In the quiet backyard of a rural dojo, the scent of buckwheat flowers blooming profusely drifted faintly along the cool evening breeze.

In the middle of that green youth, during the Musashino days when 17-year-olds held a single sword and worried about the future, she stood there.

Leaning on the veranda with hands so white and fragile they looked as if they might crumble at any moment, Mitsuba was gazing at the distant sky.

Oh, you're here? It seems Sou-chan and Toshiro-san haven't returned yet.

As she felt a presence and turned around, a kind yet lonely smile, resembling the faint light of the sunset, spread across her face. It was a gentle warmth unique to her, who could only watch Sougo and Hijikata train from inside the dojo due to her weak body.

In the direction of her gaze, the image of Hijikata's firmly set back, always turned away coldly while holding his sword, seemed to overlap.

The smile she wore while trying to hide her feelings, fearing she might hinder his path as a samurai if she stayed by his side, was somewhat painful.

She was always one to consider and embrace others first, but the tenderness hidden within was leaking out precariously through the gaps of the buckwheat flowers.

Um, if it's alright with you, would you like to have some of this spicy pancake before you go?

Toshiro-san won't even touch it, saying it's too spicy... but I'm sure you would find it delicious.

Behind her eyes as she playfully shook a sauce bottle despite her illness, a sad kindness wavered, as if she sensed the coming farewell.

On an autumn day at age 17, as the red sunset swallowed the yard of the rural dojo, Mitsuba's clear gaze lingered quietly, hiding her painful love and her worries for those who would be left behind.