scene 1
"grandfather!" mikio shouted.
"looks like the rice is ready to be picked!"
"alright, miki," his grandfather replied.
"be careful when you harvest it—we'll be eating that tonight."
⸻
scene 2
that night, over dinner
chopsticks clacked. rice disappeared faster than it should have.
"miki, slow down or you'll get heartburn," his grandfather warned.
his voice was light, but a bit thinner than usual.
talking through a mouthful of rice, mikio mumbled,
"i won't get hear—"
he stopped, clutching his chest.
"ghk…!"
"told you," his grandfather said, chuckling.
he coughed lightly into his sleeve—barely noticeable—and kept smiling.
"sorry, grandfather," mikio groaned. "but i think this rice tastes better than usual."
"mmm… maybe so," the old man nodded, satisfied.
his eyes lingered on the bowl a moment longer than usual.
mikio's eyes lit up.
"hey—can you tell me another story? one from when you were younger?"
his grandfather leaned back, setting down his bowl.
"alright," he said with a small smile.
"when i was about forty-one, our clan—the tsurugi clan—was at war.
we'd allied with the tenshō and kagetsu clans.
our enemy was the enkai clan."
"i had been a samurai for ten years by then. experienced. sharp.
but still… human."
"during one battle, i clashed with an enkai warrior.
i lost my footing and fell—completely open."
mikio leaned in, breath held.
"he could've killed me," his grandfather said quietly. "but he didn't.
he looked me in the eye and said:
'i don't wanna do this anymore.
too many of my brethren have fallen.
there's nothing left for me to gain from killing you.
i'm sure you've got a family to go home to…
but i don't.
please.
just kill me.'"
"…so i did," he continued. "i ended his suffering.
and from that day forward… i knew i didn't want to be a samurai anymore."
he let the words hang in the room like smoke. his hand drifted to his side briefly, rubbing just beneath his ribs—like something ached.
"miki."
"yes, grandfather?"
"if there ever comes a day when you must kill…
make sure it's absolutely necessary.
don't carry that weight unless you have to."
"…i understand," mikio said softly.
his grandfather nodded once.
"now get to bed, grandson."
his voice was quieter now—almost fading into the clink of empty bowls.
⸻
scene 1
[it's the next day]
mikio headed off into the village toward the market.
"grandfather, i'm going! i'll probably be gone all day!" he shouted.
"okay, miki," his grandfather called back, voice raspy but warm.
"don't be out too late!"
the sun had just risen,
casting long shadows over the dirt path.
"ms. hanayo!" mikio called, spotting her at the bread stall.
she looked up, smiling.
"oh hey, mikio. how are you?"
"i'm fine. i just need some bread to eat while i read."
"that's nice," she said, pulling out a small loaf.
"that'll be 2 ryō."
as mikio reached for his pouch, a voice cut in from beside the stall—
"still reading those dusty old books alone, huh?"
he turned slightly. emi.
same age as him, but with more bite in her tone than most grown-ups.
short dark hair tied up sloppily, sleeves rolled up,
eyes sharp—like she was always waiting to catch him slip up.
"hi, emi," mikio said, calm.
he counted out the coins and handed them to ms. hanayo.
"you never change," she said, arms crossed, mock-sighing.
"same weird boy who didn't know how to talk to girls."
"i still don't," mikio mumbled. "and you scare boys away."
emi visibly flustered. "just shut up, miki!"
ms. hanayo laughed softly as she wrapped the bread.
"you two still bicker like you're ten."
mikio dug into his cloth pouch, carefully counted out the coins,
and placed them gently in ms. hanayo's hand.
l
she smiled as she wrapped the loaf.
"reading again, huh? what is it this time—tale of genji or ghost stories?"
mikio shrugged, a faint grin on his lips. "both."
"of course," she chuckled.
"you know, when i was your age, we didn't have time for stories.
too busy running from real ghosts."
mikio raised an eyebrow. "real ghosts?"
she leaned in, voice low and teasing.
"bandits. ronin. worse.
they always came in the summer—like thunderclouds."
