Machiko struggles to maintain her composure, but cannot help smiling. Her father draws just a portion of the blade from its scabbard, exposing barely five centimeters of the polished steel, then just a bit more, regarding the blade as reverently as the image of a Buddhist god; then, turning, seeming enthralled, showing the blade to Machiko's mother. Then they are both enthralled, seeming pleased beyond measure, and in this moment the two of them seem as one, a single mind, a single spirit, looking from the sword to Machiko in harmony and with love.