shift in posture, Sanemi noticed.
Iguro sighed quietly. “You’re being obvious.”
Sanemi didn’t even glance at him. “Shut up.”
“I’m serious,” Iguro pressed, voice low. “You’re glaring at him like you’re about to stab him or carry him home. It’s confusing.”
Sanemi scowled, finally tearing his eyes away. “Mind your own damn business.”
But after a beat, his gaze flicked right back to Tomioka—an unconscious pull he couldn’t fight.
Tomioka had slowed slightly near the gate, adjusting his haori. And that’s when another figure appeared—a man approaching from the side of the path, waving as if they were old friends.
Tomioka blinked in mild confusion, his hand halfway to a polite greeting. The man smiled too broadly, stepping closer.
Uzui immediately noticed. “Wait,” he muttered, his usual flamboyance replaced with sudden alertness. “Isn’t that—”
Iguro followed his gaze, then turned to Mitsuri. “Is that the guy you told me about?”
Mitsuri’s expression darkened with worry. “Y-Yes. That’s him.”
Uzui and Rengoku straightened instinctively, exchanging a quick, silent look.
Sanemi’s head slowly turned toward the stranger. His jaw clenched.
At first, it wasn’t clear what the man was saying to Tomioka. The voices carried faintly through the air—light, almost casual—but Tomioka’s posture told another story. His shoulders were stiff, his eyes lowered. The faintest hint of discomfort flickered across his expression.
The man stepped closer, too close. Tomioka stepped back a half pace, politely but firmly.
Sanemi’s eye twitched.
“Is he…?” Uzui whispered.
“Oh, he’s definitely making him uncomfortable,” Rengoku said, his cheerful voice now uncharacteristically grim.
Mitsuri wrung her hands, watching nervously. “Shouldn’t we… do something?”
Sanemi didn’t answer. His whole body was tense—like a bowstring pulled to its limit. His fingers twitched at his side, aching to reach for his sword.
The stranger said something else—something that made Tomioka flinch ever so slightly. He gave a small, polite nod, clearly wanting to end the interaction. But before he could take a step back, the man grabbed his hand.
That tiny gesture was enough to set Sanemi off internally like an explosion.
His expression shifted instantly—his eyes darkened, lips curling into a quiet snarl. The veins in his neck tensed.
Iguro immediately noticed. “Sanemi—don’t.”
But Sanemi didn’t respond. His entire focus was locked on the man’s hand gripping Tomioka’s. His jaw flexed hard enough that it almost looked painful.
Uzui winced. “Oh no. Oh, that guy just signed his death sentence.”
Rengoku’s tone was equally uneasy. “Perhaps we should intervene before Sanemi does. For the stranger’s sake.”
“Look at Tomioka,” Mitsuri whispered, voice trembling slightly. “He doesn’t even know how to tell the man to stop.”
And it was true. Tomioka stood frozen, his face a mask of polite restraint, but the tension in his shoulders betrayed him. His hand hung stiffly in the stranger’s grip, unsure how to pull away without causing a scene.
Sanemi’s breathing was shallow and deliberate, like he was fighting himself. His fingers curled, nails digging into his palm.
“He’s uncomfortable as hell,” Uzui muttered.
Sanemi’s eyes narrowed dangerously.
Iguro sighed quietly, though there was a trace of sympathy in his voice. “You’re gonna blow your cover if you keep staring like that.”
Sanemi’s voice came out low, rough, and tight with fury. “If that bastard doesn’t move his hand in the next three seconds, I swear I’ll—”
“Sanemi,” Iguro cut in quickly. “Don’t.”
But the Wind Hashira didn’t look away. His glare was cold, razor-sharp, and full of barely restrained violence. Every muscle in his body screamed for him to step forward, to tear that man’s hand off Tomioka’s wrist.
And still, he stayed rooted to the ground—for now.
The air around the group felt heavy, tense, like the calm before a storm. Even Uzui and Rengoku had stopped talking, watching with baited breath as Sanemi’s patience stretched thinner and thinner.
Tomioka shifted slightly, attempting to gently pull his hand back. “Please,” he said softly, his tone even but distant. “I need to go.”
The man only smiled and leaned closer.
That was all it took for Sanemi’s eye to twitch again—his fury practically radiating through the air like heat off a flame.
And everyone watching knew: if that stranger didn’t take the hint very soon, the Wind Hashira was going to make sure he did.
“Don’t you understand what I’m trying to tell you?” the man said, his tone dropping into something almost desperate as he leaned in close to Tomioka. His shadow fell over the Water Hashira, who instinctively stepped back, unease flickering across his usually calm face.
“I—uh—no,” Tomioka said softly, shaking his head slightly. His eyes darted to the side, as if searching for an escape route.
