Sunday mornings in our town are slow, the kind that don't bother waking the wind.But I was up early, long before the cicadas decided to start their chorus.
I wasn't excited.That's what I told myself, anyway.
I just… had questions.Too many.
How does someone who can't see move like that?How did he breathe so calmly when ten grown men charged at him?And why did his hands shake afterward, only when no one was watching?
I packed breakfast like any normal day except this time, there were two servings.Mother didn't say anything when she placed the extra container in my hands. Just smiled quietly like mothers do when they've already made their assumptions.
I ignored her.Mostly.
I crossed the short path to his rented house, barely a dozen steps, and hesitated only once before knocking.
A muffled thud came from inside.
Then another.
"…ow."
The door slid slightly open and Sato appeared, hair dusty, sleeve caught on a shelf he'd apparently tried to move, one hand gripping a broom upside-down like a spear he forgot how to use.
"Good morning, Ichijo-san," he said evenly, as if he wasn't covered in dust and losing a polite battle with furniture.
I blinked.
"…Are you fighting the house?"
He paused."…It attacked first."
I tried not to laugh.Failed.
He lowered his head slightly, embarrassed. "Apologies for my appearance. I… may not be very effective at cleaning yet."
"It's okay," I said quickly, setting the breakfast container down and rolling my sleeves."Let me help. Before something breaks. Or you do."
He gave a soft chuckle, the kind that sounded surprised, like laughter wasn't a habit for him.
And so we cleaned.
It wasn't glamorous.Or graceful.
He bumped into a small table twice.I tripped over a bucket once.We both reached for the same broom and froze like awkward statues.
But sunlight streamed in, dust floated like tiny stars, and for a moment it felt like we were two ordinary people in an ordinary little house, trying to tame chaos with patience and mismatched coordination.
When things finally looked less like a battlefield, I noticed something.
In all this space, only a small backpack lay by the wall.
"You traveled with… just that?" I asked.
"Most of it arrived yesterday," he replied. "A small truck dropped things off. I couldn't carry everything, so I had them sent ahead."
"Oh."
It still didn't explain the simplicity of his belongings.A life packed too tightly, like someone who expected to run again.
Then my eyes landed on a small photo frame half-hidden behind a teapot box.A girl, maybe fourteen or fifteen, smiling softly, hair tied back, eyes warm.
She looked like him.
My breath caught."Sato-san… who is she?"
He stilled.
For a moment, the house felt too quiet.
"…My sister," he said finally. "Her name was Hana."
Was.
The word fell heavy between us.
My chest tightened slightly.So that was why he softened when he heard my sister's name.Why grief flickered in him like a shadow only he could see.
"I'm sorry," I whispered.
He nodded, expression calm, too calm.Like someone who learned to hold grief without letting it leak.
"She was… everything gentle in a violent world. I hope she found peace."
Silence lingered, delicate, respectful.
I placed the frame carefully onto a clean shelf."It's a good place for her," I said softly.
He bowed his head, gratitude in the small gesture.
Outside, the first cicada called, and morning finally woke up.
We stood there, two people in a dusty little house, pretending we were only cleaning.Pretending this was ordinary.
And maybe…for a moment, it was.
After we finished sweeping, dusting, and losing two silent battles with a stubborn tatami mat corner, Sato finally sat down, palms resting neatly on his knees.
"You must be tired," I said.
"I'm not sure if the house is cleaner," he answered calmly, "or if it simply surrendered."
I almost laughed again.He really didn't try to be funny, it just happened.
*"Oh, I brought breakfast."*I placed the small containers on the low table. "Mother insisted."
*"I see."*He bowed slightly. "Please thank her for me."
Inside were simple things, miso soup in a thermos, tamagoyaki rolled neatly, rice balls with pickled plum, and a small dish of simmered daikon. Just the kind of quiet breakfast people here grew up with.
Sato touched the lid of the container like memorizing its edge. Then he ate slowly, mindfully, like each bite was something sacred or fragile.
"This is wonderful," he said.There was no dramatic praise, no polite exaggeration, just genuine gratitude in a gentle tone that made me want to bring him lunch and dinner too without knowing why.
After a moment, he turned toward where I stood, though his eyes were covered.
"You've already eaten?"
"Yes. Home."
"Then… will you share tea with me?"
He didn't ask like he was offering hospitality.It felt like he was offering companionship.
