It was already past noon when I found myself standing outside Sato-San's door again.
I don't know why I tried on three different outfits for this.
It's not like he can see me.
Still… I wanted to look decent. Presentable.
Not because it mattered. It didn't. Obviously.
…Obviously.
I smoothed my cardigan, tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear, and took a quiet breath.
Just guide him around town, Shizuka.
You promised.
Totally normal. Nothing strange.
I lifted my hand to knock—
And the door slid open before I touched it.
The door slid wider and Sato-san stepped out.
He wasn't wearing the bandages today — only a dark cloth tied neatly, like a simple blindfold that somehow made him look… calm. Beautifully calm.
Plain white shirt, sleeves slightly rolled.
Dark navy jeans.
Nothing complicated, but it suited him so well it felt unfair.
Simple always looks elegant on people who don't try.
His hair was tied loosely today too — a few strands falling near his cheek.
He lifted his face slightly, sensing the air, then turned almost precisely toward me.
"Good afternoon, Ichijo-san."
I tried not to sound like I forgot how to speak.
"Afternoon."
He stepped forward — slow, certain, like he already mapped where the doorway ended and the sunlight began. Then he extended his hand toward me again, palm relaxed, as if this was the most natural thing in the world.
"If you don't mind," he said softly,
"Please guide me today as well."
My heart did that annoying thing — the jump-then-sink one that insists on existing even when my brain tells it to behave.
"I– yes. Of course."
I placed my hand in his.
Warm. Steady. Gentle grip, careful like I might break.
Why does he hold hands like he's apologizing to the air first?
We started walking toward the main street. His hand rested lightly in mine, not heavy, not clingy. Just enough trust to make me strangely aware of every motion.
Our town is quiet at noon. Shops half-open, breeze carrying the smell of warm bread from the small bakery down the slope. Someone was roasting sweet potatoes nearby. The kind of ordinary scent that makes you realize how peaceful life can be when no one is bleeding or shouting.
Sato walked without hesitation, but I could feel the tiny shifts in his steps. He listened to gravel, wind direction, the distant river. Like the world spoke to him in ways I could not hear.
"Step," I murmured as we reached the wooden curb. He matched the height without missing beat. Almost like he already knew, and my voice was just reassurance.
"Thank you," he said.
"For what?"
"For lending me your sight today."
I looked away even though he could not see me. My cheeks felt warm again. It would be easier if he were rude or distant. But he was gentle in a way that made silence feel like company instead of emptiness.
When we passed the bakery, the owner, Tanaka-san, peeked out. Her eyes widened when she saw us holding hands. Then she smiled like she had already written our wedding invitations.
I wanted the street to swallow me.
"Shizuka-chan," she called, sing-song tone. "Out with a handsome boy, hm?"
"Good afternoon!" I bowed so fast it probably looked like I tripped.
Sato turned slightly, offering a polite nod toward the voice. "Good afternoon."
Tanaka-san's grin grew even wider. I could hear her whisper to someone inside the shop. Something like "so elegant" and "young love." I nearly melted into pavement.
I tugged his hand lightly. "Let's walk faster."
He followed without question. "Did I do something wrong?"
"No. People here are just... friendly."
"I see. That is nice."
He meant it. Sincerely. Not as a joke. Somehow that made my chest ache in a good way.
I kept walking. Trying not to think. Trying not to feel too much.
It did not work.
We moved further into town. Afternoon sun rested warm on rooftops. Elderly neighbors swept in front of their doors, children rode bicycles in uneven circles, and the air smelled like sugar and warm dough.
People noticed him quickly. It was impossible not to.
A blindfolded boy, tall, graceful in a quiet way, walking with confidence that did not match his sight. And also just… striking. Someone you remembered even if you only saw him for a second.
A pair of middle school girls whispered near the vending machine.
"Is he the new guy?"
"He is blind? No way, look at him. He is like someone from an anime."
I pretended not to hear. Sato likely did hear, but said nothing. He only kept his posture straight, listening to footsteps, wind, everything.
We paused near the roasted sweet potato cart. The old vendor, Baba Morita, waved at me first. She always did.
"Shizuka-chan, you came early today."Her eyes shifted to Sato, curious, kind. "And who is this fine young man with you?"
"Sato-san," I replied. "He just moved next door to us."
Sato bowed his head slightly. "Good afternoon. Thank you for greeting us."
Her eyebrows rose. She leaned forward, studying him, and her smile softened. She had lived long enough to recognize wounds even without seeing them.
