Another punch straight to the gut, sending Sentarō to the ground, tightly holding his abdomen in pain. The taste of iron spread across his mouth, and the cold floorboards seemed to press against his back like judgment itself.
"If this is a joke stop it, do you really think I your father would allow you to do something that will effectively end your life?"
Garōu's voice was thunder, echoing against the paper-thin walls of their modest home. His fists were no longer the hands of a father but the heavy hammers of a blacksmith who had known only labor, fire, and survival.
"This is the final stage of your rebellion, it's better you return to your—"
"SHUT UP!!"
The sudden shout left his parents in shock. It was the kind of cry born not of disrespect, but of desperation—a voice that clawed for freedom even as it trembled. Out of instinct, Sentarō's hand reached blindly for something, anything. His fingers closed around the worn handle of a broom. With all the strength he could muster, he swung it upward, the bristles snapping against his father's face. Garōu staggered back, blinking, momentarily blinded.
Opportunity. That was all Sentarō needed. His feet moved before his mind could catch up, bolting through the doorway into the howling storm. The frigid wind clawed at his skin, snow lashing against him like countless blades.
But Garōu was not far behind. His muscular, forge-hardened body moved with a terrifying swiftness, a man whose every muscle was tempered by years of swinging hammers heavier than most men could lift. Even the dragging weight of the blizzard seemed unable to restrain him.
Sentarō's lungs burned, each breath like swallowing shards of ice. His heart pounded in rhythm with his footsteps, desperate to outrun the shadow that chased him. In a last act of defiance, he swung the wooden rod he used to bind his clothes, striking Garōu across the head. The crack of wood against flesh rang out, and Garōu stumbled, clutching his temple, dazed.
It was enough. For the first time that night, Garōu lost sight of his son. Rage boiled in him, but beneath it lay despair—an ache deeper than the sting of betrayal. He was a father watching his boy slip through his fingers, powerless.
Sentarō did not stop running. The fear of being caught still clutched his heart like a vise. Though the blizzard grew wilder, though the winds screamed louder, he pressed forward into the endless white.
"Mum, Dad, Sai, sorry about this but I plan on following my dreams, no matter what it takes."
He whispered into the night, words stolen away by the storm. His body slowed, exhaustion gnawing at his muscles, and for a fleeting moment, he allowed himself to feel relief—freedom.
But freedom was cruel.
A hulking shadow emerged through the veil of snow—a grizzly bear, its matted fur dusted white, its eyes glowing with hunger and madness.
"What? Aren't bears supposed to be hibernating at th—"
He never finished. The beast lunged, claws slicing the air. Instinct alone saved him. Sentarō hurled himself sideways, crashing into the snow. Pain lanced through his side as cold soaked his bones, but survival was all that mattered. A line of fire burned across his right arm where the beast's claw grazed him.
The bear roared, its breath steaming in the icy wind, and charged again. Sentarō, still reeling, had no time. The swipe connected—this time across his chest. Agony tore through him, the warmth of his blood spilling across the snow, staining the purity of winter with the color of mortality.
He collapsed, vision swimming. The joy of his escape dissolved into bitter regret.
"What was I thinking, why did I runaway, I should have just stayed home and listened to—"
His words froze on his lips. His breath faltered beneath the cruel wind.
As consciousness slipped away, images flickered before him—his family's faces, the beast looming above, and then… another figure. A human silhouette. The bear fell, collapsing into the snow before that mysterious presence. Sentarō felt himself lifted, cradled, before the darkness swallowed him whole.
Hours passed. The storm raged and fell, night blanketing the land. In the Hachibei household, Garōu had already formed a search party, gathering the strongest and most able young men of the village. Torches lit the white expanse, their flames fragile against the endless dark.
"Search every nook and cranny, men, even under a rock if you have to!"
His command was iron. But beneath his voice lay a hollow ache—a father desperate to mend what had already broken.
Back home, Mia clutched little Sai tightly, rocking him gently though her own tears threatened to spill. Her prayers rose silently into the storm: Bring my son back. Kami, please… bring him back. But as a mother, she knew—no matter her grief—she must stay strong for the child still in her arms.
The search stretched into dawn. As the first light pierced the horizon, painting the snow in a pale gold, one villager broke into a sprint toward the Hachibei home.
"Mia-san!!" he shouted, sliding the door open with such force it rattled on its hinges.
"Mr. Tasuke, what is the reason for your rushing?" Her face remained calm, but her voice betrayed the storm of worry within.
"Mia-san, I'm so sorry… Ugh." His expression faltered with pity.
"What's wrong, Mr. Tasuke?" Her mask cracked, her voice quivering with dread.
"The thing is…" He noticed Sai's wide, innocent eyes staring at him. He swallowed his words, changing course. "You need to go to the head of the town. Garōu is there waiting for you."
Mia did not hesitate. She ran, snow crunching under her feet, her breath shallow, her heart pounding. Her mind screamed denial, but her body carried her toward the inevitable.
At the village head's home, she saw them—men gathered in grim silence, Garōu at the center. In his hands, he held a piece of cloth. Dark-blue. Familiar. Her eyes fell upon the stains—blood, dark and dried into the threads. When he pressed it into her trembling hands, she knew. It was a samue. Her son's.
Her knees gave way. The earth beneath her seemed to vanish.
"Aggghhhh!!!!" The wail tore from her throat, raw and primal, echoing into the cold sky.
Garōu bent down, his arms wrapping around her, trying to be her pillar, though his own tears betrayed him. The strong blacksmith wept openly, silently cursing the gods, cursing himself. The villagers stood back, their faces lowered, powerless to comfort a grief so deep.
The Hachibei household had become a house of sorrow.
And then—
Sentarō's eyes opened. Light flickered faintly into his vision. The world swam, blurred by pain and fever. A voice reached him, soft, close.
"Is that you? I'm sorry, I'm really sorry…" His voice was weak, trembling against the snow. He thought he saw his mother's face, radiant against the white.
But then—
"So you are finally awake? Good, but I don't know who you are referring to."
The voice was not hers.
Sentarō's heart clenched. Shock cut through his haze. His mother was nowhere near. The figure standing above him was someone else entirely.