My Patreon for more chaps:
Patreon.com/IndifferentVillain
"Chapter 25 is out on my Patreon*
____________
Ayane threw herself wholeheartedly into her sword training, completely unaware that someone was quietly approaching her from behind.
The morning sun had already climbed past six o'clock. She had been practicing for more than an hour and was nearly finished. Still, she hadn't forgotten that there was a man lying unconscious on her bed inside. Nor had she forgotten that she needed to make breakfast for both of them.
Matsurize had spent the entire night awake for reasons even he couldn't explain, staring blankly at the ceiling. Exhaustion had finally claimed him just before dawn.
Around five-thirty, the sharp sound of Ayane's blade cutting through the air in the yard startled him awake. The crisp, whistling "shing" of her sword strikes echoed through the quiet morning.
Curious and a little dazed, Matsurize followed the sound to the courtyard. Strangely, he wasn't wearing any clothes—if not for the bandages covering his injuries, he would have been completely naked.
Ayane had actually prepared for this; she had left a set of her late father's clothes by the bedside, just in case Matsurize woke up early. But after waking, Matsurize had merely examined the garments in mild fascination, rumpled them up, and then tossed them aside—never once thinking to put them on.
And so, with nothing but bandages and his own boldness, Matsurize wandered openly into the yard.
He stood a short distance behind Ayane, watching her practice. Her blade danced through the air with precise, fluid motion—every strike sharp, every stance steady. The power behind her technique made him hesitate at first; he was almost afraid to get close.
But after observing her for a while, curiosity won out. He began walking toward her.
Ayane might have been focused, but that didn't mean she failed to notice the sound of approaching footsteps behind her.
Instinctively, she drew her sword and swung it backward. Only when the blade had already sliced through the air did she realize it was a person standing there. Startled, she pulled back her strength just in time—the gleaming edge halted a breath away from Matsurize's forehead. One more inch, and she would have split him clean in two.
Ayane's eyes widened as she finally saw who it was—the man she had rescued, awake at last and standing right behind her. Relief flickered across her face, quickly followed by surprise.
But when her gaze drifted downward and caught sight of what she shouldn't be seeing, her cheeks instantly burned crimson. She had already seen his body before while tending to his wounds, but seeing him awake like this—well, that was entirely different.
Ayane let out a small, flustered "tsk," sheathed her sword, and marched straight back into the house. With one swift motion, she slid the door shut behind her.
Matsurize blinked, puzzled. He had no idea what had just happened. Standing there, half-naked and dazed, he looked utterly lost.
Through the crack of the door, Ayane peeked out at him, frowning slightly. Why wasn't he moving? Why was he just standing there like an idiot?
Then it hit her—Uncle Ben was supposed to stop by soon to borrow the plow for his fields. If that old man happened to see a naked stranger in her courtyard… Oh no. Uncle Ben might be a kind soul, but his mouth was as big as the Grand Line. The whole village would know before sunset.
Thinking quickly, Ayane grabbed her katana and set it on the dining table in the living room. Then she threw the door open again, strode straight up to Matsurize, and—before he could react—grabbed him by the wrist and dragged him inside.
A dazed Matsurize was no match for her strength. She pulled him all the way into her room—the west wing where he had been resting the past two days—and shut the door firmly behind him.
"I left clothes for you by the bed," she said from outside the door, her voice sharp but calm. "Why didn't you put them on?"
From inside came his confused reply.
"How… do I wear clothes?"
His tone was simple, almost childlike.
Ayane froze. That wasn't normal. Thinking back on his odd behavior since waking up, her brows furrowed. She asked carefully,
"What's your name?"
There was a pause. Then Matsurize answered slowly, as if trying to recall something distant.
"I… I think my name is Matsurize… Ah! My head—! It hurts! It hurts! Ahhh!"
He clutched his head, crying out in pain. The memory of his own name had triggered a violent reaction, like his mind was tearing itself apart.
Ayane could hear him from outside, his cries raw and pitiful. Her eyes widened. A grown man… crying like that? She could hardly believe it.
Then realization dawned on her. He's lost his memory. That would explain everything—the blank stare, the strange questions, the childlike behavior.
She thought back to when she had found him by the river, his body covered in wounds. The more she considered it, the more convinced she became: Matsurize was suffering from amnesia.
Inside, his sobbing continued. Ayane's heart softened. She sighed, set aside her embarrassment, and opened the door again.
Matsurize was sitting on the floor beside the bed, head buried in his arms, still trembling.
Ayane knelt beside him gently and patted his shoulder. "Hey, hey… don't cry. It's okay."
He sniffled and lifted his head, his eyes red and childlike. "I… I don't know how to wear clothes."
Ayane's heart ached a little at that. The way he said it—so helpless, so innocent—made it impossible to stay angry.
She remembered something from her medical books: people suffering from severe memory loss often reverted to a childlike state, needing to relearn even the simplest things.
Ayane observed him carefully for a moment and then smiled softly. "So… you only remember your name, right?"
Matsurize nodded. "Yeah."
"Alright then," she said kindly. "From now on, I'll call you Ze. How's that?"
"Ze?" he repeated, blinking. Then he nodded. "Okay."
Ayane gave a small laugh and patted his head gently. "Nice to meet you, Ze. My name's Ayane. You can just call me Ayane, alright?"
Matsurize looked up at her, meeting her eyes. For a brief moment, the confusion in his gaze faded. Ayane's smile was warm—sincere, kind, and bright enough to make his chest tighten.
He smiled back faintly. "Okay… Ayane."
Ayane helped him to his feet. This time, when she looked at him—still unclothed, still vulnerable—she didn't blush or turn away. There was no embarrassment, no disgust.
She only saw a wounded soul, like a child lost at sea.
Silently, she began gathering the scattered clothes on the bed and folded them neatly again.
Outside, the morning sun had fully risen. The light spilled across the courtyard, warm and golden, chasing away the night.