“I like you,” the man said plainly, his grin widening as though this were some grand romantic confession. “I want to take you out on a date.”
Tomioka froze. His lips parted soundlessly, eyes widening in disbelief. He even pointed at himself with a faint, confused frown. “...Me?”
“Yes, you,” the man said, grinning as though it were obvious.
From behind the garden wall, several heads immediately popped up—Uzui, Rengoku, Mitsuri, Iguro, and of course, Sanemi.
All of them heard that.
Uzui’s jaw dropped. “He what?”
Rengoku blinked rapidly, his voice somewhere between amusement and horror. “That man has courage… or a death wish.”
But Sanemi—Sanemi didn’t speak. His eyes darkened immediately, a muscle ticking sharply in his jaw as his entire body stiffened. His grip on the hilt of his sword flexed until his knuckles turned white.
“Oh no…” Mitsuri whispered, clutching Iguro’s sleeve. “He’s going to kill him.”
Sanemi’s face shifted into something unreadable—rage mixed with disbelief. He inhaled slowly through his nose, his breathing measured, but it only seemed to make the tension worse. His glare could have burned a hole straight through the man’s head.
“Sanemi,” Iguro warned in a low voice. “Don’t.”
But it was already too late.
Sanemi stalked forward with deliberate, heavy steps, each one echoing with a storm of restrained fury. The air itself felt heavier as he closed the distance.
“I…” Tomioka trailed off, noticing Sanemi’s shadow fall over him before he even turned.
In one swift movement, Sanemi’s hand shot out, snatching Tomioka’s wrist from the man’s grip. He pulled Tomioka toward him in a single, possessive motion that made the stranger stumble back a step.
“Sorry,” Sanemi said, his tone sharp and venom-laced as he smiled bitterly. “What were you saying?”
The stranger blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the hostile energy radiating off Sanemi. He raised his hands in mock surrender, an amused smirk tugging at his lips.
“Damn,” he said with a chuckle, “didn’t know you were taken.”
Tomioka’s face went blank—half mortified, half lost. His gaze flicked between the two men, unsure how to even respond. “I—uh… we’re not—”
Sanemi didn’t even let him finish. His glare cut to the man like a blade. “Yeah? What makes you think you can grab someone like that?”
The man only shrugged, still looking entirely too relaxed. “Relax, man. No harm done. I just thought he was single.”
Sanemi’s mouth twitched. His smile was tight, forced. “You thought wrong.”
Uzui leaned against the wall with a hand over his mouth, whispering, “Oh, this is going to be good…”
Rengoku sighed, hands clasped nervously behind his back. “Now who’s going to save Tomioka from Sanemi?”
Mitsuri shot them both a look, horrified. “You two aren’t helping!”
Meanwhile, the stranger—apparently lacking all self-preservation—just grinned wider. “Well, hit me up when you two break up,” he said smoothly, winking at Tomioka as though Sanemi weren’t glaring daggers into his soul.
Sanemi’s entire body froze. His eyes twitched, his jaw clenched, and the vein on his temple pulsed visibly. The tension in the air spiked.
“Why,” Sanemi said slowly, voice dropping low, “do you think we’ll break up?”
The man just laughed under his breath. “Because I could treat him way better than you ever could.”
There was a flash of movement—Sanemi’s hand shot forward, his fist already cocked back for a punch that would have sent the guy flying—
—but Tomioka grabbed him by the arm just in time.
“Sanemi—!”
Sanemi froze mid-motion, his glare snapping toward Tomioka instead, his breath sharp and heavy.
“My bad! My bad!” the stranger stammered out quickly, still laughing nervously, stepping back a few paces. He clearly realized—far too late—that he was pushing his luck.
And then, for some godforsaken reason, the man took Tomioka’s hand again—and kissed it before turning away.
The entire garden seemed to go silent. Even the wind held its breath.
Tomioka stood frozen, staring at his hand like it had just been struck by lightning. His face was blank with disbelief. “...What just happened?”
Uzui blinked. “He kissed his hand.”
Rengoku’s jaw went slack. “He’s… signing his death certificate.”
Iguro just stared, utterly incredulous. “That man must have a death wish.”
Sanemi was shaking—literally shaking—from how hard he was trying not to explode. His fists trembled at his sides, his breathing coming in through gritted teeth.
“Sanemi,” Iguro muttered quietly, “for the love of all that’s holy—don’t do anything stupid.”
But Sanemi didn’t even seem to hear him. His gaze followed the man as he walked away, every muscle in his body coiled like a loaded spring.
Uzui exhaled sharply and turned away. “Yeah, I’m out. God help Tomioka.”
Rengoku quickly followed. “Agreed. We should retreat while we’re still alive.”
That left Mitsuri, Iguro, and the two still standing in the middle of the path—one fuming, the other deeply uncomfortable.
