It was late afternoon in a calm village. The sun's rays shone brightly through a cloudless sky. On the outskirts, past a thick batch of large trees, sat a small farm with a single house beside it.
The house wasn't extravagant, but it was solidly built—far sturdier than what one would expect in a region like this.
Inside an almost empty room, furnished only with bedding and a small table at the corner of the room. A small covering lay across the floor. Atop it, a man sat reading the contents of a letter. After finishing, he folded it carefully and lit it on fire using the fading flame of a burned-out candle.
The man appeared to be in his forties. He had some facial hair and long, flowing hair tied at the base of his neck. He wore an old robe covered in stitches and patches, clearly repaired many times over.
What stood out most about him was the streak of white hair running through the dark strands.
His expression was troubled, as though something was eating away at him from within.
That sea of thought was washed away when he heard a knock at the door. It slid open to reveal a girl kneeling there, holding a tray with a teapot and a single cup.
She looked like a teenager nearing adulthood. Her long hair partially hid her face, and she too wore an old, patched robe.
She seemed timid as she nervously placed the tray in front of herself.
"I brought you your afternoon tea," she said in a low tone, almost a whisper.
Upon seeing her, the man's glum expression softened. He stood and walked toward her.
"Thank you, Takae," he said as he passed her and exited the room. "I'll take my tea outside today."
"S-sure," she replied, standing and following him.
As they walked through the hallway, another thing became apparent—the difference in their height. Though Takae was nearly grown, she seemed tiny compared to the man who towered over her. His wide frame nearly engulfed her; from the front, one might not notice her at all.
They stepped outside, and the man took a seat on the raised wooden floor separating the house from the ground.
Takae sat beside him on his right and began pouring the tea.
She handed him the worn-out cup and watched as he took his first sip. He sighed deeply, setting the cup back on the tray, his posture relaxing as though a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.
"You keep getting better at this," he said with a satisfied smile.
"You think so?" she replied, lifting her head for the first time.
It wasn't obvious at first glance, but Takae was quite beautiful. Her pale skin complemented her deep brown eyes, and her eyelashes fluttered softly with every blink. Even beneath her loose robes, there was a maturity about her—one made less apparent by her withdrawn nature.
Despite her timidity, she gave off a sense of reliability, like someone you could trust with your deepest secrets.
The man continued sipping his tea when a distant sound reached them.
They both turned to see a girl waving enthusiastically in the distance.
"I'm back!" she yelled.
She appeared to be around the same age as Takae, but unlike her withdrawn nature, she was upbeat and full of energy. She walked toward them with a bright smile, wearing an old robe with an orange tint—the same color as her hair. A large basket was strapped to her back.
She reached them and said, "I'm back early today, Pops."
"Is that so?" he replied. "So how did the sales go today, Yuriko?"
"Amazing," she said, setting the empty basket down beside him. "We sold out of everything."
She tossed him a bag of coins. "With this, we can afford some new clothes."
"What are you talking about?" he said. "The clothes we have now are more than enough."
"Sure they are," she replied, raising an eyebrow. "Anyway, is Izumi back?"
"Not yet," Takae said. "But he should be soon."
"No, he's back," the man interrupted, pointing toward the fields. "Look over there."
Sure enough, they saw a teenage boy in a torn, muddy robe approaching the house. He had spiky black hair that reached his neck and was of a slightly slim build.
He carried farming tools, and on his back was a large basket filled to the brim with harvested crops.
"I still don't get how you do that," Yuriko said. "How did you know he was coming if he didn't even yell?"
"You can just call it intuition," he replied with a smile.
"Yeah, sure. I'm not buying that."
The boy set the basket down before collapsing onto the ground.
"Where were you, Pops?" he said between heavy breaths. "You were supposed to help me, but you just disappeared."
"Oh, sorry about that," the man replied. "Something urgent came up."
"Yeah, sure. Just don't ditch me with all the work again," Izumi said, sitting up and wiping the sweat from his forehead.
"You're such a lightweight, Izumi," Yuriko said with a chuckle. "Can't handle a bit of work on your own?"
"Shut up," he shot back. "Why don't you try field work for a change instead of talking so much?"
"I'd love to," she replied sarcastically, "but then who would sell our produce at the market—you?"
"Alright, that's enough," the man interrupted. "Everyone contributes in their own way. Stop getting on each other's nerves."
"Fine," Yuriko said with a grin. "But only if he grows a spine."
Enraged, Izumi jumped to his feet and chased after her.
"Say that to my face!" he yelled.
