The distance between them was close enough that Lock could smell the faint wisteria fragrance drifting from Shinobu's haori.
Her breath touched his face—soft and cool, yet it felt strangely hot against his skin.
"Ah, Lock, you really are working hard," Shinobu said with a gentle smile, her eyes half-lidded under the moonlight.
Lock turned his head toward her, matching her calm expression with his own relaxed smile.
"Shinobu, what brings you up here?"
As he spoke, he leaned slightly closer. Their breaths mingled in the cold night air for a fleeting moment.
Shinobu's composure faltered briefly. Is this boy always this bold? she thought.
Before Lock could say more, she pulled back, eyes glinting playfully.
"My, my… Lock, you really are daring."
Lock stifled a laugh, though he couldn't help thinking, You were the one who started this, weren't you?
He said nothing aloud, only exhaled slowly.
The air he released was cold and misty, a wisp of pale fog under the moonlight.
Shinobu's expression shifted as she watched the rhythm of his breathing.
"That pattern… Lock, that's a breathing technique, isn't it?"
Lock blinked in surprise—her perception was razor sharp.
"I'm not mistaken," Shinobu continued, her tone rising slightly with recognition. "That's my sister's Flower Breathing."
Lock froze for half a second before nodding lightly.
"I learned it from Kanao today," he said plainly.
For a brief moment, Shinobu's smile faltered.
She looked down, voice softer. "I see… So you never met her."
It wasn't anger in her tone—only quiet disappointment. Not because Lock had learned the technique, but because the mention of her sister still ached deeply.
Yet, the fact that Lock had grasped Flower Breathing so quickly stirred something else in her.
She'd already heard from Aoi and the others: the boy she'd brought back had defeated Kanao in just two days, entirely through his own effort. His natural talent reminded her of Tokito Muichiro—the Mist Hashira.
A rare genius.
Maybe, just maybe, this boy could really face that monster in fifteen days.
"Lock," Shinobu said suddenly.
He looked at her. "Hm?"
The two sat side by side on the rooftop beneath the pale moon. The silver light fell over them, glinting on Shinobu's haori, the butterfly patterns shimmering like living wings.
But behind her soft expression, Lock sensed something heavier—quiet fury, restrained grief. The kind born from loss.
The sweet scent of wisteria around her grew sharper, tinged with bitterness.
"Lock," she said softly, "could you show me my sister's Flower Breathing?"
Lock hesitated. So that's why she came up here.
He knew what she was really asking for: not a demonstration of skill, but a glimpse of memory.
Still, Lock wasn't about to work for free. He smiled faintly.
"Sure, but if I do, you'll have to show me your Insect Breathing in return."
Shinobu blinked, then chuckled lightly. "You're quite straightforward for someone your age."
She saw through him instantly—he wanted to learn her breathing form.
Aoi's reports had already warned her: Lock could learn techniques by sight alone. Even so, she found it hard to dislike his honesty.
"You're sharp," she said. "But my breathing wouldn't suit you."
Shinobu reached for the sword at her waist. With a subtle push of her thumb, she drew it halfway out. The thin metal glimmered faintly.
"You haven't seen my sword up close, have you?"
Lock leaned forward. "No."
Under the moonlight, she fully drew the Nichirin blade. It was narrow, delicate—its edge more like a stinger than a cutting weapon. Only the tip and part of the blade were sharpened; the rest was slender and hollowed.
"Strange, isn't it?" Shinobu said with a sweet tone that didn't quite hide her pride.
Lock studied the blade carefully, expression calm.
[You observed a uniquely crafted Nichirin sword and discerned the creator's intent.]
[You analyzed its weight balance, structure, and design principles.]
[You understood the purpose of its form and comprehended the fundamentals of Nichirin sword construction.]
"This design is clever," Lock said finally. "It reduces weight while keeping enough strength for piercing strikes. But since it can't slash effectively, it must rely on precision and poison to kill demons."
He paused, thinking aloud. "Still… if it were me, I'd make some changes."
Shinobu's smile froze for a second. Most people who saw her sword for the first time reacted with confusion—or even ridicule. Few ever analyzed it so clearly.
But his last words caught her off guard.
"You'd… change it?" she asked, an edge of amusement in her tone.
Lock nodded. "If it's meant to pierce, then it could use a shift in balance near the hilt—more stability without losing speed."
For a brief moment, Shinobu simply stared at him. Then, unexpectedly, she laughed softly.
"You know," she said, "that sword was designed by the chief of the Swordsmith Village."
Lock's eyes glimmered with curiosity. "Then maybe the chief and I should talk someday."
Shinobu's laughter echoed quietly through the night, soft and fleeting like the rustle of butterfly wings.