School days always felt long, but Mondays felt like someone stretched time on purpose. By the time the final bell rang, my legs were tired, Hana looked sleepy, and the air outside had that soft evening glow that made our whole town feel slow and gentle.
We walked home together with the same neighborhood girls as always, shoes scuffing quietly on the familiar path. They talked about homework and snacks and a new drama airing tonight. I nodded along, but my mind kept drifting ahead.
To the restaurant.To Sato's first evening shift.I hated how aware of it I was.
Hana held my hand, silent as usual around others, eyes focused on the stones under her feet. She never really chatted on this walk. She saved her words for home… and lately, somehow, for Sato.
When we reached our house, shoes came off with tired sighs and small thuds. I helped Hana with hers and she padded inside, already drifting toward the living room like a sleepy kitten.
Mom peeked from the kitchen doorway.
"Welcome home. Long day?"
I nodded. Shoulders a little heavy. Hair sticking to my cheek from walking. Normal after-school feeling.
"Rest a bit and change," she said. "We'll start preparing soon."
I answered with a quiet "okay" and guided Hana to wash her hands. She blinked up at me sleepily, then went to lie down on the futon with her stuffed rabbit tucked under her arm.
I changed into the restaurant uniform, simple, clean white top, dark apron, hair tied neatly. Nothing fancy. Just… presentable.
I checked the mirror once. Then again.Not because of anything.
Just making sure my collar was straight. Obviously.
When Hana finished resting, I helped her into her little socks and combed her hair gently. She clung to her rabbit for a second, then slowly put it down. She always hesitated before leaving the house after resting, like her heart needed a moment to catch up.
"It's okay," I whispered, holding her small hand.
She nodded once, trusting. Quiet and soft like always.
We walked toward the restaurant entrance. Lanterns were already lit, warm against the coming dusk. The scent of stock simmering drifted through the doorway. Familiar. Comforting.
I tied my apron tighter and took a quiet breath.
And right as I pushed the noren curtain aside…The door chime sounded behind us.
Slow steps. Steady.He had arrived too.Sato.
He wore simple clothes again, clean, neat, calm. His hair tied loosely. Bandages still covering his eyes. And somehow, he looked… peaceful. Ready.
Like he belonged in a place like this.
My heart didn't skip. It just… noticed him. Too strongly.
I straightened my posture before my brain could scold me.Time to work.
Sato Arrives For His First Shift
The chime finished ringing as Sato stepped inside. The evening light followed him in for a moment before settling behind the door, like even sunlight didn't want to leave him alone.
He paused just past the entrance, head slightly tilted as if listening to the room breathe.
Then he bowed, calm, practiced, sincere.
"Good evening. I apologize if I am late."
He wasn't late. If anything, he was early. But Sato always spoke as if time belonged to everyone else, not him.
Half a dozen customers near the entrance froze mid-bite, chopsticks hovering.
One whispered under her breath, not quietly enough:
"That's him."
Another girl near the window gasped softly, eyes a little too wide for a normal reaction.
"He's even more handsome in person. Wait, is he blind? Who looks like that and is blind?"
Someone shushed her, but not very effectively.
Sato didn't react.
He simply adjusted the tie of his hair, neat low knot, strands loose by his cheek, then removed his shoes and stepped inside with quiet, respectful balance.
The kind that says:
I see the world differently, but I do not falter.Shizuka's heart, unfortunately, did the opposite of not faltering.
I bowed slightly. "Welcome, Sato-san."
He turned his head toward my voice, and the warm, polite expression he wore made my stomach do an annoying little movement I pretended not to feel.
"Thank you, Ichijo-san. I will rely on your guidance again."
There it was again.That gentle, simple gratitude that felt heavier than it sounded.
Dad came out from behind the counter wiping his hands. His expression stayed neutral, but the air shifted a little, like acknowledgement between men who didn't need words.
"You came," Dad said.
"Yes," Sato answered with calm respect. "I am grateful for the chance."
Dad only nodded once, but there was something in his eyes.Something like recognition.Or old memory.Or knowing.
To everyone else he looked like a newcomer starting a shift.To me, it looked quietly larger than that.
From the corner, the same two customers whispered again:
"If he serves me tea I think I'll die.""Don't. Shizuka-chan will kill you first."
I pretended not to hear anything.It didn't work very well.
Sato set his small cloth bag gently on the side counter, then turned slightly toward my father.
"May I change into the uniform now?"
Dad nodded. "It's in the back. Fold your clothes neatly."
He didn't need to say that. Sato would never do otherwise. Still, Dad spoke like someone teaching a ritual instead of a rule.
