The market in the Kurogane District was said to be crowded and ordinary, but to Sentarō Hachibei it looked like a kingdom of wonders.
The streets were alive with movement—merchants calling out prices, farmers unloading carts, traders setting up stalls. The smell of grilled dumplings mixed with the salty tang of dried fish, while colorful lanterns swayed overhead in the wind. Rice sacks were piled like miniature mountains, baskets overflowed with vegetables, and iron tools glinted in the sunlight.
For Sentarō, who had never stepped beyond his home village, it was as though the entire world had spilled into one place. His eyes darted from stall to stall, his steps restless with excitement.
"Hey kid, you see what you like?" Ujiyuki asked, watching him with a faint smirk.
"Everything just looks so cool!" Sentarō's voice trembled with boyish joy, like a child brought to a festival for the first time.
They wandered deeper into the bustling rows until they reached the section lined with food stalls.
"VEGETABLES FOR SALE! FRESH VEGETABLES!" a farmer cried, waving a bundle of carrots.
"COME GET YOUR RICE HERE!" another shouted beside a mountain of sacks.
"FRESH FISH! STRAIGHT FROM THE RIVER!" bellowed a fisherman, his stall lined with silver-scaled catch.
Sentarō's head turned in every direction, overwhelmed. "Is there anything they don't sell here?" he muttered in awe.
Ujiyuki finally stopped the cart before a fish stall, where an elderly man with a black beard and white hair greeted him.
"Long time no see, Ujiyuki."
"It really has been a while, Jūzō," Ujiyuki replied, exchanging a firm handshake.
The two shared an awkward smile, but small talk quickly thinned out.
"Oh, who's the kid?" Jūzō asked, peering at Sentarō.
"My student," Ujiyuki said simply, patting Sentarō's shoulder.
"M-my name is Sentarō," he stammered, his voice shaky with shyness.
Jūzō gave a polite nod, but the air grew stiff. Finally, Ujiyuki cut through the silence. "How much for that fish over there?" He pointed at a medium-sized one on the far end.
"Fifteen copper coins."
"I'll take two." Ujiyuki handed over silver and received his fish along with some change.
"Thank you, Ujiyuki. Nice to meet you, Sentarō," Jūzō said, though the awkwardness lingered.
Once they left the stall, Sentarō let out a sigh of relief.
"Don't tell me you're tired already, kid," Ujiyuki teased.
"No, it's just… that guy was weird."
Ujiyuki burst into laughter. "Hahaha! You're right, he was weird. Glad I wasn't the only one who thought so."
The two shared a laugh, and the heaviness faded.
Time slipped by as they visited more stalls—buying rice, flour, meat, vegetables, and more. By the time the sun dipped, Ujiyuki's cart was filled.
But their day wasn't over yet.
Sentarō stopped in front of a stall lined with wooden weapons—swords, spears, naginatas, bows. His eyes widened with sparkling admiration. These weren't just toys to him; they were the tools of the path he longed to walk.
The merchant, dressed in a gold-colored kimono, noticed his expression and approached. "Well now, young man, see something you like? A sword? A naginata? Perhaps a bow—"
Before the man could finish, Ujiyuki stepped in, sharp and calm. "Kid, pick one."
His interruption wasn't accidental. Ujiyuki knew how merchants hiked prices when they smelled excitement. The merchant faltered, his words cut short.
Sentarō, oblivious to all that, pointed eagerly at a wooden sword. "This one! I want this one."
"How much?" Ujiyuki asked flatly, his gaze narrowing.
The merchant swallowed. "T-twenty copper coins."
Ujiyuki handed over the coins without complaint. Sentarō's grin was so wide it nearly split his face. His first sword—even if only wood—felt heavier than any treasure.
They left the stall and found a quiet bench. Ujiyuki placed the cart aside.
"Stay here, kid. I forgot something. I'll be back."
Sentarō nodded, but the moment Ujiyuki disappeared into the crowd, he couldn't sit still. He gripped the wooden sword with both hands, lifting it as though it were forged steel.
He swung it once. Twice. Then spun into a stance he remembered from his training books. His movements were clumsy, his feet unsteady, but his heart burned with pride.
"This is amazing…" he whispered to himself, slashing the air with determination. "One day, I'll wield the real thing."
And as the market lights flickered to life and voices of merchants still rang through the district, Sentarō's dream of becoming a samurai quietly grew stronger with every swing of that wooden blade.