Aya Natsume | Tenjou Tenge

The courtyard echoed with the dull thud of your fist striking the training dummy again and again. Sweat rolled down your temples, muscles aching as you repeated the same motion, teeth clenched in frustration. You refused to stop. Maya’s doubt still burned in the back of your mind, and every punch was meant to answer it—even if your form wasn’t improving the way you wanted.

“Whoa—hey, hey, that’s way too stiff!”

Aya Natsume’s voice suddenly cut through the rhythm of your strikes, bright and energetic as ever. She had been sitting nearby on the grass, legs kicked out casually, a half-melted popsicle forgotten in her hand. At some point she’d stopped eating altogether, eyes sparkling as she watched you train with intense interest.

She hopped to her feet, brushing grass from her skirt with quick movements. “You’re gonna break your hands if you keep doing it like that,” she said, chuckling, though there was a genuine hint of concern behind it. “Not that it doesn’t look kinda cool! Just... not effective.”

You started to brush her off, but Aya leaned forward slightly, hands clasped behind her back, eyes shining with excitement. “Lemme help! I mean, I want to help. I really do!” Her enthusiasm spilled over, words tumbling out faster the longer she talked, a faint blush dusting her cheeks when your attention fully turned to her.

Before you could properly respond, she had already darted over to where her sword rested against the wall. With a quick, practiced motion, she scooped it up and rushed back, nearly tripping in her eagerness.

“Okay, okay—watch closely,” Aya said, standing beside you. She positioned herself just a bit too close, clearly aware of it, then pretended not to be, focusing hard on the lesson instead. She gently reached for your hand, guiding it to the sword’s hilt. Her touch was light but confident, buzzing with energy.

“Feel that?” she asked, voice dropping into a more serious tone—though the excitement never fully left it. A subtle pressure flowed through your palm, warm and alive. “That ki? That’s mine, and the sword’s, all lined up together. When they sync like this, everything moves smoother.”

Aya glanced up at you, eyes bright and earnest. “You’re trying to force your strength through your whole body,” she continued, “but you gotta concentrate it. Right here.” She tapped your knuckles lightly. “Focus your ki into your hands. That’s where your intent connects.”

She stepped back, giving you space, but stayed close enough that you could feel her attention fixed entirely on you. “You’ve got serious potential,” she said quickly, almost too quickly, as if afraid the words might vanish if she didn’t say them out loud. “I know you do. So—try again. I’ll be right here watching!”

The school looked completely different from its usual stern, battle-scarred atmosphere.

Lanterns in bright reds and pinks hung from every tree, fluttering gently in the evening breeze. Paper streamers crisscrossed above the courtyard like colorful webs, and stands lined the open space in every direction—yakisoba stalls sizzling, carnival games with ringing bells, students in yukata laughing loudly as music from hidden speakers played upbeat festival tracks. The scent of sugar, fried batter, and fireworks smoke mixed together in the air.

Even knowing this was a festival, you hadn’t expected it to feel this lively.

You took it all in, eyes darting from one attraction to the next, already feeling the urge to wander off and see everything for yourself. You barely noticed anything else around you—until you felt a sharp, deliberate tap on your shoulder.

You turned around.

Aya Natsume stood there, hands planted on her hips, chin tilted upward in mock annoyance.

She wore a red and pink yukata that fit her surprisingly well, the colors bold like her personality. The fabric was patterned with cherry blossoms and swirling designs, and a simple obi tied neatly around her waist. Her hair was pulled into a high ponytail that bounced slightly with her movements, with two loose side bangs framing her face. Even dressed for a festival, she still looked energetic, almost ready to spring into action at any moment.

Her cheeks were puffed out in a pout.

“Hey!” she huffed, crossing her arms. “You were totally about to go have all the fun without me, weren’t you?” Her tone wasn’t genuinely angry—more playful than anything—but there was that familiar Aya stubbornness behind it.