I showed Sato the way to the small back room reserved for staff. He followed my footsteps by sound, not rushing, every step placed with quiet certainty. Before entering, he paused and lightly brushed his fingers against the doorframe, mapping the boundary. A habit learned long ago.
When he returned, the air changed again.
Our restaurant uniform was simple, crisp white haori-style top, dark apron, sleeves rolled just enough for work. On most people here it looked humble, ordinary.
On Sato, it looked like discipline itself.
Hair tied, posture straight, one hand resting lightly near his apron string as though feeling the edge of the world through the fabric. If someone walked in without context, they would think a trained chef from Kyoto had arrived, not a blind newcomer in a small Gifu restaurant.
Two older aunties in the corner nearly dropped their cups.
"Oh my…""He looks… clean. And strong. And polite. And—""Stop, you will scare the poor boy," her friend hissed.
I almost told them he couldn't see their stares, but then I remembered he heard everything even sharper, and I bit my tongue.
Sato found the service cloth by touch, folded it with careful precision, and tied it to his apron. Then he stood quietly, hands at his sides, waiting for instructions like this was sacred work.
Dad approached, testing him in his quiet way.
"Tea. Three cups, table two. Then clear table six.""Understood."
No hesitation. No fumbling.
Sato moved along the counter, fingertips gliding lightly along wood, mapping edges, memorizing texture. He found the teapot, lifted it, judged remaining liquid by weight. He lit the burner with exact control, not even brushing the matchstick louder than needed.
Every action smooth. Silent. Controlled.
He poured tea, three cups, each level matched perfectly.
No spill. No tremor.
The aunties gasped again.
"He doesn't even… look at the cups.""He cannot, Reiko.""Right, but still!"
My face heated. I had to pretend I was wiping something to hide it.
Sato carried the tray with steady hands, walking straight to table two like he saw every inch of the path. He stopped at the right distance, bowed lightly, and placed each cup down without touching the customers or misjudging the space.
"Thank you for waiting."
Voices softened around him.
As he walked back, I caught myself staring.
Focused. Calm. Graceful without trying.
A boy who didn't belong to violence anymore, but still moved like someone who could dismantle the world if he needed to.
Then he turned slightly, head angled toward me.
"Ichijo-san? Is something wrong?"
I nearly choked.
"N-nothing. Just watching to make sure you're okay."
He offered the smallest smile.
"I am… learning peace. It feels new."
I looked away quickly and busied myself wiping the same spot on the counter three times.
If I kept staring like that, I would forget how to work.
Evening rush trickled in slow, like always. Locals first. Then a couple from the next street. Then two office workers who always argued about who paid last time.
Normal, comfortable rhythm.
Except today wasn't normal.
Because every few minutes, someone new walked in and immediately froze when they saw Sato politely wiping a table or pouring tea like he was born for it.
Aunties were the worst.
One leaned over the counter toward me, whispering like she was sharing sacred intel.
"Shizuka-chan… where did your family find him?"
"He… just moved here," I muttered.
Her eyes sparkled like a teenager.
"Is he single?"
I nearly inhaled a chopstick.
"I don't know! And please don't ask him that!"
Too late.
She waved him over with the same energy people use to call expensive waiters in Tokyo hotels.
"Sato-kun!" she sang sweetly.
He approached with calm steps. "Yes?"
"Do you have a girlfriend?"
I froze.
He froze for half a second, not in confusion, but because he was deciding whether this was real life.
Then, politely, in his quiet tone:
"No. I do not."
My heart betrayed me by reacting at that answer. I had no right to react. But it did anyway.
The auntie clasped her hands dramatically.
"Oh my. What a tragedy for the youth of Japan."
"Auntie!" I hissed under my breath.
She winked at me like I should thank her.
Before I could recover, the noren lifted and a cluster of high school girls walked in, same group from the other day. They spotted him instantly.
"Oh my god he's working?""And Shizuka is here too?""This is illegal behavior, I swear."
I wished the tatami would open and swallow me.
Sato bowed politely. "Welcome. Please sit wherever you like."
One of them whispered too loudly,
"He sounds like a prince who escaped from an anime."
The other sighed.
"And he's blind. Shizuka, you're living in a drama."
"I am living in a normal town," I snapped back quietly.
Lie.
They sat, whispering and kicking each other under the table like they were witnessing a live romance trailer.
Meanwhile Hana appeared at Sato's side again, tiny hand gripping his sleeve lightly.
She didn't say anything. Just held on. Quiet, steady, trusting.
