Ranmaru didn't answer. He raised his cup again instead, and for a moment, amid the roar of hunters and the crackle of fire, there was only the girl, the taste of bitter sake, and the weight of her question lingering like smoke.
He had been given twenty-seven ryō in silver coins—enough to live comfortably for months, perhaps even buy horses, fund his next moves, or secure favors—along with a set of fine jewelry and assorted tools.
A new set of armor, a katana and wakizashi, and a lacquered box of dried incense sticks completed his acquisitions. With this modest wealth, he could move to a small town, buy a house, and still have enough silver to feed himself for a year—if this world followed the same feudal rules he knew from Japanese history.
"I can't tell you your place in the world," he replied. "Nor was I speaking philosophically when I said this isn't a place for a farmer's daughter."
He reached out and patted her head. "I can tell you're innocent—that's why I warned you not to stay here. Go grab a plate of food and head back inside." He turned his gaze toward the grunts boldly molesting the servant girls, urging the villagers to mete out justice on the men & women who served the cruel daimyō.
"Also get me a plate," he murmured, sipping his sake. Human nature was truly a poison to those afflicted, and he was no exception. His eyes wandered back to the thin village girl, but his mind drifted inward—down through his muscles, veins, and into his abdomen—where he discovered something unique to this world.
It lay just beneath the surface, shimmering faintly with tiny sprinkles of bluish liquid.
The girl nodded quickly, bowing once more before scurrying toward the long tables piled with steaming bowls and platters.
She returned moments later with two simple wooden plates, each piled with rice, pickled vegetables, and a small piece of salted fish. She set them carefully before him, hands trembling, then took a seat opposite, folding her legs beneath her on the straw matting.
Ranmaru lifted his cup again, sipping slowly.
The warmth of the sake seemed to seep into him, loosening the tension coiling through his muscles. He studied her quietly, noting the faint scars of hardship in the curve of her shoulders, the careful way she balanced the plate as though it might break under her hands.
"I like drinking in quiet," he said after a moment, his voice low. "It's easier to think when no one is shouting or celebrating around you. Would… would it be alright if I followed you home afterward?"
Her eyes widened, and she hesitated, cheeks coloring. "M-my home… it's not… not big. Or clean. I live alone now… ever since Father…" Her voice trailed off, the words catching in her throat.
Ranmaru shook his head, a small, even smile touching his lips. "I don't care. I'm fine with anything. Roof over my head, and good company to drink with—that's enough for me."
She blinked, still unsure, then nodded slowly. "Alright… if you really don't mind."
They finished the remainder of their simple meal in near silence, sipping sake between bites, the distant laughter of the hunters fading as they walked toward the girl's small home.
The structure crouched at the edge of the village—a humble, crooked thing with thatch patched poorly in places, holes in the roof letting light filter through, and furniture worn and splintered from years of use. Dust clung to the corners of the floors, and the smell of smoke from the hearth mingled with the scent of damp earth.
Yet Ranmaru made no sign of distaste. Instead, he stooped to remove his bloodied cloak, folded it carefully on the floor, and settled beside her. "I don't mind," he said softly. "This… this is enough."
The girl relaxed slightly, letting a tentative smile spread across her thin, pale face. They drank together, sake continued to fill their cups as the quiet of the small room wrapped around them. She told him about the fields her father had tended, the small garden she tried to keep alive, the people in the village who had helped her after her father's death.
He listened, nodding occasionally, asking small questions, though his mind often drifted elsewhere, to the faint shimmer of bluish liquid he could feel beneath his skin—something he still didn't understand if it worked the same in this new world he had entered.
Time passed, slowly slipping away as the pot emptyed.
The girl laughed quietly at a clumsy story of her neighbors, and he let himself smile back, the edges of his scarred face softening. They talked for hours, and finally Ranmaru made his move.
"You know... " She was about to say, how she hadn't talked to anyone for this long since ages, but her eyes widened instead. Ranmaru had captured her mouth with his own before she could fully speak.
Her heart fluttered, but she didn't pull back.
The kiss was rough at first, unpracticed, more like a claim than an offering. His hand rose, steady and calloused, pressing lightly against the back of her neck. She froze under his touch, breath caught in her throat, then slowly exhaled, the tension in her shoulders loosening as she leaned toward him.
Ranmaru pulled back a fraction, his lips brushing hers as he breathed out the faint bitterness of sake. His gaze lingered on her face, her trembling lashes, the uncertainty in her expression.
"...You taste of rice and salt," he murmured, almost to himself.
The girl lowered her eyes, cheeks aflame, unable to answer. The silence between them stretched—warm, heavy, fragile. He tilted his head, studying her as though weighing something in his mind, then reached for the small clay bottle by his side and refilled their cups.
"Drink," he said, handing her one. "If you're afraid, the sake will help."
Her hands shook faintly as she accepted it. She drank, the warmth sliding down her throat, her chest rising with an uneven breath.
Ranmaru leaned back, stretching his legs across the uneven floor, watching her as if the flickering lamplight itself was testing the lines of her face. There was a softness in her—an innocence he had already spoken of—but beneath that he saw something else: a hollowness born of loneliness, the kind that left a soul clinging to the first person who filled the silence.
He raised his cup, sipped, then set it down. "You shouldn't be so quick to trust a man like me," he said quietly. "I've killed too many to sit comfortably in a farmer's house."
Her lips parted, but no words came. Only her eyes met his, wide and uncertain, yet unwilling to turn away.
He chuckled low in his throat, shaking his head. "Still… I won't lie. It's pleasant. To sit here. To drink like this. To pretend I'm not what I am."
His hand brushed against hers, deliberately this time. She stiffened again, then swallowed, letting her fingers stay where they were.
The hearth crackled, casting faint shadows against the walls. Outside, the last voices of drunken hunters dwindled, swallowed by the night.
When Ranmaru leaned in again, it was slower, steadier. This kiss was softer, testing rather than taking. The girl's breath caught, then melted against his lips, her trembling easing as she gave in.
The quiet of the hut deepened, broken only by the hushed sound of their cups being set aside, the faint shift of fabric against straw.
And beneath it all, Ranmaru could still feel it—the shimmer within his own body, that faint bluish liquid stirring in his veins, responding somehow to his heartbeat, to the closeness, to the heat of living flesh beside him.
It pulsed, faint but undeniable.
A reminder that no matter how human this moment seemed, he was still bound to something beyond this world.
His yang energy funneled through him, as his duel cultivation technique took flight and verified his suspension. He could continue to cultivate in this dreamscape.