Asahi stayed with Tsujihara while Sonoru went to report the corpse and his beaten-up followers. The owner of the stall they were helping let Tsujihara sit inside on a mat.

He couldn’t tell if it would be better to stay relatively close or keep his distance, and the shopkeeper left in favor of bringing in the figurines Tsujihara painted before going upstairs. She gave him permission to use whatever was in the shop if it helped Tsujihara, so he got some water and bandages to clean and dress her hand.

He had enough time afterwards to wash the blood off of his own hands, check for any scratches on his arms or any other places Tsujihara might have been hurt, then went on to clean his knife. Aside from dirt stains and a bit of the man’s blood on her left hand, Tsujihara didn’t have much injuries. Asahi took it as a relief.

Tsujihara stirred after roughly thirty minutes, opening her eyes and looking around. Asahi tried to offer a reassuring smile—dumbly, most likely, and if Sonoru was here he would tease him for it—but her face turned pale once she saw the remaining blood.

She coughed, something more like a choke, and winced.

“...I killed him,” she whispered, barely audible.

Asahi slid his knife back in its sheath, away from view, and took a little step closer.

“It’s all right. You did what you had to.”

She shook her head. “No, I…” She looked down at the ground, paused for a moment, then looked back up at him. “Shouldn’t you be scared of me?”

“I don’t see why,” Asahi admitted. He walked until he was halfway across the room, still reasonably distanced from her, and sat down.

“I wasn’t…really in control.”

“That’s what reflexes do—fight or flight. They tend to kick in if you or someone you care about is put in danger.”

Tsujihara’s expression implied he misunderstood—or maybe she found his approach at comforting her childish—but she didn’t elaborate. Eventually, she sighed.

“I didn’t expect ‘reflexes’ to be capable of killing someone.”

“My father always said they have a mind of their own; he broke a friend’s arm once, because said friend thought it would be fun to sneak behind him while they were on patrol. Were you familiar with anyone in your hometown that was in the military?”

“Not really, but I was taught some self-defense.”

“Chances are, you picked up something from that—combined with the preparation lectures everyone got, that probably contributed to it.”

Tsujihara murmured some kind of half-hearted agreement and fell silent. Asahi didn’t know what else to say—it hadn’t quite clicked for him, either. But knowing what he did about Tsujihara—her way with kids, her dedication and fond memories of her mother, that little smile she gave when she saw something sweet or charming—he couldn’t define her as a ‘murderer.’ Nor could he understand why she thought he might be scared of her.

After a minute, she glanced back up at Asahi. “...Could I get you to clean the blood off my hand? I’m…afraid of getting ill if I look at it too long.”

“...If you’re alright with it, sure.”

He moved back to reclaim a clean cloth and a little pail of water, then went over to Tsujihara. She didn’t watch him, instead sitting with her head leaning against the wall and her eyes closed.

It didn’t take a lot to scrub the blood off; Tsujihara sat completely still the entire time. He pulled away once only small specs remained.

“Is that good?”

She opened her eyes, briefly glanced at her hand, then closed her eyes again.

“Mhm. Thank you.”

Asahi shuffled back, pulling the pail and dirty cloth with him. He tried not to stare at Tsujihara, but his eyes still strayed back towards her direction—watching her frown, gently shake her head, and wince as if someone was talking to her—before he reminded himself of decency and looked away again.

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“...Kinjo.” He startled when Tsujihara spoke up, but he still gave her his attention. She only slightly opened her eyes. “What do you think I should do…if I’m scared of myself?”

The odd question didn’t give him an easy way to respond. It lingered between them for a minute, maybe two, as he struggled for something to tell her. Should he advise her to talk to someone? Tell her she didn’t need to worry? Or was it something better left unanswered, something she needed to decide on her own?

There was a light knock on the door, then Sonoru poked his head in.

“Did anyone else come by after the first set?” he asked cautiously.

“No,” Asahi replied. “Were they more around town?”

“They were outside the city—the group we saw was for reconnaissance. On the bright side, I reported it soon enough that they didn’t get in.”

“Were there any casualties?”

“Only on the enemy’s side. They didn’t even have proper weapons.”

