Long before he walked through quiet streets and sunlight touched his face, Sato Ikematsu stood in a place where mercy didn't exist.
He was not born a monster.He was made into one — slowly, painfully, and without a choice.
A child raised in whispers and steel.A brother who held a little girl's hand through storms only to lose her in fire.A blade who once moved through shadows for a cause that never cared if he survived.
Everyone in this peaceful town sees only a calm stranger with covered eyes.
None of them know that the blood he carries did not come from strangers.None of them know the night that stole his sight.None of them know who is still looking for him.
Sato came here to disappear.To breathe like he once dreamed a human could.
But ghosts don't disappear.They follow. They hunger.And sometimes, they remember your name.
My name is Shizuka Ichijo, and I'm a second-year student at Gifu Prefectural High.Nothing shocking ever happens in my life — at least, that's what I believed until today.
Morning light filtered through the trees, warm and soft, brushing gold over the narrow countryside road. Dew still clung to the grass by the riverbank, and cicadas hummed lazily somewhere far off. Our group moved in a loose line toward the station — uniforms swaying, bags shifting against shoulders, quiet chatter floating like bubbles in the still air.
Hana walked beside me, one hand curled in the strap of her satchel, eyes lowered as always. She rarely looked at other people. Sometimes I wondered if she even saw them — not with her eyes at least, but with some secret corner of her heart she guarded so fiercely.
We turned the bend by the old persimmon tree.
And then everything stopped.
A boy ,no, a young man — walked toward us. Slowly. Calmly. Bandages rested where his eyes should have been, clean and neatly wrapped. Medium-long hair brushed the collar of his shirt. A simple backpack rested over one shoulder; a faint wind lifted the ends of his sleeves.
He walked like he could see the road perfectly,
like the world made space for him instinctively.
Every girl around me seemed to inhale and hold their breath at once.
Even I did.
He wasn't just handsome.
There was something… still about him.
Like a quiet place inside a storm.
When he paused, we all froze with him.
"Konichiwa," his voice was mellow, steady.
Then gently — too gently for a stranger —
"Excuse me. Does anyone know this address?"
He held out a folded note.
The others blinked, started whispering, nudging each other.
My chest tightened when everything inside me realized —
the address written there was my own.
"That's!" one girl beside me squeaked, then turned, pushing my arm,
"Shizuka, that's your place!"
I stepped forward before I understood I was moving.
"Yes… that is my address."
My voice sounded smaller than I felt.
His head turned toward me — not directly, but enough.
A gentleness in the angle.
"I heard the house is for rent. Are you Ichijo-san?"
My breath caught.
"Yes. You're the one my father talked about."
I swallowed. I realized suddenly how thoughtless my next words would sound, but they slipped anyway before I could stop them:
"You came to see the place"
I froze, cheeks heating. "Ah— I'm sorry, you… I mean… I didn't mean"
"I understand," he said softly, saving me.
"No apology needed."
Something in his voice made my chest tighten again.
Hana, usually hidden behind my legs, peeked from the side of my skirt.
Her eyes, wide and bright, fixed on him with uncharacteristic curiosity.
He paused — then turned toward her tiny presence.
There was warmth in his expression now, subtle but undeniable.
He crouched a little, voice softening as though the world had shrunk to just them.
"Hello there."
A gentle smile.
"My name is Sato."
Hana blinked. Once. Twice.
Silence stretched — then barely above a whisper:
"…Hana."
The way he stilled — something inside him shifted.
Not pain exactly.
Something older, sadder, quieter.
"That's a beautiful name," he murmured, voice nearly breaking around it.
He unzipped a small pouch, fingers moving familiar and precise.
"Do you like sweets, Hana-chan?"
"A-ah…" she hesitated, shy as always.
"…chocolate cookies."
He raised a small cookie packet — homemade, wrapped in wax-paper string.
"Here. I made these."
Hana froze , she never took anything from anyone. Ever.
But then, her tiny hand reached forward, hesitant as a trembling leaf…
And Sato smiled, as if the entire morning exhaled.
"Would you like to see what the world looks like from my height?"
His tone was a soft invitation, not a question.
Hana blinked up.
Before I could stop her, before she could think —
she stepped forward and let him lift her.
The gasp left all of us at once.
He rose smooth and sure, holding her steady, one arm supporting her back, the other under her legs — effortless, natural, confident. The bandages never shifted. His head tilted upwards, as though seeing the sky with her.
Hana's small gasp of surprise echoed softly — then a tiny laugh escaped her.
A fragile sound, like glass catching sunlight.
He lowered her gently back to the ground.
She clutched the cookie to her chest.
