Winter
A season when flowers withered and fell, leaving behind only skeletal trees that clawed at the pale sky. The earth slept beneath endless white plains, each snowdrift stretching farther than the eye could see. It was a silence that bit at the flesh, a stillness that sank into the marrow. The air itself became sharp, so cold it burned when drawn into the lungs. Winter was not merely cold, it was merciless.
And yet, there were those who called it a perfect season. Perfect because the red of spilled blood looked so vivid against the white, staining it like brushstrokes on a black canvas.
It had been many years since the Sakakibara clan rose to power, crushing rival houses beneath their ambition and taking the seat of shogunate for themselves. Since then, the land had known little peace. The strong thrived, the noble families grew fat with coin, while the common folk bowed lower and lower under the weight of impossible taxes. In every village, a single truth lingered like frost: prosperity for the few meant ruin for the many.
But even in such an age of despair, human beings clung to hope like weeds growing between stone cracks. For if there was no hope, how could one endure? The belief remained someday, somehow, Japan would rise again.
"Sentaro! Wake up, Sentaro!"
That fragile dream was shattered at once by the gentle yet somehow loud voice of his mother. Though gentle at its core, it rang through the household with startling clarity, enough to stir even the heaviest sleeper.
"Can't I just stay in bed a little longer?!"
Sentaro groaned. His words carried the petulant weight of a boy wishing to resist the inevitable, though deep down, he knew it was pointless.
Morning had already begun, and with it came duties that would not wait for him
Reluctantly, Sentaro pushed himself upright. The futon released its trapped warmth in an instant, and the air cut into his skin like a knife. He shivered, rubbing his arms, before noticing the neatly folded SAMUE lying by his side. His mother had placed it there before dawn, a simple kindness born of habit. It was dark blue, plain but sturdy the clothing of a commoner family that valued utility over luxury. Slipping into it, he braced himself for the chill of the day.
But before he could take five steps, a storm of energy descended upon him.
"Sai surprise attack!"
A small body collided with his own. His little brother, Sai Hachibei, a cheerful, mischievous boy filled with so much energy latched onto him with a grin far too large for his face. At just nine years old, Sai radiated a light that cut through the bleakness of winter.
Despite the four-year age gap, the bond between brothers was ironclad. Shared meals, shared laughter, shared cold nights, they were inseparable.
"It's so early, yet you have so much energy, Sai," Sentaro said forcing a chuckle, lifting Sai off before setting him aside. His gaze lingered for a moment, warmed by the boy's spirit.
Then something else caught his attention.
"Wait… what's that smell?"
The question slipped from his lips before he realized it. His eyes sharpened, nostrils flaring as the scent wrapped around him. Rich, savory, comforting, something that spoke not only to hunger but to memory. His stomach growled in eager betrayal.
"Is that Oden?"
Saliva pooled at the corner of his mouth. Without hesitation, he bolted down the hallway. Sliding the door open with unnecessary force, he found the source.
His mother, Mahiru, stood with quiet grace, her yellow kimono patterned with violet flowers swaying as she leaned over the table. Her hands moved with the precision of years of practice, arranging steaming plates of ODEN, one for each member of the family. The rising steam mingled with the winter air, creating a fleeting illusion of warmth within the wooden house.
"Mother, you are the best! I'm so happy you made oden!" Sentaro burst out, eyes sparkling like a child.
"Not a problem, dear. Now eat before it gets cold, you too, Sai." she said, gesturing at Sai.
And then, another voice, deep and commanding, broke through.
"Mahiru, my loving wife, how could a man not be happy with a morning like this?"
Sentaro's father, Garou, entered the room. He was a man hardened by years of labor, broad-shouldered, calloused hands, his very posture telling of years he spent as a blacksmith. His tone carried the usual roughness, yet the smile tugged at his lips and betrayed his true feelings. Mahiru's faint blush added a fleeting warmth to the otherwise frigid household.
Together, the family gathered. Four figures circled a low table, bound not by wealth or privilege, but by the fragile comfort of togetherness. For a few breaths, the world outside their home seemed distant.
But harmony in such times was a fragile thing.
Mahiru's eyes, sharp despite their kindness, caught the faint distortion on her husband's face the way his jaw tightened, the heaviness in his brow. She had lived beside this man long enough to recognize when the weight of the world pressed hardest upon him.
"Garou, honey, what's wrong?" she asked softly.
Garou slammed his chopsticks down, the sound cutting through the quiet "Another tax increase, damned that village head!". The words dropped like stones into still water. With the TEGAMI squeezed tightly and crumpled in his hands.
Every working soul in the land could understand Garou's feelings behind his words. The taxes were not for roads, nor for protection, nor the betterment of village life. They were to line the coffers of the clans, swelling the luxuries of those already drowning in abundance. For the common folk, each increase was a chain tightened around their necks. And refusal led to punishment swift and merciless - execution in public squares a warning written in blood.
