Tomioka Giyu woke to a dull, aching pain in his chest.
His mind clawed its way out of darkness, and the first thing he felt was the deep soreness that ran through every joint and bone—as if he'd been crushed under a boulder. Every small movement tugged at his wounds, sharp pain shooting through his body and forcing his brows to knit together.
Next came the ache in his lungs—each breath scraped like shards of ice grinding inside him, cold and raw. The chill spread from his chest up to his throat, making him cough weakly.
"Kh… cough…"
The motion sent a bolt of agony through his ribs, pulling at half-healed fractures.
Slowly, he opened his eyes. His blurred vision gradually focused, revealing the soft white canopy of the Butterfly Mansion. Above him hung a string of dried flowers—Kocho Shinobu's usual choice, used to calm the mind.
The room was dim, lit only by a small lamp glowing on the table in the corner. Its warm, yellow light seeped through the curtain, casting soft ripples across the floor.
The air carried the faint scent of medicine—bitterness mingled with a gentle, familiar fragrance. It was the scent of Shinobu's hair.
Turning his gaze slightly, he saw her.
Kocho Shinobu was slumped over the side of the bed, fast asleep.
Her dark purple hair spilled over her shoulder, brushing against her cheek and hiding her eyes. Her brow was lightly furrowed, as if she were caught in an uneasy dream.
She still wore her Butterfly Mansion uniform, sleeves rolled up to her elbows, her slender wrist resting lightly on his blanket. It seemed she'd fallen asleep there while keeping watch over him.
Giyu's heartbeat faltered for a moment.
He could picture it easily—how, while he'd been unconscious, she must have barely rested at all. Caring for him, tending to Shinazugawa Sanemi and Kocho Kanae's wounds, and managing the entire Butterfly Mansion on top of it all… she had to be exhausted.
Perhaps his gaze lingered too long, because Shinobu's eyelashes trembled. She stirred slightly before slowly opening her eyes.
Those violet irises blinked in confusion for a moment, then widened sharply as they met his.
She straightened up too quickly, almost bumping her head against the frame, her voice laced with a rare trace of fluster. "Tomioka-san? You're awake?"
Giyu didn't answer at once. His eyes were softer than usual, calm and faintly relieved.
He tried to lift his arm—but it felt like it was weighed down with lead. A spark of pain flared through his shoulder wound with even the slightest motion.
"Don't move!"
Shinobu pressed her cool hand over his, her tone instantly sharp again. "Your injuries are serious. Two broken ribs, frost poison in your lungs, and severe blood loss. You'll need at least a full month of rest before you can even think about getting up."
Her fingers were cool and delicate, her touch gentle yet firm—impossible to argue with.
Giyu stopped resisting, letting his arm relax. His gaze lingered on her tense profile, and for the first time in a long while, he felt warmth spread through his chest.
"I…"
The word rasped painfully from his throat. It was dry, raw—barely a whisper.
Shinobu immediately stood, walking swiftly to the table. She poured a cup of warm water, picked up a small spoon, and returned to his side.
Supporting his back carefully, she lifted him just enough to sip without straining his injuries, feeding him small spoonfuls of water.
The warmth soothed his throat, washing away the dryness.
He watched her in silence—the way her lashes fluttered as she focused, her face calm and gentle in the dim lamplight. The warmth in his chest deepened.
"How do you feel?"
Setting the cup down, Shinobu reached out, placing her hand lightly on his forehead.
"No fever. That's good."
The brief contact made both of them pause. Her fingers brushed his skin for only a second before she pulled away, her ears faintly pink.
"Your lungs will take time to recover. Try not to cough or breathe too forcefully."
"Kocho-san…"
Giyu's voice was still hoarse, broken between breaths. "Kanae… and Shinazugawa. How are they?"
"Nee-san's recovering well," Shinobu said, her tone softening. "The frost poison only disrupted her breathing—no lasting injury. She's already up and walking again."
She sighed, though a small smile tugged at her lips. "Shinazugawa-san's leg wound was trickier. The frost spread fast, but we managed to stop it in time. He's stable now. Still, his temper hasn't cooled—yesterday he tried to get up and train. I had to yell at him to sit back down."