"You cannot see, can you?"
"Not in the usual sense," he answered calmly.
Baba Morita did not pity him. She only nodded once like this fact belonged to the world and not a person.
"You speak with good manners. That is rare now. Do you like sweet potato?"
He hesitated, then turned toward me. I nodded a little.
"I do," he said.
She handed us one, wrapped in warm paper. I reached out to take it, but he moved first and accepted it cleanly. Movement precise. Controlled. I could see the vendor noticing that too.
"Thank you very much," he said.
"Strong voice," she smiled. "Strong heart too, I hope."
For a moment his face grew still. Then he returned a gentle smile.
"I am learning."
We stepped aside and shared the sweet potato quietly. The warmth of it spread through my fingers. He held his half carefully, as if the heat was something to appreciate, not something to avoid.
"It tastes nice," he said after the first bite.
"You sound surprised."
"I do not taste peace often."
I looked down, heart too soft again.This boy had lived somewhere far from peace. Anyone could hear it.
We kept eating slowly, watching the street life. The world felt real and simple. A mother guiding her toddler. A bicycle bell. Birds on telephone wires. Nothing dramatic. Nothing dangerous.
Just life.
And somehow, he fit into it, even if his past did not.
We followed the stone path downhill until the river came into view. The water moved slow today, sunlight resting like gold on its surface. Dragonflies skimmed over the reeds. Somewhere a fisherman packed his gear, humming to himself.
Sato slowed his steps as the sound of the water reached us. His hand loosened slightly in mine, like he wanted to take in the world more openly.
"It sounds peaceful," he murmured.
"It is. People come here to clear their heads. Or procrastinate schoolwork," I said, pretending to sound casual.
"Then I am in good company."
We stopped near the small railing. From here, you could see the bridge, the rice fields stretching far behind it, and mountains holding the sky in place. A quiet world. A safe world.
Sato lifted his face toward the river, breathing in slowly. His expression softened, almost unguarded. It struck me harder than anything. He looked like someone who had been holding his breath for years and only now remembered how to exhale.
"You seem calm," I said without thinking.
He thought for a moment. "I do not know if this is calm. It feels like remembering something I never had."
His fingers were still touching mine. It felt innocent and intense at the same time. Like holding memory instead of skin.
I looked at the water instead of his face.
"Will it be hard for you?" I asked quietly. "Living here, in a place this quiet?"
He shook his head once. "Quiet is not the hard part. Quiet is a blessing. It is the parts of myself that do not know how to rest that might struggle."
I swallowed.There it was again. That unseen weight behind him.
He turned slightly toward me, not directly but enough to show attention.
"Thank you for walking with me, Ichijo-san."
"It is nothing," I replied.
"It is not nothing."
He said it like a truth, not a compliment. Like gratitude was heavy and he carried it carefully.
For a moment I did not know where to look. So I looked at our hands again. His grip was gentle, steady. I wondered how hands that calm could have ever broken anything. Yet I knew they had. That knowledge sat somewhere inside me like a quiet ache.
The river kept flowing. Someone far away laughed. Wind touched the water and ripples spread.
This place felt like a small promise.A world where nothing chased him.A world where he could try to be someone else.
We stood there like that, letting the silence be real, not awkward.
Then a tiny voice echoed from behind us.
"Shizuka-neechan!"
We both turned slightly. Hana running down the path, hair bouncing, face lit up like she had discovered treasure again.
I almost sighed.
Of course.
Hana reached us out of breath, cheeks pink from running. She stopped only long enough to blink up at us, then lifted her arms toward Sato with complete trust.
I did not even get a chance to say anything before Sato gently lifted her. He held her like he had done it a thousand times, easy and natural. Hana rested her chin on his shoulder and closed her eyes, as if she had finally found her place in the world.
People nearby stared.
Everyone in town knew Hana barely spoke to strangers. She hid behind me like I was a shield. She never let anyone touch her except family.
But here she was. Calm in his arms. Like she belonged there.
A pair of elderly women paused mid-conversation. One whispered to the other. Children stopped nudging each other. The fisherman even glanced over. It felt like watching a rare creature do something unbelievable.
I should have said something. Explained. Or at least breathed.
Instead, all I could think was:
Why is she so comfortable with him?
And then it hit me like something sharp and embarrassing.
I was still holding his other hand.
Still.
This entire time.
