Chapter 74: Demanding Answers
The first sliver of sun cut across the courtyard, painting the grey stones in streaks of blood-orange and long, deep shadows. Giyu hadn’t moved from his post by the gate for hours. The chill of the night had seeped into his bones, but it was nothing compared to the cold knot of dread tightening in his gut. Every rustle of leaves, every distant call of a waking bird, made his head snap up, his hand instinctively twitching toward the hilt of his sword. The image of her in that damn rose-gold gown, laughing as she disappeared into a carriage with that other man, played on a relentless loop behind his eyes.
He saw the figure approaching long before he recognized who it was. A solitary shape walking up the path, backlit by the rising sun. Alone.
Giyu was moving before he’d even fully processed it, his body striding forward with a tension that made the few early-rising trainees scatter from his path. He reached Kaito just as the man stepped through the main gate.
“Where is she?”
The question came out rough, stripped of all his usual detached calm. It was just raw sound, grating against the morning quiet.
Kaito stopped, looking tired but composed in his formal wear, a stark contrast to Giyu’s rumpled uniform and the dark circles under his eyes. He met Giyu’s intense stare, his own expression unreadable.
“She chose to stay behind,” Kaito said, his voice even. “Her family requested it. They wanted more time.”
The words landed like physical blows. Stay behind. Family. The nightmares he’d been fighting all night—visions of her cornered, of her broken body in a ditch, of that bright light in her eyes extinguished—crashed into the new, terrifying reality of her choosing to remain in that gilded cage. A world he couldn’t follow her into. A world that included men like Kaito, who knew which fork to use and how to make her laugh without seeming like it caused them physical pain.
Giyu’s hands, clenched at his sides, began to tremble. He could feel the fine control he prided himself on, the stillness of the water surface, shattering into a thousand chaotic ripples. The rising sun, now clearing the wall, flooded the courtyard, and for a moment, the world didn’t look golden. It looked washed in red.
He didn’t say another word. He turned sharply away from Kaito, the movement so abrupt it was almost violent. His boots echoed on the stone as he strode toward the headquarters, his mind a storm of fragmented thoughts.
His boots echoed on the stone as he strode toward the headquarters, his mind a storm of fragmented thoughts. The week that followed was a study in controlled silence. He performed his duties with a mechanical precision that was more frightening than any outburst, his eyes constantly scanning the compound gates.
Every shift in the wind, every creak of the main gate, made his breath catch. He saw the phantom of her rose-gold dress in every corner, heard the ghost of her laugh in the training yard. The other Hashira gave him a wide berth, the air around him cold and sharp as a drawn blade.
Then, on the eighth morning, she was just there. She stood in the courtyard, bathed in the soft light, wearing her simple slayer uniform as if she’d never left. Her long brown hair was tied back in its usual practical style, and she was laughing easily with a group of trainees.
“You should have seen the pastries,” she was saying, her voice that familiar, warm melody that cut through his tension. “I think I ate my weight in them. My aunt is a menace with a rolling pin.”
She was her usual happy self, completely at ease. She moved through the morning routines, a bright, steady presence that immediately softened the edges of the place. Giyu watched from the shadows of the engawa, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird.
He couldn’t reconcile the image of her broken body from his nightmares with this vibrant woman wiping sweat from her brow. The relief was so violent it felt like a physical blow to his chest. He waited until the sun was high and the courtyard had emptied for the midday meal before he approached her.
He found her alone, stretching by the water trough. “Anne.” Her name was a rough scrape in his throat.
She turned, her smile fading into a look of soft concern when she saw his face. “Giyu? What’s wrong?”
He didn’t answer. He just closed the distance between them and his arms went around her, pulling her into the quiet gloom of the nearby equipment shed. The door slid shut with a definitive click, enclosing them in the scent of old wood and straw.
Then he broke.
It was a silent, terrifying shatter. A great, shuddering sob wracked his tall frame, and he buried his face in her neck, his hands fisting in the back of her uniform. He was trembling, holding onto her as if she were the only solid thing in a rushing river.
“You came back,” he choked out, the words muffled against her skin. “I thought… I saw you not coming back. For good.”
Anne stood frozen for a second, utterly shocked by the raw, wet sound of his crying. Then her instincts overrode her surprise, and her arms came up around him, one hand cradling the back of his head. “Shhh, Giyu. I’m here. I’m right here. I wasn’t going to stay there.”
“He said you chose to,” he managed, his voice thick and unfamiliar.
“I chose to see my family,” she whispered, her fingers gently combing through his hair. “Not to stay. This is my home.”
They stood like that for a long time, until his breathing evened out and the violent shaking subsided into an occasional tremor. The embarrassment came then, hot and sharp, and he tried to pull away, but she held him fast. “Don’t you dare,” she murmured. “Don’t you dare hide from me now.”
He let out a shaky breath, his forehead resting against hers. The closeness was terrifying and necessary. She didn’t press him for more words, just held the space for him until the last of the storm passed.
That night, he was sitting on the floor of his room when his door slid open. She stepped inside without a word, having changed into a soft, simple dress. She sat beside him, their shoulders touching, and took his hand.
They spent the night like that, talking in low whispers about nothing and everything, until the moon was high. He told her, in halting sentences, about the fear that had gripped him. She told him about the stifling nature of the court, and how she’d counted the hours until she could return to the messy, real life she’d built here.
As the first hints of dawn tinted the sky, he turned to her. He cupped her face in his hands, his touch surprisingly gentle. “Anne,” he whispered.
He leaned in and kissed her slowly, a soft, searching pressure that held a week’s worth of fear and a lifetime of unspoken feeling. It was nothing like the frantic embrace from earlier; this was a choice, a question.
When he pulled back, his dark eyes were clear and utterly focused on her. “Forgive me,” he said, his voice low but steady. “For my distance. For my silence.
She shook her head, his thumbs gently stroking her cheeks. “There’s nothing to forgive. Not with you.”
The air between them was charged, thick with everything left unsaid. The memory of his desperate sobs in the equipment shed hung between them, a raw, shared vulnerability that had stripped them both bare. This quiet dawn felt like the first real one in a long time.
“Stay,” he said, the word not a command but a plea. “Be mine.”
Anne’s breath caught. A small, teasing smile touched her lips, a fragile attempt to lighten the profound weight of the moment. “You sure you’re not just saying that because you got all emotional earlier?”
“I have never been more serious in my life.” His gaze was unwavering, the deep blue of his eyes holding hers with an intensity that left no room for doubt. The truth of it was etched into every line of his face, calm and certain as still water.
She looked at him, at this man who built walls so high and had just torn every single one down for her. She saw the Hashira, the warrior, and the beautifully broken man underneath who was offering her all he had left.
“Okay,” she whispered.
Her agreement was soft, but it landed between them with the force of a seismic shift. “Yes, Giyu. I’ll be yours.”
A shuddering breath escaped him, a final release of a tension he had carried for years. He didn’t smile, but the severe lines of his face softened into an expression of profound, quiet peace. He leaned his forehead against hers again, closing his eyes, simply breathing her in.