"Shit!" Garou cursed, fury distorting his face further.
"Dear, the children are listening…" Mahiru whispered, her hands trembling against her lap.
Garou glanced at Sentaro and Sai, seeing the uncomfortable look on their faces, he then exhaled slowly, fighting to reel himself back. "You're right. I'll just have to work harder and cut back on expenses."
"Unless…"
His gaze shifted towards his eldest son.
Sentaro's heart sank. He knew what his father intended before the words could even be spoken.
"NO!" his voice cut through the air like steel.
"I've told you before, Father, I don't want to be a blacksmith." His eyes burning with a resolve that surprised even himself.
The room tensed. It was as though the walls themselves leaned inward, suffocating the air.
Garou's patience, worn thin by years of this same defiance, finally splintered.
BAM!
Garou stood up with haste, his hands struck against the table, rattling the bowls. Threatening to overturn their
simple meal. Sai flinched, his small body trembling, while Mahiru gasped in alarm.
"This is the last straw, Sentaro, you dare refuse tradition of the Hachibei Clan."
Sentaro shot to his feet as well, refusing to cower, his body quivering with both fear and determination
"We have been over this father, I do not care about our clan's tradition, my dream is to become a samurai - to serve in the Shinsengumi!"
"You must be insane!" Garou spat, veins bulging at his neck. "Do you think I'd let my son just end the tradition of this clan?"
"The Hachibei clan is a long line of blacksmiths who create weapons for samurai, you as the eldest son must carry on that tradition just like my father and just like I" Garou said his anger boiling over.
"No father, l believe that I can do more good as a samurai than I ever could behind a forge!"
"Good?!" Garou snarled. "The world is cruel, boy! The only way to survive is to face reality, find stable work and provide for your family!"
"And besides we as A blacksmith feeds his family. A dead samurai feeds no one." He continued. "Don't you see, we as blacksmiths also do good while being safe"
The air thickened until even breathing seemed like a burden. Young Sai lowered his head, his small shoulders shaking as tears pooled in his eyes.
"I'm sorry father… but I can't walk that path."
For a heartbeat, silence filled the air. Then -
THUD!
Garou's fist slammed into Sentaro's jaw. Pain exploded, the taste of iron filled his mouth as he collapsed to the floor. Blood dripped down his lip, staining the tatami.
"Sentaro!" Mahiru cried, rushing to cradle him, while Sai's sobs split the air
Garou loomed over his fallen son. "What do you know? You're just a naive boy who is stupid enough to throw away the clans purpose just to waste your time on stupid dreams!"
Sentarō's heart twisted. His father had never struck him before not once in all his years. Fear, grief, and betrayal churned inside him until his body moved on its own.
He bolted. Out the door, into the night.
"Sentarō! Come back!" Mahiru's voice cracked as she screamed, but the words dissolved into the bitter wind.
The sky was a bleak gray, heavy clouds pressing low, as though the heavens themselves were burdened by the sorrows of the land. The wind carried the sharp bite of winter, cutting through his thin samue, but the sting of his father's words lingered far deeper. His jaw still ached from the blow, and though the blood had dried, the shame of being struck remained raw.
Sentarō ran as fast as he could with tears welling from his eyes, the cold winds slapped his face as he continued. The village where he resides was bustling with kids playing with snow, Coal merchants doing their usual routes and blacksmith working in their workshop, Sentaro sped through them gripping his jaw in pain.
Then -
Thud, Sentaro hit something and fell butt first to the snowy floor, it was strong and sterdy yet soft.
"Huh? You should really watch were you're going kid, are you okay?" An old familiar voice said. Sentaro looked up to see a man in a plane green samue dirtied with black soot, a straw hat to block the snow and an empty basket with it's insides black from coal.
"Wait a minute, Sentaro is that you?" The man said look at Sentaro confused before realizing the tears on his face and his bruised jaw "Oh no, Sentaro are you okay?".
Later that day, Sentarō sat in a room beside an opened door glancing at the snow outside and drinking tea, the sliding door at the other side of the room then opened with the man walking in. "Are you feeling better now Sentaro?" the man asked.
"I'm better now, thank you so much Mister Tasuke" Sentaro said dropping the cup on the TATAMI mat with a sad look on his face. "So tell me young Sentaro, what gave you that bruise on your face?" Tasuke asked with worry etched on his face.
"It's alright Mister Tasuke, you don't have to worry about it" Sentaro said his tone low and calm. "Let me guess Garou hit you" Tasuke said leaving Sentaro shocked. "How did you…"
"Garou has always had a bad temper, I'm even more surprised he hadn't hit you or Sai earlier"Tasuke said with a grin on his face, before glaring at Sentaro with a stern look on his face
"But seriously whatever did you do to cause him to hit you" Tasuke said taking a closer look at Sentaro's jaw.
