Mitsuri Kanroji — POV
Meiji 39 (1906)
Autumn
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Sometimes, Mitsuri thought about how loud her heart used to be.
Not in a good way.
It had always raced—too fast, too strong, too much. When she was younger, everything about her felt excessive. Her strength. Her voice. Her appetite. Even her feelings.
She used to think that if she wasn't careful, she would overflow and ruin things.
She remembered the first time she met Kai.
He had been smaller then. Quieter. Serious in a way that felt strange on a child's face. He didn't stare when she spoke too loudly. He didn't flinch when she moved too fast.
He just… adjusted.
At the time, Mitsuri didn't know why that mattered so much.
Now she did.
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Back then, she had laughed too hard.
Talked too much.
Tried to shrink herself without realizing she was doing it.
And Kai—without ever saying a word—had never asked her to be smaller.
He simply stood beside her like it was the most natural thing in the world.
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Mitsuri watched him now from the engawa, chin resting in her hands.
Fourteen.
He looked older, yes—but not in the way people usually meant. Not sharper. Not colder.
Just steadier.
She smiled softly.
He grew like a tree, she thought. Quietly. Strong roots first.
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She remembered the early days.
Training when she thought she was clumsy. Sparring when she worried she'd hurt someone. The way Kanae always smiled, the way Shinobu always scolded.
And Kai—always watching, always listening.
Never judging.
She remembered the first time she realized she wasn't afraid around him.
That had scared her more than anything.
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Mitsuri pressed her cheek against the wooden floor.
She wasn't insecure anymore.
Not like before.
She still had doubts—everyone did—but they didn't control her. She no longer wondered if she was "too much" for the people she loved.
Because the people she loved never treated her that way.
Especially him.
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She remembered a festival from years ago.
She had tripped. Dropped food everywhere. Laughed it off on the outside while feeling awful inside.
Kai had quietly picked everything up.
"It's fine," he'd said. "We're still having fun."
At the time, she'd laughed louder to hide how much that meant.
Now, she didn't need to hide it.
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"Hey."
Mitsuri startled slightly as Kai sat beside her.
"You're staring," he said calmly.
She flushed. "I was thinking!"
"…About?"
She hesitated.
Then smiled brightly—but gently, not forced.
"About how far we've come."
Kai considered that.
"…Yeah," he agreed.
They sat in comfortable silence.
No awkwardness. No expectations.
---
Mitsuri's heart felt different now.
Still strong. Still full.
But no longer racing.
It beat steadily—like it had finally learned the right rhythm.
And as autumn leaves drifted past and the years settled quietly around them, Mitsuri realized something important:
She hadn't changed because she forced herself to.
She changed because she was loved— without condition— from the very beginning.
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