Mujima woke up slowly, but the first thing he felt was not the cold forest ground or the damp scent of river water. Instead, his body was lying on a warm bed, a thin blanket covering part of his chest. His breathing was still heavy, his head felt light as if floating, and his vision was blurred.
In front of him, vaguely, he could see the figure of a woman. She stood beside the bed, only a silhouette wrapped in the glow of an oil lamp. In his half-conscious state, Mujima moved his lips, his voice coming out faint and broken.
"Mother… Mother… where is Father… I'm sorry, Mother… Father… Father…"
The woman did not answer. She simply stood there, as if she did not want to disturb the dream or the memories crawling out of the child's mind. Moments later, Mujima fell silent again. His eyes closed, his breathing slowly became more regular, and he fell asleep once more.
Several hours passed.
Mujima woke up with a jolt. His eyes opened wide, his body tensing instantly.
"Where is this?" he said spontaneously.
He sat up halfway and looked around. The room appeared simple and somewhat old. The walls were made of wood, cracked in several places, and the floor was worn wooden planks. Yet the room was warm, enveloped in a yellowish light from an oil lamp hanging in the corner.
Before his thoughts could fully clear, a sense of alertness rushed over him.
"Who are you? Where am I?" he said quickly, his voice rising. "Where is my sword?"
He glanced left and right, his eyes darting restlessly, his body leaning slightly forward, ready to rise or fight if necessary.
Suddenly, a woman's voice rang out sharply from near the door.
"Where are your manners, runaway child?"
Her voice trembled, not from fear, but from restrained emotion. A girl stood there, her face slender, roughly the same age as Mujima—around fifteen years old. Her gaze was sharp, both of her hands clenched at her sides.
"You were saved by my sister!" she continued, her voice raised.
Behind her, a little farther from the bed, another woman sat calmly. She was the same person Mujima had first seen when he lay collapsed in the forest. Her skin was fair, her age around her twenties, dressed entirely in black. She raised her hand slightly, calming her younger sister.
"That's enough," she said gently. "Don't speak to our guest like that."
"What kind of guest has no manners like that, Sis?" the younger sister shot back immediately. "You saved his life. You even treated his wounds so they would heal faster. And now he's shouting in the house of the people who helped him?"
The older sister only let out a small laugh. Fatigue still lingered on her face, but patience was clearly carved into it as well. She did not deny her sister's words—because they were, in fact, true.
Mujima, who had remained silent until then, finally lowered his head. Without preamble, his voice came out quietly but clearly.
"I'm sorry… and thank you for helping me."
The older woman looked up, visibly surprised to hear such a quick and sincere apology. Meanwhile, the younger sister merely snorted softly, glaring at Mujima with disdain.
Mujima then shifted his body to the edge of the bed. His feet touched the cold wooden floor, so different from the warmth of the bed moments before. He stood up slowly, holding back the pain in his body.
"I will leave again," he said. "Thank you for letting me rest. I will repay this debt someday."
The older woman immediately rose from her seat, her tone turning panicked.
"Wait. You must not move too much. Your body has not recovered. Rest here for a few days. Walking around this area at night could make you lose your way."
But her younger sister grew even more irritated. "Sis! He's an outsider. How can you trust him so easily? Do you want what happened to Father and Mother to happen again because of an outsider?"
The room suddenly fell silent. No one immediately responded to those words.
The girl continued in a sharp tone, "It would be better if we let him leave this house."
Mujima, who had been lowering his head the entire time, finally spoke. His voice was calm, but there was a heavy burden behind it.
"Maybe you're right," he said. "You don't trust outsiders. Neither do I."
He lifted his face slightly. "My parents were killed by Nippon. That sword… is the only thing I have to take revenge on them out there."
As he spoke, Mujima put on his sandals. "I'll continue my journey on my own," he continued sharply. "There's no need for anyone to care. So keep that concern to yourselves."
Those words made both women flinch.
Mujima had known for some time that his sword was placed on a stone stand near the window. He walked over, grabbed the hilt of the sword, and gripped it tightly, as if making sure the object was still real.
He opened the wooden door slowly. Its creaking sound stretched long. Mujima stepped outside without looking back. He took five steps away from the door, now tightly closed. The sound of his sandals stepping on soil and dry leaves accompanied his steps.
Suddenly, the door behind him creaked loudly, as if it had been pushed open forcefully.
Mujima turned around. The younger girl stood at the doorway, her cheeks flushed, not from embarrassment, but from restrained emotion. Behind her, the older sister seemed to be chuckling softly while covering her mouth, clearly having coaxed her.
"Hey, you!" the girl shouted. "You can stay here! I… I allow it!"
Silence. The forest wind stirred the leaves.
Mujima had already turned his body to continue walking.
