Winter
A season where flower withered and fell, leaving behind only skeletal trees that clawed at pale sky. The earth slept beneath endless white plains, each snowdrift stretching farther than the eye could see. It was a silence that bit at the flesh, a stillness that sank into the marrow. The air itself became sharp, so cold it burned when drawn into the lungs. Winter was not merely cold-it was merciless.
And yet, there were those who called it a perfect season. Perfect because the red of spilled blood looked so vivid against the white, staining it like brushstrokes on a black canvas.
It had been many years since the Sakakibara clan rose to power, crushing rival houses beneath their ambition and taking the seat of shogunate for themselves. Since then, the land had known little peace. The strong thrived, the noble families grew fat with coin, while the common folk bowed lower and lower under the weight of impossible taxes. In every village, a single truth lingered like frost: prosperity for the few meant ruin for the many.
But even in such an age of despair, human beings clung to hope like weeds growing between stone cracks. For if there was no hope, how could one endure? The belief remained-someday, somehow, japan would rise again.
"Sentaro! Sentaro! It's about time you woke up!"
That fragile dream was shattered at once by the gentle-yet somehow loud-voice of his mother. Though gentle at its core, it rang through the household with startling clarity-enough to stir even the heaviest sleeper
"Can't I just stay in bed a liitle longer?!"
Sentaro groaned. His words carried the petulant weight of a boy wishing to resist the inevitable, though deep down, he knew it was pointless.
Morning had already begun, and with it came duties that would not wait for him
Reluctantly, Sentaro pushed himself upright. The futon released its trapped warmth in an instant, and the air cut into his skin like a knife. He shivered, rubbing his arms, before noticing the neatly folded SAMUE lying by his side. His mother had placed it there before dawn, a simple kindness born of habit. It was dark blue, plain but sturdy-the clothing of a commoner family that valued utility over luxury. Slipping into it, he braced himself for the chill of the day.
But before he could take five steps, a storm of energy descended upon him.
"Nii-san, surprise!"
A small body collided with his own. His little brother, Sai Hachibei-cheerful, mischievious, and full of boundless vitality-latched unto him with a grin far too large for his face. At just nine-year-old, Sai radiated alight that cut through the bleakness of winter.
Despite the four-year difference, the bond between brothers was ironclad. Shared meals, shared laughter, shared cold nights-they were inseparable.
"You really are full of energy this morning, Sai" Sentaro chuckled, lifting him off before setting him aside. His lingered for a moment, warmed by the boy's spirit.
Then something else caught his attention.
"Wait… what smells so good?"
The question slipped from his lips before he realized it. His eyes sharpened, nostrils flaring as the scent wrapped around him. Rich, savory, comforting-something that spoke not only to hunger but to memory. His stomach growled in eager betrayal.
"Is that… Oden?"
Saliva pooled at the corner of his mouth. Without hesitation, he dropped his little brother like a discarded sack and bolting down the hallway. Sliding the door open with unnecessary force, he found the source
His mother, Mia, stood with quite grace, her yellow kimono patterned with violet flowers swaying as she lean over the table. Her hands moved with the precision of years, arranging steaming plates of ODEN-one for each member of the family. The rising steam mingled with the winter air, creating a fleeting illusion of warmth within the wooden house.
"For me, Sai, you, and your father" she said, her voice carring the softness of morning sunlight.
"Mom, you are the best! You actually made my favorite dish!" Sentaro burst out, eyes sparkling like a child.
"Not a problem, dear. Now eat before it gets cold-you too, Sai"
And then, another voice, deep and commanding, broke through.
"Mia, you really know how to make a man happy in the morning."
Their father, Garou, entered the room. He was a man carved from labor - broad-shouldered, calloused hands, his very posture telling of years spent at the forge. His tone carried the usual roughness, yet the smile tugged at his lips betrayed his true feelings. Mia's faint blush added a fleeting warmth to the otherwise frigid household.
Together, the family gathered. Four figures circled a low table, bound not by wealth or privilege, but by the fragile comfort of togetherness. For a few breaths, the world outside their home seemed distant.
But harmony in such times was a fragile thing.
Mia's eyes, sharp despite their kindness, caught the faint distortion on her husband's face - the way his jaw tightened, the heaviness in his brow. She had lived beside this man long enough to recognize when the weight of the world pressed hardest upon him.
"Garou honey what's wrong?" she asked softly
Garou slammed his chopsticks down, the sound cutting through the quiet "That damned village head… He's raising the damed taxes again!"
The words dropped like stones into still water.
