Then, everything shattered.
On the day of the wedding.
On the day she thought she could finally be happy.
Ryoko's hand trembled slightly.
It was only for an instant, but Nobunaga felt it.
The two released their swords simultaneously and stepped back three paces each.
Ryoko steadied herself and looked at him.
In those eyes, the smile had vanished, replaced by something very complex.
"Nobunaga," she said.
Nobunaga did not speak.
He simply watched her.
Watching this woman who bore the name "Mizukage Ryoko." Watching this woman whom he had spent fifteen years protecting, only to destroy her with a single blade.
When it came to pure swordsmanship, the two were all too familiar with each other.
Every move and every form had been taught by Jūzō.
Every transition between offense and defense had been practiced together over all these years.
He could know from which angle her next strike would come even with his eyes closed.
She could know in which direction he would dodge his next step even with her eyes closed.
This rapport had once been their greatest pride.
Now, however, it had become the sharpest blade between them.
Nobunaga charged forward again.
Ryoko also rushed forward.
The two blades clashed once more.
One strike. Two strikes. Three strikes.
Sparks flew as the sound of metal clashing was ear-piercing and dense.
Nobunaga's movements grew faster and faster. Ryoko's movements grew faster and faster as well.
They were no longer fighting.
They were reminiscing.
They were using this sword style to remember those days that could never be returned to.
Clang—
A crisp sound rang out.
The sword Nobunaga had aimed at her throat slipped from his hand.
The ninja sword flipped several times in the air before landing at the edge of the arena, its blade trembling slightly and emitting a humming resonance.
Ryoko's blade was pressed against his heart.
The tip of the blade pierced his clothes and touched his skin. It was cold and sharp.
Just one more inch forward and it could pierce through.
It could end all of this.
Ryoko stood there, holding the sword.
Her hand was steady. The tip of the blade did not shake.
But she did not thrust it in.
She looked at Nobunaga.
Looking at those calm eyes.
Just like that night.
Just like every time he had stood before her over those years.
"You win," Nobunaga's voice was very calm.
Ryoko looked at him.
In those eyes, that fire burned brightly.
But she did not move.
The blade remained pressed there, neither advancing nor retreating a single step.
Silence.
A long silence.
Long enough that the spectators at the edge of the field began to whisper.
Long enough that the proctor took two steps forward, then stopped, unsure whether he should interrupt.
Then Ryoko spoke.
"Nobunaga."
"Yeah."
"Did you ever—"
She didn't finish.
But Nobunaga knew what she wanted to ask.
She had thought about that question for fifteen years.
From that night onward, from the moment she knelt on the ground clutching the corner of his clothes, from the moment she asked "Why," that question had always been in her heart.
"Yes."
Nobunaga answered very quickly.
Very quickly. Very decisively. As if he couldn't wait to say it.
Ryoko's eyes widened slightly.
Nobunaga lowered his head, looking at the blade pressed against his heart.
The blade was slender, the tip sharp, and the bandages on the hilt were wrapped neatly.
It was exactly the same as the one that had pierced his heart that night.
"That day," he said, "this blade also pierced my heart."
Ryoko's pupils contracted sharply.
She didn't speak, only watching Nobunaga.
Watching Nobunaga's calm eyes.
Ryoko remembered.
In the final moments of death, she had felt something pressing down on her.
Warm and heavy.
She had thought it was a hallucination then.
It turned out it wasn't.
It was him.
He had pulled the blade out, stabbed it into his own chest, and then collapsed onto her.
To die together with her.
Ryoko's hand trembled slightly.
Only a little, but the tip of the blade lightly grazed Nobunaga's heart.
In the stands, Mei Terumī's body trembled slightly.
She sat there, her posture still so elegant, her expression still so calm.
But her fingers tightened around the armrest.
Her knuckles turned white.
She had heard it.
She had heard all of those words.
So he had died too.
So that day, he had also fallen.
So that final warm, heavy feeling was his body pressing down on her.
She had always thought it was a hallucination, an illusion before death.
It turned out to be real.
Mei Terumī closed her eyes.
Only for an instant.
Then she opened them and continued to watch the arena.
There was still no expression on her face.
But in those emerald eyes, that fire burned differently.
Ryoko looked at Nobunaga.
"Then why?"
Her voice was somewhat strained.
"Why—"
"The winner—Hidden Mist's Mizukage Ryoko!"
The proctor's voice suddenly rang out, interrupting Ryoko's words.
Ryoko abruptly turned her head and looked at the proctor.
He was just an ordinary Chunin responsible for recording the match results.
According to the rules, when one side loses their weapon while the other still has one, the side without the weapon is declared the loser.
He didn't know what had just happened. He didn't know what those words meant. He didn't know what he had interrupted.
He only knew that, according to the regulations, Nobunaga had lost.
"The winner, Hidden Mist—"
"I said, the winner—Hidden Mist's Mizukage Ryoko."
Ryoko looked at him.
In those eyes, there was killing intent.
It was only for an instant, but the Chunin felt it.
The killing intent of a Kage-level powerhouse made his back go cold, freezing him in place, making him not even dare to move.
It was just a single look.
A look from the clone of the Fifth Mizukage.
The Chunin's lips moved, wanting to say something, but he couldn't say anything at all.
Ryoko withdrew her gaze.
She looked at Nobunaga.
Nobunaga also looked at her.
The two locked eyes.
Then Ryoko put away her sword.
She sheathed the blade and turned to walk down the stage.
After taking two steps, she stopped.
She didn't look back.
"The 'why' isn't important anymore."
Her voice came from ahead, very faint, as if it would be scattered by the wind.
"I don't hate you anymore."
Nobunaga's eyelashes trembled.
Ryoko continued.
"But I am the Kage of that Village. I must be responsible for them."
She paused.
"You caused their deaths. All of them."
Nobunaga did not speak.
He watched her back. He had watched that back for fifteen years.
In the ruins of the Hidden Mist Village. In the rain at Kannabi Bridge. On the high platform on the day of the wedding.
He had watched for fifteen years.
Now that back stood before him, turned away from him, saying "you caused the deaths of all of them."
"The responsibility of a Kage..."
Nobunaga murmured.
He thought of the second simulation.
Twenty years in Sunagakure.
Those people he had buried with his own hands.
Kankuro. Gaara. Sasori. Rasa.
And Temari—
He raised his head, his gaze passing over Ryoko's back and falling into the distance.
There, at the edge of the waiting area, stood a girl.
Teal-blonde hair tied into four ponytails. Holding a Giant Folding Fan, she was looking at him.
Temari.
His disciple. His student. The child he had watched grow up and then die in that world.
But in this world, she was alone without any kin.
Nobunaga suddenly smiled.
A very faint smile.
"I'll wait for you to come and kill me," he said.
Ryoko turned around and looked at him.
Nobunaga looked at her.
"Hate me," he said. "Hating me is better than forgetting me."
Ryoko was stunned.
She looked at his calm eyes.
In those eyes, there was exhaustion, relief, and something else she couldn't understand.
She suddenly didn't know what to say.
In the distance, the proctor's voice rang out again.
"Next match—"
The crowd began to stir. Some people walked toward the arena while others retreated to the sidelines.
Ryoko looked at him one last time.
Then she turned and walked down from the arena.
Into the crowd.
The sound of footsteps gradually faded away.