He knelt slightly to her height.
"Hana-chan, would you like to help again?"
She nodded once, serious like he just offered her national responsibility.
He guided her gently toward the counter, placing a tiny damp cloth in her hand and pointing her toward harmless surfaces, the edge of a low shelf, the wooden panel by the sliding door.
"Like this," he said softly.
She wiped carefully. Earnestly.
You would think she was polishing a sacred relic.
The aunties melted into puddles.
"That little girl trusts him so much…""And look how gentle he is.""My heart can't do this today."
The high school girls watched, jaw dropped.
"She's his number one already.""We're done for."
I hid behind the counter pretending the register needed attention.
Every once in a while, Sato would turn slightly in my direction, like checking if I was still nearby. He didn't need eyes for it, he listened for breath, footsteps, rustle of apron cloth.
Calm. Steady. Unshakable.
And every time he acknowledged me like that, my chest felt—No. Not thinking about it.
I took a deep breath and focused on serving miso soup.
It was supposed to be an ordinary evening.
Except it wasn't.Not for me.Not for anyone watching him move like he belonged in this quiet life.
And I had a feeling even the walls of our restaurant knew something had started here.
Dinner hour settled into a peaceful rhythm. Chopsticks clicking softly. Tea pouring in steady streams. The low hum of neighbors talking about weather, school, rice prices. Ordinary life, warm and familiar like the smell of soy broth drifting from the kitchen.
Outside, evening cicadas began their song.It felt like the town exhaled.
I wiped a tray and placed cups gently on the counter. Behind me, Hana concentrated very seriously on wiping a single wooden panel for the fifth time. Sato stood near the tea station, listening for subtle shifts in sound the way others listen for breathing.
The wind chime near the entrance stirred.Not a breeze.Not movement from the door.Just a single chime.Soft, clear.Like a glass teardrop falling.
Sato's hand paused mid-reach.Fingers still.Posture sharpened slightly, almost invisible unless you already looked at him too long today like I did.
His head angled just a little.As if the air whispered something only he could hear.
The restaurant kept moving around him.Customers laughed.Someone slurped noodles loudly.Hana quietly hummed, off tune, completely unaware.
But Sato stood still, listening to something I could not feel.
I stepped closer, just a little, not even thinking about it.
"Are you alright?"
He lifted his head. The silence inside him broke like a held breath.
"Yes," he answered, voice calm.
He placed the teapot down again, steady, controlled, as if nothing happened. His movements returned to their usual smooth rhythm.
But I saw the way a single muscle in his jaw had tightened.Just for a second.Just enough to say this peace had another side.
I looked toward the window, half expecting to see someone watching.
There was no one.Only gentle streetlight and slow drifting dust in the air.
Maybe nothing happened.Maybe something did.
I didn't ask again.I just stayed within arm's reach without meaning to.
Hana approached him right then, tugging lightly at his sleeve, as if she felt it too in her own quiet way.
He smiled at her. Small. Almost protective.
The wind chime stayed still again.Silent.Calm.
But a quiet thread had been pulled in the world, and even if no one else heard it, I knew Sato had.And maybe… I had too.
The rush faded slowly, like steam dissolving off miso bowls. Chairs scraped gently, bills exchanged, warm thank-yous floated toward us.
"Thank you for coming," I said again and again.Routine words.But tonight, they felt warmer.
When the last table cleared, I finally let my shoulders sink.
Hana wandered to her usual spot near the noren and hugged her knees, half-asleep already.
The restaurant felt held, like evening air pressed gently around it.
I poured two glasses of water.One for myself.One for him.
Sato was wiping the counter, movement steady, breath even.Even tired, he moved like he respected every second of peace given to him.
I hesitated, just a heartbeat, then stepped closer and placed the glass near his hand.
"You should drink," I said quietly.
He paused.Turned slightly toward me.His hand slid across the surface until his fingers brushed the glass.He lifted it with careful ease.
"Thank you," he said, voice softer than before. "You always notice things early."
"I don't."I did.And I wished my heartbeat didn't react like it was auditioning for a taiko drum performance.
He took a sip.Then another.Eyes closed behind the bandages, like he could taste calm in the water.
"It feels…" he searched for a word, then found it, almost shyly, "normal."
Normal.He said it like a blessing.Like something he hadn't owned before.Like a wish whispered into the universe.
I held my glass with both hands, suddenly aware of how fragile small moments can be.
"You're doing well," I said.It slipped out before I could filter it.But I didn't regret it.
He stilled.Not tense, just surprised.Maybe no one told him that enough.
