"Four weeks and they would be ready for harvest."
I let out a slow breath as I pressed another seed into the soil.
The small red bead disappeared beneath the dark earth, and my fingers lingered there for a moment before moving on to the next.
Row after row stretched behind me.
The winter air nipped at my hands despite the gloves. Every so often I rubbed my palms together before returning to work.
Even now, the seeds felt strange.
Their deep crimson color made them look more like polished beads than something that belonged in a field.
When Yasui had first handed them to me, I had considered asking questions.
Only briefly.
Then I had looked at the money.
That had ended the conversation before it started.
"That is likely the correct choice," I admitted quietly.
Questions rarely paid for medicine.
And right now, that mattered more than curiosity.
The cold soil crumbled beneath my fingers as I finished another row. Eventually there were no seeds left in the sack.
I straightened slowly.
A dull ache immediately announced itself in my back.
Stretching both arms overhead, I felt joints crack one after another before lowering them again.
The field spread before me.
Only weeks ago it had been bare.
Dead-looking.
Another reminder of everything we had lost.
Now neat rows marked the ground from one end to the other.
The sight was not new. I had spent most of my life planting, watching things grow, and waiting.
Yet this felt different.
Perhaps because this crop carried more than hope.
It carried numbers.
Medicine.
Food.
Repairs.
Possibilities.
A future.
The thought made something tighten in my chest.
Not fear.
Not quite.
Hope, maybe.
After everything that had happened, that felt dangerous enough.
"If I can turn a profit by month's end..."
The thought began, then stopped.
I shook my head.
No point spending money that wasn't in my hands.
Not yet.
My breath drifted into the cold air.
The field remained silent apart from the distant trees swaying gently as a breeze moved through them.
For a moment I simply stood there looking across the rows.
Then I turned toward home.
Halfway down the path, I glanced back.
A smile found its way onto my face.
The lines were straight.
The rows looked healthy.
Orderly.
Promising.
It felt good.
That alone was worth something.
"I have returned."
The familiar words left my mouth as I stepped inside.
Warm air greeted me immediately.
Not truly warm.
But warmer than outside.
Enough.
"Welcome home, dear."
Yu's voice drifted from deeper inside the house.
I removed my shoes and followed the sound.
Her hair was tied into a bun, and the smell of cooking reached me before I saw her.
Something savory.
My stomach reacted before I could.
"How was the farm?"
"It was fine."
I loosened my shoulders and sat down.
"I managed to finish planting today."
"That's good."
She disappeared briefly into the kitchen.
The sound of utensils followed—wood against ceramic, the clatter of a lid, a knife being set down.
I lowered myself onto a cushion.
The relief was immediate.
The first harvest payment had helped more than I wanted to admit.
Food was easier to buy.
Medicine no longer required choosing between necessities.
Even the roof was finally approaching the top of the repair list.
The thought alone eased something inside my chest.
A small thing.
But after months of watching problems multiply, I would take small things.
"How is Hisato?"
"He is fine."
Yu adjusted one sleeve as she spoke.
"I was able to get his medicine."
A faint smile appeared.
"He is sleeping now."
I nodded.
Good.
Actually good.
Not merely surviving.
Recovering.
That was different.
The distinction mattered more than I cared to admit.
"Give me a moment," she said. "The meal will be ready soon."
Then she vanished back into the kitchen.
The house settled into a comfortable quiet.
I listened to the crackle of the stove, the wind brushing against the outer walls, the soft creaking of timber.
Simple things.
Familiar things.
Things I had nearly lost.
The realization lingered a little longer than I wanted it to.
"Here you are."
I blinked.
Yu had returned carrying several dishes.
Apparently I had drifted into my thoughts.
She arranged the meal carefully before me.
Steam rose from the food, warm and fragrant.
"Have you and Hisato eaten?"
"Yes."
A small smile appeared.
"We already have."
I picked up my chopsticks.
The smell reached me immediately.
Fish.
Daikon.
Soy.
Comfort.
"Buri Daikon."
The words slipped out.
Yu looked up.
"What is it?"
"Nothing."
I laughed quietly.
"The thought of eating radish is simply amusing."
Her smile widened slightly.
For a brief moment she looked younger.
Less burdened.
The expression suited her.
"We can turn a profit from this," she said after a while.
Her eyes remained on the meal.
"We could even put some money aside."
I looked up.
There it was.
The calculation she had undoubtedly been running for weeks.
Maybe months.
"That is true."
I nodded.
"It seems we were thinking the same thing."
The fish practically melted apart beneath my chopsticks.
Outside, the wind continued its quiet journey through the village.
Inside, for once, the future did not seem entirely hostile.
The following days passed peacefully.
Morning after morning found me back in the field.
The cold remained.
The silver sun remained.
The work remained.
Yet the weight on my shoulders felt lighter.
