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The grass was cool and soft. Kazuha lay on the slope of the hill, hands clasped behind his head, staring at the sky, where the stars scattered like silver sparks. The night breathed with silence. The wind gently brushed through the blades of grass, as if afraid to disturb him. He loved watching the stars. There was no fuss in them, only eternity and calm. Usually, that was enough. But not tonight.
He blinked slowly—and suddenly realized that the patterns of light were forming not just constellations. It seemed as if one of the stars was smiling too vividly. Another shone just as bright and stubborn. He furrowed his brow, then quietly smiled.
“Here we go…” Kazuha whispered. “Even in the sky, I see you.”
The constellations stubbornly assembled into her image. A new imaginary firework burst across his vision—and her smile flared before his eyes. That same wide, sincere smile that always took his breath away. Yoimiya.
He closed his eyes, hoping the vision would disappear. But it only grew stronger. Now he saw her even more clearly—how she laughed, tilting her head back, how her hair caught the flickering light, how she looked at him as if he were more than just another visitor.
“I shouldn’t…” he barely whispered to the night.
The wind offered no answer. His heart beat too loudly—for such a quiet night. Kazuha slowly raised his hand, as if he wanted to touch the stars… or her face among them.
“You’re like a firework,” he whispered. “I watch, and every time, I’m afraid it’s the last one.”
And in that fear, there was far too much tenderness. He turned away, hiding his eyes, but even with his eyelids closed, he saw her light. Warm. Bright. Inescapably close. If this is what the noise in the heart feels like… then I no longer know what silence sounds like.
The night in Inazuma was warm. Yoimiya stood by the old maple behind the shop, her back pressed against the rough trunk. The branches creaked softly overhead, leaves rustling as if whispering to one another. She looked at the dark silhouette of the tree, at the fine lines of its branches disappearing into the sky, and felt the wind slide gently through her hair, over her shoulders, along her sleeves. Too gentle for an ordinary wind.
“Nonsense…” she murmured, gripping the edge of her jacket tighter. A leaf trembled. Then another. The wind brushed the branches a little stronger—and in that rustle, something familiar suddenly seemed to speak. Quiet, almost imperceptible.
“Kazuha…”
Yoimiya shivered.
“W-what…?” she straightened quickly and looked around. Behind her, no one was there. Only silence, the shadow of the shop, and the flickering lantern at the entrance. But the wind had not gone. It moved through the leaves again, softer now, as if more cautious.
“Kazuha…”
She pressed her palms to her ears.
“Stop it…” she whispered, feeling warmth flood her cheeks. “You’re just tired. That’s all.”
But her heart beat as if trying to burst out. His image appeared before her eyes: calm gaze, gentle smile, a voice that was always softer than her laughter—but somehow reached deeper.
“Why do you always enter my head so quietly?” she asked the wind, the tree, herself.
The branches swayed, and the leaves whispered again. Not as sound—like feeling. She slowly extended her hand and touched the maple’s bark. Cold. Real.
“If that’s you…” Yoimiya whispered. “Then why is it so easy for you to come?”
The wind wrapped around her more tightly, touched a strand of hair, brushed across her cheek—almost like a shy caress. She closed her eyes. If you are the wind… then why am I always so afraid you’ll vanish? She inhaled deeply—and only now realized she had been whispering his name along with the rustling leaves all this time.
Morning in Inazuma was clear and fresh. The air still held the chill of the night, and the streets were only beginning to fill with quiet sounds—footsteps, voices, the creak of shutters. Yoimiya stepped out of the shop with a box of fireworks in her hands… and froze.
Kazuha stood across the street. Not moving, not passing by, not a casual stranger. He stood straight, calm, as if waiting just for her. Their eyes met. For a single second. But in that second, they remembered everything: the stars, the wind, the whisper of his name, and how the night had kept them awake. She looked away first.
“G-good morning…” she said too quickly. “You’re… early.”
“Yes,” he replied quietly. “I didn’t want to be late.”
She carefully set the box down, unsure where to put her hands. He stepped forward—and stopped again. As if gathering courage. Silence stretched between them, taut as a drawn bowstring.
“Yoimiya,” he said.
She raised her head. And in that moment, he did something she didn’t expect. The young man slowly dropped to one knee. Not for a showy gesture. Strictly. Properly. In true samurai fashion. He removed his sandogasa and placed it beside him, then touched the ground with his hand—a short, deep bow. Not to a servant. Not to a crowd. To her.
“What are you doing?!” she whispered. “Stand up right now!”
But he did not rise.
“In my school,” Kazuha said calmly, “the first step is taken by the one ready to own their feelings. I am a wandering samurai. I have no home but the road. And no promises except those I dare to give… aloud.”
His hand rested on the hilt of his sword. Not threateningly. Like a vow.
“And therefore, I have no right to remain silent.”