Tomioka finally looked up at Sanemi, his voice soft. “...Thank you.”
Sanemi blinked, still burning with fury, and before Tomioka could even finish speaking, Sanemi gripped his arm and dragged him away wordlessly.
Mitsuri watched them go, her hand over her mouth. “Oh dear…”
Iguro sighed, shaking his head slowly. “I’m gonna pray for Tomioka.”
****
Sanemi grabbed Tomioka’s wrist and pulled him away from the others, his steps sharp and heavy with irritation. They stopped behind one of the training halls where the sound of cicadas filled the warm air. Tomioka stood there, confused and a little uneasy, his expression unreadable as always.
Sanemi turned, jaw tight, eyes burning—not with anger at Tomioka, but at the thought of someone else touching him, talking to him that way. His voice came out rougher than he intended.
“Shina—” Tomioka started quietly.
“Are you okay?” Sanemi cut him off, stepping closer. His tone was firm, but his eyes searched Giyuu’s face with barely hidden concern.
Tomioka blinked, startled by the question. “I’m fine,” he said, almost automatically.
“No, you’re not,” Sanemi shot back, his voice low and tense. “You were uncomfortable with that guy. Don’t try to brush it off.”
Tomioka’s lips parted slightly. He hesitated before nodding, his gaze falling to the ground. “I was. I just… I didn’t know he was hitting on me.” His voice carried quiet confusion, tinged with embarrassment.
Sanemi exhaled sharply, trying to steady the heat that coiled in his chest. “You didn’t have to smile through that, you know,” he said, softer now.
Tomioka stayed silent, his fingers twitching at his sides. The faint red creeping onto his cheeks didn’t escape Sanemi’s notice.
Sanemi reached out and tilted Tomioka’s chin up with his calloused hand, forcing him to meet his gaze. His thumb brushed the faint tremble of Giyuu’s jaw. “Look at me,” he murmured. “I just wanted to make sure you were really okay.”
Tomioka’s eyes flicked up to meet his—clear, uncertain, vulnerable. “Thank you,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “For pretending to like me back there. It really helped.”
Sanemi froze. His thumb stilled against Tomioka’s skin.
“It wasn’t pretending,” he said quietly, almost too fast.
Tomioka blinked. “I really appreciate it—wait… what?”
“I said it wasn’t pretending.” Sanemi’s voice dropped lower, rough but steady this time. “I wasn’t faking it. I like you, Tomioka. I have for a long damn time.”
The words hung heavy in the air between them. For a heartbeat, neither moved. Tomioka just stared at him, lips slightly parted, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he’d heard.
“You… like me?” he asked softly. His voice wavered, and there was something raw in it—hope, disbelief, fear.
Sanemi’s throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. “Yeah. It’s okay if you don’t feel the same,” he said quickly, almost stumbling over his words now. “You don’t have to say anything, I just—”
“I like you too,” Tomioka interrupted, his voice sudden and sure despite the faint tremor in it.
Sanemi froze mid-sentence, staring at him. “You… what?”
“I like you too,” Tomioka repeated, this time a little quieter, his ears pink. “I’ve just never known how to say it.”
For the first time that night, Sanemi forgot how to breathe. His heart pounded against his ribs. He searched Tomioka’s eyes for any trace of doubt—but all he found there was honesty, and a faint trembling warmth.
“Say that again,” Sanemi murmured, voice low, as he took a step closer.
Tomioka swallowed, his pulse fluttering at his throat. “I like you.”
Sanemi’s lips curved into a small, almost disbelieving smile before he leaned in and closed the distance between them.
The kiss wasn’t gentle—not at first. It was desperate, full of everything they’d both been too afraid to say. Sanemi’s hand slid up to cup the back of Tomioka’s neck, tilting his head slightly as their lips moved together, the faint taste of rain and salt between them.
Tomioka stiffened for a few seconds, breath catching in surprise, before melting into it. His hands came up slowly, hesitantly, before wrapping around Sanemi’s neck and pulling him closer. Sanemi groaned softly against his mouth, his other hand finding Tomioka’s waist and gripping it like he was afraid he’d disappear.
When they finally broke apart for air, their foreheads rested together, breaths mingling in the quiet night.
Tomioka’s chest rose and fell rapidly, his lips still slightly parted. Sanemi looked at him with a crooked grin, his thumb brushing against Giyuu’s flushed cheek.
“Wanna go on a date?” Sanemi murmured, his voice soft but rough around the edges.
Tomioka’s lips curved into the faintest of smiles, his eyes warm and shy all at once. “Sure,” he said, breathless.
Neither of them moved for a long moment, just stood there with their foreheads touching, hearts thundering in sync. The cicadas droned on in the distance, but the only sound that mattered was the quiet rhythm of their breathing—finally in tune.