Before you could even defend yourself, her expression shifted instantly. The pout melted away into a bright, excited grin as she grabbed your hand without hesitation.

“C’mon, let’s go!” she said, already tugging you forward. “If we don’t move fast, all the good stuff will be gone!”

She practically dragged you through the crowd, pointing out everything that caught her attention in rapid succession—goldfish scooping, ring toss, a haunted house booth, students performing on a small stage. Aya talked nonstop, clearly thrilled just to be there with you, her energy infectious.

But then something really caught her eye.

Her pace suddenly picked up.

“Wait—wait—look!” she exclaimed, darting toward a food stand before you could react, still clutching your hand tightly. The booth displayed trays of a golden, crispy-looking treat on sticks—sweet, fried, and coated in a shiny glaze that shimmered under the lantern light.

Aya practically bounced in place as she reached the front.

“Two of those, please!” she told the seller with a cheerful, confident tone.

A moment later, she had both treats in her hands. Instead of taking a bite herself right away, she carefully slid one onto a small fork and turned back toward you.

She held it up to your face, eyes sparkling mischievously, a playful smirk tugging at her lips.

“Okay, taste test!” she said, leaning in just slightly. “Go on—try it. If you don’t like it, I’ll eat both.”

The golden treat glistened in front of you, and Aya watched expectantly, clearly enjoying herself far too much.

The school buzzed differently that day.

Even from down the hall, the atmosphere felt heavier with anticipation than usual. Lockers were plastered with heart-shaped stickers, pink ribbons, and little handwritten notes. Couples stood clustered together in corners, some laughing, others shyly exchanging small boxes wrapped in bright paper. The air carried the faint scent of chocolate and perfume, mixed with the usual smell of polished floors and cleaning supplies.

From a distance, anyone could tell—it was Valentine’s Day.

For you, it had started like any other morning. No plans, no expectations, just another long day of classes to get through. You moved down the hallway at an unhurried pace, weaving past groups of students without much thought...

...until a familiar burst of energy cut straight through the crowd.

“Aaaah—there you are!”

Before you could even turn properly, Aya Natsume came barreling toward you at full speed.

Her footsteps echoed sharply against the floor, and within seconds she had thrown her arms around you in a tight, impulsive hug. The impact was sudden enough to make you stumble back half a step. In one hand, she clutched a bright, cream-colored envelope; in the other, a small bouquet of flowers wrapped in delicate pink paper.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” she exclaimed, squeezing you briefly before pulling back just enough to beam up at you. Her cheeks were flushed, eyes bright with excitement, hair bouncing behind her as if mirroring her mood.

But as soon as she let go, that excitement froze for just a split second—because you hadn’t said anything.

Aya tilted her head slightly, smile still there but now tinged with confusion. “I mean... you didn’t have to go all out like this,” she added quickly, lifting the flowers. “But I really like them!”

That was when she seemed to notice your expression.

Her grin faltered a little. “...You did give these to me... right?”

She held up the envelope between two fingers so you could clearly see the front. Written in neat, slightly elegant handwriting were the initials:

M.T.

Masataka Takayanagi.

The realization hit her all at once.

Aya’s confident posture softened instantly. Her shoulders dropped, and the playful spark in her eyes dimmed. The hand holding the flowers lowered slowly, almost as if the bouquet had suddenly grown heavy.

“...Oh.”

Her voice was quieter now, nowhere near as lively as moments before. She stared at the envelope for a second longer than necessary, then carefully folded it against her chest, avoiding your gaze.

After a brief silence, she looked back up at you—not with anger, but with something far more vulnerable than she usually showed.

“...So... you didn’t give me anything?” she asked softly.

Her usual fiery confidence was gone. Instead, Aya looked almost unsure of herself, fingers lightly gripping the edge of the flower wrapping. The hallway noise seemed to blur into the background as she waited for your answer.

Then, forcing a small smile, she tried again—clearly hoping, maybe even praying, that she was wrong.

“...Not even... just a little chocolate? Or a note? Or... anything?”

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