"I'd… like that," I said.
He moved around the kitchen space with surprising ease, as if sound and memory guided him, not sight. The soft rustle of tea leaves, the gentle pour of water, the faint steam rising… it all felt strangely peaceful.
When he handed me the cup, I noticed he'd placed his own slightly closer to him, so he could reach easily.
Thoughtful. Quietly thoughtful.
The tea was warm, not too strong, floral in a way that felt like spring trying to exist inside winter.
"You're good at this," I said.
"It's just tea," he replied modestly.
"No," I shook my head. "It's comfort."
He didn't say anything, but there was a small shift in his expression, something like appreciation, or maybe relief.
We sat like that for a few breaths.Two people.A small house.Steam rising between us like a gentle secret.
Then he cleared his throat slightly.
"About the favor I mentioned."
"Oh. Yes?"
"I still want to learn the layout. To understand this place through steps and touch."He paused, voice soft but steady."Can I rely on you for help?"
My response came too quickly."Yes. Of course. Whenever you need."
Smooth again, Shizuka.
"I only asked because you don't owe me anything," he added."I didn't save you. You all handled yourselves well. You're… strong."
My face warmed more than the tea did.
"That's not true," I muttered. "We were panicking. And Hana was crying."
He tilted his head slightly.
"Even strength cries, Ichijo-san."
I hadn't expected that line.It sat somewhere in my chest, heavier than it should have been.
"Well," I tried to sound casual, "you can rely on me. Just don't ask me to carry furniture alone again."
He smiled, a small, real one.
"I'll try my best."
We finished the tea quietly.Outside, sunlight stretched across the yard.It felt like the day hadn't fully started yet, and somehow, that felt like a promise.
We had just finished our tea when the peace outside shattered.
Bam bam bam bam!
*"Sato-niisaan!!!"*The little voice was unmistakable, bright, determined, and too tiny to knock like a normal human being.
Sato straightened a little, almost startled.I couldn't help smiling.
"I'll get it," I said, standing up before the door broke from enthusiasm.
The moment I slid it open, Hana practically fell inside, small backpack bouncing, cheeks flushed from running.
"There you are!!" she announced dramatically, as if she'd searched half the city and not… ten steps from our house.
Then she spotted Sato and beamed."Sato-niisan! I brought you cookies again!"
Sato turned toward her voice. I swear his whole expression softened."Good morning, Hana-chan."
She marched in, placed a tiny bag in his hands with both of hers, and declared,"These are extra sweet! Mama said not to give too many but… you need energy because you fight bad people."
My soul left my body.
"Ha-Hana!" I covered my face. "Don't say stuff like that"
Sato chuckled softly."Thank you. I'll treasure them."
Hana climbed right beside him like she owned the tatami.She swung her legs, then leaned close to his ear.
"Do you want to see my drawing?" she whispered, loudly.
Sato nodded. "I would like that very much."
She proudly opened her little notebook.On the page: a stick-figure with bandages, sparkly aura, and what appeared to be ten fallen potato-people around him.
Title on top in shaky crayon:"Satō-niisan The Strong Blind Samurai"
I tried not to choke.
Sato blinked, or would have, if he could."I… look very powerful," he murmured.
*"You are! You beat all the bad boys!"*Hana puffed her cheeks with heroic pride.
Sato shook his head gently."I protect my friends. That's different from fighting."
Hana paused, processing big life philosophy.Then nodded seriously like she understood the secrets of existence.
"Okay. But still cool."
He smiled, small, tired, real.And something about the way he held her drawing made my chest feel warm and heavy at the same time.
I watched them.The way she leaned against him without fear.The way he angled just enough to shield her instinctively, even sitting still.
He lost someone.She resembled someone.But this moment… belonged to now, not then.
"Shizuka-neechan," Hana called suddenly, snapping me from my thoughts."Can Satō-niisan come play later?"
I blinked."I what Hana, he's not"
"If he wants to," Sato answered softly, sparing me."I am new here. I should learn about… playtime."
Hana clapped like she just recruited a superhero to her secret club.
"Yay!!"
I could only stare.Completely defeated by a four-year-old.
The morning sun warmed the room.Dust had settled.Silence stretched, comfortable and alive.
And somehow, in the middle of a small rented house, with cookies and crayons and two unlikely people smiling at each other…
The world felt safe for a second.