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The afternoon passed quickly.
Matsurize still hadn't woken up, and Ayane was busy in the kitchen.
She wasn't cooking for him—after all, he could only eat thin porridge right now, and that didn't take much effort to prepare.
Ayane was cooking for herself. No matter how much care she gave Matsurize, she couldn't starve herself in the process.
The truth was, cooking was one of Ayane's greatest joys in life. If it weren't for the pressure of survival, she wouldn't have become a blacksmith—she would have chosen to be a chef instead.
To her, the happiest time of the day was always when she was cooking.
Her dinner was simple: porridge again, and two small side dishes neatly arranged on plates—delicate and refined.
She carried the meal to the dining room, which was also her living room.
Ayane always ate alone at home, but she valued the ritual of it.
No matter how convenient it might be to eat in the kitchen right after cooking, she would never do that.
Even though eating there would save her time—just finish the meal, wash the dishes, and be done—Ayane insisted on setting her food properly on the dining table before beginning.
She believed that was the least she could do to honor the effort she put into each meal. In fact, sometimes she thought even that wasn't enough.
Ayane ate quickly, but not crudely. Her chopsticks moved fast, yet her manner remained calm and graceful with every bite.
After finishing, she gathered the dishes and brought them to the kitchen. She didn't wash them right away, though—Matsurize still hadn't eaten.
Feeding him no longer made her feel awkward. She had gotten used to the process.
Matsurize's dinner was the same—just a bowl of porridge. Ayane fed him patiently, finishing within minutes.
She realized she'd changed. Around this stranger named Matsurize, she wasn't as withdrawn as she used to be—even though he was still unconscious.
She knew exactly what was happening within her, yet she didn't resist the change. No one had ever taught her how to feel otherwise.
Night soon fell. Ayane had to rest too, but she absolutely refused to sleep in the east wing—that place remained her deepest wound, one she still couldn't face alone.
So she laid out a futon in her own room—the same room where Matsurize lay sleeping.
After removing her outer clothes, revealing her soft, pale undergarments, she slipped under the blanket and drifted into a peaceful sleep on the floor.
That night, Ayane slept more soundly than she had in years.
Ever since meeting Matsurize, caring for him throughout the day had stirred new emotions in her eighteen-year-old heart—gentle waves she didn't quite understand.
Matsurize slept deeply as well. Before going to bed, Ayane had checked his temperature again—the fever had gone down.
He was lucky. Under Ayane's careful nursing, his high fever had subsided quickly.
His wounds were also healing fast. Thanks to her diligent care—changing his bandages several times that day—his injuries had begun to scab over.
The bandages were no longer stained with blood.
Though this body Matsurize had taken over was malnourished and frail, its foundation was strong—perhaps even gifted by nature.
By the time midnight passed, it was already late into the night.
Ayane slept quietly on her futon.
Then, on the bed above her, Matsurize opened his eyes.
He was awake—but something felt off. His gaze was blank, unfocused.
He didn't get up. His eyes fluttered open and shut repeatedly, as if struggling to fully regain awareness.
He stayed that way for a long time. Though his mind had cleared, his body didn't move.
At dawn—around five in the morning—Ayane stirred awake.
She glanced at Matsurize. By now, after staying awake through the night, he had fallen back into deep sleep.
Ayane didn't notice that he had woken earlier. She tidied up her bedding, stood, and stepped outside.
First, she drank a bowl of clear water from the kitchen. Then, she walked toward the forge.
The forge was large, filled with the tools and furnace a blacksmith needed.
But this morning, she hadn't come to start work.
Instead, she walked to a corner of the forge, where a small wooden table stood.
On the table rested a simple wooden rack, and upon it lay a katana, roughly seventy centimeters long.
Ayane picked up the blade, slid it into the sash at her waist, and stepped into the courtyard.
She bent her knees slightly, both hands resting on the hilt. Facing the faint light of dawn, she drew and sheathed the blade again and again, her movements steady and fluid.
Each motion was precise, her focus unwavering—completely immersed in her sword practice.
Ayane's sword training had begun only a few years ago.
In recent years, she often traveled between her village and Shipwreck Harbor, where she studied swordsmanship.
Shipwreck Harbor was the only proper port nearby. It had earned its name from the many ships that had once wrecked and sunk there.
The harbor was bustling, with a small town built beside it. Nearly ten thousand people lived there—sometimes even more when travelers and merchants arrived.
Because of the harbor's prosperity, the town itself was commonly referred to by the same name: Shipwreck Harbor.
There was a dojo there that specialized in teaching swordsmanship—and that was where Ayane had learned.
Originally, she had only wanted to experience how well her crafted blades performed in combat.
That tied into her new identity in Shipwreck Harbor: a swordsmith.
Her ancestors had been renowned swordsmiths, skilled at forging katanas.
Using the secret techniques passed down from her forebears, Ayane had taught herself the craft.
A few years ago, she sold her first katana at Shipwreck Harbor for twenty thousand Berries—a huge success. That was why she no longer cared for making simple farm tools.
She later joined the dojo to study swordsmanship—so she could better understand the weapons she forged.
Ayane had now been training for three years. At first, she hadn't planned to continue for long.
But once she began, she discovered that aside from cooking, swordsmanship was what she loved most.
Whenever she trained, she lost herself completely in it—so much so that she didn't notice the figure standing behind her, quietly watching her for a long, long time.