Yukishiro had returned to his old rhythm, once again donning the rough hemp clothes that smelled faintly of mountain air. Each morning at the break of dawn, he forced himself to rise with the sun, training tirelessly under the strict routine Roga had hammered into him before the Final Selection. Swinging his blade, conditioning his body, and meditating beneath the icy flow of the Bailong Waterfall—every day passed like a cycle of repetition.
One evening, however, Bailong Mountain welcomed an unexpected guest.
The rumbling waterfall cascaded endlessly into the pool below, white mist rising around the jagged cliffs. Along the winding path that snaked down the slope, a figure appeared—a girl clad in a pink haori, her steps light, almost bouncing, as if the harsh climb of the mountain was nothing more than a playful skip.
Her smile was as sweet as spring sunlight, her face framed with strands of soft hair that swayed with her every movement. And though her presence seemed cheerful, it was impossible not to notice the fullness of her figure, emphasized even more with each step she took.
By the time she reached the poolside, her eyes immediately caught sight of something unusual: a set of neatly folded coarse hemp clothes placed carefully on a smooth rock. Resting sprawled on top of the fabric, with its legs sticking awkwardly into the air, was a black crow—Yukishiro's Kasugai crow—dozing soundly.
The girl chuckled, crouched down, and gently poked at the crow's tiny toes.
With a flustered kick, the crow snapped awake, its eyes blinking open in irritation.
But the moment it saw who had disturbed its nap, the bird's demeanor flipped entirely. Spreading its wings and puffing its chest, it let out a croaky but gleeful cry.
"Big-breasted sister, it's you! Big-breasted sister, you came to see me, didn't you? Did you miss me?"
The girl—Kanroji Mitsuri's younger sister, Mitsuri—turned scarlet in an instant.
"W-What did you just call me!?" she sputtered, snatching the bird up with both hands and shaking it furiously. "Didn't I tell you to stop calling me that!? Why are you still saying it!?"
"Th-that is—!"
Before the crow could stammer out another word, another black blur swooped in from above. Mitsuri's own crow landed firmly on her shoulder, glaring daggers at its fellow bird.
"You perverted idiot!" her crow squawked.
"How dare you disrespect my master like that!?" Flapping its wings like a furious storm, it began battering the other crow mercilessly.
"Ouch, ouch! Hey, Yukishiro!" the first crow yelped in panic, flailing against the onslaught.
"Someone's bullying your bird here! Someone's beating me up! Are you just gonna let this happen!?"
Mitsuri narrowed her eyes and added, "If you keep running your mouth, I'll pluck every last feather off you and toss you into a pot for soup."
The crow's bravado collapsed instantly. "A-Alright, fine! He's… underwater."
Mitsuri released the struggling crow, and it darted into the air with an indignant screech. Circling once above, it shouted down toward the pool, "Yukishiro! I'll leave this violent woman to you! I'll wait on the mountain for dinner, brother—good luck, quaaack!"
Mitsuri's crow muttered, "What a coward," and settled back onto her shoulder with a disdainful flick of its wings.
She couldn't help but laugh softly and petted its head affectionately.
The scene might have seemed ridiculous to anyone else, but for her it carried warmth. Yukishiro might be a man of few words, but his crow was gossip incarnate. Meanwhile, she herself was gentle and hesitant, but her crow had all the spirit she often lacked. Together, it almost felt… balanced.
Mitsuri sat patiently on the shore, gazing at the rippling pool. She hadn't seen Yukishiro for nearly two months.
When she had first descended from Fujiyama after the Selection, she'd been confined to the Butterfly Mansion for a week, recovering from the ordeal. Before she could even meet Yukishiro, she had been whisked away by her older sister, Mitsuri. Since then, she had worried endlessly about his condition, begging Mitsuri to inquire after him every few days. Only when she learned he had awoken did she finally breathe in relief.
Two weeks ago, she had even gone to the Butterfly Mansion herself, only to be told that Yukishiro had already left. It was Shinobu who revealed that he was undergoing rehabilitation training here on Bailong Mountain.