Every soul in the land knew the cruelty behind such proclamations. The taxes where not for roads, nor for protection, nor the betterment of village life. They where to line the coffers of the clans, swelling the luxuries of those already drowning in abundance. For the common folk, each increase was a chain tightened around their necks. And refusal? Punishment swift and merciless - execution in public squares, warning written in blood.
"SHIT!" Garou cursed, fury distorting his face further
"Dear, the children are right here…" Mia whispered, her hans trembling against her lap.
Garou exhaled slowly, fighting to reel himself back. "You're right. I'll just have to work harder and cut back on expenses. Unless…."
His gaze shifted towards his eldest son.
Sentaro's heart sank. He knew what his father intended before the words could even be spoken.
"NO!" his voice cut through the air like steel.
"I've told you before, and I'll say it again - I don't want to be a blacksmith" His eyes burning with a resolve that surprised even himself.
The room tensed. It was as though the walls thenselves leaned inward, suffocating the air.
Garou's patience, worn thin by years if this same defiance, finally splintered.
BAM!
His hand struck the table, rattling the bowls. Threatening to overturn their
simple meal. Sai flinched, his small body trembling, while Mia gasped in alarm
"This is the lat straw, Sentaro If words won't reach you, maybe brute force will"
Sentaro shot to his feet as well, refusing to cower, his body quivering with both fear and determination
"My dream is to become a samurai - to serve in the police force!"
"You must be insane!" Garou spat, veins bulging athis neck. "Do you think I'd let my son waste his life chasing some foolish dream instead of becoming a blacksmith?"
"I'll make it a reality! I'll do more good as a samurai than I ever could behind a forge!"
"Good?!" Garou snarled. "This country of ours has always been flawed! The only way to survive is to face reality - find stable work and provide for your family!"
The air thickened until even breathing seemed like a burden. Young Sai lowered his head, his small shoulders shaking as tears pooled in his eyes.
"I'm sorry father… but I can't walk that path."
For a heartbeat, silence. Then -
THUD!
Garou's fist slammed into sentaro's jaw. Pain exploded, the taste of iron filled his mouth as he collapsed to the floor. Blood dripped down his lip, staining the tatami.
"Sentaro!" Mia cried, rushing to cradle him, while Sai's sobs split the air
Garou loomed over his fallen son. "You don't even know the real world! If you did you wouldn't wast your breath on stupid dreams!"
Sentarō's heart twisted. His father had never struck him before. Not once in all his years. Fear, grief, and betrayal churned inside him until his body moved on its own.
He bolted. Out the door, into the night.
"Sentarō! Come back!" Mia's voice cracked as she screamed, but the words dissolved into the bitter wind.
Later that day, Sentarō sat with his best friends, the Daigo twins—Gin and Akimichi. The three of them had grown up together, their bond forged through hardship and shared laughter, yet today the weight on Sentarō's shoulders felt heavier than any winter snow.
The sky was a bleak gray, heavy clouds pressing low, as though the heavens themselves were burdened by the sorrows of the land. The wind carried the sharp bite of winter, cutting through his thin samue, but the sting of his father's words lingered far deeper. His jaw still ached from the blow, and though the blood had dried, the shame of being struck remained raw.
"Bro, what happened to your face?" Gin asked bluntly, his usual playful tone unable to mask the shock in his eyes. "Wait—you mean your dad did that? Damn, you must've really pissed him off."
The words, though spoken without malice, twisted the knife already lodged in Sentarō's chest.
"Gin! Akimichi!" Sentarō snapped, frustration seeping through his voice. "You're not helping."
"Sorry, sorry." Gin scratched the back of his head, his green-striped kimono swaying as he tried to laugh it off. His grin was wide, careless as always, but the corners of his eyes betrayed a quiet concern he didn't dare voice aloud.
"Don't mind him," Akimichi said, his tone drier, his green polka-dotted kimono making him look as ridiculous as his sarcasm sounded. Yet beneath the humor was a steady calm. "We're just messing around."
Their antics had always been a shield, a way of easing tension even when the world around them threatened to collapse. But today, even their laughter felt brittle, unable to pierce the storm raging inside Sentarō.
He sighed, his breath rising in a pale cloud before vanishing into the air. "It doesn't matter. After today, it's clear—my father will never approve of me becoming a samurai."
The words left his mouth with a quiet finality. The cold wind cut across his skin, but it was not the winter chill that made his body tremble. It was the loneliness. The crushing realization that his own father, the man who had raised him, could not—would not—see the dream burning in his heart.
