I slid the blade back into its sheath and carefully returned it to the katana kake. Silence filled the room, but my mind was anything but still, buzzing with questions I didn't yet know how to ask.
I turned to the Abbot; his calm smile remained, steady as always.
With a mix of hesitation and courage, a question slipped from my lips. "Kurogiri Seigi… is that the name of the sword's owner?"
I watched him intently, my heart racing in anticipation.
Instead of answering, he gestured gracefully, inviting me to sit beside a low table adorned with a delicate tea set.
The polished cups gleamed in the soft light, the steaming teapot filling the air with the rich, comforting aroma of freshly brewed tea.
I lowered myself onto a cushion while he sat across from me. He poured the tea into both our cups, offering only a smile before gesturing for me to drink.
I lifted the teacup and drew it to my nose, mimicking a motion I had once seen in a video. The aroma was unfamiliar yet inviting.
The Abbot watched quietly as I sipped.
For a fleeting moment, it felt like he regarded me as a father might a long-lost son. I couldn't help but smile, recalling my own father—his patience, his care, the steady love that had carried me through life since my accident.
After a long pause, he finally spoke. "Kurogiri Seigi is not the owner of the sword," he said, turning his gaze back to the blade. "The sword belonged to Lord Kurogiri Masanori of the Kurogiri Clan."
The names were foreign to me. The Kurogiri Clan, though familiar in sound, only deepened the questions swirling in my mind.
The Abbot seemed to expect me to ask, but when I remained silent, he continued. "Kurogiri is the name of the clan. Seigi is their virtue—it means justice."
The meaning clicked into place. I had a faint idea, but confirmation was far better than assumption.
"Kurogiri Seigi… the Kurogiri of justice," I muttered without realizing it.
The Abbot nodded, a small smile playing at his lips, as if silently approving the words I spoke aloud.
I stared into the tea, searching for answers, but only my unfamiliar reflection stared back.
A voice pulled me from my thoughts. "I heard you lost your memories. Do you not remember anything at all?"
Of course I did—but not the memories he expected.
"No… not a single thing," I said, placing a hand on my head as though the act itself could lend weight to my claim.
He studied me for a moment longer.
"I see," he said quietly. Something in his expression told me he found it odd. "I assume you do not know where to go from here. You should stay for a while."
I nodded, and he smiled.
"I kept you for too long, didn't I?" he asked again, sipping his tea.
"Of course not, sensei," I said hastily, flustered. "I… really enjoyed the time. The tea is calming." In my nervousness, I bowed quickly, slipping into a dogeza without thinking.
He chuckled softly.
"You should speak with Elder Masato; they are leaving early today," he reminded me gently.
I realized I hadn't seen them since last night. I should indeed check on them before they leave.
"Oh… right. I haven't spoken with them since last night. Is Elder Masato's son alright?" I asked, trying to recall the severity of his wounds.
"He is recovering well," the Abbot said calmly. "Though he will remain here until he can move without difficulty."
Relief washed over me. "That's fortunate. I should excuse myself now, sensei."
I sipped the tea one last time and rose, but his voice stopped me once more.
"Hayate," he said, "always remember—a quiet surface does not mean the river has forgotten its course."
I blinked, unsure what to make of it, and nodded.
I stood fully, bowed to the Abbot, and stepped out the door, ready to visit Elder Masato.