Misumi Uika was born on a small island.
For generations, Uika's family had lived on the island as fishermen, leading simple, diligent lives—earning everything they had through hard work and honest labor.
From as early as she could remember, half of Uika's memories were filled with the salty, moist sea breeze drifting ashore—always tinged with the faint taste of salt. The other half was occupied by her father proudly presenting the day's catch, his hearty laughter echoing as he showed off the size of the fish he'd hauled in. Her father always carried that same salty scent, even stronger than the sea breeze itself, so strong that little Uika often joked that her dad must have been thoroughly salted by the sea.
To be fair, the fish her father brought home weren't particularly special; everyone on the island was a fisherman and had caught their share of large fish. But her father always made a point of calling her over, enthusiastically gesturing and pointing out how impressive each fish was.
It was during this time that her mother would take her on strolls by the seaside, holding her hand as they watched the fishermen deftly casting their nets into the waves from a distance.
On each walk, young Uika would stop every few steps to stare in awe. She admired how the fishermen threw their enormous nets with practiced skill, spreading them open into perfect circles mid-air before they splashed into the water. Moments later, they'd haul the nets back, filled with glistening fish.
Uika thought it was amazing. She had touched those nets herself—they were huge, heavy, and despite being sun-dried, always seemed to retain plenty of seawater, making them even heavier.
How could those fishermen throw them so effortlessly and have the nets unfold obediently mid-air? It was incredible! When little Uika secretly tried throwing her father's oversized coat—which was big enough to cover her completely—it never opened properly.
"When I grow up, I want to do that too!" she once told her mother earnestly. Actually, it wasn't the first time she'd said this. Like many children, she believed repeating a wish loudly and frequently made her determination clearer.
"Of course you can." Her mother always smiled gently—so gently that even the clouds blooming softly against the blue sky couldn't compete—and stroked her daughter's small head affectionately.
"Whatever you want to do, Uika, we'll always support you."
"Yeah!"
…
Misumi Uika loved her island very much.
Once she got older and was allowed to run around freely—and even catch insects bare-handed—she was permitted to roam some parts of the island on her own.
Her father and the island elders, especially the older ones, often liked to tell the children the same story:
This island is blessed by the gods, and that's why it's given generations of islanders such abundant lives. It's actually a magical treasure bowl that accidentally fell from heaven.
Naturally, all the adults knew perfectly well there was no treasure bowl from the heavens. If there had been, wouldn't they all be digging up endless piles of gold and silver without needing to work?
Yet the sentiment behind those words couldn't be more genuine.
Everyone genuinely loved this island that gave them a good life, offering plentiful fish and other resources. The island was conveniently located near the mainland, so they weren't completely isolated—but still, everyone preferred life here, where they had grown up.
Uika thought so too. The island had so many interesting things to explore! In the dense forest where sunlight could only trickle through gaps between leaves, creating irregular patches of dappled light, Uika discovered beetles and other insects. Though initially frightened, curiosity soon overcame her fears.
Besides the fascinating bugs, the forest itself was the perfect playground for an energetic child with boundless stamina.
Uika often squeezed through gaps in the foliage, taking advantage of her small size to explore paths adults couldn't easily reach.
One day, chasing a particularly fast beetle she'd never seen before, she wandered much farther than usual. By the time she realized it, she was deep in the unfamiliar woods.
Even Uika, usually clever for her age, felt nervous looking around at the seemingly identical trees. She had no choice but to cautiously follow the angle of the setting sun, slowly finding her way.
Walking carefully, she suddenly pushed aside a thick cluster of bushes—and found a hidden clearing. The forest had unexpectedly opened up into a small space, carefully hidden by bushes and vines, almost as if nature itself had been keeping it secret until she arrived.
Even the trees surrounding this place had respectfully spread their branches aside, creating a natural frame that revealed an astonishing view—a perfectly square gap in the canopy, like a window purposefully cut out, displaying the distant sea.
It was like a painting crafted by nature itself, lavishly dominated by the expansive ocean. Yet other tiny details within the frame held their own charm and color.
Far in the distance, at the boundary where the sky met the sea, a few faint dots appeared—perhaps seagulls or stars that dared to shine even during daylight. Slightly larger silhouettes marked distant fishing boats, their shapes accompanied by the faint echo of a fisherman's song drifting gently on the breeze.
Sadly, the setting sun was out of the frame, but its crimson glow still stretched over Uika's head, casting a hazy reflection onto the distant sea.
She stood there for a long time, thinking she had never loved her island—and its peaceful life—more than at that very moment.
…
Misumi Uika saw her first outsider.
Having stayed out late that evening after getting lost in the forest, Uika was sternly scolded and forbidden from venturing beyond the base of the mountain for the foreseeable future.
Fine, the base of the mountain it is, she thought rebelliously. It's just a smaller forest down here anyway.
Even confined to the mountain's lower areas, Uika managed to wander around its perimeter quite freely.
One day, as she roamed, a cluster of buildings appeared ahead—structures different from the islanders' houses, obviously newer and more attractive.
Her father had mentioned it before—this was some sort of newly-built resort meant to attract tourists from the mainland.
Uika was proud at the thought of visitors coming from far away. Surely they came precisely because her island was wonderful, right?
Curious, she cautiously approached the area, wanting a closer look at this unfamiliar place.
That was when she noticed a girl around her own age standing with her back to her.
Underneath a white sun hat, the girl's neatly combed blue hair was styled into two cute little twintails—a hairstyle Uika found delightfully complicated.
Most people on the island, herself included, kept their hair short for convenience. (In her case, it prevented hair from getting tangled in branches while playing in the forest.)
Suddenly, Uika wondered if longer, styled hair might actually look quite nice.
The girl's blue hair, so beautifully vivid, reminded her of both the sky and the sea.
Her clothing was also rare on the island—a delicate dress adorned with lace trim, a ribbon tied in a neat bow around her waist.
Was this what people from the mainland liked to wear? It looked so light and airy… rather lovely, actually.
Uika took another step forward unconsciously, rustling some grass beneath her foot and causing the other girl to turn around.
She's…so pretty.
Only then did Uika notice the doll the girl was holding, dressed similarly in an elegant, red gown.
Yet in Uika's eyes, the girl herself—with her porcelain-white, finely shaped features—was far lovelier than the doll she held.
That was Misumi Uika's first encounter with someone from beyond the island, and the first time she ever laid eyes on Togawa Sakiko.
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