Chapter Text
Foreword:
My humble devotion to the two goddesses, Saneliur and Souko, is like a great river flowing endlessly into the sea, never to return.
The Shape of the Sword
The cursed spirits had been completely eradicated.
Tsurugi had cleared out a large room in his home’s outer building,
inviting the twin brothers—who were accustomed to hardship—to live there long-term.
The two were overjoyed.
The four of them quickly became inseparable, like a newly formed family of siblings.
Tsurugi also developed a new daily routine:
training every morning with Cross, the swordmaster.
Often, they would even add an evening session.
Cross not only possessed precise control over cursed energy, but his swordsmanship was also exceptional.
Tsurugi often marveled at how such a perfect person could exist in the world.
His sword movements were like a dance—sharp yet beautiful.
Tsurugi felt as though he had met Cross far too late.
Even Master Miyaguni approved of their partnership and often assigned them joint missions investigating curse-user incidents.
With Cross’s meticulous thinking, their missions ran smoothly—almost unrealistically so.
Tsurugi had not been injured once since working with him.
He rarely admired another man this much—especially one so beautiful.
It felt improper even to think it, but Tsurugi suspected that
everyone in Simeria must secretly be enamored with Cross.
Even someone as slow to notice as himself could feel how attentively others treated him.
Being able to stand beside him every day…
it must be enough to make others jealous.
And so Tsurugi admired him—while also feeling a quiet pride.
One evening, after training, they were changing in the locker room beside the dojo, both drenched in sweat.
Tsurugi took off his wet shirt and stretched lazily.
Noticing Cross’s gaze, he jokingly struck a bodybuilding pose.
“How about this? Pretty great muscles, right? Want to touch them?”
Unexpectedly, Cross actually stepped closer.
He reached out and touched Tsurugi’s chest.
Tsurugi froze.
Wait—why the chest? This feels… dangerous.
Before he could react, Cross’s hand had already begun to slowly slide across his chest and abdomen.
That beautifully crafted hand—
as if imbued with the flame of Tsurugi’s beloved “Fire Night Art”—
carried a faint heat as it traced over his firm abdominal muscles.
Tsurugi could not move.
He could not speak.
He had even forgotten how to breathe.
Cross’s eyes were too beautiful.
Those mesmerizing eyes locked onto him without blinking,
making Tsurugi feel completely exposed.
It was as though he had been thrown into a cavern of fire and ice,
his body dissolving into magma and falling stars burning in an unfathomable depth.
He was no longer himself.
His senses were struck all at once.
Fear and exhilaration swelled together in his chest.
Sweat dripped into Cross’s palm.
Cross remained expressionless.
Then, after a brief moment, he suddenly withdrew his hand.
He wiped it on his sleeve.
And turned away.
Shame hit Tsurugi instantly.
He nearly collapsed to his knees.
His mind was in chaos.
His body trembled violently, his heartbeat like a drum.
Cross finished dressing and left without a word.
Tsurugi was left alone in the empty room.
Outside, the sky had already turned completely dark,
filled with the cries of crows.
From that moment on, Tsurugi felt he could no longer meet Cross’s eyes.