"It's delicious," she whispered after a bite, cheeks warming.
He stood again,quiet, composed, serene.
"You're very kind, Hana-chan."
She only nodded, as if the world had changed and she didn't trust her voice yet.
I found my breath again somewhere between my ribs.
"I'm here…" I said quietly.
He turned toward the sound of my voice — and smiled.
"I'll see you soon, Ichijo-san."
And just like that —
he walked past us, steps smooth, unhesitating, as though guided by some invisible compass the rest of us couldn't see.
We didn't move until his figure blended into morning light and soft cicada hum.
Only then the whispers exploded.
"Did he just"
"He's blind, right?"
"But he moved like"
"-and picked her up—how"
"Who is he…?"
I didn't say anything.
My heart was still beating in my throat.
I just watched him walk,
and for a moment, the world felt unreal.
Like something extraordinary had just brushed the edge of our ordinary morning,
and kept going, quietly.
Inside The Class
The first period had barely started and already the classroom felt too bright, too loud. Chalk tapped the board in a steady rhythm; the teacher's voice drifted like white noise. Outside the window, the road glimmered in sunlight, same as every day… except it didn't feel the same.
Hana's little laugh still echoed in my chest.
His voice too. Soft. Careful.
Who was he…?
"Oi, Shizukaaa~" a whisper stabbed through my thoughts, followed by a poke to my arm.
I blinked. "What?"
Yumi leaned over from the desk behind me, grinning like she knew every secret I'd ever had.
"You're spacing out. Thinking about someone?" Her tone stretched teasingly.
I stiffened. "N-No."
Another girl leaned in. "Hmm, maybe a certain mysterious bandage-boy who just happens to be renting near her house?"
A few giggles broke out. Someone mimicked a dramatic sigh.
"Oh Shizuka-chan, fate finds us in strange morning paths~"
My face heated. "Stop it! I was just— it was weird, okay? He just showed up."
"And Hana-chan liked him," one added, eyes sparkling. "That's rare."
That part was true and somehow made everything more complicated.
"I said stop," I muttered, turning back to the window. "It's nothing."
But my reflection on the glass was pink-cheeked and betrayed me.
Outside, wind brushed through the rice fields.
Quiet. Gentle. Almost like it remembered him too.
Lunch arrived in a rush of chairs scraping and bento boxes opening.
Normal noise. Normal routine.
I sat with my friends, unpacking rice and leftover tamagoyaki. Hana's tiny milk carton from yesterday was still in my bag — I forgot to throw it out.
"Shizuka, earth to Shizuka."
A boy from class waved chopsticks at me. "You okay? You look… floaty."
"I'm fine."
It came out sharper than I intended.
Yumi smirked. "She's not floaty, she's flustered~"
"Eat your food," I hissed under my breath, stabbing my rice harder than necessary.
They laughed. I sulked. Life continued.
After school, I picked up Hana from her tiny preschool building across the courtyard. She held my hand, swinging her legs a little as we walked. She hummed, light, airy, unusual. She never hummed.
"You're in a good mood," I murmured.
Hana didn't answer, just kept swinging our hands like a little pendulum.
Quiet joy.
We met the other girls at the gate. They bounced with excitement, like a pack of hungry sparrows.
"Let's walk by Shizuka's place!"
"Just to check if he's there"
"I mean, we HAVE to see what kind of guy moves in blind and still looks like that"
"It's creepy if we all go," I tried, clutching Hana's hand.
"It's supportive girl bonding," Yumi corrected, linking her arm with mine.
"And besides, your mom always gives us snacks."
I opened my mouth to protest again.
Then Hana tugged my sleeve, eyes curious in her quiet way.
I sighed. "Fine. But we're not… stalking him."
Ten seconds later, from the way they hurried down the road, it definitely looked like stalking.
The sun dipped low, painting the rooftops warm orange.
Girls chatted, speculating wildly.
"Do you think he has like… powers?"
"He moved like he could see."
"What if he's some tragic manga character come to life?"
"Shizuka's gonna fall first, I bet"
"I said stop."
It didn't come with anger this time — more like surrender.
Hana squeezed my hand gently.
And weirdly… I wasn't annoyed anymore.
Just uneasy. Curious.
Something restless in my chest.
Halfway home, the road curved and the rented house roof peeked into view.
My heartbeat stumbled.
Why does it feel like something is waiting beyond that corner?
I swallowed, forcing my voice steady.
"Let's just… walk normally."
The girls nodded— then immediately straightened like soldiers trying to look casual and failing miserably.
Hana just kept holding my hand, quiet, cookie crumbs probably still in her memory.
