The hum of the engine filled the silence until his voice broke through softly, "I'm sorry. Sorry for all the drama that I did. Sorry that I bought you. Sorry for what I did. There's no doubt your worth can't be dealt in money. I'm sorry."
He said while driving the car.
He said sorry to a worthless girl like me. He's the general of the Japanese army, and I'm just a servant. I didn't deserve what he said to me. The words stuck somewhere between my chest and throat, heavy and unreal. I replied, "Please don't say sorry. I'm sorry for spilling tea."
He laughed at my reply. Not in mockery—but in warmth, like I had somehow said something that reached him. For the first time in my life, someone's laughter didn't hurt.
Still, I was scared too, because I was going with a stranger. I didn't know where my future was leading me. My hands twisted the fabric of my kimono nervously, and my heart kept asking questions I couldn't answer.
"Hey, what's your name?" he asked me suddenly. I replied, "Amane."
It was the first time someone had asked my name. The sound of it felt strange in my own mouth, like I was hearing it for the first time. I was having so many new experiences in just a few minutes—it was overwhelming.
I didn't sleep the whole night, and that made me half asleep. As I closed my eyes, he whispered in my ear, "You can rest. I'll wake you when we arrive." His voice was soft, like a lullaby. I didn't reply. My body finally gave in to exhaustion.
"Wake up, Amane," he gently whispered in my ear, sliding his hand through my hair. No one had ever woken me up with that kind of kindness. For a moment, I wanted time to stop right there.
I woke up and stepped down from the car. He offered me his hand. My mind whispered, Why is he treating me so good? I just did what he said. His hands felt rough—strong, like those of a soldier, a warrior. I stepped down from the car.
He took me to an army base camp. There was a small container designed like a house, with little windows for ventilation. Maybe it was his office at that camp. He took me inside. I was thinking why he was taking me into that container. He closed the door gently.
At first instinct, fear crawled up my spine. I thought he had bad intentions toward me. But when he turned toward me, I saw kindness in his eyes—kindness that made my heart loosen. I felt safe.
He said to me, "Sorry, my little girl. I got out of my nerves that time. Actually, I saw a terrible childhood like you. When I arrived at your home, I heard the sound of a slap, your father's yelling, and the slight cry of a girl. When I saw you the first time, I knew the miserable childhood you were going through.
My dad abused me like you. I remember my childhood—me crying the whole night in the dark corner of my house. I always struggled in my life, trying to escape it. My dad was in the army. He put me in this field too because he needed a new soldier for war. I didn't even know how to fight, how to shoot. I was just a kid who experienced his life in blood. He never taught me how to fight. I was afraid of death. I was just a kid who wanted to live like other kids.
I taught myself how to fight. I taught myself how to stand alone. I remember when my father died—I felt ashamed that I couldn't cry for him. I hated him my entire life, and that hatred shaped me. I saw myself in you. Sorry I did that. I'm so sorry for everything."
His story of life made my heart moist for him. I never imagined there was once a crying child behind that charming, kind face.
I was confused and kinda curious about my future life. I didn't know what would happen to me in the future or what task I would get.
He smiled and said to me, "You might be hungry. Well, I'll tell my cook to make food for you."I replied with an embarrassed face, "Please don't, it's okay, I'm not hungry."
He moved his hand toward me. My breath hitched—I thought I had made him angry, that he was going to slap me. But instead, he just slid the strands of hair from my forehead to behind my ear.
His touch was so gentle, like he was touching a flower petal. I felt something stir in my stomach, and my face turned red. It was such a unique feeling—it was my first time being treated kindly. My heart beat faster than usual.
He broke the silence with a calm voice, "Don't hesitate here. It's your home now. Food will come in a few minutes, okay? Be a good girl and eat properly."
I just nodded my head in yes.
A few minutes later, the food was served. I was surprised—the food of army people was actually delicious. Maybe the most delicious food I ever had. Before that, I only remembered the meals I made myself or those cooked by the female chef we once had when I was a child. She made such delicious food before my father forced me into the kitchen at five. The taste today reminded me of her cooking… of those rare, fading memories of childhood warmth.
However, even though he was treating me so good, I still couldn't accept the sudden change in my life.