That discovery had ignited a stubborn spark within her. For half a month, she pleaded and persuaded until at last Mitsuri relented—allowing her to become a disciple of Roga and train alongside Yukishiro.
Now, as white bubbles surfaced in the pool, she sat with expectant nerves.
A moment later, Yukishiro emerged from the water. His damp hair clung to his forehead, his chest bare and glistening as droplets slid down the scars that marred his youthful skin. A pair of heavy iron weights were shackled to his ankles, making every step toward the shore deliberate, powerful, and strained. In his hand, the familiar gleam of the Sun Blade reflected the twilight.
Her heart raced. She averted her gaze, cheeks burning.
Yukishiro had noticed her long ago. The moment she arrived, he had felt her presence. But the memory of Fujiyama still lingered between them—the kiss, her impulsive actions, the vulnerability it left behind. Irritated and uncertain, he had stayed underwater for over half an hour, hoping she would grow impatient and leave.
But she hadn't. And so, with no other choice, he finally surfaced.
"Turn around," he muttered. "I need to change."
Mitsuri obeyed instantly, fingers fiddling together as she turned her back. She only dared to face him again when he called.
By then, he was dressed in his coarse hemp clothes again, his blade at his side, already heading toward the mountain path without so much as a greeting.
She scrambled after him. "How are you feeling?"
"I've mostly recovered." His voice was flat.
She tried again, desperately searching for words to bridge the distance. "I… I went to the Butterfly Mansion to look for you. Sister Shinobu told me you were training here."
Yukishiro clenched his jaw. That woman again. I left a note telling her not to tell anyone. And yet, she betrayed me anyway.
"What do you want from me?" His tone was curt, almost biting.
"No… nothing," Mitsuri stammered. "I just wanted to see how you were doing."
There was something unfamiliar in his coldness. He was the same Yukishiro, but something about him felt further away than before.
"I heard everything about Fujiyama," she continued, voice timid but sincere. "Thank you… for saving me."
For a fleeting second, his expression softened.
"You're wrong," he said quietly. "You saved me. It was Akino who pulled me out in the end."
The memory flushed Mitsuri's cheeks. That reckless moment, the blood, the kiss she'd never intended to give—it lingered vividly, and she lowered her gaze, too embarrassed to meet his eyes.
"You… you know," she said after a pause, "Akino and Yuka joined the Kakushi. Yuka even wrote me a letter, saying they're grateful to you. They asked that you don't hold a grudge against Akino for giving up. She said… Akino didn't just give up for you, but also for her."
Yukishiro was silent. He understood, but his heart still carried its weight.
"It's late," he finally said. "Why are you following me instead of going home?"
Her answer stunned him. "Because… I live here now. I've joined Master Roga's sect. From now on, I'll be training here with you."
"What?" He froze, staring at her in disbelief.
Mitsuri shifted uneasily under his gaze. "I… I asked, and he agreed. I'll be his disciple too."
Yukishiro rubbed a hand over his face in frustration. "Why? You already have your sister—the Love hashira herself. She's one of the strongest swordsmen alive. Why would you come here?
Don't you realize that old man is harsh? He beats us, scolds us, sometimes even starves us. You'll regret this, I promise you."
It was unlike him to ramble, but he did so now—spilling excuse after excuse, trying to push her away.
But Mitsuri only smiled. "No, Grandpa Roga was kind to me. I offered to help with the laundry, cooking, and cleaning. He even took my hand and begged me to stay, saying I'd be his official disciple."
Yukishiro felt his knees weaken. What!? Is this old man planning to live like some spoiled king now!?
"Yukishiro…" Mitsuri's eyes softened. "You don't want me here, do you?"
His silence was answer enough.
Yukishiro turned and trudged up the stairs toward the mountain peak, shoulders heavy with a mixture of irritation and resignation. Inwardly, he cursed Roga's ancestors a hundred times over.