And me?
I stared at the road ahead and told myself again:
It's nothing.
But the air felt different today.
Like morning wasn't finished with us yet.
The sun had begun to dip, turning the road amber as we crossed the familiar bend near the shrine gate. Only six of us now — the rest had long peeled off toward their homes. Cicadas grew quieter; the evening wind felt cooler on our cheeks.
Hana clung to my sleeve, tired from the long day.
We didn't notice the voices at first.
Not until they staggered into view.
A group of local boys, older, loud, sharp edges dulled by alcohol.
Everyone in town knew them.
Everyone tried not to know them.
Tojima stood in front — tall, messy hair, that cocky grin that always made me feel like I needed to step back.
"Ohh, Ichijo-chan," he drawled, stumbling a step closer, "walking home so cute and innocent again?"
His breath smelled like cheap beer and trouble.
Yumi whispered, "Shizuka… let's just go around."
We tried.
They followed.
"Hey, don't be cold." Tojima blocked our path, pretending politeness. "I just wanna talk."
A hand brushed too close to my shoulder. I flinched.
"Stop." My voice trembled sharper than I meant. "Move, Tojima. We're going home."
His friends laughed, a sloppy chorus.
"Look at her," one sneered, "acting like she's too good for us."
Hana hid behind my legs, tiny fingers clutching fabric, breath shaking.
"Don't cry, little one," someone mocked. "We're just saying hello."
Hana whimpered, that small, wounded sound that breaks worlds quietly.
"Enough!" Yumi snapped, voice cracking. "We'll go to the police box"
"The cops?" Tojima laughed, stepping closer, eyes unfocused but vicious. "Who's gonna believe little schoolgirls, huh?"
My chest tightened.
The road suddenly felt very long.
Very empty.
And then—
"Excuse me."
A quiet voice.
Soft, but it cut through everything.
From the corner of the street, a figure approached steady steps, hands by his sides, yukata tied neatly, sleeves rolled. The familiar fabric.
My father's restaurant uniform.
My breath caught.
Sato.
His hair ruffled gently in the wind; bandages untouched. He stopped a step behind Tojima and laid two fingers on the boy's shoulder — not forceful, just there.
"Please don't frighten them," he said simply. "They're kind girls. And this little one…"
His hand shifted slightly toward Hana's direction, "…is like a sister to me."
Tojima turned, confused, then smirked. "Blind boy? You?"
He laughed, pushing Sato's chest. "What, gonna save the princesses?"
Sato didn't move.
Didn't react.
He only dipped his head, calm as still water.
"I just ask politely," he murmured. "Let them go."
"And if I don't?" Tojima shoved again, harder this time.
"S-Stop!" I stepped forward, heart hammering. "Please"
Hana tugged him too — "Ni-…san," barely a whisper — but Tojima flicked her hand off, careless.
She stumbled backward.
Something inside Sato changed.
A silence.
A breath held by the world.
Then—
Tojima swung.
Sato moved.
No hesitation.
No wasted motion.
No anger — just cold precision and devastating clarity.
His palm struck Tojima's gut — a sharp, quiet impact.
Tojima lifted off his feet, air punched clean out of him, dropped gasping.
The second boy lunged — Sato pivoted, elbow snapping into ribs, knee cutting low, boy hitting the road before he even cried out.
Two more came.
A blur — a sweep, a twist, a knuckle under a jaw, a foot behind an ankle.
Bodies fell.
Dust rose.
His head never turned like sighted fighters do.
He moved by sensing breath, weight, intention —
a dancer in a storm only he could see.
Last boy froze.
Sato paused beside him, one hand brushing his shoulder lightly.
"Help your friends," he said quietly. "And don't trouble them again."
The boy nodded, shaking.
Sato didn't look angry.
Or proud.
Just… sad.
Like violence wasn't strength but a burden he carried alone.
He turned to us.
"Let's go home," he said gently, as if everything that happened was ordinary.
Not a fight.
Just… a moment.
The girls stared, mouths open.
Yumi whispered, "Holy—" and lost the rest of the sentence.
I couldn't speak.
My hands trembled.
Hana's fingers slipped into Sato's sleeve without thinking, like it was the most natural safety in the world. He patted her head lightly.
We walked.
Behind us, groans, curses, disbelief.
In front, dusk settling over rooftops, warm and unreal.
I kept stealing glances at him — bandaged, walking quietly beside us like nothing happened.
Blind, I told myself.
But nothing about what I saw made sense.
And yet somehow…
it felt inevitable.
Like he didn't enter our world today.
Like he'd always been walking toward it.
Always been walking toward… us.