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Everything looked the same, but it was all different, all wrong.

Yayoi reached into his pocket and took out the switchblade he had taken as his prize, and he flicked it open. It was easier to use than a bow. More direct. More deadly. Yayoi looked out and saw that his arrow had misfired and struck nothing—but the blade wouldn’t fail. And right now, that was what he needed: destructive, aimless rage, enough to protect Akihisa and Mahiru, not the precise spirit that Tooru had taught him, not the pure heart and meaningful purpose that Tooru had wanted to see in him.

Kyudo wasn’t his life anymore.

~Love is, that you are the knife which I plunge into myself.

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