"Am I?"His tone wasn't proud.Not fishing.Just… hoping.
I nodded, even though he couldn't see it at all."Yes. You are."
His shoulders loosened.The way someone exhales after carrying a weight too long.
"I want to live quietly," he murmured. "But I do not always know how."
"You will learn," I said before I thought too deeply about it.And then, softer, barely above a whisper:"We'll learn with you."
Silence settled around us, gentle, not heavy.There was nothing romantic said.Nothing dramatic done.Just the soft clink of glassand Hana's sleepy breathingand the faint hum of lanterns outside.
Sometimes life doesn't change loudly.Sometimes it shifts like this,a quiet click inside the heart.
And for a moment, peace felt close enough to touch.
The restaurant quieted one table at a time. Chopsticks settled into holders. Chairs slid softly back. Outside, the street hummed with low evening calm.
I poured water into two glasses.After all the noise, the sound felt loud somehow.
Sato finished wiping the counter and placed the cloth down neatly. He always placed things like they mattered.
"Here," I said, offering him the glass. "You should rest a moment."
His fingers brushed mine lightly as he found the cup.He froze just a second, politeness, not discomfort, then nodded.
"Thank you, Ichijo-san."
"You can call me Shizuka, you know."
He paused, glass halfway lifted.
"I… was not sure if that was proper."
"It's fine. We work together now."
He considered that like I'd given him a new rule to memorize.
"…Shizuka-san, then."
My traitor heart did a small flip.Ridiculous.
I sipped my water to hide it.He did the same.
"You didn't spill a single drop today," I said, trying to sound casual.
"That is fortunate."
"Not lucky. Skill."
He turned his head slightly toward me.
"You watched me?"
Too direct.Too honest.
"I— I mean— I was making sure you weren't struggling."
He didn't tease. He never did.
"I appreciate it," he said simply. "It makes it easier. Knowing someone is nearby."
I looked away before my face betrayed me.
"Don't expect me to guide you forever."
"Of course not."A small breath of a laugh. "Though I walk straighter when I hear your footsteps."
That was unfair.And gentle.And somehow heavier than any dramatic confession could be.
"Just… don't rely on me too much," I muttered, failing to sound stern.
"I rely only when needed," he answered. "Today reminded me I am allowed to."
I blinked.
"Allowed?"
"Yes." He touched the rim of his glass. "In my old world, needing others made you weak. Here it seems to make you… human."
I stared at him.
"…You are human, Sato."
His motion paused, soft surprise crossing his face like wind over water.
"Am I?" he asked quietly.
There was something unguarded in that question. Not dramatic, just painfully sincere.
"Yes," I said. Not loud. Not shaky. Just real. "You're human. And you're doing well."
He inhaled as if something unclenched inside him.
"…Thank you."
Silence settled again, but this time it felt shared, not empty.
Hana's small voice floated across the room, half-asleep:
"Shizu… water…"
I smiled, breaking the stillness.
"I should get her a cup too."
Sato set his glass down.
"If she wants to sit here, I will keep her company."
"Because she listens to you more than me?"
He nodded as if this was obvious.
"She respects those who move quietly."
I laughed despite myself.
"That sounds like something a monk would say."
He tilted his head.
"…Am I not peaceful enough to be one?"
I looked at the long bandage on his eyes. The steady posture. The faint storm underneath.
"You're trying," I said. "That's enough."
And for a few breaths, we stood in a little pocket of warmth in a quiet town, sharing water and small words like they were fragile.
Mysterious Man Arrives
The door chime rang again.Not like before, this time, it sounded clear, sharp, almost too precise. A single tone that cut through the warm quiet like a pin through paper.
A man stepped inside.Simple dark jacket. Clean shoes. Hair tied low. Not messy like travelers, not neat like locals.Too balanced.Too aware.And absolutely not from this town.
He paused at the threshold, just a heartbeat, letting his eyes adjust, or his senses. Something in his posture felt… trained. The kind of quiet strength that doesn't need to be seen to be felt.
Shizuka-san bowed gently.
"Welcome. Table for one?"
He nodded once, almost too polite.
"Yes. Thank you."
His voice was calm. Controlled.As if he'd practiced sounding harmless.
Sato-san turned slightly the moment the chime rang. His breath stilled just enough for me to notice. Not fear, recognition. A thread pulled tight.
Hana peeked from behind the counter and froze. She gripped my apron softly, rare for her. She never hid from strangers anymore… except now.
The man sat at a table in the corner, back angled where he could see the door and the kitchen. Not casual. A calculated vantage point.
He didn't look around.Didn't stare.Just waited.
