As we walked toward the exit, I saw him — the head of the village. His eyes… they were filled with despair and fear, and for a moment, I felt that familiar spike of tension in my chest. Naemi and Jiro were frozen, shocked, probably feeling the weight of it too.
"I'll be in my room. Tomorrow we leave this place. I'll take our contract and Naemi to Yasu Village. Got it?" I said, trying to keep my voice steady, and then I turned and left the arena.
By the time I reached my room, I could barely stand. Naemi and Jiro had left me alone to rest. Fight? Ha. That was a joke — I was barely holding myself upright. A week off from battle sounded heavenly right about now. I drew a bath and made some tea, letting the warm water and bitter steam soak into my bones.
Afterward, I collapsed onto my bed, just lying there, letting myself relax for an hour. That hour flew by faster than I expected, and then a knock came at my door.
I forced myself up and opened it. There she was, standing there in a black shirt and black pants. For a second, I thought it might be pajamas — and, yeah, I was right. Meanwhile, I was on the opposite end of casual: black shorts, no shirt.
I stepped aside and welcomed her in, closing the door behind her. My eyes caught her hair, tied back neatly, and for some reason, I felt my chest tighten just a little.
I gestured for her to sit, and she hesitated for a moment before perching on the edge of the bed. I sat down opposite her, the air between us thick with something I couldn't quite name. Her eyes met mine, steady and curious, and I felt a weird tension coil in my chest.
"So… we're really leaving tomorrow," she said softly, almost a whisper.
"Yeah," I replied, trying to sound casual, but my voice sounded rough even to me. "We take the contract and head to Yasu Village. Everything else… stays here. Just for a little while, though."
She nodded, chewing on her bottom lip. "It's strange, knowing this might be the last quiet moment here for a while."
I leaned back on my hands, keeping my eyes locked on hers. "Fast or slow, we handle what's in front of us. But… it doesn't mean we can't enjoy this moment while we have it."
Her lips curved into the smallest smile, and it hit me harder than I expected. I wanted to reach out, to bridge the space between us, but I didn't. Instead, I let my gaze linger, trying to memorize every detail — the way her hair caught the light, the tilt of her head, the intensity of her stare.
"I guess…" she murmured, almost shyly, "I'm glad we can be here together, even if it's just for tonight."
I felt a heat rise to my cheeks. "Yeah… me too." The words came out softer than I intended, but I didn't care. Slowly, almost instinctively, I inched a little closer, just enough that the space between us felt smaller. Her eyes followed me, unflinching.
The room felt smaller now, warmer somehow. I could see her pulse quicken, feel my own heartbeat thudding in my ears. For the first time in a long time, I didn't think about battles or contracts or the fact that we'd leave tomorrow. All I could think about was her, and the quiet, fragile tension stretching between us.
Her hand moved slightly, almost brushing mine. I froze, then let it happen, letting our fingers touch lightly. It wasn't a bold move, but it was enough — enough to make the air buzz between us, enough to make my chest feel like it might burst.
She gave me a small, tentative smile, and I couldn't help it — I grinned back, just as quietly. For tonight, that was enough. No words, no fights, no pressure. Just us, staring at each other, holding onto this fleeting moment before we had to leave.
We stayed on the edge of the bed, the quiet of the room stretching between us. I could feel the tension lingering, like something unspoken hovered in the air. Naemi's fingers traced the edge of the blanket absentmindedly, and I noticed the way her shoulders tensed and relaxed with every breath.
After a long pause, she finally spoke, her voice low, almost fragile. "I… never really told anyone about my past." She swallowed, looking down at her hands. "I don't know my parents. I was raised by one man — he found me when I was little, took me in, taught me what he could."
I leaned a little closer, resting my elbows on my knees, letting her know I was listening. My chest felt heavier than it should — not from exhaustion, but from the quiet weight of her words.
"He… he died a few years ago," she continued, her voice barely above a whisper. "After that, it's just been me. Moving from place to place, keeping my head down." She finally looked up, her eyes meeting mine, vulnerable but not broken. "I guess… that's why I fight. I don't want to rely on anyone else. I've had to stand on my own."
I didn't say anything right away. I just kept staring at her, noticing the slight quiver of her lips, the faint shadow under her eyes. Part of me wanted to reach out, to tell her it was okay, that she didn't always have to be alone — but I didn't. Instead, I let the silence hold her words, let her trust me with them.
"That's… really brave," I said finally, my voice softer than I intended. "I mean… you've been through a lot, and you're still standing here, still fighting. That takes something most people don't have."
She gave a small, almost shy smile, and for a moment, the tension between us eased. I could feel my chest loosen just slightly, and I realized that hearing her story, really hearing it, made me feel closer to her than I had in that short amount of time.