While Benjamin was sitting with Sakura, watching Midori dance wildly with the other festive folks, Usagi received a mental signal.
The plaza pulsed with life beneath swaying strings of red and gold lanterns.
Paper globes drifted in the warm night breeze, casting soft, flickering pools across the stone paving and the gathered crowd.
The air carried the mingled scents of sizzling yakitori, sweet red bean paste, spilled sake, and the faint, persistent perfume of late-blooming cherry blossoms that drifted down like slow snow.
Laughter rolled in waves—children darted between legs with sparklers trailing sparks, old warriors clinked cups in booming toasts, young couples stole kisses in the shadowed gaps between food stalls.
At the center of it all, Midori spun in an increasingly chaotic ring dance, sake cup raised high, fox tail swishing as she nearly toppled a nearby cart of grilled mochi.
