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A soft groan escaped Kurusu's chapped lips. His hand groped his left side, feeling the roughness of bandages.
He had been careless. Appallingly careless.
His blade was no stranger to the Kabane. Each time one lunged toward him with gnashing teeth, Kurusu cut it down like bamboo. One by one, they fell. Red decorated the passenger car like paint, dripping down metal walls. Protect the people, his mind screamed, protect Ayame—
But that Kabane was not like the others. It wielded katana like a living samurai, calculated moves blocking his blade and narrowly slicing his flesh. Sweat flew from his skin like rain. His thundering pulse roared in his ears. When he thrust his katana at the beast's heart, the blade shattered as if it was glass. And as horror settled in his chest, his foe's sword pierced his stomach. In the end, he had been reduced to a helpless bamboo shoot, crushed underfoot without a second thought. The fledgling Kabaneri Ikoma had felled the Wazatori.
Kurusu's fingernails dug into the bandages.
"You might tear them if you do that, Kurusu."
Jolting, Kurusu snapped to attention. "A-Ayame-sama!" he exclaimed. Pain shot up his torso, and he hissed in response. Shaking, Kurusu leaned back against the wall.
The girl standing in the doorway cupped her mouth, eyes wide with remorse. "O-Oh! I didn't mean to startle you." Ayame slipped across the threshold, moving soundlessly across the iron floor, and reached the injured samurai's side. The smell of cherry blossoms wafted into his nostrils, and for a moment, he relaxed. "Are you alright?"
That moment evaporated. Swallowing hard, Kurusu licked his dry lips. He turned his head away, gaze flickering shyly to his charge. Those violet eyes watched him patiently. "I am fine, Ayame-sama. You needn't worry about me. As a bushi, I can handle such injuries."
"Bushi or not," Ayame reasoned, frowning, "you are a man, not a machine. You must take care of yourself."
Kurusu grimaced. His gaze shifted to her wrist. "Perhaps you should heed your own advice," he growled.
Ayame blinked. "I beg your pardon?"
His chest and throat burned. Kurusu seized her left arm—she yelped in surprise—and keeping a firm yet gentle grip, he pushed up her sleeve. Bandages dressed her forearm tightly, but an unmistakable splotch of blood dirtied the cloth. His dark eyes met her own, seething with barely concealed rage. "What were you thinking?" snarled Kurusu. "Not only could you have sliced an artery, but you foolishly attracted the Wazatori. It was crawling up to you because it smelled your blood. Had I not stepped in, it would have bitten you. You would have turned into a Kabane, Ayame-sama!"
Ayame gawked at him.
Realizing what he had said, Kurusu's mouth thinned. He pulled down her pink sleeve and released her arm. Bowing his head, he spoke softly, "Forgive me, Ayame-sama. I spoke out of turn." She drew her arm in, biting her lip as she brushed her fingers along her wrist. Kurusu knew she would not punish him for his outburst. Whether from kindness or timidity, he couldn't say.
"Perhaps I was reckless," she whispered. Kurusu raised his head and met an unflinching gaze. "But Ikoma needed blood to beat the Wazatori. If it means ensuring the safety of the Koutetsujou and its people, I will do what I must, even if it costs my life."
There it was. That conviction. That conviction Kurusu found so enthralling but loathed all the same. He pointed out stiffly, "As the sole heir of the Yomogawa Clan, you shouldn't need to do that. It is my duty to protect you." Ayame sighed heavily and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
"We've had this conversation before, haven't we?" she said dryly.
"It would seem," Kurusu retorted, "that we will continue to have this conversation until you realize—" That I need you. He clamped his mouth shut. No, that would truly be speaking out of turn. What was with him? If his Lordship were still alive, Kurusu would surely lose his head.
Ayame eyed him—knowingly? Oh no. "Until I realize that I'm more valuable than lowly samurai?" His cheeks flushed. O-Oh. Right. He had given her that spiel before. "Th-That is correct, Ayame-sama." "Then we shall have this conversation over and over again." Ayame smiled wistfully. "Perhaps that was how it worked at Aragane Station, but no more. Princess or samurai, lord or peasant—we are all food for Kabane on this train. I think we all should be on equal ground given the circumstances."
Kurusu said nothing.
"Are you well enough to move, Kurusu?" she suddenly asked.
"Of course." She didn't need to believe otherwise.
Her eyes lit up. "We'll be meeting in the engine room soon. I would like you to be there."
"I will, Ayame-sama." To prove his point, Kurusu pushed himself to his feet. His jaw clenched, holding back a slew of curses that threatened to spill from his mouth. Damn that Wazatori.
Ayame followed, and she looked at him worriedly. "You can rest until then—"
"No need, Ayame-sama. I would rather walk around for a bit."
She didn't press further, only eyeing him skeptically. Perhaps she pitied him enough to not damage his already bruised pride. "Alright…just be careful."
Kurusu nodded. "I will."