Sato-san approached with water, steady steps, tray balanced perfect. I saw his fingers tremble once, a tiny, human fracture.
The man's eyes lifted slightly toward Sato-san.No shock.No pity.No surprise at the bandages.Only acknowledgment.
"You serve here?" the man asked softly.
"Yes," Sato-san replied with polite calm. "I am grateful for the opportunity."
A faint pause.Like two storms recognizing each other's scent beneath the sky.
"Enjoy your time in this town," Sato-san added.
The man's lips curved, not a smile. Something colder wearing warmth like a borrowed coat.
"It is peaceful," he said. "I hope it stays that way."
My father looked over from the kitchen. His face stayed unreadable, but his jaw shifted, just once. Not fear. Not surprise. Memory.
He knew this man, or his kind.
The man ordered something simple, soba, pickles, tea.He ate slowly. Clean movements. No wasted motion.
The whole time, Sato-san didn't face him, but I could feel his awareness like a thin wire stretched across the room.
When the man finished, he placed bills neatly in the tray, bowed slightly toward the kitchen.
"Thank you for the meal."
His eyes passed across the room once, not searching. Confirming.Then he left.
The wind chime didn't ring when he walked out.It just fell silent.Like even the air didn't want to announce him leaving.
Sato-san stood still after, one hand on the counter.His voice, barely above a breath, reached me:
"Shizuka-san."
"Yes?"
"Please… do not walk alone at night for a while."
I swallowed.
"Is something wrong?"
He didn't answer immediately.Then softly:
"Peace is delicate."
And in that moment, the quiet restaurant felt like something else was breathing under the tatami.
Walking Home
Closing time came with the same soft rhythm as always. Chairs lifted. Lights dimmed. The hum of the evening outside settling over the street.
Hana rubbed her eyes and held my sleeve, looking like she might fall asleep right there. Dad wiped the counter one last time. Mom took down the lantern outside the door. The night felt peaceful, like our town always did, the kind of calm that made you forget the world could be anything else.
Sato-san waited near the entrance, hands lightly folded in front of him. He stood like he had learned long ago that stillness was safer than movement.
"Thank you for the help today," Dad said.
"It is I who am grateful," Sato-san replied with a small bow.
Dad watched him for a brief second longer than usual. Then gave a short nod, the kind men exchange when words are not needed and things are understood quietly.
I gathered my bag and turned to Sato-san.
"Shall I walk with you to your place?"
"Please. I would appreciate that."
Hana reached out her hand first. He found it by sound alone and took it gently, the way you would hold something small and important. He did not guide her. She guided him. Or maybe they guided each other without knowing.
We stepped out into the soft evening street. The sky held the last traces of faded orange. Rice fields breathed in low wind. Somewhere a dog barked twice then quieted. The world felt safe.
Sato walked beside us, steps light, listening to everything. Gravel under foot. Distant bicycle. Wind brushing telephone wires. My own breath which I tried to keep normal but failed a little.
"You did well today," I said.
He shook his head.
"I only followed your lead."
"You worked hard."
"I learned. That is enough for now, I think."
He rarely spoke in long sentences, but when he did, they felt real.
We passed the small bridge. Lantern light reflected on the river like pieces of broken gold. Hana squeezed his hand and murmured something that sounded like a tiny happy sound more than a word. She did not talk much to others. Yet she trusted him without fear.
"I am glad you are here, Shizuka-san," he said quietly as we reached the narrow street near our homes.
I blinked. "Why?"
"You remind me this life exists."
I did not know how to answer that. So I did not. I just walked a little slower beside him. Sometimes silence did the work.
We reached his small rented house. He paused, hand still lightly holding Hana's until she let go. She stood there for a second, looking up at him with eyes half closed, then stepped behind my leg shyly. Her small way of saying good night.
"Rest well, Sato-san," I said.
"You too, Shizuka-san. And good night, Hana-chan."
Hana gave the smallest nod, then hid her face again.
He smiled at that. Not big. Just real.
I watched him feel for the edge of his door frame, find it perfectly, and slip inside with the quiet grace he always carried.
The door closed softly.The street was still.
Hana tugged my sleeve again, tired and warm and real in my hand.We walked back to our house, lantern light behind us and the sound of calm returning to the town.
Tonight felt ordinary.Yet something had shifted.
Not loudly.
Just enough to notice if you were paying attention.Peace was here.But so was something else waiting far beyond it.And some part of me knew Sato-san felt it too.Even if he did not say it.Tomorrow would come.And this quiet life would continue.For now, it was enough.