When Haruto opened his eyes, the first thing he noticed was the smell.
It was warm and sweet, like bread just taken out of the oven. The air felt different too—softer, lighter. When he tried to sit up, he realized he was lying on a small bed covered with a wool blanket. A wooden ceiling stretched above him, and sunlight shone through the cracks of a window nearby.
He blinked.
This wasn't his room.
This wasn't his world.
The last thing he remembered was… a long day. A desk full of papers. The sound of rain hitting a city window. Then pain—a sharp, heavy feeling in his chest—and darkness.
Now, all he could hear were birds outside and the quiet creak of an old house.
Slowly, he got up. His body felt light, and when he looked at his hands, they weren't the same. They were younger, smaller, and rough from work—like the hands of someone who needed dough everyday day.
A small table stood by the window. On it was a load of bread, golden brown and still warm.
Haruto stared at it for a long time. Then, almost without thinking, he tore off a piece and took a bite.
It was soft. Sweet. The kind of bread that tasted like home.
"Ah you're awake!"
A voice startled him. A woman stood at the doorway—kind eyes, simple dress, and a towel around her shoulders. She looked to be in her thirties.
"You gave us quite the scare, young man," she said. "Found you fainted near the river. Do you remember your name?"
Haruto hesitated.
"My… name?" he repeated softly. "It's… Haruto."
The woman smiled. "Well, Haruto, welcome to Evermere."
"I'm Kaori," she said. "This is my home. My husband's out in the fields, and I run the bakery here. You should rest a bit more—you looked half-dead when we found you."
Haruto gave a weak smile. "Thank you… for helping me."
Kaori waved a hand. "No thanks needed. Eat the bread. It'll help. You've got the look of someone who hasn't eaten in days."
Haruto nodded and took another bite.
The bread crumbled in his mouth, warm and alive. He didn't realize until then how long it had been since he'd felt something so simple—and good.
By the next morning, he felt strong enough to walk around. Kaori showed him the bakery: a small, cozy shop with stone walls and wide brick oven. The smell of flour filled the air, and the shelves were lined with different loaves—round, braided, some sprinkled with sugar.
"You worked in a bakery before?" Kaori asked as she shaped dough with quick, practiced hands.
Haruto paused. "No," he said, then smiled faintly. "But I think… I'd like to."
Kaori laughed. "Then you're in the right place! We could use an extra pair of hands. My husband's not much help when it comes to kneading."
And just like that, Haruto's new life began—quietly, like dough rising under a cloth.
He learned how to mix flour and water, how to listen for the soft sound of bread baking, how to smile at customers who came for their morning loaves. The townsfolk were kind—simple people with gentle eyes and stories to tell.
Every evening, when the sun dipped below the roofs, the town would glow gold. Children ran through the streets, and neighbors gathered by the fountain to talk. Haruto would sit outside the bakery, tired but happy, watching smoke rise from the chimneys.
Sometimes, though, he felt a faint pull in his chest—a strange feeling, as if something inside him remembered another time, another life. He would look up at the sky and think: Why was I brought here? But the thought would fade whenever the smell of bread filled the air again.
One evening, as he was closing up the bakery, he found an old note tucked behind the oven. The paper was yellowed, the writing faded.
"To the one who comes again, welcome home."
Haruto froze.
The words sent a shiver down his spine.
He looked out the window. The village was quiet, the lamps glowing softly in the distance. A gentle wind carried the sound of laughter and the scent of blooming flowers.
Haruto held the note to his chest and smiled faintly.
"Home, huh…" he whispered.
Outside, the church bells rang—slow and gentle—Evermere slipped into night.