The gravel path crunched softly beneath Willow's feet as she approached the familiar sliding doors of their small, tucked-away mountain home. The sun had just begun to set, painting the edges of the horizon in purple and gold. The Final Selection was behind her now—but its weight still sat on her shoulders.
She paused at the entrance.
A breath in. A breath out.
She reached forward and slid open the front door. "I'm home—" She says to no one.
Her voice caught in her throat.
There, standing in the middle of the room, his back to her, was the towering figure she had missed for two long years. His posture was slightly rigid, as if he were still adjusting to the world again. His kimono was neatly worn, his hair pulled back, but more than anything—it was the silence. A kind of stunned, trembling stillness.
Then he turned around.
His six eyes met hers.
Willow's breath hitched, and her hands trembled at her sides. "Dad…"
His expression crumbled the moment he saw her. Shock melted into grief. And then into something raw, something wordless—relief, guilt, love.
In a blur, she was in his arms.
Kokushibo wrapped her tightly against him, his frame shaking. Three of his six eyes brimmed with tears that spilled silently down his cheeks. He pressed her close like she might vanish if he let go.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice hoarse and broken. "I was asleep for so long… I failed to protect you."
Willow buried her face in his chest, arms clinging to his back. Her own tears fell freely now. "N-No, you don't have to apologize. I'm here. I'm stronger now."
His grip tightened just slightly. The ache in his voice softened into something warmer, something proud.
They stood there for several minutes, no longer needing words.
Eventually, they both settled into the living area. Willow leaned her head on Kokushibo's lap, exhaustion pulling at her limbs. She hadn't realized just how much her body craved rest now that the trial was behind her.
Kokushibo gently ran his fingers through her hair, untangling it from its messy post-battle state. His expression remained unreadable, but his hands—always steady, always strong—moved with surprising tenderness.
"Did you read the letter I left you?" Willow asked, her voice soft.
"I did," he replied. "But I want to hear it from you. Everything."
And so, she told him.
She recounted her training. Her long nights in the woods. Her mistakes and near-death encounters. Her triumphs, and how she forged Dragon Breathing. She told him of her resolve to protect those in need, even though she didn't explain what that truly meant.
She did not speak of the System. Or the one meal she shared with Kyojuro Rengoku that still made her cheeks flush if she thought too long about it.
And Kokushibo did not press. He simply listened, occasionally brushing a stray lock of hair from her face.
"I have to wait 15 days," she said sleepily, her eyes fluttering closed. "Until my uniform and sword are ready…"
"Rest now," he said gently, still petting her hair. "You've earned it."
Willow's breathing slowed, her limbs growing heavier.
The warmth of her father's presence, the steady rhythm of his hand, and the safety of home wrapped around her like a blanket.
As her eyes finally closed, she mumbled just loud enough for him to hear: "I missed you, Dad…"
And Kokushibo, once feared across the lands, the Former Upper Moon 1, simply replied: "I missed you too, my little star."