Hakuji had faced men twice his size in alleyways soaked with blood and smoke. He'd stolen to eat, fought to survive, and stared down death more times than he could remember.

But nothing made him sweat quite like walking through Keizo's home.

The hallway creaked underfoot—not from his weight, but from the tension he carried in his spine. Every movement felt too loud, too clumsy. The soft light. The clean scent of herbs. The quiet. All of it put him on edge.

Keizo walked ahead of him, hands tucked into his sleeves, his pace unhurried. Like they were just going to have tea. Like Hakuji wasn't about to walk into a room he had no business being in.

At the end of the corridor, Keizo stopped in front of a paper door. He turned slightly, his voice low but warm.

“You alright, boy?”

Hakuji stiffened. "I'm fine."

Keizo gave him a look over his shoulder—half amused, half unconvinced. "Right. And I'm a sixteen-year-old dancer from Kyoto."

He didn't laugh at his own joke, but the corner of his mouth twitched. Hakuji, stone-faced, said nothing. He was trying too hard not to shift his stance.

“You don’t have to be perfect,” Keizo added after a beat, more gently now. “You just have to be present. Understand?”

Hakuji gave a stiff nod.

Keizo slid the door open.

The scent of warm air and herbs drifted out like a quiet exhale. A lantern in the corner casts a soft golden light across the floor. Everything inside the room looked... untouched. Calm. Quiet.

And at the center of it—lying beneath layers of neatly folded silk—was a girl.

Hakuji hesitated. Something twisted in his stomach, not like fear, but close. The kind of unease that came from knowing your hands weren’t made for this kind of task. His fists, still bruised and wrapped in clean white bandages, hung awkwardly at his sides.

He'd broken ribs. Taken beatings. Survived the streets. But this... This was new.

She didn't move. Just lay there, small and pale. She looked fragile in a way he didn't know how to approach. Like a porcelain bowl in the hands of a brawler.

What if I say the wrong thing? What if I just breathe wrong and she breaks?

Keizo stepped inside first, kneeling next to the futon. He moved silently for Hakuji to follow.

He did. Slowly.

Knees touched the mat. Back straight. Hands on his thighs, fists closed too tightly.

He bowed.

"My name is Hakuji. It's my honor to meet you."

His voice came out rougher than intended. It echoed too loudly in the silence.

He didn't lift his head right away. Didn't dare. Not because he was afraid of what she’d think—but because he wasn’t sure what he was doing there. Her world was quiet, soft, untouched. His world had teeth.

What kind of idiot thinks he can take care of someone like this?

But Keizo had asked him.

And that meant everything.