He knew what he wanted to ask next, but hesitated. Tsujihara fell silent again.

“...Were they killed, or taken prisoner?”

Sonoru sighed. “Prince Jukazu watched, so…you can guess.”

Killed, then. The eldest prince didn’t seem like the type to spare the lives of anyone he saw as an enemy—good in some cases, bad in others.

“At any rate,” Sonoru said, readjusting himself a bit, “We can officially say we survived the first attempt of conflict. This’ll be known as the first true battle of the war.”

…

Was it stupid to be more worried about Tsujihara than anyone else? Yes, probably. Sonoru’s look suggested as much when Asahi brought up the idea.

Yet he must not be the only one who wanted to make sure she was fine, because ten people contributed to the gift he held as he waited for her to come. Miss Shiharu gave her the invitation, but Sonoru half-demanded Asahi to speak to Tsujihara alone.

He kept shuffling, debating the pros and cons of just leaving the gift behind. He knew she wouldn’t read into it—she didn’t even realize he avoided eye contact with her out of respect, judging by how she asked him to stop after a few days of regular conversation—but it made his heart race all the same.

Asahi heard her before he saw her, looking up and tensing. Tsujihara came into view, turning a corner into the cherry tree garden, and stopped. They just…stared at each other for a minute; she recovered first.

“I was expecting Miss Shiharu,” she admitted.

“Sorry to disappoint.”

“Ah… No, it’s all right. You and I haven’t really had a chance to talk since last week, is all.”

She avoided calling the day ‘the first battle,’ skipped over any details that implied or led to violence. It seemed to be her way of coping; she wasn’t held responsible for that one rebel’s death—as far as he knew, it was barely even discussed or known—but she must want to avoid it. Asahi couldn’t blame her.

“Do you feel any better?” Why was talking to her harder now, in the open garden, then it was in a closed area? Lack of adrenaline? Proper lighting? No hope of being interrupted?

“More or less. I’ve been worse, at least.”

Asahi murmured some agreement. After a few seconds of silence, he carried on.

“I have something for you—from Miss Shiharu, Masaaki, the royal children, and myself.” He offered the small box to her, and she took a few steps forward to accept it. “Have you ever heard the story of the komainu?”

Tsujihara nodded, holding the gift like it was made of gold. “A kitsune made friends with a shrine maiden, once; he wanted to protect her, but he couldn’t as a fox. So he turned himself into a lion-dog creature and stood watch, day and night, as she worked. He made sure no harm ever came to her—and, eventually, he grew fond of the whole village. Allegedly, he still guards the place as a komainu.”

Asahi gestured for her to open the box. She smiled once she pulled away the ribbon and removed the lid, small but sweet and severely underused. He forgot to breathe for a second.

“Miss Shiharu thought a komainu was appropriate, so it can guard your heart from hardship and pain,” Asahi explained. Tsujihara gently stroked the little figurine’s head. “Princess Rinatsu painted it, Princess Maenomi wrapped it, and Masaaki got the younger four to pick out the colors.”

“Thank you,” Tsujihara murmured. She looked up at Asahi, curious. “Was there any reason you, specifically, came to present it?”

“No,” he lied as a first reaction.

He didn’t want to admit it; that the gift idea came from him, that he first thought of the komainu when looking for figurines that suited her. If he did, then he might say it all—how he adored the way she had a unique smile for every happy situation, how her laugh could make him chuckle, how he wanted to protect her the same way the komainu protected the shrine maiden.

He valued her as a friend, if he sat aside his attraction and love for her. For that reason alone, he wanted to make sure she didn’t get hurt again—for her sake as much as his and the royal children’s. Sonoru had no shortage of murmurs about how Prince Kyuru couldn’t handle any more losses; the others couldn’t be much different.

Tsujihara’s expression changed, but he couldn’t tell if it was disappointment or relief—it might even be both. It shifted back to grateful—general gratitude for the gift—in a second.

“I’ll cherish it,” she promised softly.

Asahi smiled, and she gave one of her own in return. They stood there for another minute, not quite meeting each other’s gaze but still searching for the other’s eyes, before Seiko murmured some goodbye.