I looked down. My fingers wrapped around his. His fingers relaxed around mine. One hand holding Hana. The other holding me.
My heart forgot how to behave.
I pulled away so fast I almost tripped on my own feet. My face burned so hot I could have boiled the river.
He tilted his head slightly. "Did I step wrong?"
"N-no. Everything is. Fine."I sounded like someone experiencing oxygen for the first time.
Before I could gather my dignity, a familiar chorus floated down the path.
"Shizuka-chan?"
I froze.
Of course.Them.
A small group of my classmates from the other day approached. Their eyes widened at the sight.
Sato holding Hana.Me standing beside him, visibly flustered.
And they looked at our hands again. Or where our hands had been. Their expressions shifted instantly.
Shock.Suspicion.And the kind of jealousy girls never admit to.
One whispered, not quietly at all, "So this is what you were doing today."
Another narrowed her eyes. "Shizuka. You work fast."
"I do not work anything," I blurted out, which was not a sentence but I was too busy dying to correct it.
Sato offered a polite nod, unaware of the storm he had just walked into."Good afternoon."
Every girl blinked. And then blinked again. It was probably the voice. Or the face. Or the presence. Or all three.
Hana peeked over his shoulder at them. She did not speak. Just stared with curious, serious eyes. Like she was deciding if they were allowed in her newly formed universe.
None of the girls dared come close.
And just like that, the entire afternoon shifted.I wanted to faint.Hana looked like she had claimed a throne.Sato stood calm, holding a universe he did not realize he changed.
And the girls?They looked at me like I had somehow won the lottery without buying a ticket.
The girls did not leave.Of course they didn't.They trailed behind us like a flock of extremely emotional sparrows, whispering, squealing, observing every movement like it was breaking news.
I tried to pull my hand away again, embarrassed beyond survival, but Sato's grip stayed gentle and sure, like he truly believed I was still guiding him. And honestly, with how my brain was melting, maybe I needed guiding more than he did.
The girls gasped in unison.Then the jealousy hit like a tiny pink explosion.
"Shizuka! You are holding hands again!""So shameless!""If she marries him first I will scream.""He is blind and still prettier than all boys in this town."
My soul left my body.
"It's not like that!" I squeaked. "I am just— We are not— He can't see!"
That came out wrong.
Sato, composed as ever, inclined his head politely toward them."My apologies if this causes misunderstanding. I am only holding her hand so she can guide me safely."
They froze.Then melted.
"So polite.""He protects her while blind. I can't live.""He talks like a prince. Kill me, I love it."
I prayed for lightning to strike me.
We kept walking, the girls still following, whispering dramatically behind us like this was a romance drama and they were the background chorus.
I stepped forward…and my foot caught the edge of the stone path again. Destiny hates me.
I pitched forward with a tiny yelp, and before panic could hit me, Sato moved.
Fast.
His hand released mine only long enough for his arm to circle around my waist, pulling me securely against him, one smooth movement like he'd done it a thousand times — gentle, strong, effortless.
I didn't fall. I didn't even drop an inch.He just held me there, steady, warm, safe.
"You are alright," he said quietly near my ear.
For a second, I could not breathe.His hold was firm but respectful, not even a tremor in his posture. The kind of strength someone earns, not shows off.
I nodded weakly. Words had abandoned me."I… yes. Sorry. Shoes hate me."
Hana giggled.The girls behind us very nearly fainted in a synchronized dramatic collapse.
One whispered, loud enough for the universe to hear:"If she doesn't marry him, I will."
The Shrine Visit
We eventually reached the old shrine at the edge of town. It sat beneath tall cedar trees, their branches layered like quiet guardians. Afternoon light filtered through the leaves, warm and soft, dust floating like tiny ghosts in gold.
The other girls slowed down, suddenly respectful. Even gossip has limits in sacred spaces. They stayed a little distance behind, whispering softer, giving us space without realizing they were doing it.
Sato stopped as soon as the gravel changed beneath our feet.He listened.Wind through leaves. Prayer chimes. The slow old river behind everything.
"There is a shrine here," he said, almost breathless. Not surprised. More like… moved.
"Yes," I replied. "People come here when they are troubled. Or when they want to thank something. Or when they don't know what they want."
He didn't speak at first. He just stood there, Hana still in his arm, his other hand hovering a little as if reaching for memory rather than direction.
"May I… go closer?" he asked quietly.
"You can," I answered. "I'm here."
I placed his hand in mine again without thinking this time.He did not squeeze. He just followed, trusting, steps quiet on the stone path.