The sprouts appeared.
Then more.
Tiny signs of life pushing through dark soil.
One morning I crouched beside them.
Healthy.
Strong.
Vibrant.
Perhaps too vibrant.
The leaves seemed unusually lively despite the season.
I reached out and touched one.
Nothing unusual.
Just a plant.
Still, something about them stayed in the back of my mind.
A small irritation.
Like a splinter I couldn't quite find.
"Mr. Sada, good morning."
I looked up.
"Oyama."
My neighbor stood at the edge of the field with his hands tucked into his sleeves.
The cold had painted his cheeks red.
"Good morning."
He stepped closer, examining the rows.
"I see you haven't lost your touch."
I smiled.
The compliment felt undeserved.
But welcome.
"Interesting plants."
He leaned forward slightly.
"They're quite vibrant. Really vivid."
"Well."
I scratched the back of my head.
"They're a unique variety."
"Is that so?"
He nodded slowly, then another thought occurred to him.
"How are you transporting them?"
I blinked.
"What do you mean?"
"I heard you sold your cart."
Ah.
That.
For a second my smile slipped.
I laughed anyway.
"That is true."
The explanation came easily now.
"These are for a private collector."
Not entirely a lie.
Just incomplete.
"I see."
His curiosity seemed satisfied.
"Well, I should be going."
He pointed toward the village.
"I need something from the market."
After exchanging farewells, he left.
I remained standing among the rows.
Looking.
Thinking.
The leaves truly were unusual.
Pale.
Almost snow-kissed in places.
Strangely beautiful.
And somehow that didn't reassure me.
Maybe I was imagining things.
Or maybe not.
I found myself staring longer than necessary before finally heading home.
Hisato improved steadily.
That alone made every hour in the field worthwhile.
He could walk around again.
Not far.
Not long.
But enough.
The difference was remarkable.
The house felt brighter because of it.
A day became two.
Two became four.
A week slipped by.
Then another.
Before I realized it, four weeks had arrived.
Harvest time.
The work moved smoothly.
Almost effortlessly.
The yield was excellent.
Better than expected.
Pile after pile accumulated beside the field.
I crouched near one of them.
The radishes looked odd.
Not wrong.
Just different.
Their skin was pale white and smooth, yet thin red markings ran across them like veins, scratches, or dried streaks of paint.
I picked one up.
The vegetable felt strangely warm.
Not hot.
Just warmer than the surrounding air.
Frowning, I turned it over and examined it.
Then I grabbed a knife.
The blade slid through cleanly.
The inside was perfectly white.
Firm.
Fresh.
Ordinary.
I stared for several moments.
Something bothered me.
I couldn't explain what.
Only that something felt off.
Not dangerous.
Not exactly.
Just...
Wrong.
The thought came and went.
Eventually I sighed, built a small fire, and tossed the cut piece into the flames.
The matter ended there.
Or so I told myself.
The next morning I waited beside the field.
Yasui had agreed to come.
The sound of wheels arrived before the man himself.
A cart rolled up.
Yasui climbed down wearing the same neat suit and coat as always.
"Good morning."
"Morning."
Together we loaded the harvest.
He inspected the radishes one by one.
The longer he looked, the more satisfied he appeared.
Finally he nodded.
"You have a gift for this."
I said nothing.
Praise sat awkwardly on my shoulders.
Especially from him.
He counted out the payment and handed over another pouch of seeds.
"Keep up the good work."
The coins felt heavy.
Real.
Useful.
Far more real than compliments.
I closed my fingers around them.
For a moment, relief washed through me so strongly it was almost embarrassing.
We were going to be alright.
At least for now.
I watched him climb back into the cart.
The horse started forward.
The wheels creaked.
Soon both man and cart disappeared down the road.
Still I remained where I was, watching long after they were gone.
That evening I sat with Yu after dinner.
The money rested between us.
I counted it once.
Then again.
Just to be sure.
"Fifteen yen."
The number sounded unreal.
Yu stared at the coins.
Neither of us spoke immediately.
There was too much to calculate.
Too much to imagine.
Finally I pushed the money toward her.
"With this we can repair more of the roof."
She nodded.
"And buy food."
"Medicine."
Another nod.
Silence followed.
Not uncomfortable.
Just thoughtful.
"In two months..."
The thought settled carefully into place.
"We could pay off the debt."
The words hung there.
Neither promise nor certainty.
Just possibility.
The most valuable thing we had possessed in a long time.
I looked at the coins again.
Part of me expected them to disappear if I looked away for too long.
A foolish thought.
But after everything that had happened, certainty felt unfamiliar.
The seeds sat at the corner of the table.
Yu had placed them there at some point during the evening.
I wasn't sure when.
I looked at them for a moment.
Then I looked at her.
She was already moving on to other things.
Outside, winter continued its slow march.