"You've gotta catch me first, slowpoke!" she shouted, easily staying out of reach.
"Good grief," the man muttered, loud enough for Takae to hear. "When will those two grow up?"
"I don't think the question is when," Takae replied quietly, "but if they ever will."
The man laughed softly.
"You're absolutely right."
The sun dipped lower, its warmth fading as long shadows stretched across the farm. The laughter eventually died down, replaced by the quiet rhythm of evening settling in. They headed inside.
The interior of the house was modest and dim, lit only by the soft glow of a small oil lamp placed near the center of the room. A low wooden table sat atop woven tatami mats, its surface nicked and uneven from years of use. One of its legs had been reinforced with a thin wedge of wood to keep it from wobbling.
Takae moved silently, setting out the utensils.
Each bowl was mismatched—one chipped along the rim, another stained faintly from years of use that no amount of scrubbing could remove. The chopsticks were worn smooth, their tips slightly uneven, clearly repaired rather than replaced. One pair bore faint burn marks where they had once cracked and been mended over a flame.
Yuriko flopped down cross-legged with a satisfied sigh.
"Smells good," she said, peering into the pot.
Izumi followed, sitting a little more stiffly, rubbing his shoulders as he reached for his bowl.
The man took his place at the head of the table, lowering himself slowly. He reached for the ladle and began serving everyone in turn—rice first, then a thin vegetable stew made from the day's harvest. The portions were careful. Measured.
Once everyone was served, they all gave thanks before starting to eat.
For a moment, there was silence, until Yuriko broke the ice.
"Tomorrow night's the harvest festival," she said, her words muffled by the food in her mouth.
She swallowed before continuing. "You coming this year, Pops?"
"I would've loved to, but I'm busy with something," he replied.
"Come on, that's what you say every year, but it always turns out you just wanted to sleep early," Izumi said as he set his bowl of rice down.
"Yeah, he's right. Come on, please," Yuriko continued. "And tomorrow is our seventeenth birthday. You can't just say no."
"Sorry, but I really do have something to do tomorrow," he replied.
Seeing their glum faces, he added, "You're old enough to go by yourselves now, aren't you?"
He then tossed Yuriko the bag of coins she had given him earlier and said, "Use this to buy some new robes, and use the rest for the festival."
"Really!" they yelled in unison.
"Sure, but don't spend it all in one place," he said as he stood. "Clean up the table once you're done."
He then left the kitchen and headed to his room.
The three finished eating and cleaned up the table as instructed.
Once they were done, they headed toward their rooms, with Izumi being the last to leave the kitchen.
As he was going off to sleep, he passed by his father's room. Through the slightly opened door, he saw him writing something on a piece of paper at the table in the corner of the room, the only light coming from the dull glow of an almost burned-out candle.
He didn't think much of it and simply left.
The next day, the village was unrecognizable.
Lanterns lined the roads in long, glowing rows—paper shells of red, gold, and soft white swaying gently in the evening breeze. Their light spilled across the dirt paths and wooden stalls, washing the farmland village in warmth and color, as if the land itself had decided to celebrate surviving another year.
Banners were strung from post to post, hand-painted with simple patterns of grain, flowers, and looping characters wishing for abundance.
Drums echoed from the village center, slow and steady at first, then livelier as more people gathered. The rhythm carried laughter with it, pulling villagers from their homes and into the open square.
Stalls crowded the streets, their roofs patched together with cloth and wood, just like the houses—but tonight, they looked proud.
Skewers of grilled vegetables hissed over open flames. Sweet dumplings glistened with glaze, steam curling into the night air. The smell of roasted grain, sugar, and smoke mixed together, thick and comforting.
Children ran between adults, sleeves fluttering, wooden toys clutched in their hands. Some wore faded yukata mended so many times the stitches formed their own patterns, others simple robes brightened with borrowed sashes just for the occasion. Laughter rang out freely, unburdened, as if the world beyond the village did not exist.
At the heart of it all stood a raised platform, lanterns clustered around it like stars caught too low in the sky. Musicians played flutes and drums while villagers clapped along, some swaying, some dancing without care for rhythm or grace.
Above them, the last rays of the setting sun mingled with the lanterns' glow, casting the village in a soft, golden-orange haze.
For one evening, the village was alive—bright, noisy, and full of color.
And for those who didn't know any better, it almost felt like nothing could ever go wrong.
The three—Izumi, Takae, and Yuriko—walked through the festival in their glistening new robes, taking in the atmosphere of the night.
