Chapter 57
This is everyday life.
"Here, here, Tui-chan, yours is here!"
"Th-thank you, Hirano."
"Lord Mikazuki, this is yours."
"It's a very pretty headscarf; the owner is so thoughtful."
"Medical books?" He flipped through them. "I haven't read any of them."
"Ichigo Ni, here you go."
Seeing Ichigo Hitofuri standing to the side waiting, Fuyuki took the initiative to step forward and take out the small gift he had prepared for him.
On the large table were rows of cardboard boxes, each bearing the names of the members written in childish handwriting by the Saniwa herself, making them easy to identify.
Ichigo Hitofuri accepted it, smiled slightly, and thanked him, saying, "Thank you, Master."
He took it but didn't open it. Dongshu blinked at him, looking puzzled, but didn't say anything. She just reached out and took his hand.
With a tremor and a shiver, his gaze fell squarely on the top of her head, and his heart was warmed by his touch.
As a sword, he cherishes the closeness of his master. Ichigo Hitofuri is always busy, for his master, for the citadel, for his younger brothers... He never has a moment of true leisure. His younger brothers' dependence gives him satisfaction, but it also burdens him with responsibility, even if it is something he does willingly.
Ichigo Hitofuri, a well-known brother-complex character.
This title is quite famous among the Saniwa (masters/soulmates).
He is not only a reliable head of the Kuritaguchi family, but also a sword that the Saniwa (master) wields yearns to be used by his master and to be close to him.
"Huh?! Ichigo-ni is too cunning. How could he hold hands with the master when we weren't paying attention?" Ran Toushirou squeezed between Fuyuki and Ichigo Hitofuri, puffing out his cheeks, a habitual little gesture of his.
Orange hair fluttered, cheeks pressed together, the soft touch making him rub against it, his arms expertly encircling the small body of the Saniwa.
"Luan, you're so cunning! I want a hug too!"
More and more tsukumogami are being drawn to the commotion here.
"Give it to me? Damn it, Master, I want to hold hands too!"
"Wait for me, wait for me, count me in!"
"Don't run so fast, give me some of the owner's food."
"Oh my, what a lovely scene!"
The situation quickly spiraled out of control and descended into chaos.
This sudden, overwhelming closeness caused Fuyuki to involuntarily take a step back, frantically grabbing the arm of some unknown spirit in front of her.
"Wait!" Fuyuki's eyes widened, and she suddenly lost her balance and fell to the ground. The ground behind her wasn't hard, and Youren was still holding her body against it.
"You...don't all crowd over there! Master has collapsed!"
She excitedly tried to peek through the gap to see which hero it was, but the next second the cover was pushed aside and she was pulled out of the pile of tsukumogami.
Her head was held down, and then the back of her head was gently stroked. Strong arms supported her body, and she was once again enveloped in a familiar embrace.
Perhaps because they are too young, the slightly taller Tsukumogami in the citadel all like to pick up the Saniwa.
Fuyuki glanced at the group of dejected little swords, then at the imposing Shokudaikiri Mitsutada and Kasen Kanesada, before silently looking away.
They got scolded; poor thing.
However, why are there no great swords in the citadel?
In Shokudaikiri Mitsutada's stern voice, she recalled the Tarotachi and Jirotachi in the long box, still remembering their divine golden patterns and vibrant dark purple ribbons.
They are similar yet different.
So she confidently walked into the forging room, only to slink out dejectedly, her small body leaning against the doorframe, sighing silently.
It's true, the timing is wrong, the location is unfavorable, and people are not in harmony.
You can't blame the innocent Saniwa for this.
She's clearly not African, she's Asian!
—
Night was falling.
“Master…?” Mikazuki Munechika noticed Fuyuki’s figure and chuckled, “Come to my side.”
Under the moonlight, a blue-haired spirit sat on the roof and reached out to her, the crescent moon in its eyes still bright.
Dongshu nodded and moved closer.
The pale moonlight draped over him like a white cloud, making his pure daytime appearance even more blurred, a vivid yet hazy illusion. The wind brushed his brows, and his eyes sparkled with a lingering habit that was hard to shake off.
Mikazuki Munemi blinked in apparent annoyance, then shook his head slightly, his beautiful hair swaying.
A beautiful and self-aware blade.
Fuyuki pulled her thick coat tighter, tilted her head back, and looked around in confusion. After confirming that there were no tools she could use, she looked at the eaves again. She hadn't seen any of the small movements of the katana.
Her fingers slid through the air, as if sketching something, stroke after stroke. An invisible spiritual force fluctuated with her movements, and the next moment, a solid staircase gleaming with light suddenly appeared.
She stepped up step by step, her dark eyes constantly watching her footing, her hands resting on the safety railing.
Even though she was being careful, her steps were steady and without the slightest hesitation.
Until I grasped the outstretched hand.
The bright moon hung in the sky, and a slightly cool breeze slipped into his collar, causing Dongshu to stretch his neck involuntarily.
She was about to sit next to Mikazuki Munechika when he pulled her into his arms with a sudden movement. His fair and flawless fingers gently brushed through her black hair, causing a strand of hair to momentarily linger in the air.
Dongshu looked up at him, snuggled back, and pressed herself against him completely. Her small hands were enveloped by his large hands, and his body leaned forward, completely isolating her from the cold air and trapping her in his warm and soft embrace.
Mikazuki Munechika simply held her still, saying nothing more. Fuyuki was puzzled, but she also remained silent, staring blankly at the stars.
One, two... seventeen... twenty-one? Or two? Never mind, let's start over.
one two three......
Her eyes blinked from time to time, her pupils moving slightly, but at some point she would fall into regret and return to the beginning.
From her unseen perspective, her deep blue, lake-like eyes were lifeless, her expression dazed and fragile, her lips slightly parted, then closed again.
Mikazuki Munechika suddenly chuckled, raised his wrist slightly, and his slender fingers touched her cheek. He paused, something flashed in Shingetsu's eyes, and he subconsciously separated his bent fingers.
He brought his palms together and stroked the soft cheek of the Saniwa.
The little face was chubby and had the delicate, fair complexion unique to children, while the hands had a familiar, smooth touch.
Unlike before, the stench of filthy people disgusted him; it was a stain that his skin could not wash away, even when it was red.
He tried to break free, but kept returning to reality.
Dongshu was pulled back by his actions. His warm palm touched her, and she felt no discomfort, but she suddenly sensed a cautiousness in his movements.
She proactively raises her hands, holds her fingers, and buries her face in her palms, slowly making a coquettish gesture in an attempt to convey a sense of security.
The Saniwa (master) didn't know what had happened to the Tsukumogami (spirit), she only knew that her Mikazuki Munechika was unhappy.
She looked up: "Mikazuki."
"Um."
"I'm very happy."
"......Um."
[Author's Note]
JJ, please stop revealing my cover art! Every time you do, I want to change it. [crying emoji]
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