Sakuranohanabira... [桜の花びら…-Petal Of The Cherry Tree...]
In an alternate 1888 Japan where the Continental War has ended, fifteen-year-old Buki Kirā emerges from three years of isolation—a child soldier who has forgotten what it means to be human.
Systematically broken since age five, Buki exists as a weapon in human form. He calculates distances with tactical precision but cannot measure grief. He delivers death notifications with clinical efficiency, handing families their shattered worlds as if distributing routine correspondence.
Social worker Clara Hoku releases him carrying a devastating secret: General Hazami Kokoro—the only person who tried to teach him humanity—died three years ago saving his life. Her final order echoes in his fractured memory: "I order you to live. Not survive—live."
Working as a postal carrier for the Imperial War Correspondence Office, Buki delivers delayed letters from fallen soldiers—final words, death notifications, personal effects of the dead. Every delivery forces him to witness raw grief while feeling nothing himself. When a child asks if the letter means Papa is coming home, when a mother collapses reading her son's last words, when a widow thanks him through tears for bringing her husband's final thoughts home—he observes, records, but cannot comprehend.
Fellow postal worker Yuki Amane recognizes what others miss: he's not cruel, he's broken. She teaches him that letters aren't just paper—they're the last fragments of people's souls. That delivering them with compassion matters, even if you don't understand why.
Then General Hazami's own letter arrives—one year late, written the night before her death—and everything Buki has buried begins surfacing. Memories of two lives, two deaths: the systematic abuse that taught him emotions meant pain, his years as a child soldier creating the casualties whose letters he now carries, and impossibly, memories of dying before in 2027 Tokyo—murdered by his mother after witnessing his family's slaughter.
A sixteen-episode psychological journey through trauma, grief, and the agonizing process of remembering how to feel when feeling itself became your enemy.
RATED MA18+