We reached the prayer ropes. He put Hana down gently beside him and touched the wooden railing with careful fingertips, tracing its grain like he was learning the texture of peace.
His expression changed — not sadness exactly, but the kind of silence someone earns from surviving too much.
"People pray here?" he asked softly.
"Yes."
"For what?"
"Everything. Luck. Health. Love. Forgiveness."
He bowed his head slightly.
"Forgiveness," he repeated. Not questioning. Remembering.
For a heartbeat, he stood still.Not warrior-still.Human-still.
I looked away, giving him a moment even if he didn't ask.
Behind us, one of the girls whispered, "Is he praying for someone…?"
Another nudged her. "Don't ruin the moment."
Hana tugged his sleeve gently."Sato-niisan, did you make a wish?"
He knelt slightly so he could face her level."I did not wish," he said. "I thanked."
"For what?" she asked.
He smiled — small, real, fragile around the edges.
"For arriving somewhere the wind doesn't carry fear."
Hana didn't understand the weight of it. She only nodded like it was obvious.
I understood enough to feel something tighten in my chest.
We stood there quietly, the world slowed around us.Even the cicadas held their breath for a moment.
It almost felt like the past couldn't reach him here.Almost.
Shrine at dusk.
Incense still burning.Cicadas silent, as if even insects feared blood.
My orders were simple:Eliminate the intruders.Protect the trainees behind me.
I didn't want this.But wanting never mattered in that world.
Three younger boys breathed behind me.Shaking.I could feel their fear through gravel vibrations.
Fifteen men stepped into sacred ground.Older. Confident. Arrogant.Blood already dried on their sleeves.They didn't see a threat.They saw a child.
One smirked at me."Go home, boy. Play with toys."
I already was.
No time for fear.No room for hesitation.
A blade breathes when you move first.
I stepped forward.
The first man didn't see my face.Only the arc of steel.
My blade slid through his throat like cutting through wet prayer paper.Warm spray.Foot pivot.Blood on sandals.
Second charged.Heavy steps.Predictable.
I lowered my stance and moved inside his guard, blade kissing belly.Upward cut.Ribs opened.Air escaped him like a dying flute note.
Third grabbed my wrist.Good grip.He trained.Did not matter.
I snapped my arm downward, twisted.His balance broke.Blade reversed in my palm.I buried it under his ribs.Hot breath on my neck as he fell.
A scream behind me — one of mine.They were being rushed.
I didn't think.Thinking wasted time.I moved.
Gravel flew.Foot planted.Knee strike — jaw cracked under my shin.Spin.Short blade thrown — deep into neck.He clutched it, choking, red pouring between fingers.
Two more charged.I dropped low, slashed tendon of the first.He collapsed.His scream barely left his mouth before my heel crushed his throat.
Second grabbed for my hair.I head-butted his nose.Cartilage snapped.His knife grazed my cheek.Warm sting.I didn't feel pain — just annoyance.
Shallow cut.Sloppy.
Hand around his wrist, twist, break.His scream too slow.I drove his own knife into his eye.
Eight down.Seven left.
They circled now.No more arrogance.Just fear.
One whispered,"What are you?"
My father's lesson echoed in my skull like steel on steel:
Mercy is for gods, not weapons.
I whispered back,"I am sorry."
Then I killed again.
A slash across calf, shove into pillar, stab through spine.Blood dripped on shrine stone like rain.Another lunged.I sidestepped, hooked ankle, slammed him face-first into the wood rail.Teeth scattered.I pushed blade through the back of his skull.
Two tried to flee.Idiots.Turning your back to death is how you greet it.
I sprinted, blade reverse-grip.Hamstring.Hamstring.They fell screaming.I didn't look at their faces when I ended it.
Last man stood shaking.He dropped his weapon.Begged.Voice breaking.
"I have a family…"
So did I.
I didn't want to be here.I didn't want blood in my nails, my hair, my lungs.
But I was made for this.
I drove my blade through his heart.Held him until he slid off steel and collapsed.
Silence returned.Only breath.Only blood.Only me.
My team behind me could not speak.I did not blame them.
I wiped my sword slowly, ritual I was forced to learn before I learned how to play.Hands trembling.Not from fear.From the human part still left inside me.
"I don't want this," I whispered to no one.
The shrine did not answer.The dead never asked permission for peace.
I stood alone among bodies, fourteen years old,and already tired of winning.