We weren't far from home when footsteps thundered behind us — fast, angry, too many. My stomach dropped before I even turned.
Ten boys this time. Bigger. Sober. Meaner.
The one Sato had spared earlier pointed at him, voice shaking,
"H-He's the one! The blind guy!"
Their leader scoffed, "You expect us to believe a blind kid beat you?"
His eyes slid to Sato. "Oi, pretty boy. Think you can walk off after touching my crew?"
All the girls stiffened.
Yumi squeaked, "We… we should go."
Someone grabbed my sleeve. Hana hid behind me, trembling.
Sato didn't flinch.
He simply lifted Hana gently into my arms, like passing a fragile thing into safer hands.
His palm brushed the back of mine — warm, steady, grounding.
"It's okay, Shizuka-san," he murmured.
"You don't have to worry."
My breath got stuck somewhere in my ribs.
He stepped forward, fingers briefly grazing the wall to sense distance, head tilted slightly — listening. Feeling.
"I don't wish for trouble," he said, voice soft. "Violence doesn't help anyone. Your friends are hurt, but they will recover. Let's end it here. For their sake… and yours."
Laughter exploded around him.
"Oh, now you apologize?"
"Coward."
"Blind and stupid."
Sato bowed his head. He was humble, sincere.
"Please. Let them go home. They're just students. And this little one…"
His voice cracked so quietly only I seemed to hear it,
"…she's like a sister to me."
"Shut up and fight."
They charged.
Sato moved like he'd been waiting for the world to fall silent again.
He slid past the first punch — the air barely stirred — palm to throat, twist, drop.
Two from the left — he turned between them, elbow, sweep, heel behind knee, bodies collapsing like loose branches.
Someone tried to grab him from behind — Sato stepped back once, low and quiet, flipping the boy over his shoulder without even looking.
No wasted strength.
No shouting.
Just breath. Motion. Stillness.
A dancer inside a storm that only he heard coming.
It didn't look human.
It didn't look violent.
It looked… inevitable.
When the last one hit the ground, dust settling around their shoes, Sato exhaled.
Calm. Untouched.
Like he'd only been walking through wind.
Sirens cut through the evening.
Police jogged over, faces pinched, taking in a scene that made no sense.
Girls talked all at once — tears, panic, indignation.
Officers frowned, glancing from the groaning boys to Sato's bandaged eyes.
"You expect us to believe you—?"
Sato only bowed, voice soft,
"I don't need sight to protect the people I care for. I just… know a little martial arts."
A long pause.
The officer sighed — half disbelief, half respect.
"…Thank you for keeping them safe. Be careful."
Sato nodded once.
Then he turned toward Hana, reaching out, palm gentle.
"Were you scared, Hana-chan?"
Hana shook her head, clutching his sleeve.
"No. Not scared, Nii-san."
The word hit harder than any punch tonight.
He smiled — small, tired, real — and rested his hand on her hair.
We walked toward home together.
Girls whispering, stunned.
Streetlights blinking on like soft stars above us.
And I…
I couldn't stop staring at him.
A blind boy who moved like he could see through the world.
A stranger who protected us like we mattered.
And somewhere between my fear and awe…
my heart realized it had stepped into something it didn't understand yet.
Something that felt a little like fate.
By the time we reached home, evening light had settled into a soft amber glow. Hana still held Sato's sleeve like it was a lifeline, and the girls whispered behind us — half stunned, half star-struck.
Father slid open the door before anyone could knock.
"Welcome back."
His tone calm — almost like he already knew everything.
We stepped in. Hana ran straight to him, clutching his apron. The other girls bowed awkwardly. Father's gaze shifted to Sato — not shocked, not confused… more like he expected him.
"I wondered where you went Ikematsu-kun."
Sato bowed deeply.
"I was just taking a stroll to learn the layout of the neighborhood. Thank you for letting me stay next door, Ichijo-san."
Father nodded, studying him with a quiet, knowing look.
The kind adults get when they recognize something no one else can.
Inside, Mother called from the kitchen, "Everyone, wash up — dinner's ready!"
We were herded to the table. The warm smell of soup and grilled fish filled the room — comfort I'd never appreciated until now.
Hana parked herself next to Sato. Naturally. Like she belonged there.
And then Hayato plopped down across from him, eyes wide.
"You're the guy who beat those jerks up!" he blurted, mouth full of rice.
"That was the coolest thing ever! Are you like… secretly a swordsman?"
I choked. Mother gasped. Father stared at his rice like this conversation didn't exist.
Sato only chuckled, soft and modest.
"Nothing like that. I just trained too much as a kid."
Hayato nodded as if this confirmed his suspicions that Sato was, in fact, a wandering anime hero.
The girls at the table leaned in, peppering Sato with gentle questions — school, hobbies, cooking.
He asked each of them about their day like he genuinely cared.
No theatrics. No ego. Just calm sincerity.
