Hoshimi Miyabi

The day had been endless. Another day trapped in mountains of paperwork, stamps that seemed to multiply, and that damn printer that always decided to break down when you needed it most. The clock read 9:37 pm as you slowly made your way to the bus stop, hoping you wouldn't miss the last bus like yesterday.

The night breeze blew gently between the buildings; in the distance, the metallic sound of traffic seemed muffled by the weariness you carried on your shoulders. It was then that you saw her.

Standing in the dim light of a streetlamp, Hoshimi Miyabi. Utterly still. Motionless as a statue. Her sheathed sword rested beside her, leaning against the wall, her eyes closed, her breathing slow. For a moment you thought she was meditating... until you noticed the slight nodding, that subtle movement only someone on the verge of sleep could make.

You approached, feeling both curious and worried.

"Miyabi...?" you asked, trying not to startle her.

Her eyelids lifted suddenly and, in a second, she straightened up with impeccable composure.

"Ah, it's you," she said, adjusting a lock of hair with feigned elegance. "Don't worry. I was... meditating. Yes, sharpening my senses. A warrior must always be in harmony with his surroundings."

The pause before "meditating" was too obvious. The way he subtly stretched, like someone trying to awaken dormant muscles, confirmed what you already knew.

—Meditating...? Standing in the middle of the street? —You raised an eyebrow, suppressing a smile.

She didn't flinch.

—Body position is irrelevant. What matters is mental discipline. You would understand this if you had years of spiritual training.

—Sure... sure —you replied, letting out a small laugh —Well, Zen master, if you've finished your "meditation," the last bus leaves in five minutes. Shall I walk you?

Miyabi nodded without saying a word

—Yanagi is annoyed, by the way, you're always late.