"jeez, mom," emi muttered sarcastically.
mikio blinked, glancing up at the sky.
bright. cloudless.
"don't worry," she added with a wink.
"sky's clear today.
go enjoy your bread and your stories."
"i will," he said with a polite bow.
"thank you, ms. hanayo."
as he turned to go, her voice called after him—
"hey, mikio—tell your grandfather to come by sometime. it's been a while."
he looked back and nodded.
"okay. i'll tell him."
⸻
scene 2
mikio found a quiet spot beneath a tree at the edge of the fields.
he sat down, unwrapped the bread, and tore off a small piece.
he opened his book, but his thoughts drifted.
grandfather's been sick for a long time.
it's getting worse.
the other day, he coughed up blood and tried to hide it… but i saw it.
maybe i'll stop by the medic before i go home. get him something.
he took a bite, but the bread felt heavy in his mouth.
even the story couldn't hold him.
⸻
scene 1
night had fallen by the time mikio returned home.
he opened the door, holding a small bottle of medicine.
"hey, grandfather! i got… medicine—"
his voice caught.
three armored warriors stood in the room.
a lantern flickered low in the corner, casting warped shadows along the walls.
their armor gleamed like obsidian scales.
his grandfather sat calmly in his chair, hands folded in his lap.
his face—still. unreadable.
but his eyes flicked to mikio, gentle and sharp all at once.
"miki," he said, voice low.
"stay right there."
the bottle slipped from mikio's hand and rolled across the floor.
it hit the wall with a dull thud.
a warrior stepped forward.
"fujinaga tsurugi," he said formally.
"for your crimes against the royal clan enkai
and your participation in the war thirty years ago…
you have been sentenced to death.
by order of the feudal lord, kurotsuki enkai."
mikio stood frozen.
the room shrank around him.
he couldn't breathe.
his grandfather looked up, eyes narrowing slightly.
"…i don't understand.
the feudal lord's name is shiba tenshō.
what's become of him?"
"lord shiba was killed in battle many years ago," the guard replied flatly.
a silence pressed in.
fujinaga closed his eyes, took a breath.
his shoulders sagged—not from fear, but from time.
"…i see."
another warrior stepped forward.
"are you prepared to accept your fate?"
"…yes."
"wait!" mikio shouted, voice cracking.
"why?! why does he have to die?!
he hasn't done anything!"
one warrior turned to mikio.
"is he your blood?"
there was a long pause.
"…no," his grandfather said calmly.
"i just take care of him."
the words hit like a blade to the chest.
mikio flinched—
his breath caught—
"not your blood?"
the thought clawed at his ribs.
but when he looked up,
his grandfather was already staring at him.
and in that gaze—steady, warm, unblinking—
mikio saw it.
not rejection.
protection.
he bit his lip hard to keep it from trembling.
⸻
scene 2
they led him outside beneath a quiet night sky.
no wind.
no crickets.
just the sound of footsteps and armor clinking.
the village slept, unaware.
as they neared the gate,
fujinaga slowed, then stopped.
he turned to mikio one last time.
"miki," he said gently.
"in my drawer… there's a piece of paper.
it'll explain everything."
he gave a tired smile.
"don't worry about me, miki.
this is my karma."
mikio took a step forward, hands trembling.
he tried to speak, but the words tangled in his throat.
then, finally:
"but… grandfather."
his grandfather didn't answer right away.
he just looked at him—really looked at him—
with eyes that had seen too much,
and still loved anyway.
then, softly:
"a storm's power lies not in its noise…
but in the calm that shapes it."
he turned toward his execution.
the guards walked with him into the dark.
and mikio's world fell silent.
_____
scene 1
the following morning
mikio lay on the futon, eyes open, but barely seeing.
sunlight filtered dimly through the paper windows.
his body ached, but not as much as the weight in his chest.
he hadn't cried.
not when they took him.
not when the blood hit the floor.
not when the rain fell.
but inside, something was breaking.
his tired gaze drifted to the ceiling—
then the memories returned, sharp and vivid.
