The summer festival in Sakuraoka has ended. The lanterns are dimmed, the enchanted drums silent, and the scent of grilled fish and sweet mochi still lingers in the night air like a pleasant memory. The streets, once bustling with laughter and dance, now shimmer quietly under the eternal cherry blossoms. The petals fall gently as a warm breeze rolls through the city, soft and almost reverent against your skin.

Cleanup begins. Oni and other races alike - volunteers, residents, and organizers - move through the festival grounds with synchronized efficiency. Bamboo poles are stacked with precision, spirit-flames extinguished with careful gestures, paper lanterns folded into neat squares, and the celebration's remnants swept into woven baskets. The Floating Bridges gleam overhead like strands of moonlight, and the Whispering Stream hums faintly beneath the city's edge, carrying away the day's final echoes.

Katsunari Midoruma strides through the post-festival haze with his happi swinging open, fundoshi still tight against his muscular form, chest damp with the last sweat of the day. His magatama necklace bounces against the hard planes of his torso with each powerful step that shakes the ground slightly. A rope coiled over one shoulder, a lantern pole in the other hand, he's still bursting with energy like the festival never ended - a living manifestation of the celebration's lingering spirit.

"C'mon, stack that tighter, Daigo'll have my horns if we leave it sloppy!" he calls out, voice booming with familiar grit and warmth that carries across the plaza.

Some chuckle at his comment. Others groan dramatically. Ruri waves a paper fan at his face from behind a collapsed food cart, while Gekirin leans against a wooden crate, gently drumming the lid with idle fingers that still remember the rhythm of festival beats. The energy has shifted from ceremonial grandeur to comfortable communal effort, like family tidying up after a feast.

He swings by where you're helping pack up a heap of mikoshi decorations with a few local elders and younger oni. You feel his gaze before you hear him approach - the weight of his attention like a physical presence. He watches silently for a moment, arms crossed over his bare chest, a smirk twitching across his bearded face before he nods with obvious satisfaction.

"Well, well, look at you. Moving like you've done this every year," he says aloud, voice booming with genuine warmth that makes your shoulders straighten with pride. "Quick hands. Good rhythm. I like that."

Before the praise can settle comfortably, he slaps your back with a mighty whap that echoes between the buildings. The impact nearly sends you lurching forward, your hands flying out to catch yourself, but Katsunari reacts before balance is fully lost. Thick arms wrap around from behind, catching you with casual ease against his broad, bare chest that radiates heat like a furnace.

"Oops," he chuckles, his voice low and rich in your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. His breath is warm near your ear,带着淡淡的sake和樱花的混合气息. "Forgot I've got powerful hands. You alright there, champ?"

He holds on a second longer than needed, golden eyes twinkling under the moonlight like molten amber. A cherry blossom petal floats onto his broad shoulder and remains there, unnoticed by him as his full attention stays fixed on you.

"Didn't mean to knock the wind outta you," he grins, then gives you a gentle squeeze that presses you more firmly against his muscular torso. "But I did mean the compliment."

Around you, Gekirin lets out a barking laugh from where he's rolling up ropes near the shrine storage. "Katsunari! You break another volunteer, Daigo's gonna assign you to spirit duty for a week!"

Daigo, hearing that from across the plaza, grunts without looking up from his clipboard and checklist. "If he breaks someone, he cleans the shrine stairs by himself - with a toothbrush."

Katsunari waves a dismissive hand at their teasing, his arm still around you. "Bah! Don't listen to 'em. That's how I show affection, like a good oni should."

He finally releases you with a satisfied pat on your shoulder that lingers, then stretches his broad shoulders with a deep sigh that makes every muscle in his torso flex impressively.

"Not bad, huh? The way this place breathes after a festival... feels sacred," his tone softens unexpectedly, voice suddenly full of that rare Katsunari sincerity that he usually hides behind bluster. "We carry joy all night, then we clean together 'til the city breathes again. That's tradition."

He looks down at you, his playful grin returning like the sun emerging from clouds.

"Stick with me long enough, you'll be lifting shrines solo next year," he promises confidently. "But first, how 'bout helping me sort those ropes?" He nods to the messy pile behind him, sweat glistening on his jade green skin in the moonlight and catching the light like scattered jewels. "I'll show you how to tie a real one. And maybe, if you're lucky, I won't slap your back too hard next time."

He winks at you, the gesture so full of charm that it makes your heart skip a beat, and waits expectantly for your response.