The morning broke cool and crisp, gulls cackling as if they knew secrets of the sea. Kenji rose early, gathering his fishing line while Sora rubbed sleep from his eyes.
"Papa Kenji," the boy mumbled, "why don't we use a net like the other fishermen?"
Kenji paused. His line was thin, frayed. The boy wasn't wrong. A net could bring in ten times the catch. But nets cost money—or trust. Neither came easily in Minato.
"Because, Sora," he said gently, "a net isn't just a tool. It's a promise to the sea. If we're careless, we take more than we need."
Sora tilted his head. "So… we'll get one when we're ready?"
Kenji smiled faintly. "Exactly."
Market Whispers
At the village market, the same whispers followed them.
"That boy with the crabs again."
"Kenji's luck, not his skill."
"Still wearing the same ragged shirt, eh?"
But Yui the seamstress spotted them and waved. "Kenji! Bring that boy here."
Sora perked up. "Hi, Miss Yui!"
She crouched to his height. "How's my little fisherman? Caught the sea by its tail yet?"
Sora puffed his chest. "Almost!"
Kenji chuckled, but before he could thank her, another villager—a broad-shouldered man named Riku—snorted. "The sea doesn't favor cast-offs. Best you both remember that."
The words stung sharper than the whispers. Sora looked up, frowning. Kenji put a hand on his shoulder.
"Riku," Kenji said evenly, "the sea feeds those who respect it. You'll see."
Riku smirked and walked off. Yui muttered, "Pay no mind. He's just angry someone else might catch more."
Kenji inclined his head. Old habits of rivalry… some things never change.
An Unexpected Offer
After selling their modest haul, Kenji lingered at the market. Near the docks, an old fisherman sat repairing nets, his hands calloused and steady.
Kenji approached. "That net… it's seen many seasons."
The old man chuckled. "More than I'd like. I'm Haruto. Retiring soon, if the sea allows." He eyed Kenji. "You're the new one. Empty Bucket, they call you."
Kenji didn't flinch. "Kenji. Just Kenji."
Haruto's eyes twinkled. "You've got spine. Nets aren't cheap, but I've an old one you might borrow. Won't hold against a storm, but in calm waters, she'll do."
Kenji blinked. "Borrow? Without payment?"
Haruto shrugged. "You return it when you've earned enough to buy your own. The sea tests men, not their purses."
Sora's eyes shone. "Papa Kenji! A net!"
Kenji bowed deeply. "You honor me, Haruto. I'll care for it as if it were my own."
First Net, First Risk
That afternoon, Kenji and Sora waded into the shallows with the borrowed net. It was patched in places, heavy, and awkward—but it was a start.
"Ready, Sora?" Kenji asked.
The boy nodded eagerly. Together, they cast the net, water splashing around their legs. For a while, nothing. Then—movement. The net tugged.
"Pull, Sora!"
The boy strained, laughing as the net came alive. When they hauled it in, half a dozen small sardines glittered inside, wriggling like spilled silver coins.
Sora whooped. "We did it! We really did it!"
Kenji grinned. So this is what growth feels like—slow, but steady.
Evening Earnings
At the market, the fishmonger raised his brow. "Sardines, eh? Ten coppers for the lot. Fair price."
Kenji nodded, but added, "Twelve. They're fresh, caught not an hour past."
The man narrowed his eyes. "You again with your noble tongue. Fine—twelve. But don't push me further."
Coins clinked into Kenji's palm. Sora's grin nearly split his face.
"Papa Kenji, we're rich!"
Kenji laughed. "Not rich, Sora. But richer than yesterday."
That night, they shared dried fish, fresh bread, and—Kenji's small indulgence—a tiny piece of cheese. Sora wrinkled his nose at first, then giggled. "It tastes funny but good!"
Kenji ruffled his hair. "One day, we'll eat like this every night. Better, even."
Sora yawned, curling into his blanket. "When I grow up, I'll help too. The sea… it likes me."
Kenji gazed at the boy, the flickering firelight reflecting in his eyes. "Yes, Sora. I believe it does."