He knew she was behind him again.
Kyoshi didn't move, just watched the ripples dance across the lake as if they had something more interesting to say than he ever could. The silence between them had always been filled with her tension and his calm, her fury and his quiet.
But tonight, it felt different.
He didn't turn around.
"You followed me again," he said softly.
Silence.
Then—
"You said a name."
Her voice. Clipped. Measured. Coated in suspicion.
He nodded. "Yeah. Kuzan."
A long pause. The air thickened like a storm before the crack of lightning.
"Where did you hear that?" she asked. Her voice didn't shake, but he could feel it—a pulse beneath the words. Fear, maybe. Rage. Memory.
Kyoshi finally turned to look at her.
She stood just beyond the trees, cloak shifting in the breeze, arms crossed, eyes like frozen lilac flame.
"A little girl told me," he said. "Near the ruins of a well. She said Kuzan used to sing there."
Kinsuko didn't flinch—but her fingers clenched tighter around her arm.
"I thought it was just a name," he continued. "But then you didn't show up that night. And I said it aloud. And now you're here."
Silence again.
And then, Kinsuko's voice, sharper. "Don't use that name again."
Kyoshi didn't challenge her.
"I won't," he said quietly. "Not unless you want me to."
She blinked.
That surprised her. No one ever asked what she wanted.
"I've seen people try to control you," he continued. "I've seen Muzan order you around like you're some monster on a leash. But I don't want that."
She narrowed her eyes. "Then what do you want?"
He stepped closer—not too close—and looked her in the eyes.
"You," he said.
Kinsuko froze.
Kyoshi wasn't smiling. He wasn't blushing. His voice didn't waver.
"You," he repeated. "Not the demon. Not the weapon. Not the Kuzan you used to be. Not the Kinsuko Muzan shaped. Just… you. As you are. Whatever that means."
Her breath hitched.
"Even if I'm cruel?" she asked.
"Yes."
"Even if I've killed people?"
"Yes."
"Even if I ruin everything?"
"Especially then."
She scoffed. "You're an idiot."
"Probably."
She looked away. "Don't fall in love with me, Kyoshi. I'm not something you can fix."
He smiled, faintly. "I'm not here to fix you."
He stepped back, letting her breathe.
"I'm just here. And I'm not afraid of you."
She didn't reply.
She couldn't.
Because in that moment, something inside her cracked—not enough to break, not enough to cry—but enough to feel again.
And that terrified her more than any demon ever could.