"Diligence."
The word lingered in the firelight like a brand.
Izumi didn't blink.
Miharu's mother shifted in her seat, watching the boy's unreadable face. She set the ladle down gently, as if the silence might shatter.
"I know she comes off a bit… rough," she said softly, "but she's been trying so hard. Trying to be what everyone expects. What the mark demands."
Izumi didn't respond.
"I'd really appreciate it if you helped her with her swordsmanship," she added, her voice quieter now, more uncertain. "She could learn a lot from someone like you."
A long pause.
Then, with a slow breath, Izumi gave the faintest nod.
"…Fine."
Morning.
The village square was empty, dew still clinging to the dirt, the scent of earth and charcoal in the air. A training post leaned lazily in one corner. Izumi stood beneath it, a wooden practice sword in hand. He wore the same black clothes, loose but sharp, his posture upright yet somehow at ease.
Footsteps.
Miharu strode up, her sword at her hip, face already annoyed.
"You're really doing this?" she muttered, hands in her sleeves.
Izumi didn't reply. He simply extended a wooden sword to her.
She took it, rolling her eyes. "Fine. But don't think I'm gonna go easy on—"
"Stance," Izumi said, his voice flat and expressionless.
She frowned, then slid into a basic guard position.
He stepped forward. Crack. A light jab to her ribs.
"—Ow!"
Before she could recover: Thwack. Shoulder.
Smack. Hip.
Tap. Knee.
Thunk. Side of her head.
Each blow carried barely any force—but each shot pain through her like a nerve strike. She staggered back, eyes wide.
"Shitty," Izumi said, tone unchanged. "Too many openings. Again."
Miharu gritted her teeth and reset her stance.
Crack.
Smack.
Thunk.
Over and over, he dissected her form with precise strikes, his motions calm and rhythmic like a metronome of pain. He never raised his voice. Never changed expression. Never hesitated.
By the fifth round, she was panting, cheeks red from exertion and embarrassment.
Finally, she held her stance. Not perfect—but better.
Izumi's eyes lingered a second longer.
"Decent," he said quietly. "Still has improvements you can make."
For a moment, she blinked.
And then, unconsciously, a smile curled at the edge of her lips. Pride. She looked at him—and then realized she was smiling.
Her face immediately soured. "Wha—You saw nothing, sinner," she snapped, trying to regain composure.
Izumi blinked slowly. "Didn't see anything."
She turned away with a huff, but the small tremor in her sword arm betrayed the flutter she tried to hide.
"I planned to hit her as much times as I could, but after how much times she tried even, I started feeling bad."
Midnight.
A quiet path under a sky of clouds and silver stars. Izumi walked alone, the wind whispering through bamboo and pine. He stopped at a worn stone bench near the village's edge.
Sitting there, legs crossed, was the man from the carriage—Ichiro.
The old man looked up with a soft smile. "Didn't expect you to show, boy."
Izumi sat beside him.
"Didn't have anything better to do, Hiro."
Ichiro chuckled. "Forgot the old man, otherwise you're getting more polite. Or bored."
"Shit, I did"
Izumi didn't answer, but the quiet between them was easy.
"You're doing good with the girl," Ichiro said after a beat. "Miharu. She listens to you."
"I'm not doing it for her," Izumi replied. "I'm here because someone asked me. That's all."
Ichiro studied the boy for a second, smile lingering. "Still, it suits you."
A pause.
"You ever wonder why you ended up with your mark?" the old man asked.
Izumi didn't reply.
"I mean, Sloth… and yet here you are, watching over the Virtue of Diligence like some silent shadow." He let out a breath. "Strange world."
"I don't think fate cares about irony," Izumi said quietly.
Ichiro barked a laugh. "You raise a good point."
Izumi turned back toward the village, the firelight of homes flickering in the distance.
"What's your mark?" he asked after a moment.
"Humility," Ichiro said simply. "Been bearing it since I was younger than you."
"And yet you just called yourself Old Man Hiro."
Ichiro chuckled again. "Hey, humility doesn't mean I can't have a little fun."
They sat there in the quiet for a while. No more words. Just wind, and stars, and two souls who, against fate's design, found each other on the same path.