For a long moment, silence stretched between them, broken only by the whistle of the wind through the bare trees.
"Then why?" Akimichi finally asked, his voice softer than usual. "Why do you really want to join the police force? Unlike us, it's not for money or fame, right?"
The question struck deep, pulling at the threads of Sentarō's resolve. His lips parted, and though the wind threatened to steal his words away, the twins leaned in, catching every syllable. His answer was quiet, almost a confession, yet it carried the weight of his soul.
The Daigo twins exchanged a glance. For once, there was no sarcasm on Akimichi's tongue, no grin plastered across Gin's face. They understood.
"Wow," Gin muttered, his usual lightheartedness gone. "Talk about noble."
"Yeah," Akimichi added, his eyes narrowing with a rare seriousness. "With a reason like that, I don't see why you shouldn't become a samurai. Too bad your old man doesn't get it."
The words were simple, almost careless on the surface, but to Sentarō they were like kindling to a dying flame. His father's rejection had nearly snuffed out the dream he clung to, yet here, with his friends beside him, that dream flickered back to life. Their faith in him was a mirror reflecting the man he longed to become.
The cold no longer mattered. The ache in his jaw, the sting in his pride—all of it paled before the warmth that ignited in his chest.
For the first time since leaving his home, Sentarō felt something other than despair. He felt resolve.
That night, the village lay under the grip of winter's silence. The sky hung heavy with clouds, pale and unbroken, as though the heavens themselves refused to look upon the suffering below. Sentarō's feet crunched against the snow, each hurried step echoing his pounding heart. The words of Gin and Akimichi still lingered in his mind, stubborn and bright, like sparks struggling against the cold wind.
By the time he reached the sliding door of his family home, his breath had grown ragged. A thin trail of vapor escaped his lips, vanishing into the frigid air. With a force born of desperation, he slid the door open.
Inside, the dim glow of the hearth painted shadows across the room. Sai was already fast asleep, his small chest rising and falling with the innocent rhythm of dreams untouched by hardship. Mia sat alone, her hands folded tightly in her lap, worry carved deep into her delicate features. Her kimono, once vibrant, now looked faded under the wavering lamplight, as though even the colors had surrendered to the sorrow of their household.
"Where have you been? I was so worried!" she scolded softly, though the edge of her voice wavered with relief.
"Please, Sentarō. Listen to your father from now on."
Her words, though gentle, pressed against his chest like a weight. Obedience to one's father was the unspoken pillar of their society, an iron chain that bound son to parent, family to clan, commoner to ruler. To defy was to shame not just the parent, but the entire bloodline. Yet Sentarō could not bring himself to answer. His silence was louder than any reply.
Instead, he pushed past her, the floorboards creaking beneath his hurried steps, and entered his small room. The walls seemed to close in around him, oppressive and suffocating. His hands moved with restless urgency, gathering his few belongings—clothes, a water flask, a spare pair of sandals—tying them together in a makeshift bundle with cloth. Every knot he tied pulled him further away from the life he had known.
When he emerged again, bundle slung over his shoulder, his mother's eyes widened. For a heartbeat, she stood frozen, the realization crashing down upon her like an avalanche.
SMACK!
Her palm struck his cheek. The sound cracked through the silence, sharp and trembling with grief.
"Don't you dare think of leaving this family," she whispered, her voice breaking as tears spilled down her face. Her hand lingered against his cheek, but it trembled not from anger, but from fear—the fear of a mother who knew how merciless the world could be to a boy chasing a dream too large for his shoulders.
"What do you think you're doing, Sentarō…?"
Her words struck deeper than her hand ever could. In her trembling form, Sentarō could feel the invisible chains of duty, of filial piety, of the crushing weight that demanded he put family above self, survival above hope. But he also felt the faint ember in his chest—the same ember that had ignited when his friends had spoken, the ember that whispered of change, of justice, of a life beyond the forge.
And then—
From the shadows of the doorway, another figure stirred.
Broad-shouldered. Muscular. The air itself seemed to tighten as he stepped forward, each heavy footfall carrying the authority of a man who had endured a lifetime of burdens. His eyes, faintly glowing in the dim light, burned with an icy blue fury.
Garōu.
The father's presence filled the room like a storm breaking over the sea. His broad frame blocked the light, his silhouette swallowing the flicker of the lantern flame. The sound of his breathing was slow, controlled, but laced with simmering rage.
Before Sentarō could react—
THUD!
The blow landed, sudden and merciless, sending the boy staggering. The impact reverberated not only through Sentarō but through the fragile bond that still tethered father and son.