The faintest curve appeared on her lips, amusement glinting in her eyes.
Relief eased through Giyu. As long as Kanae was safe, nothing else mattered.
"And Tō?" he asked quietly, remembering the young boy who always followed him. "Is he all right?"
"Tō has been very well-behaved," Shinobu replied, smiling faintly. "Suzuki-san has been taking care of him at the base. He reports back to me every day about his progress."
"He knows you're still recovering," Shinobu said softly, her tone warm. "He hasn't cried or caused trouble—he just keeps asking every day, 'When will my master come back?'"
Giyu's eyes softened even more.
The room fell quiet again, the only sound the faint flicker of the lamp's flame.
Standing beside the bed, Shinobu straightened the blanket, her fingers absentmindedly gripping the edge. She seemed to want to say something, but hesitated.
Giyu watched her, and a memory rose in his mind—the embrace at the foot of the snowy mountain.
She had been the same then—scared and trembling, yet holding onto him tightly, refusing to let go.
Now she'd returned to her usual calm composure, but every now and then, that quiet, bashful side of her would slip through.
"Thank you," Giyu said suddenly.
Shinobu froze, looking up to meet his gaze.
His expression was calm, but there was a rare sincerity in his eyes. The usual coldness was gone, replaced by a warmth that gently brushed against her heart.
Color rose quickly to Shinobu's cheeks. She turned her head away, her voice slightly flustered. "You don't need to thank me… this is just my duty. I'm part of the Butterfly Mansion staff—it's my job to take care of the injured."
Her voice grew quieter as she spoke, her fingers tightening on the blanket without realizing it.
The truth was, she hadn't stayed by his side these three days only out of obligation. When she saw him being carried in, covered in blood and barely breathing, a wave of panic had hit her harder than she'd ever felt before—even worse than when she'd seen her sister wounded.
Giyu didn't call her out on it. He simply nodded lightly.
He understood Shinobu's nature—how easily she grew embarrassed, and how she hated putting her feelings into words.
"You… you should rest," she said quickly, as if needing an excuse to move. She stepped back a little. "I'll go tell my sister you're awake. She's been worried about you."
"No need," Giyu said, stopping her with a quiet voice. "It's already late. Let her come tomorrow."
Shinobu glanced toward the window. The night outside was deep and silent.
"…All right," she murmured. "Then I'll leave the medicine here. If you feel unwell, ring the bell by your bed. I'll be in the next room."
She placed a small porcelain bowl of medicine on the table beside him, then carefully checked that his blanket was secure and not touching any of his wounds. Only after confirming everything was in order did she head for the door.
When she reached it, she stopped and turned back for a moment.
He was still looking at her, that same calm, gentle gaze resting on her face.
Her heart skipped a beat. She quickly looked away, fumbling for the door, and slipped out, closing it behind her a little too fast.
The room grew silent once more.
Giyu's lips curved faintly.
He reached for the bowl beside him. The medicine was still warm—freshly prepared, no doubt.
He drank it slowly. The bitterness spread across his tongue, but somehow, it didn't taste unpleasant.
The stabbing pain in his lungs lingered, and his body still ached from exhaustion, but a rare sense of peace filled his chest—a quiet warmth he had never known before.
He thought of the Butterfly Mansion in his previous life. Back then, he'd always recovered alone. No one had ever kept vigil by his bed, no one had ever blushed or panicked just because he'd opened his eyes.
This time, things truly felt different.
He closed his eyes. Images drifted through his mind—Kanae's relieved smile, Sanemi's awkward concern, Tō's bright, trusting gaze… and finally, Shinobu's flushed face.
Maybe what he was protecting wasn't only the future of others—but his own as well.
Taking a slow breath to ease the ache in his lungs, Giyu steadied his breathing.
He needed to recover quickly. There was still much to do—ensuring the safety of the Kamado family, training Tō, and continuing to grow stronger to face the dangers ahead.
But for now, just for tonight, he could finally rest.
The night deepened, the soft glow of the lamp washing gently over the quiet room. The faint scents of medicine and flowers mingled in the air, wrapping everything in tender warmth.
Tomioka Giyu, you truly are a fortunate man.