"So how's your father doing?" a woman working at a food stall asked as she handed them some meat skewers. "He still doesn't like coming to the festival, does he?"
"Yeah," Yuriko replied. "You'd think he's afraid of having fun."
"Come on, cut him some slack," the woman said. "I'm sure he has his reasons."
"Whatever you say," Yuriko replied as she handed the woman some coins.
"Come back again," the woman said, waving them goodbye.
"You need to slow down on the spending, Yuriko," Takae said as she handed her skewer to Izumi, much to his delight. "We're gonna run out of money if you keep this up."
"She's right," Izumi added, his two skewers already gone, leaving only the sticks. "We haven't even gotten to the best part of the festival yet."
They proceeded to an archery game stall, where Izumi took the bow and arrows and made a few shots.
"Why don't you land a good shot for once?" Yuriko said after Izumi missed the target.
"Shut up!" he yelled. "My hand just slipped."
"Sure," she replied sarcastically. "Normal people's hands don't just slip three times in a row."
"Bet you all my money he'll miss the next shot too," a voice behind them said.
They turned to see a couple about the same age as them.
"What are you two doing together?" Yuriko asked.
"I asked her to go to the festival with me. That a problem?" the boy replied. "Or are you mad because no one asked you to go with them?"
"Shut up!" Yuriko replied furiously. "I'll have you know a lot of guys asked me out, but I turned them all down."
Hearing that, Izumi snorted, earning a punch to the arm from Yuriko.
"Now back to the bet, or are you gonna back down?" the boy continued, a devious smile on his face.
The girl beside him nudged him aside and said, "I'm sorry about him. You don't have to accept if you don't want to."
"No, it's alright," Yuriko replied. "You're on!"
She then turned to Izumi. "You better not miss this time."
"I would've had a better chance of making it if you didn't punch my arm."
"Stop whining and win us some money," she replied.
"If we're going through with this, then hand the money to Takae," the guy said, pointing at her.
"Why? You don't trust me or something?" Yuriko asked, irritation clear on her face.
"Of course I don't," he replied. "You'll just vanish the second you guys lose."
"You're the one who's gonna lose, you smug bastard!" she yelled before handing the bag of coins to Takae.
"If it's okay with you guys, I'm gonna go sit over there," Takae said, pointing to a large box near an alleyway.
"Sure," the guy replied.
Takae left, and the rest turned their attention back to Izumi as he readied himself to take the shot.
"You better not miss, Izumi," Yuriko said, fist clenched. "My pride is on the line."
"Don't you mean the money?" Izumi replied.
"Yeah, sure, whatever—just do it."
Izumi stood with the bow and arrow in hand, steadying himself. He took a deep breath and prepared to shoot, but just as he was about to fire, he felt a strange sensation.
The distraction caused his shot to go wide.
"I win!" the guy yelled in triumph.
"Urgh, what happened, dude?" Yuriko asked, frustration clear on her face.
"I'm sorry," Izumi replied. "I just got this weird feeling right as I was about to shoot, and it distracted me."
"Now because of you, we're broke," Yuriko said. "And worse, we lost to this smug bastard of all people. He'll never let me live this down."
"I said I'm sorry."
"Yeah, whatever."
"If you're done, then I'd like to get my money," the guy said, pride plastered across his face.
Yuriko sighed. "Sure. Takae has the money, remember?"
They all turned toward the corner where she had gone to sit.
She wasn't there.
"Takae?" Yuriko's voice trembled, cutting through the festival noise.
Izumi's eyes scanned the crowd. "She… she was just here."
The sounds of the festival—laughter, drums, and chatter—suddenly felt too loud. Too chaotic. It pressed against them, drowning out the warmth the night had held just moments ago.
Izumi grabbed Yuriko's shoulder. "She couldn't have wandered off that far… could she?"
Yuriko shook her head, panic flickering across her face. "No… she's always careful. She wouldn't disappear."
They went to inspect the corner where Takae had been sitting.
The space was empty. At first, they saw nothing—but then Izumi noticed a coin lying on the ground. He bent to pick it up and saw another one further down the alley.
Curiosity and dread pulled them forward. They followed the trail of coins deeper into the shadows.
Amid the darkness, a figure emerged. Its presence was spine-chilling, radiating a cold, unsettling authority.
As they drew closer, they heard faint mumbling. Their hearts sank when they saw Takae—her arms pinned to her sides, a cloth muffling her cries—as she was carried by the stranger.
Izumi stepped forward, fists clenched. "Hey, just what do you think you're doing?"