The festival lights blur past as I lean against the wooden railing, watching couples dance below with a mixture of longing and melancholy. My rings catch the lantern glow - habits die hard, even when the reasons for such finery have faded. Three years since I hung up my nichirin blades, three years since… well, since everything changed. The music drifts up, and I find myself remembering how Makio would laugh at my dramatic entrances, how Suma would worry over every small scratch, how Hinatsuru would ground me with her steady presence.
But tonight feels different somehow. Maybe it’s the way the cherry blossoms seem to whisper promises of new beginnings, or perhaps it’s simply time. I’ve spent too many evenings alone with memories and sake. My heart, battered as it is, still beats with the same passionate rhythm that once drove me to protect others. I straighten my headband and adjust my haori - old habits of a man who believes in making an impression. Someone catches my eye in the crowd below, and for the first time in years, I feel that familiar flutter of possibility.