"Hey! Did you hear me?" the girl continued. "I'm sorry about earlier. Sorry if I was rude to a guest."
Mujima stopped. "It's fine," he replied flatly. "I understand about trust."
Then the older woman's voice was heard. "Please stay for a few days. I'm truly worried."
Those words triggered a flash of memory. Pramono had once said the same thing—that people who worry about you are people who sincerely want to help you.
"Damn…" Mujima muttered inwardly. "This feeling…"
His eyes began to burn. He quickly wiped his face with a dirty cloth that he only then realized was wrapped around his wrist.
"What's wrong with you?" the younger sister asked from afar, curious.
"It's nothing!" Mujima shouted.
He let out a long breath. "If you insist… I'll rest here for a few days."
The older woman smiled gently. Meanwhile, her younger sister turned her face away, though a small smile could not be completely hidden from her lips.
After that decision was made, Mujima was invited back into the small house. From the outside, the house looked simple and almost hidden behind the trees, but inside it felt warm and neatly arranged. The light of the oil lamp reflected off the dark wooden walls, creating a calm atmosphere that was hard to find out there.
It was there that they finally got to know each other more closely.
The younger girl introduced herself as Ayu, while the older woman was named Lastri. Both had jet-black hair that fell straight down, as well as all-black clothing that seemed not merely a choice of color, but a habit long ingrained in their lives.
Mujima listened while giving small nods. Inside his heart, a strange feeling surfaced, a vague memory that was never truly whole. Maybe I once had friends when I was little, he thought. But they drifted away. And now, when the word "friend" appears again, there's a strange sense of shame in my chest.
The conversation between them flowed slowly. They talked about simple things, favorite foods, daily habits, even trivial matters that Mujima would normally never talk about with anyone. For the first time in a long while, he did not feel like he was being interrogated or watched with suspicion.
Ayu, with curiosity she could not hide, asked Mujima to show the katana he carried. Mujima drew it carefully, revealing the blade without any hint of arrogance. Ayu observed it with sparkling eyes, while Lastri only glanced at it briefly, as if the object held too many stories to be looked at for long.
They ate together that night. The food was simple, but warm. After that, Ayu skillfully replaced the bandages on Mujima's wounds. Her hands were slightly stiff, but she did it earnestly, as if she wanted to make up for her earlier rudeness. Mujima did not say much, only offering a quiet thank you.
The night grew late. The three of them eventually lay down to rest.
However, Mujima did not truly sleep. He pretended to be fast asleep, keeping his breathing steady, his eyes only slightly open. A sense of alertness still lingered. He glanced toward the window and realized that Lastri had not fallen asleep either.
The opportunity felt too valuable to let pass.
With very slow movements, Mujima got up and opened the door without a sound, making sure Ayu remained deeply asleep. The night air greeted him with a gentle cold.
Outside, Lastri was seen sitting at the edge of a large tree. There was a flat stone there, looking like a natural seat that had been used for a long time. She sat calmly, her back straight, staring ahead.
Without turning around, Lastri said flatly, "Not sleeping yet?"
Mujima paused for a moment, then stepped closer. "You're the same," he replied.
Lastri let out a small laugh. "I'm already an adult. It's only natural for me to stay awake and make sure you're safe."
Mujima sat beside her. He himself did not know why his feet had brought him there, as if his body had chosen to stay still and listen.
Lastri shifted her gaze to the side, looking at Mujima without turning her head. "Aren't you cold?"
Mujima shook his head. "No. The warmth is still there, even outside," he said with a small smile.
That smile appeared on its own, not a sincere smile, but an awkward one born from the discomfort of having been away from a situation like this for too long.
After a few moments of silence, Lastri finally spoke, as if pouring out the thoughts she had been holding in.
"Mujima… my father used to be a hired killer. Ayu was also involved from a young age," she said softly. "Our mother, I don't know where she went. Maybe she left because she was afraid of the grudges our father left behind."
Lastri let out a breath. "Mother left because of outsiders. Father died because of outsiders. That's why Ayu got angry when she found out there was a stranger in the house."
Mujima stayed silent, listening. Lastri's voice sounded gentle from such a close distance, very different from the cold impression he had first seen.
"Then," Mujima finally asked, "why do you worry about me?"
Lastri gave a small laugh. "Because I see you as my younger brother," she answered. "And I'm afraid that one day my sister might be in a position like yours, alone, wounded, and with no one to help her. At the very least… I'm sowing kindness, hoping that one day I can reap it."
She smiled faintly.
Mujima stared ahead. "I respect you."
Lastri immediately shook her head. "Don't respect someone who used to be a killer. I don't deserve treatment like that."
"Why not?" Mujima replied quickly, catching Lastri off guard.
"Because killing is wrong."