"All I did was refuse to partake in the blacksmith tradition of the Hachibei clan like he did" Sentaro said with his gaze focused downward to the floor. "I see, Garou has complained about that to me as well, saying that you keep rejecting your clan's traditions".
After that silence followed Sentaro didn't meet Tasuke's gaze all he did was stare at the floor in shame.
"Is he going to scold me for defying my father?" Sentaro asked himself.
"If I may ask, why is it that you reject your clan's tradition Sentaro?"
Sentaro eyes widened in mild shock to Tasuke's question, he even had to look up to see Tasuke's expression, he was serious.
"Well, I ant to be a samurai serving under the Shinsengumi" Sentaro face glowed with determination, a smile appeared and a gentle breeze from the cold winter flew in blowing up Sentaro's silver hair.
"I see" Tasuke said with a stern look on his face.
"I hope you know that Garou just doesn't want you to get hurt" A smile then appeared on Tasuke's face, "But still who is he to stop such a passionate kid from achieving his goal".
The words Tasuke said were simple, almost careless on the surface, but to Sentarō they were like kindling to a dying flame. His father's rejection had nearly snuffed out the dream he clung to, yet here, after hearing these words, that dream flickered back to life. Tasuke's words were a mirror reflecting the man he longed to become.
The cold no longer mattered. The ache in his jaw, the sting in his pride, all of it paled before the warmth that ignited in his chest.
For the first time since leaving his home, Sentarō felt something other than despair. He felt resolve.
That night, the village lay under the grip of winter's silence. The sky hung heavy with clouds, pale and unbroken, as though the heavens themselves refused to look upon the suffering below. Sentarō's feet crunched against the snow, each hurried step echoing his pounding heart. The words of Tasuke still lingered in his mind, stubborn and bright, like sparks struggling against the cold wind.
By the time he reached the sliding door of his family home, his breath had grown ragged. A thin trail of vapor escaped his lips, vanishing into the frigid air. With a force born of desperation, he slid the door open.
Inside, the dim glow of the hearth painted shadows across the room. Sai was already fast asleep, his small chest rising and falling with the innocent rhythm of dreams untouched by hardship. Mahiru sat alone, her hands folded tightly in her lap, worry carved deep into her delicate features. Her kimono, once vibrant, now looked faded under the wavering lamplight, as though even the colors had surrendered to the sorrow of their household.
Upon seeing Sentaro return she jumped, to her feet as worry filled her face.
"Where have you been? I was so worried!" she scolded softly, though the edge of her voice wavered with relief.
"Please, Sentarō. Listen to your father from now on, all he wants is to keep you safe and have a decent life not one filled with dangers."
Her words, though gentle, pressed against his chest like a weight. Obedience to one's father was the unspoken pillar of their society, an iron chain that bound son to parent, family to clan, commoner to ruler. To defy was to shame not just the parent, but the entire bloodline. Yet Sentarō could not bring himself to answer. His silence was louder than any reply.
Instead, he walked past her, the floorboards creaking beneath his hurried steps, and entered his small room. The walls seemed to close in around him, oppressive and suffocating. His hands moved with restless urgency, gathering his few belongings—clothes, a bamboo water flask, a spare pair of sandals, tying them together in a makeshift bundle with cloth. Every knot he tied pulled him further away from the life he had known.
When he emerged again, bundle slung over his shoulder, his mother's eyes widened. For a heartbeat, she stood frozen, the realization crashing down upon her like an avalanche.
SMACK!
Her palm struck his cheek. The sound cracked through the silence, sharp and trembling with grief.
"How dare you? have you lost your sense of reasoning Sentaro!!," she whispered, her voice breaking as tears spilled down her face. Her hand lingered against his cheek, but it trembled not from anger, but from fear, the fear of a mother who knew how merciless the world could be to a boy chasing a dream too large for his shoulders.
"What do you think you're doing, Sentarō…?"
Her words struck deeper than her hand ever could. In her trembling form, Sentarō could feel the invisible chains of duty, of filial piety, of the crushing weight that demanded he put family above self, survival above hope. But he also felt the faint ember in his chest, the same ember that had ignited when Tasuke had spoken, the ember that whispered of change, of justice, of a life beyond the forge.
And then—
From the shadows of the doorway, another figure stirred.
Broad-shouldered. Muscular. The air itself seemed to tighten as he stepped forward, each heavy footfall carrying the authority of a man who had endured a lifetime of burdens. His eyes, faintly glowing in the dim light, burned with an icy blue fury.
Garou.
The father's presence filled the room like a storm breaking over the sea. His broad frame blocked the light, his silhouette swallowing the flicker of the lantern flame. The sound of his breathing was slow, controlled, but laced with simmering rage.
"Going somewhere, Sentaro?"
Before Sentarō could react—
THUD!
The blow landed, sudden and merciless, sending the boy staggering. The impact reverberated not only through his jaw but through the fragile bond that still tethered father and son.