"I want—" He started to say, then suddenly stopped.
Voices suddenly surfaced in his mind.
"Enough."
"From now on, you will be my partner."
"I will always protect you."
"Shinji!!!"
"Are you sick in the head?"
"As long as you call, I will come."
"If it is for you, I am willing to save this Village."
Shinji closed his eyes, wanting to extinguish the voices disturbing his heart from his mind.
But when he opened his eyes and looked at Mei Terumī, he saw her slightly flushed cheeks and eyes that were brighter than usual.
Under the moonlight, everything was excessively clear.
Shinji had been looking at this face for fifteen years.
Then, those voices surged up uncontrollably.
"Enough."
That was the first thing he said to her.
On the day of the graduation combat exam, she was pinned to the ground, her knees scraped, blood running down her leg.
He stood in the crowd and spoke those two words.
She climbed up from the ground and turned to look at him.
He had remembered that gaze for fifteen years.
"From now on, you will be my partner; I will always protect you."
That was the second important thing he said to her.
That night, in the ruins, beside three corpses.
She leaned against a broken wall, covered in wounds.
He walked over, wiped the blood from her face with his thumb, and then said those words.
"Shinji!!!"
That was the first time she called his name.
At Kannabi Bridge, in the heavy rain.
She was surrounded by four Konoha Chunin, her Chakra was bottoming out, and all retreat routes were sealed.
She leaned against a broken wall, tilted her head back, and used all her strength to shout.
It was not a plea for help.
She did not shout "Save me."
She only called his name.
As a final farewell.
And a confession.
He rushed out from a rock crevice a hundred meters away, the blade light cleaving through the rain, his feet slamming into the mud.
He blocked the path in front of her and said: "I am here."
"Are you sick in the head?"
That was the first thing she said to him as she knelt in the rain, grabbing his collar, her hands trembling violently, her eyes bloodshot.
He was covered in blood, his left arm broken, and the wound on his chest was deep enough to see bone.
He said: "But you called."
She was stunned.
He said: "As long as you call, I will come."
The rain was heavy.
It was so heavy that the sky and the ground were obscured.
But she looked at him, her eyes red as if something had been burning inside them.
Then she said: "If it is for you, I am willing to save this Village."
"Shinji, what do you want?"
The moonlight fell on her face, into her eyes.
Those eyes were waiting.
Waiting for an answer.
An answer that had waited for Shinji for fifteen years.
He suddenly moved unconsciously.
Not standing up.
But kneeling down.
One knee, very low, so low it was like paying homage.
Moonlight shone in from outside the window, landing on Shinji.
The whole room was quiet.
All sounds disappeared.
The commotion, the laughter, the crying, the singing, all stopped at this moment.
The sound of chopsticks dropping on the table.
The sound of a wine cup being knocked over.
The sound of someone gasping—everything stopped.
Chōjūrō's chopsticks dropped.
Clatter—that sound was exceptionally clear in the silence, as if striking everyone's heart.
The chopsticks landed on the table and rolled to the floor, but he couldn't bother to pick them up.
He just kept his mouth open, looking at those two people in the corner.
Everyone was looking this way.
Kisame's hand, holding the wine bowl, stopped in mid-air.
That hand had always been steady—steady when killing, steady when drinking—but now it hung there, motionless.
The wine in the bowl swayed, spilling a few drops onto the table.
Zabuza turned his head.
His movements were very slow, as if he were confirming something.
When he finally turned around and saw the situation over there, the slight curve at the corner of his mouth vanished.
It vanished completely, as if it had never existed.
Ao stood with his mouth open, eight-tenths of his drunken stupor gone, and the remaining two-tenths were fading at a speed visible to the naked eye.
He just stood there with his mouth open, his mind blank.
Jūzō's eyes moistened.
He could be said to be the teacher who watched Shinji and Mei Terumī grow up.
Mei Terumī stood there, looking down at him.
The moonlight shone in from outside the window, falling between the two of them.
The light cast her shadow onto him and his shadow onto the ground, overlapping so that it was impossible to tell whose was whose.
She opened her mouth, wanting to say something.
She wanted to ask him what he was doing, ask him if he was crazy, ask him what that position meant, but she couldn't say anything.
Her eyes just slowly turned red.
Red like the sunset on the horizon, like the mist she created.
He knelt there, looking up at her.
He spoke, his voice very soft, so soft it seemed it would be scattered by the wind.
"I want..."
The pause was long, so long it seemed to contain all fifteen years.
"You."
One word.
Very light.
As light as a fallen leaf landing in water.
But Mei Terumī heard it.
Her eyes widened slightly.
Shinji looked into those eyes and said it again.
"I want you."
The moonlight fell between the two of them.
Her eyes turned red.
Very visibly red.
But she didn't cry, she just looked straight at him.
Then she spoke.
Her voice was trembling a little.
"Do you know how long I have waited for those words from you?"
The Hidden Mist Village had not seen red for decades.
Decades.
The Bloody Mist policy was like a net, suffocating the Village.
In those years, marriage was a thing that couldn't see the light of day.
Ceremonies held in the middle of the night, dispersing before dawn; lanterns dared not be lit, wine dared not be served, and even laughter had to be muffled.
Afraid of being targeted, afraid of being purged, afraid that those eyes hidden in the dark would see your happiness and then pull it out by the roots.
But today, under the midday sun, lanterns were hung out.
Bright red, hanging from the Village entrance all the way to the center of the Village, string after string, densely packed, swaying gently in the wind.
Wine was also laid out, tables pushed together from every household's doorway, forming a long dragon, filled with bowls and chopsticks.
Everyone knew: Someone was getting married.
It was also the day the new Mizukage would take office.
In the early morning, Mei Terumī stood in front of the mirror in the tailor shop.
She had spent half an hour picking out the shiromuku.
It was the plainest one, with no extra patterns on the pure white fabric, only a few small plum blossoms embroidered on the collar.
The plum blossoms were very faint; one had to get close to see them clearly, the white thread hidden in the white cloth, like faint traces on snowy ground.
She stood in front of the mirror for a long time, adjusting the shiromuku over and over.
The collar was smoothed out, but then it didn't feel quite right.
The cuffs were aligned, but then she let them down to realign them.
The sash was tied just right, but she looked down, tugged at it, and then felt it was too tight.
"Will it be too grand..." She whispered, her voice so soft it was as if she were asking herself.
Shinji leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching her from the moment she tried on the first one until the last one.
The mirror reflected her figure: slightly furrowed brows, the small movements of repeatedly adjusting herself, and in those eyes that were always calm, a trace of nervousness was hidden at this moment.
"You deserve grand," he said.