"Then," Mujima responded calmly, "how would it feel if Ayu were killed by someone else?"
Lastri stared at him sharply for several seconds. Her gaze was filled with surging emotion. Mujima did not look away.
Silence enveloped them. Only the sound of the night wind stirring the leaves remained.
Finally, Lastri let out a soft laugh. "I can't win against you, Mujima."
Mujima smiled faintly. In his mind, the vengeance he carried felt as if it had found justification. But that smile collapsed when Lastri spoke again.
"But listen to this," she said slowly. "Revenge can indeed give you a reason to keep living. But if you walk with it for too long, you'll forget where you're supposed to return to. A sword can protect you, but only the heart can decide when you must stop swinging it."
Those words struck deep. Mujima fell silent, staring at the ground before him, feeling something in his chest slowly crack.
Mujima remained quiet for a moment after hearing Lastri's words. His gaze stayed fixed ahead, staring into the darkness of the forest that seemed to hold thousands of secrets and deaths. In his mind, those words felt too light too clean for the world he knew.
"That way of thinking is too naive," he finally spoke, his voice flat but firm. "Something like that might only happen once Nippon has been wiped out along with its homeland. My goal is still right in front of me. I have to find my father's machete… my father was killed by them."
Lastri slowly turned her head. Her tone softened, as if being careful not to pierce a wound that was too deep.
"Mujima… you don't have any supernatural powers, do you? Then why are you so confident you can kill someone? Aren't you afraid of dying at their hands?"
Mujima did not answer right away. The word supernatural powers sounded foreign to his ears again. He did not fully understand what people meant by it. But there was one thing he understood very clearly.
"If I can swing a sword," he finally said, with a tone that sounded like he was mocking himself, "I can cut."
Lastri let out a small sigh. "Even a child can cut if you think like that."
"I'm not a child," Mujima replied spontaneously, without thinking.
"Then at least train at a martial school," Lastri said. "Taking revenge is not as simple as you imagine. You're lucky you haven't encountered a Nippon general or commander yet."
"What would happen if I met them?" Mujima asked.
Lastri let out a soft laugh, but there was not the slightest hint of humor in it. "You would definitely die. I don't need to guess. Even the head of my own high-level school was killed by one of their generals."
Those words left Mujima silent. A sense of curiosity that had been lodged in his chest finally surfaced.
"When I first saw you," he said quietly, "I saw your sword properly sheathed. So… you really are a member of a school?"
Lastri glanced at her sword for a moment before answering. "You could say that. But I was a foolish student. I left that school, then entered an assassin's school, following my father's footsteps."
Mujima smiled faintly. "It seems we're the same, Sis. Both following the path of revenge."
Lastri did not respond right away. After a few seconds, she spoke in a deeper tone. "One day you'll realize it yourself. Or something will make you realize it. It could be power that's too great… or a loss so deep that it destroys you."
"That can happen later," Mujima replied casually. "I believe karma will come to me someday."
He then changed the subject, as if deliberately distancing himself from it. "Then… what exactly is that assassin's school?"
Lastri lifted her sword, gazing at the reflection of moonlight on the blade. "It's a place to learn how to kill humans using anything that can be used. Unlike ordinary schools that still uphold honor in combat. We move like darkness, slipping in quietly, then taking a life in an instant. Stabbing from behind, or cutting down without warning."
Mujima listened intently. In his heart, he realized he had already done the same. But he chose to remain silent.
"Can I be trained by you, Sis?" he finally asked.
"No," Lastri answered firmly. "I will take this knowledge to my grave without teaching it to anyone."
"So stingy," Mujima muttered irritably.
He kicked at the ground, venting the frustration that had no chance to escape through words. But after just one kick, a sharp pain shot up from beneath the bandages on his leg.
"Ah… ah…" he hissed, grimacing as he reflexively pulled his leg back.
Lastri let out a small laugh at the sight. That brief laughter reminded her of Ayu, the way her sister sulked when she didn't get what she wanted, stubborn yet careless. For a moment, Lastri's expression softened.
"In that case," she finally said, her voice calmer, "how about I teach you physical training only?"
Mujima lifted his head, looking at her with a questioning expression.
"You don't need to do it now," Lastri continued. "Your body is still in the process of healing. Just listen and store it in your head for now. How about it?"
Mujima thought for a moment. It was clearly not what he had wanted from the beginning, but at least it was better than getting nothing at all.
"Then… fine," he said at last. "The offer isn't too bad."
Lastri gave a small nod. "Tomorrow morning we'll start practicing," she said firmly, but not harshly. "But on one condition."
She looked straight at Mujima. "For now, you must sleep and not move around too much."
Mujima snorted softly, but this time he did not argue. He simply took a deep breath and went back into the house, kicking a few pebbles and grimacing in pain, but saying nothing at all.