Chapter 2
The emergency lights inside the transport vehicle flickered as Section Six returned to HQ. The silence between them was heavy, weighed down by exhaustion and lingering adrenaline. Yanagi sat beside Miyabi, her gaze flickering toward the faint rise and fall of her chest, the way her fingers tensed ever so slightly as if bracing against the dull throb of pain.
Miyabi’s uniform was torn, stained with dust and streaks of residue. Her left arm—mechanical, unyielding—rested on her lap, its metallic surface faintly reflecting the dim light. Yanagi knew better than to offer help. Miyabi would refuse it. She always did.
But that didn’t mean Yanagi didn’t worry.
“You scared me back there,” she murmured, the words slipping out before she could stop them.
Miyabi turned her head, surprised. “I didn’t think you scared easily.”
Yanagi hesitated, adjusting her glasses. “Maybe I don’t. But that doesn’t mean I want to see you like that again.”
Miyabi’s gaze lingered, unreadable. Then, after a moment, she looked away. No acknowledgment, no argument. Just silence.
Yanagi didn’t expect anything more.
Yanagi spent the next few days drowning in paperwork. Reports had to be filed, damage assessments compiled, debriefings conducted. She moved through the motions with practiced efficiency, yet the weight in her chest refused to subside.
She wasn’t supposed to hesitate in battle. She was supposed to anticipate, react, execute with precision. Yet when she saw Miyabi slammed into the wall, something inside her fractured.
She had always prided herself on her composure, her ability to analyze situations without being consumed by emotion. But in that moment, she hadn’t been the deputy of Section Six.
She had just been Yanagi—someone who wasn’t sure if she was good enough.
A memory surfaced—her younger self, practicing formations late into the night, trying to carve herself into something sharper, stronger. Miyabi had never needed to prove anything; she simply was. Like a blade forged to perfection from the moment it left the smith’s fire. And that difference gnawed at Yanagi more than she liked to admit.
Late one evening, she found herself standing outside the training hall, watching through the open doorway as Miyabi ran through her drills. The rhythmic sound of her boots against the floor, the sharp whistle of her blade slicing through the air, the faint metallic hum of her mechanical arm as she adjusted her stance—it all created a hypnotic cadence, sharp and unyielding. Every strike was calculated, every pivot effortless.
Yanagi envied that certainty. That unwavering control.
She didn’t realize Miyabi had stopped until their eyes met across the room.
“You’re staring,” Miyabi said, her tone flat but not unkind.
Yanagi pushed up her glasses. “You’re pushing yourself too soon.”
Miyabi exhaled, rolling her shoulder. “I’m fine.”
“You were injured.”
“I’ve had worse.”
Yanagi clenched her fists. Of course Miyabi would say that. Of course she would brush it off like it was nothing. Just as she always did.
She swallowed down the frustration rising in her throat. “You trust me to watch your back in the field, don’t you?”
Miyabi frowned slightly at the shift in conversation. “Yes.”
“Then why don’t you trust me to worry about you?”
The silence between them stretched, thick with unspoken weight.
Yanagi regretted the words almost immediately. It was too much. Too personal. She had never been good at knowing when to hold back.
But to her surprise, Miyabi didn’t shut her out. Instead, she simply studied Yanagi, gaze lingering in quiet contemplation.
Finally, she spoke. "A swordsman doesn’t fight alone. A well-forged blade has its balance—so do we."
Yanagi inhaled sharply, caught off guard.
Miyabi stepped forward, slow and deliberate. “I know you doubt yourself, Yanagi. You think you need to prove something—to me, to the team, maybe even to yourself.” She tilted her head slightly, her tone softer than before. “But you don’t.”
Yanagi’s breath hitched. She didn’t realize her fingers had curled into fists until she forced them to relax. She had spent a long time perfecting the role of the unshakable deputy, the strategist who always had a plan. But Miyabi saw through all of it.
"A blade doesn’t need to be flawless to cut true," Miyabi continued, her voice quieter now. “It just needs to be in the right hands."
Yanagi’s throat tightened, her chest a little too tight to breathe comfortably. “I just…”
She trailed off, unsure how to put it into words. How could she explain the feeling of never being enough? Of standing in Miyabi’s shadow, knowing that no matter how much she tried, she could never match that unwavering strength?
Instead, she shook her head. “I just want to be someone you can rely on.”
Miyabi’s lips quirked up slightly, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. A pause. A breath. Then, just before she spoke, she glanced away, her gaze distant as if carefully choosing her words.
“Yanagi,” she said, her tone shifting—steadier, certain. “You already are.”
The words settled over Yanagi like a steady heartbeat, grounding and undeniable.
Yanagi swallowed. For a moment, she searched Miyabi’s face, looking for some sign of doubt, some hesitance. But there was none. Just quiet certainty.
The tension in her chest loosened—not entirely, but enough.
For once, she allowed herself to believe them.
Miyabi turned back toward her training dummy, adjusting her grip on Tailless. She could feel Yanagi’s gaze still lingering on her, watching, waiting. But this time, it didn’t feel like scrutiny. It felt like something steadier, something she wasn’t used to receiving—unwavering trust.
“Don’t stay too late,” Yanagi muttered, stepping toward the exit. Then, quieter, as if saying it to herself, “We’re not meant to fight alone.”
Miyabi didn’t respond immediately. Instead, she let the words settle, rolling them over in her mind like a blade being sharpened.
Yanagi’s footsteps faded down the hall, and just before she disappeared entirely, Miyabi spoke.
“Neither are you.”
She wasn’t sure if Yanagi heard her. But the way her silhouette paused—just for a second—told Miyabi that maybe, just maybe, she had.