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To Yamanbagiri Kunihiro, emotions were a constant uncertainty. Sometimes, they were overwhelming to the extent of wanting to run away.
Swordsmanship can be practiced and eventually perfected, but the fluttering of his heartbeat or the erratic racing of his thoughts cannot be as easily controlled. He wonders how others have refined their control of emotions and envies the elegance that comes with that privilege of control and of knowing smiles.
The thought of elegance has resonated in him as a bitter mix of nostalgia and dread. Both feelings are something that he wishes he could push away, to reflect on them when he deems himself ready to face this predicament.
There are other worries to prioritize before his own emotions, he knows that he has others that are looking at him for guidance. Or, more realistically, they are making sure that he is not self-sabotaging himself.
As the citadel’s secretary, he should be the model figure on how a sword warrior should act, his self-set expectations are much higher after all. The saniwa entrusted him to lead the important mission of protecting history, he was the first to arrive to the citadel he calls home after all, it would be incorrect to imply that he doesn’t see the importance of what he’s doing. Of course, he understands, it’s one of the few things he can confidently say he understands.
Nostalgia can be dangerous if left to run wild. Many swords have a lot to be nostalgic about, after all. Those blessed with rich history of victories and past masters are more than willing to feed into the warmth and comfort of nostalgia, countless nights of drinking and celebration have proven so. But can a sword be nostalgic of a not so far away past? Can it be labeled as the past if it is still so recent? Is it incorrect to feel sentimental about a piece of history that will someday be forgotten, something that cannot be transcribed in history books?
Instead of nostalgia, he has recently come to feel an overwhelming dread. He knows that he has done a poor job in hiding it, he also knows that his emotions are hindering his performance on the battlefield, trips to the repair room becoming more and more frequent. It has affected him off the battlefield as well, but he can retreat to the safety of his room or of mindless tasks. But when in battle, he has recently come to have too many close calls for comfort.
Part of him worries that the saniwa will soon completely pull him from the front lines. He had been offered to be retired from most battles when it had first happened, but the fear of letting the past catch up to him and drown him, and his fear of being useless, was more than enough to reject the offer. This isn’t the first time that he has let his mind wander in battle, he knows that it is selfish of him to hold the rest of the group back. It is another failure in his part. He knows that he shouldn’t be fighting, especially not when his mind begins to wander towards the past, when everything in hindsight was simpler.
He misses drinking tea to unwind after a long day. He misses the feeling of bliss that came from shared smiles and inside jokes. He misses cool spring nights, where the cicadas would drown out his insecurities of status and the breeze would take with it his worries. He misses having the constant security of knowing Mikazuki was two steps ahead of him, gently guiding him through the complexity of his thoughts- and his complex role as a key player in the still mysterious stage he had set up. He misses Mikazuki Munechika, it should be simple to admit, but instead he fears looking up at the stars, he worries about what he will find. He worries he might not find anything.
It is ironic that he feels nostalgic for the feeling of peace, he is a weapon after all. It is a privilege to even be nostalgic for peace, he is at least brave enough to admit that fact to himself. The ability to live in pseudo-peace at the citadel and wander aimlessly like a lost child is a privilege. The citadel, life, relationships and memories have begun to suffocate him, he wants to wrap himself in the warm nostalgic days of the past and block out the current reality. He won’t allow himself to do so, he knows he doesn’t deserve to grieve his mistakes.
He misses the gentle suffocation of the summer heat and admits missing the lively parties held once the sun began to set and the ground would cool down. He especially misses the feeling of relief when he would be pulled away from the crowd, his half-hearted protests and worries falling on deaf ears as the joyful laugher of the citadel would fade into the background. He should have appreciated the gentle kisses shared behind closed doors, where time seemed to cease to exist and unspoken words would be expressed through caresses and sweet nothings. Instead he is painfully reminded that history continues to move forward, no amount of protest can halt it.
Yet if he knows all of this, then why does he refuse to look up at the stars? Why does the nostalgia overwhelm him, drowning him in uncertainty of facing reality? If he can face the night sky, he can come to terms with his mistakes- he can come to learn peace from the moon once more. For now, he tries to prosper in his new reality. The incident- if he can call it that- did not leave anyone unscarred, they have all started their own steps towards recovering the pieces and rebuilding what could be salvaged. Moving forward, even if his own stability is shaky at best, is what he would have wanted. Perhaps, he’ll embrace the gentle suffocation of nostalgia as well.