Returning to Momoyama after days of hard travel felt like a physical weight lifting off Ryousuke's shoulders. The familiar scent of peach blossoms and ozone greeted him as the evening sun dipped below the horizon.
As he stepped onto the training grounds, the rhythmic thwack-thwack of wood hitting wood filled his ears.
In the center of the yard, Shota was shirtless, his body glistening with sweat as he unleashed a frantic assault on a training dummy. His blade moved with the force of wind and lightning, strikes falling like torrential rain.
"One hundred ninety-seven! One hundred ninety-eight! One hundred ninety-nine!" He roared the count, putting every ounce of strength into the final swing.
As Ryousuke approached, Shota stopped, his chest heaving. He grabbed a towel, wiped his face, and let out a heavy, haughty snort, tilting his chin upward.
"Hmph! You're back? You look like crap. Unlike me—my mission was clean and efficient. Didn't even lose a hair."
"Yeah, yeah. You're amazing."
Ryousuke was too tired to argue. He gave a half-hearted thumbs-up. All he wanted to do was collapse on his futon and let his aching, "overclocked" liver rest.
"Ryousuke-niisan!"
A clear, sweet voice rang out behind him. Rika sprinted toward him, her large eyes sparkling with pure joy.
"You're finally back! Was it fun out there? Did anything interesting happen? Tell me everything!" She naturally grabbed his sleeve, shaking it gently.
Shota: (╬▔皿▔)
Seeing this, the veins on Shota's forehead bulged, and his knuckles turned white.
"Yeah, I'm back," Ryousuke said, patting Rika's head. "It was alright. Just chopped a few demons."
"A few? What kind?" Rika asked, leaning in.
Shota crossed his arms and scoffed. "Psh! What could he have killed? Probably just some weaklings that had only eaten two or three people."
Ryousuke yawned and spoke casually. "They were okay. One was a Rokurokubi whose head and body played tag—that was a bit of a pain. The other liked to sing at night and lure girls with seashells. 'Mue', I think he called himself. His Blood Demon Art was annoying; kept trying to crawl into my brain. Too noisy."
The sneer on Shota's face froze.
Rokurokubi? Mue? Those were the two demons the Kakushi and the lower-ranked Slayers had been gossiping about for days—territorial monsters that had stumped several teams.
Shota opened his mouth to call bullshit, but seeing Ryousuke's bored, "don't-care-if-you-believe-me" expression, he swallowed his words. His face turned a mottled shade of red and blue.
"Still bragging, I see?"
Jigoro Kuwajima approached, leaning on his cane. He glanced at Shota's frustrated face before turning a keen eye on Ryousuke.
"Gramps," Ryousuke and Rika said in unison.
Jigoro pulled a neatly folded letter from his robes. The envelope bore a distinct, fiery seal. He handed it to Ryousuke, his gaze complex. "Take a look at this. It's from Shinjuro Rengoku, the Flame Hashira."
Ryousuke raised an eyebrow and opened it. The handwriting was bold, practically vibrating with the energy of the Rengoku family. The core message was singular:
[BE MY TSUGUKO!]
[BECOME MY TSUGUKO RIGHT NOW!!]
[RYOUSUKE-SAN, FOR THE LOVE OF THE SUN, BE MY TSUGUKO!!!]
Shota craned his neck to see, and his eyes nearly popped out of his skull. The Flame Hashira?! A Tsuguko position?! That was a level of prestige and power that ordinary slayers couldn't even dream of. This guy... this kid actually...
"Mr. Shinjuro is certainly persistent," Ryousuke said, skimming the letter and stuffing it back into the envelope with zero excitement. "But I already turned him down."
"WHAT?!" Shota screamed, as if he'd just heard the most ridiculous thing in human history. "You turned it down?! The position of the Flame Hashira's successor?! Has a demon eaten half your brain?!" He looked ready to duel Ryousuke on the spot out of sheer disbelief.
Jigoro frowned deeply as well. "Why decline? Shinjuro is the Flame Hashira. His strength is peerless. His personality... well, it's a bit boisterous, but he is a man of absolute integrity. Being his Tsuguko is an opportunity most would kill for!"
"I know," Ryousuke said, rubbing his temples.
I can't exactly tell him that my past life experiences left me with psychological scars regarding over-affectionate men...
"Mr. Shinjuro is a good man and strong, but..." Ryousuke paused, looking at Gramps with a mischievous, roguish smile. "First: I can't learn Flame Breathing. Our temperaments don't match; forcing it would be a waste of time. Second: His volume and enthusiasm are... a bit much for me to handle. And third..."
Ryousuke drew out the last point, grinning at Jigoro's puzzled expression. "I can't bear to leave you, Gramps! Momoyama is great. I have your guidance, Shota's 'motivation', and Rika looking after me. Why would I go anywhere else?"
The flattery was shameless, but highly effective.
The stern line of Jigoro's mouth instantly softened. He fought to keep from smiling, but failed, looking at Ryousuke with a mix of exasperation and fatherly affection. He tapped his cane lightly against Ryousuke's shin in a mock reprimand.
"You brat! Always with the silver tongue!" His words were harsh, but his tone was soft as silk.
Shota pouted. He was envious, but he knew Ryousuke had earned that letter through raw results. It wasn't malice, just a teenager's wounded pride.
Rika ducked her head, hiding a smile. Ryousuke-niisan said he couldn't leave Momoyama! That means he can't leave me! Hehe~
Jigoro's laughter subsided, and he looked at Ryousuke's pale face. "Still, Ryousuke... you're not a child anymore. You're seventeen. Look at the Master of the Mansion—at your age, he was already a father of two."
Ryousuke's eye twitched. That specific wording! That tone!Oh no! It's the "Get Married Already" Combo!
Sure enough, Jigoro leaned in, looking like an old gossip hunter. "You've been traveling all over for missions, meeting all sorts of people... tell me, did you meet any girls who caught your eye?"
Called it!
Beside them, Rika's ears practically twitched. Her hands gripped the hem of her apron, her heart racing as she stole a nervous, hopeful glance at Ryousuke. Even Shota leaned in, ears perked. Gossiping about Ryousuke's love life was better than training.
Ryousuke felt his skin crawl under Jigoro's inquisitive gaze. He wanted to brush it off with a joke, but he hesitated. If he brushed it off once, there'd be a second time. And a third.
But, when he thought about "someone catching his eye"...
A sudden image of a quiet washitsu in Asakusa flashed through his mind. A woman in an elegant, simple kimono. Dark hair like a cloud. An aura like cool jade—gentle yet resilient, carrying the weight of centuries with a graceful sadness. And the fleeting, icy touch of her fingers as they said goodbye...
Without thinking, Ryousuke's mouth moved before his brain could filter it.
"Well... if I had to say, there is one person."
Jigoro's eyes lit up like lanterns. "Oh?! Tell me! What family? Where does she live? What does she do? How old is she?!"
Questions hit Ryousuke like a machine gun. Rika's heart sank, her hands twisting her apron tighter. Shota, however, started grinning. Aha! He's got a girl elsewhere! That means he's staying away from my sister!