And so, Hakuji remained at the Soryu Dojo. His days were split between two tasks: caring for Kazama Aoi and practicing martial arts alongside Keizo.
Aoi felt a wave of bashfulness as she watched the youth wiping her down.
He seemed to have just finished his training; his uniform was still damp with a thin layer of sweat, and most of his hair was wet, the strands plastered against his broad forehead.
The sunlight filtered through the cracks in the paper windows and fell across him, outlining the increasingly sturdy silhouette of his shoulders and back. The bruises that had once marred his face had long since faded, revealing clean, sharp features.
Aoi's gaze drifted toward his open collar. Her eyes slid downward, unintentionally landing on a expanse of firm, lean muscle.
Years of relentless training had already begun to define the lines of his abdomen—fluid, powerful, and sharp. Beads of sweat rolled slowly down the grooves of his muscles before disappearing into the fabric at his waist, radiating a sense of vibrant, raw vitality.
Her gaze faltered, and she quickly looked away, her cheeks heating up. Does this guy not know how to pull his clothes together after training?
Hakuji was entirely oblivious, assuming she was simply dazing off while staring at him. He reached up and tugged at his collar. "What is it? Do you need to use the latrine? I can carry you there."
Aoi nearly choked on her own breath at his bluntness. The heat in her cheeks flared even higher as she waved her hands frantically. "No! Don't just make things up!"
Hakuji let out a noncommittal 'oh' and scratched his head. With a look of utter confusion, he went back to wiping her arms, completely failing to understand why she had suddenly turned bright red.
Thinking of the festival in a few days, Aoi spoke up softly, "Brother Hakuji, do you like fireworks?"
Hakuji paused. He tilted his head, thinking seriously, his brow furrowing slightly as if searching through a distant memory.
After a long moment, he shook his head, his voice carrying the slight rasp of adolescence. "I've never seen them."
"Then, once I'm feeling a bit better, shall we go see them together? I heard that during the festival, they set off so many fireworks that they light up the entire night sky."
Hakuji's Adam's apple bobbed. His fingers instinctively toyed with the hem of his sleeve. After a long silence, he gave a muffled response. "...Okay."
She reached out and lightly tugged on his sleeve, her voice soft and sweet. "It's a promise, then. You have to carry me there. The festival gets a bit crowded, and I'm afraid of being bumped into."
"We have to pinky swear!"
Hakuji blinked, looking down at the small hand she had extended toward him.
Her fingers were slender and pale, her nails a delicate shade of pink. Her pinky was slightly curled, waiting for him to hook onto it.
Hakuji hesitated for a few seconds before slowly reaching out. With his rough, calloused fingertip, he cautiously hooked his finger around hers.
His grip was incredibly light, as if he were terrified of bruising her. The moment their skin touched, they both went a little still.
Aoi could feel the thin callouses on his palm and a faint, barely perceptible tremble. Hakuji, meanwhile, stared at their intertwined fingers; his heart skipped a beat, and his gaze began to wander aimlessly.
"Pinky swear, whoever lies swallows a thousand needles. A hundred years, no changing," Aoi said, lightly swaying their linked hands.
Hakuji's throat moved as he repeated her words in a low, muffled voice. "...A hundred years, no changing."
Aoi's eyes curved into crescent moons, sparkling with starlight. Even her pale cheeks seemed to gain a trace of healthy color.
The sky was just beginning to turn grey when Aoi was jolted awake by a loud crashing sound. She forced herself to sit up, rubbing her bleary eyes as she looked toward the entrance.
A group of men from a rival dojo had gathered outside, looking thoroughly menacing. The leader, a man with a face full of rough features, kicked the doorframe, making the wooden door groan and rattle.
"Where's that brat Hakuji? Get out here!" the man roared, his voice thick with malice. "Just because you won yesterday's match doesn't mean you're something special. Today, we're going to teach you a lesson you won't forget!"
People looking for trouble?
Aoi cursed her current state. If she were at full strength, she'd show them exactly how "red the flowers can bloom."
Her knuckles turned white as she gripped her quilt. She was fuming, yet she could only watch helplessly as the thugs kicked at the door and shouted.
It's infuriating!
Just then, Keizo and Hakuji walked around from the backyard. Master and disciple stood together in the morning light. Though Keizo was smiling, the warmth didn't reach his eyes.
"If you want to settle a grievance, we can have another one-on-one match. If you haven't the spine for it, then get out," Hakuji said. His voice wasn't loud, but every word was sharp, carrying the defiant edge of youth.
The thugs looked at the pair's stance, and their bravado instantly deflated. The leader's eyes darted around as he muttered a "just you wait" before leading his group away in a hurried retreat.
Watching their backs disappear, the smile finally faded from Keizo's face. He turned and patted Hakuji's shoulder, his tone approving. "Well done. You didn't disgrace the name of the Soryu Dojo."
Hakuji didn't respond. His gaze was already fixed on the room, and his feet were moving before he could even think.
He pushed open the creaking door and saw Aoi sitting on the edge of the futon, her face still a bit pale. His heart tightened. He rushed to her side, kneeling down to scan her for injuries. "You weren't scared, were you?"
Aoi shook her head, looking at him with an amused expression. "I'm not that fragile!"
Seeing the playfulness in her eyes, Hakuji's tensed shoulders finally began to relax.
Another training session came to an end. Aoi looked at Hakuji, who was covered in fresh bruises, feeling both amused and pained for him.
His right cheek was a deep shade of purple, and his lip was split, seeping a faint trail of blood.
"Brother Hakuji, does it hurt?" Aoi asked softly, her fingertips lightly brushing against the bruise on his cheek.
Hakuji instinctively flinched back, but fearing that pulling away would upset her, he forced himself to stay still. "It's fine. It doesn't hurt at all."
The words had barely left his mouth when Aoi's finger pressed against the wound on his lip. He couldn't help it—he let out a sharp hiss of pain, his brow furrowing.
Aoi watched his stubborn attempt to play it cool and couldn't help but smile.
"There's medicine over there. Bring it here and I'll help you apply it," Aoi said, pointing to a nearby cabinet.
"Mm," he grunted, handing the medicine to her.
Aoi took the ointment, unscrewed the cap, and squeezed a bit onto her fingertip. She looked up at him. "Lower your head."
Hakuji obediently bowed his head. His warm breath brushed against her wrist, carrying the faint, clean scent of sweat.
Aoi's finger, coated in the ointment, gently applied the medicine to the cut on his lip. Her movements were incredibly tender.
"Endure it for a bit; it'll be over soon." Her voice was as soft as cotton. Hakuji nodded, his eyes fixed on her lowered lashes. He felt a sudden, warm fullness in his chest, so radiant that even the sting of his wounds felt insignificant.
Aoi looked up to find him staring at her intently. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
Caught in the act, Hakuji scratched his head awkwardly. "No... it's nothing."
"Brother Hakuji, you aren't being very good!"