Rain had soaked the village through the night, leaving behind fields full of mud and cold, heavy air. Shinji's sandals squelched in the wet earth as he followed his mother and older sister, Hana, to the lower rice terrace. The path was slippery, and he nearly lost his footing twice. Hana giggled quietly behind him each time, but Shinji was too focused on keeping his balance to respond.
Mother carried a wooden bucket of fresh mud balanced carefully on her hip. When they reached the damaged wall, she stopped and set the bucket down. The wall held back water that kept their rice plants alive, but heavy rains often broke the older sections, making their mornings busier than usual.
"Shinji, Hana, quickly now," their mother said, kneeling by the hole. Her voice was calm but urgent. She scooped mud from the bucket with her hands and began pressing it firmly into the broken wall. "We have to finish before the sun is fully up, or we'll lose too much water."
Shinji knelt beside her, dipping his hands into the bucket. The mud felt cool and gritty against his fingers. Hana knelt on his other side, pushing strands of loose hair from her face as she started patching another crack. Shinji copied his mother's movements, pressing mud carefully, then smoothing it with the flat of his palm.
He worked in silence for a while, concentrating on making the mud hold strong. His hands started to sting from the cold, and his shoulders ached from bending. Despite this, he felt strangely peaceful, as if the rhythm of pressing and smoothing mud was something he'd done all his life.
But just as he pressed another handful of mud into place, something strange happened. A warmth flickered deep inside his chest, gentle and surprising. Shinji paused, his muddy hands hovering in the air. The warmth felt odd but somehow familiar, like remembering the taste of a fruit he'd forgotten he liked.
"What's wrong?" Hana asked, noticing his stillness.
Shinji shook his head quickly. "Nothing. Just tired."
She narrowed her eyes, unconvinced, but turned back to her work anyway. Shinji glanced down at his hands. The warmth faded slowly, leaving behind a faint buzz in his fingertips. He pressed his palm again to the wall, but nothing happened. The strange feeling had vanished, as if it had never been there at all.
Their mother stood back, stretching her back with a quiet sigh. "Almost done," she said. "Finish the last bit and I'll fetch more mud."
As she moved off towards the bucket, Hana leaned closer. "You felt something, didn't you?"
Shinji avoided her eyes, smoothing mud nervously. "It's just mud, Hana. It always feels the same."
"You looked surprised," she insisted. Her voice dropped lower. "Tell me."
He hesitated, pressing the mud more firmly. He wasn't sure how to explain something he didn't fully understand himself. He knew it wasn't normal. Finally, he shook his head firmly. "It was nothing."
She sighed loudly. "Fine, keep your secrets."
He ignored her gentle teasing, working quietly until his mother returned. She set down the fresh mud and began inspecting their repairs carefully. Her face broke into a proud smile. "Good job. You two are getting better every day."
Shinji felt his chest swell a little at the praise. Hana grinned, nudging his shoulder playfully. "See? All that practice paying off."
Together, they gathered their things and began walking back toward the house. The sky was brighter now, thin streaks of pink and orange stretching across the horizon. Birds were starting to sing softly in the trees.
"You both should hurry inside," Mother said gently. "Breakfast will be ready soon. Your father caught fresh fish."
Hana made a small sound of excitement, quickening her steps. Shinji followed slower, thoughtful. He couldn't shake the feeling of that strange warmth. He kept glancing down at his hands, as if expecting them to explain what had happened. They remained muddy and normal, giving no answers.
By the time they reached home, Father had already built up a cooking fire outside. He waved as they approached, his face gentle and worn from years in the sun. The smell of grilled fish filled the air, sharp and delicious.
Hana ran forward, laughing and chatting happily about their repairs. Shinji hung back, watching his family warmly. He smiled quietly to himself, glad to see them happy. Yet, a shadow of worry lingered. That strange feeling had touched something deeper inside him, something he couldn't explain even to himself. He had to find out what it was.
"Shinji, come eat!" Father called, holding out a piece of grilled fish.
Shinji hurried forward, joining his family around the small wooden table. They ate together, sharing small jokes and quiet talk about daily chores. The food warmed Shinji from inside, calming his confused mind just a bit.
But when the meal ended and everyone scattered to their tasks, Shinji slipped quietly behind the house. Alone, he held out his hands, studying them again. They looked small and ordinary. He pressed his palms together and concentrated, trying to find that warmth again. He closed his eyes tightly, imagining it flowing up from somewhere deep inside his chest.
Nothing happened. No warmth returned.
He sighed softly, opening his eyes to stare at the simple fields stretching away towards the hills. Everything around him was familiar, peaceful. But he knew something had changed inside him, something he could not ignore.
He whispered quietly to himself, making a promise he didn't fully understand yet. "I'll figure it out. Whatever this is."
Then, with a final glance at the muddy fields, he turned and walked slowly back into the bright morning, ready for another day of work.