Hana giggled every time he responded to her tiny shifts or breaths.
Somehow she already knew how to exist in his orbit.
Halfway through dinner, Father casually announced,
"Sato-kun will be living in the side house and helping at our restaurant. He's a capable cook."
Chopsticks froze mid-air.
"He is working for us?" I whispered, honestly stunned.
Father didn't look up.
"Good help is rare," he said simply.
Mother smiled warmly. "We're happy to have him. Eat, eat!"
Dinner flowed with laughter, shy glances, and a strange new warmth settling over the room — like the universe had quietly pulled up another chair.
Later, when the table emptied and shoes shuffled by the door, Sato stood.
"I'll organize my place now. Thank you for the meal."
Hana tugged his yukata gently.
He knelt.
"I'm practically living next door, Hana-chan," he said softly.
"So you'll see me every day."
A tiny smile.
"I hope you'll take it easy on your nii-san."
Hana giggled, cheeks pink.
At the doorway, Sato paused and turned slightly toward me.
"Shizuka-san… would you walk me to the house? My senses are a little dull from earlier. Just to be safe."
My heartbeat skipped.
"Y-yes, of course."
He extended a hand — quiet expectation, polite confidence.
I swallowed, then placed my hand in his.
Warm. Gentle. Steady.
We stepped outside.
His rental house was only steps away, but somehow it felt like crossing into another world.
He traced the entry frame lightly, mapping it. Boxes stacked. Dust floating in late light.
"I'll help you clean tomorrow," I blurted before I could think.
Silence. Then his smile — small, genuine.
"I'd be grateful, Ichijo-san, and I will be looking to lean on you even more from now on since my eyes are not my best friend, would it be alright? "
I looked away quickly, heat rising to my cheeks.
"Of course, Sato-san. G-goodnight."
"Goodnight."
He disappeared inside.
I stood there a second too long, the air still warm where his hand had been.
Something had shifted today.
In him. In us. In me.
I could feel it.
The house was quiet.
Hana already slept curled like a tiny kitten beside me; her breath slow and warm.
I lay staring at the ceiling, blanket pulled to my chin, heart still unsteady.
Today…
had felt like a week packed into a few hours.
A mysterious boy asking me for directions.
Hana laughing — really laughing — for the first time in so long.
Fights, fear, then dinner at home like nothing happened.
His hand in mine.
His voice.
His… everything.
I covered my burning face with a pillow and groaned quietly.
What was wrong with me?
He was just a person.
Just someone passing through.
…Right?
But the way he stood in front of us.
The way he fought without looking.
The way he held Hana like she mattered.
No hesitation. No ego. Just… presence.
I rolled onto my side, hugging my pillow.
Girls texted nonstop in the group chat — voice notes, chaos, squealing about "blind martial artist prince" and "Shizuka-chan destiny arc???"
I turned my phone face-down.
My heart refused to settle.
Somewhere inside, something unfamiliar stirred —
not romance, not yet…
just recognition.
Like I'd seen him somewhere in a dream I forgot to remember.
The night hummed outside my window.
A new neighbor.
A stranger.
Why did it feel like the beginning of something I wasn't ready for?
Sato
Tatami touched the back of my legs, cool and steady.
My breathing slowed.
Bandages gone — eyes closed anyway.
Scars across my chest and back pulsed faintly under the dim light.
Each one a memory carved into skin.
I inhaled.
And heat swallowed me.
Fire roared.
Walls cracked and collapsed in showers of sparks.
Smoke burned the air.
Steel flashed — my blade cutting through silhouettes that rushed in.
One strike.
Another.
Bodies dropping in bursts — sharp hits, final gasps, silence swallowing screams.
Hot blood splashed my arms.
Someone reached for my shoulder —
I cut without thinking —
another collapse, thud against flames.
Shouts blurred.
My heartbeat thundered.
And then —
Small arms in mine.
A head against my chest.
Hair stiff with blood.
Breath fading against my collarbone.
"Hana!"
My knees crashed to the burning floor.
Fire circled like a hungry beast, devouring air, hope, everything.
Her weight felt lighter by the second.
Too light.
I held her tighter — useless, desperate.
"Hana!!"
My voice cracked — raw, ripped from somewhere deeper than bone.
A sound no one survives making.
Flames swallowed the room.
Silhouettes — fallen everywhere.
A battlefield carved by my own hands.
Then everything went black.
Back to Present
Tatami.
Night breeze.
Heart pounding like it still bled there.
I pressed a palm to my chest, muscles rigid, jaw locked.
Not here. Not now.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
Pretend the world is calm.
Pretend your heart didn't burn alive once.
Silence filled the room — but it didn't feel like peace.
Somewhere beyond these thin walls, life moved gently:
passing train, cicadas, the faint laugh of a child in a dream.
And somewhere else
a girl lay awake, trying to understand why her heart felt different tonight.
I exhaled slowly.
Darkness didn't scare me.
Memory did.