Unspoken Oaths

The infirmary was too quiet.

Miyabi hated it.

The low hum of the medical monitors, the faint beeping of vitals being recorded—it gnawed at her, an unshakable reminder that she was here, exhausted and bedridden, while the world outside continued without her. She shifted in the cot, feeling the dull ache of strained muscles under the tight bandages wrapped around her torso. Her body protested every movement, a consequence of the relentless training she had forced herself through. She had pushed past her limits, past reason, and now she was paying for it.

Her fingers twitched as she flexed them. Her left arm rested atop the sheets, the armored plating protecting it still scuffed and dented from her training. It wasn’t broken, but it might as well have been, given how her body refused to move as she willed it to. She exhaled sharply. She was supposed to be stronger than this.

A sharp rap on the door pulled her from her thoughts. Yanagi stood in the doorway, arms crossed, her sharp pink eyes flicking over Miyabi with unspoken scrutiny. The glow of the medical monitors reflected faintly in her glasses. Her signature green shoulder nail—a piece resembling a Yokai—stood out against her otherwise composed appearance. "You’re supposed to be resting."

Miyabi let out a slow breath, tilting her head back against the pillow. "I am."

Yanagi’s eyes flicked toward the diagnostic screen. "Lying doesn’t suit you."

Miyabi smirked, but it faded quickly. "I don’t have time for this."

Yanagi stepped inside, her usual sharpness dulled by something heavier. She didn’t lean against the wall like she usually would. Instead, she stood stiffly, as if keeping herself in check. "You ran yourself into the ground. Again."

Miyabi shifted her gaze to the ceiling. "And I’m still here."

Yanagi’s jaw tightened. "That’s not the point. You collapsed. If I hadn’t dragged you out of the training hall, you’d probably still be unconscious."

"But you were there," Miyabi countered. "Like always."

Yanagi’s eyes darkened. She took a slow breath, as if steadying herself. "You think that’s enough? That we’ll always be there in time? That nothing will ever go wrong?"

Miyabi didn’t answer. The silence between them stretched, tense and suffocating.

Yanagi shook her head. "You push yourself too hard." Her voice was quieter now, but it carried weight. "You’ve always carried everything alone, but that’s not how this works. We’re not just your subordinates. We’re your team."

Miyabi swallowed, pressing her lips together. She knew that. She had always known that. But knowing and accepting were two different things. Relying on others meant acknowledging she had limits. And that meant—

She exhaled, trying to shove the thought aside, but the ache in her body betrayed her.

Before she could respond, a new voice cut in.

"You’re stupid."

Soukaku stood at the foot of her bed, arms behind her back, rocking on her heels. The oni girl’s bright eyes were wide with a childlike innocence that contrasted with the sharpness of her words.

Miyabi blinked. "...What?"

"You’re stupid," Soukaku repeated. "If you get yourself killed, who’s gonna lead us?"

Miyabi stared at her. Soukaku’s expression was uncharacteristically serious, her small hands clenched. "You’re strong, but that doesn’t mean you have to be alone. We follow you because we believe in you. Not because you have to do everything."

Yanagi nodded. "For once, she’s making sense."

Miyabi let out a slow breath. She had always seen herself as the one who had to be at the front, the one who had to take the first step into danger. But she wasn’t just fighting for herself anymore.

She glanced at her armored arm, then at the faces of her team. The weight in her chest felt different now. Not heavier. Just... present.

She exhaled, closing her eyes briefly. "Fine. I’ll rest. But only for a few days."

Yanagi smirked, some of the tension in her shoulders easing. "Good. Because we need you."

Miyabi scoffed but didn’t argue.

The room was quiet again, but it didn’t feel as suffocating as before. For the first time, the silence wasn’t a reminder of everything she had to bear alone.

After Yanagi and Soukaku’s words had settled, the door creaked open again. Harumasa stepped inside, carrying a tray with two neatly arranged bowls of food. His usual carefree expression was unchanged, his yellow eyes laced with mild amusement.

Tall, with pale skin and messy navy blue hair, Asaba had a natural slouch to his posture, his teal jacket tied loosely around his waist. The yellow bandana tied around his head added to his usual casual appearance. Despite his penchant for complaining about exhaustion and pushing off responsibilities, he was here now, proving once again that when it truly mattered, he never wavered.

"Look at you," he said with a dramatic sigh. "A fearless leader, taken down by her own stubbornness."

Miyabi arched a brow. "And you’re suddenly my caretaker now?"

Harumasa smirked lazily as he set the tray down. "Hardly. But I figured if I didn’t bring you food, the deputy chief would just nag me about it later."

Yanagi rolled her eyes. "Because you’re always looking for an excuse to get out of work."

Harumasa grinned. "Exactly."

Soukaku tilted her head. "Does that make Nagi the mom of the group?"

"Absolutely not."

"I’d say more like the strict older sister," Harumasa mused, rubbing his chin. "Which makes me the cool uncle who gives bad advice."

Yanagi exhaled through her nose. "That is the worst self-assessment I’ve ever heard."

Miyabi let out a slow breath before reluctantly picking up the chopsticks. The warm aroma of the broth hit her, and she realized, embarrassingly, how hungry she actually was. She took a small sip, feeling the warmth settle in her chest.

She hated this. Hated how her team hovered around her, acting like she was on the verge of breaking. But at the same time, she didn’t push them away.

Asaba, watching her carefully, spoke again—quieter this time. "You can’t lead us if you’re dead, y’know?"

Miyabi paused mid-bite, glancing up. His usual lazy demeanor was unchanged, but there was an unmistakable sincerity in his words.

She said nothing, only nodding slightly.

The conversation drifted as the minutes passed, the tension in the room gradually lessening. Soukaku rambled about some ridiculous dream she had about fighting a giant fish; Yanagi half-listened while subtly making sure Miyabi finished her meal. Harumasa, as usual, said little of importance, but his presence was grounding.

Miyabi still felt the weight of her exhaustion, the ache in her muscles serving as a reminder of her own limits. But as she glanced at the people around her, she realized something.

She wasn’t alone. And she never had to be.

And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.