⸻
[flashback: last night]
"you bastards!!"
mikio's voice cracked as he lunged forward, fists clenched.
"i'll… i'll kill all of you!!"
one of the warriors barely flinched.
"just knock him out," he said flatly.
a samurai stepped forward and drove the sheath of his blade into mikio's gut.
mikio staggered, clutching his stomach.
"d-damn… you…!" he choked out.
another blow—this time to the neck.
his vision blurred. the dirt rushed up to meet him.
his body collapsed.
as the rain began to fall, cold and steady, he lay there—half-conscious.
through flickering sight, he saw their boots.
their hands lifting his grandfather's body.
the severed head placed in a cloth-wrapped box.
then—darkness.
⸻
scene 2
[back to present]
mikio sat up slowly, breath shallow.
he rose in silence, crossed the creaking floor, and stepped into his grandfather's room.
the drawer.
he walked to it.
his hands hovered for a second, then opened it.
empty.
"…empty," he murmured.
he frowned.
pulled the drawer all the way out.
clack.
something caught.
a faint sound beneath the wood.
he reached in and found it—
a hidden lever tucked into the bottom panel.
he pulled.
click.
a compartment opened.
inside was a rolled-up parchment, tied with a thin red string.
mikio unrolled it slowly.
a map.
his eyes traced the markings—symbols of places he'd never seen.
a jagged ravine. mountain peaks. strange glyphs.
he flipped it over.
on the back, a note, written in his grandfather's careful hand.
he read it aloud, voice low and trembling.
"miki,
by the time you're reading this, i've either
succumbed to my illness, or paid my debt to the ones i've killed. you have to find the tsurugi clan's sacred weapon. it was once passed down to clan generals…
before they all fell.
i was never able to find it.
as of now, you are the last surviving member of the tsurugi clan.
this heirloom belongs to you.
i believe in you, miki.
go find the sword of storms.
the kusanagi blade."
mikio's hands shook as he finished reading.
his throat tightened.
for a moment, he stood there, frozen.
then he closed his eyes.
and whispered—
"…i'll find it.
no matter what it takes."
he carefully rolled the map back up and held it close to his chest.
a storm was forming inside him.
not wild.
not loud.
but steady.
shaped by calm.
just like his grandfather said.
_____
scene 3
mikio changed into his grandfather's old montsuki and strapped the blade to his hip.
the fabric felt heavy—not from its weight, but from what it meant.
he walked quietly to the village, heading toward ms. hanayo's stand.
she was setting out her usual morning batch of rice balls.
"hello, ms. hanayo," he said calmly.
she glanced up, catching something different in his eyes—still polite, still quiet, but… quieter.
"hey, mikio. how's it going?" she asked, wiping her hands on her apron.
he hesitated. then, with a soft breath:
"could i get two onigiri? i'll be gone for a while."
he placed two ryō on the counter.
ms. hanayo blinked, a little caught off guard by his energy.
"of course, mikio."
she wrapped two rice balls in a leaf-paper roll and handed them to him.
"thank you, ms. hanayo," he said, bowing slightly before turning to leave.
after a few slow steps, he stopped.
without turning around, he spoke:
"my grandfather passed. from his illness. make sure the village knows."
ms. hanayo froze. her breath caught.
she swallowed hard, trying not to let it show.
"…i will," she said quietly.
as mikio neared the edge of the village, he spotted emi.
"hey!" she called, jogging up to him.
he turned, his tired eyes softening. "hello, emi."
her gaze drifted to the blade at his hip. her expression twisted—not with anger, but something closer to disappointment.
softly, she asked,
"why are you leaving the village, miki? i saw those samurai come into town… does that have something to do with it?"
he didn't want to tell her the truth. not yet.
so he forced a small, fake smile.
"don't worry about it, emi. i'll be back soon. promise."
she looked at him, unsure, conflicted.
but she nodded anyway.
"w-well… okay."
mikio gave her one last glance, then walked past her toward the village gate.
behind him, emi whispered—just loud enough for the wind to catch:
"you better come back, miki."
she wiped at the corner of her eye.
he didn't turn around.