The day's journey continued smoothly. After their peaceful lunch, the trio made their way through two more shrines, each one adding a new layer of nostalgia to Sakura and Reno's expressions. Eadlyn walked between them, listening as they shared stories of their youth—festivals from twenty years ago, road trips to Kyoto, and the countless mischiefs they shared with Horikawa-san's family. These weren't grand tales of heroism or drama. They were soft, human memories—the kind that made history feel alive.
"Your grandfather used to get so competitive during festival games," Sakura reminisced, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "He once tried to carry an entire watermelon home because he won it in a contest."
Reno chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "And you were the one who insisted we keep it, even though it was heavier than both of us combined."
Eadlyn laughed, imagining the scene—a younger Reno, stubborn and determined, and Sakura, practical yet indulgent. It was a side of his grandparents he'd never seen before, one that made them feel more real, more human.
Around late afternoon, they arrived at a wide, elegant shop with glass-front windows and polished wooden beams. Unlike the shrines, this place felt modern—almost luxurious. Sakura walked in without hesitation, and Reno followed with a familiar smile.
Eadlyn blinked. "You two know this place?"
Sakura and Reno exchanged a secretive look, the kind that comes from shared history and unspoken understanding.
"Just come in," Reno said, waving him forward.
A Family Reunion in the Back Room
Inside, soft music played, and the faint scent of fresh tea drifted from the kitchen deeper inside. At the counter stood a young woman—pretty, poised, with a sharp, fox-like gaze that reminded Eadlyn of Sakura in her younger days. She bowed politely.
"Welcome. Table for three?"
Before she could continue her greeting, Sakura chuckled. "We're not customers today, dear."
The girl blinked, confused at first—until her eyes widened slightly in recognition.
"My grandfather?" she guessed.
Reno nodded proudly.
The girl's expression shifted from polite professionalism to warm surprise. "I'll get him immediately."
She hurried inside, and within moments, an older man stepped out—energetic, bright-eyed, and far livelier than his age suggested. The moment he saw Sakura and Reno, his face lit up like a child's on Christmas morning.
"So you finally brought the boy," he said, scanning Eadlyn with a sharp gaze that felt both amused and approving. "Looks just like you did at his age, Reno."
Eadlyn bowed respectfully. "Nice to meet you."
The old man—Horikawa-san—laughed, clapping him on the shoulder. "None of that formal stuff. Call me Grandpa Horikawa, like these two troublemakers do."
The group moved to the back of the shop, where a private seating area was arranged with traditional cushions and a low table. Tea was served, snacks were brought, and the conversation flowed effortlessly between old friends.
Sakura and Reno reminisced about festivals from twenty years ago, the time they got lost in Osaka, and the summer they all spent helping Horikawa-san open this very shop. There were stories of laughter, rivalry, and bonds that had outlasted decades of change.
Eadlyn listened in awe, watching as his grandparents transformed before his eyes. They weren't just his elders—they were people who had lived, loved, and built something lasting. The weight of their history settled around him like a warm blanket.
The Unexpected Suggestion
After some time, Horikawa-san leaned back and stretched, his joints cracking slightly. "There's a dance competition tonight," he said, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Sakuya, you'll join, yes?"
Sakuya, who had been quietly refilling their tea, rolled her eyes but couldn't hide her smile. "Grandpa..."
"You'll win the bear if you try," he continued, undeterred. "And you—" his finger pointed at Eadlyn, "should be her partner."
Eadlyn blinked, caught off guard. "M–me?"
Reno grinned. "He can dance. Took lessons years ago."
Sakuya looked at him for a moment, her gaze assessing yet kind. "I don't mind. The prize is cute."
With no further room for refusal, the decision was made.
Practice Before the Storm
After helping clean up, Sakuya changed out of her work uniform into something more comfortable—a simple but elegant yukata that complemented her natural grace. She approached Eadlyn with a quiet confidence.
"Ready?" she asked, her voice soft but sure.
He nodded, suddenly aware of how little he actually knew about dancing. "As I'll ever be."
They stepped outside to an open area behind the shop, where the soft evening light filtered through the trees. The air was cool and crisp, carrying the scent of earth and distant flowers.
Sakuya took his hands, her grip firm but gentle, and began guiding him through the basic steps. "Just follow my lead," she instructed. "It's easier than it looks."
Eadlyn stumbled at first, his movements stiff and uncertain. But Sakuya was patient, her instructions clear and encouraging. Slowly, his body began to remember the rhythms he'd learned years ago. His posture straightened, his steps became smoother, and soon they were moving in sync—not perfectly, but with a harmony that surprised them both.
"What shocked me wasn't my own ability," Eadlyn admitted as they took a short break, "but how naturally you match me."
Sakuya chuckled, wiping a bead of sweat from her brow. "I've been doing ballet since middle school. So this is nothing."
Her confidence was not arrogant, but earned—the kind that comes from years of practice and passion. Eadlyn found himself smiling, genuinely impressed.
"Well, I'm glad I didn't embarrass myself too much."
"You didn't," she assured him. "You're a quick learner."
There was something in her tone—a quiet sincerity that made the compliment feel meaningful.
Setting the Stage
By evening, they stood at the entrance of the dance hall, dressed in the outfits Horikawa-san had provided. The room buzzed with energy, couples warming up, judges making final preparations. The air smelled of polished wood and anticipation.
Eadlyn and Sakuya stepped forward, their hands clasped lightly. The music began—a waltz, elegant and timeless. The crowd quieted as they took their positions, all eyes on the unexpected pair.
The first notes played, and they moved.
Their steps were not perfect, but fluid, each movement a conversation without words. Sakuya led with confidence, and Eadlyn followed with growing assurance. The dance became more than just steps—it was a story unfolding, one of trust and unexpected harmony.
As the music swelled, Sakuya spun forward, her yukata flaring around her like petals in bloom. Eadlyn caught her effortlessly, their eyes meeting for a brief, breathless moment. The crowd erupted in applause, but all Eadlyn could see was the genuine joy in Sakuya's smile.
When the final note faded, they stood breathless, their hands still clasped. The judges conferred briefly before announcing the winners:
"First place—Sakuya Horikawa and Eadlyn Greyson!"
The hall erupted in cheers. Sakuya bounced on her toes, her earlier elegance replaced by childlike excitement as she hugged the giant teddy bear prize.
She turned to Eadlyn, her eyes shining. "Thank you. I really wanted this."
He laughed, still catching his breath. "Happy to help. That was... more fun than I expected."
Sakuya's expression softened, her gaze holding his for a moment longer than necessary. "You're different from how you look," she said quietly. "You carry rhythm well."
The compliment settled in his chest, warm and unexpected. "Thanks," he replied, feeling a strange kinship with this girl he'd only just met.
What he didn't say—but quietly felt—was that moments like these formed the foundation of something deeper than friendship. Not romance, not yet, but connection—the kind that roots itself in shared experiences and mutual respect.
Tonight wasn't about love. Tonight was about understanding that sometimes, the most meaningful bonds are the ones you don't see coming.
And as they left the hall, the giant teddy bear tucked under Sakuya's arm, Eadlyn realized that this trip had given him more than just memories—it had shown him what it meant to belong.