Morning settles softly over the village. Mist still clings to the fields when Natsuo steps outside, the earth cool beneath his boots. His body aches faintly from the day before, but it isn't the soreness that lingers most-it's the memory.
The push of the plow through stubborn soil.
Daiji's shoulders straining with each step.
Banri laughing through sweat as if hardship were a game.
And then-Takeshi's face.
The way his eyes had narrowed, sharp with something between anger and contempt.
I'm not doing enough.
The thought returns again and again as Natsuo walks. Not as a whisper-but as a certainty.
He stops at the edge of the fields and looks back at the village. At the worn fences. The tired tools. The endless labor carved into every surface.
His gaze drifts between the fields and the work sheds.
An idea stirs.
By midday, Natsuo is pacing slowly between the forest line and the cleared earth beside the sheds, measuring the space with quiet steps. He crouches, presses his palm to the ground, murmurs calculations under his breath.
"This w-would hold..." he mutters. "And it would not i-interfere with the tool s-shed..."
A few villagers pause as they pass.
"...What's he doing now?" one whispers.
"Pretending to look busy," another scoffs. "So he can say he's important."
Natsuo hears them. He always does.
But he keeps working.
He turns toward the half-built Ryokan site and begins scavenging unused boards, thick posts, stray rope. Each piece he stacks with careful intent.
That's when a familiar voice cuts through the rustle of leaves.
"Natsuo?"
He turns to see Banri emerging from the forest path, a small bug cage swinging from his hand. Inside, something metallic-green rattles against the mesh.
"Didn't think I'd see you here. You never showed up to play kemari the other day and now, on our day off I catch you... working?" Banri says, with a slightly concerned expression.
Natsuo hesitates, then exhales.
"Y-Yesterday," he says softly, his gaze drifting toward the distant outline of the farm. "Watching you and Daiji plow the f-fields... I realized just how b-brutal the work is. For everyone."
He looks back at the splintered wood, his voice dropping. "If we h-had an ox, it would ease a great d-deal of the strain. I t-thought... if I built a proper pen f-first, something real, then I could m-make the case to the Magistrate with proof of preparation, instead of e-empty words."
Banri's eyes widen, his earlier apprehension instantly redirected into this new, grand vision.
"An ox?" Banri's face lights up with a boyish, unrestrained excitement. "Natsuo, that would be incredible! My old man would never let me have anything like a pet. I'd feed it every morning and give him hugs. He paces a bit then yells "Big Boy! Waddya think? The perfect name right?!"
Natsuo can't help but scratch the back of his head, a small, genuine smile finally breaking through his exhaustion. "He'd be a w-working animal, Banri, not a p-pet."
Banri coughs, catching himself and trying to adopt a more serious expression, though his amber eyes are still dancing. "Right. Right, of course. For the village. Well if you think it would help... then it's totally worth it."
He pumps a calloused fist into the air, the movement full of certain, solid energy. "In that case, you can count me in. We'll build the best pen this province has ever seen."
Natsuo's smile lingers, but he glances pointedly at the bug cage and the faint, restless scratching coming from within. "Banri... you look like y-you were having fun. You don't need to s-stop on my account."
As if summoned by the words, voices burst from the trees.
"BANRIIIII-!"
"There's a huge beetle near the stream! Hurry up!"
Three young men stumble out from the brush, faces flushed and lungs breathless. Their energy is a wild and infectious-until they spot Natsuo. The momentum dies instantly. Their smiles don't just fade; they flatten into something cold and judgmental.
"...Oh. It's him." one mutters, the name "Natsuo" pointedly omitted.
Another groans, shifting his weight with a heavy, performative sigh. "Every time. He's like a dark cloud during hanami."
Banri rounds on them, his shoulders squaring. "Hey! That's enough."
"Tsk, it's the truth," one shrugs, looking Natsuo up and down. "I bet you're about to ditch us to go 'work' again."
Banri doesn't argue. Instead, he looks back at Natsuo, and the choice is made in the silence. Without hesitation, he sets the bug cage on the ground with a deliberate thud.
"This is important," Banri says, his voice losing its playful edge and becoming something solid. "And I want to help."
The boys protest loudly, their voices overlapping in a cacophony of annoyance. "You're choosing him over bug catching ? Seriously? That's tragic, Banri."
Natsuo shifts, the dust on his sleeves suddenly feeling like a brand of shame. "Banri, truly-it is alright. You s-should go. I don't want to t-take-"
"Nope." Banri reaches down and hoists a heavy post upright with a grunt of effort, his muscles straining under his olive skin. "Too late. I'm invested."
The boys groan again, a low, collective sound of disappointment. "See, what did I say," one mutters as they begin to retreat.
Natsuo shakes his head gently, the movement small but final. "No...Banri, if you r-really want to help, t-then you can only do so after you c-catch a stag beetle."
Banri's grin doesn't appear immediately. Instead, he blinks, his eyes searching Natsuo's face with a sudden, uncharacteristic quietness.
He looks at the heavy tools, then back at the faint, stubborn tremor in Natsuo's hands. For a heartbeat, the brightness in his expression dims as he realizes Natsuo isn't just giving an order-he's offering a kindness.
Banri opens his mouth to argue, his brow furrowing as he's about to insist on staying, but then he catches that bittersweet smile on Natsuo's lips. He sees the pride there, brittle and brave.
A slow, knowing smile finally begins to pull at the corners of Banri's mouth, but it's different this time-softer, more respectful. He reaches out and gives Natsuo's shoulder a firm, grounding squeeze, the heat of his palm seeping through Natsuo's kimono.
"Fine! Just see how hard I'm gonna work after I find the biggest one in the village. You're ON!"
He spins on his heels and bolts back into the trees. His friends whoop and chase after him, the forest quickly swallowing their laughter and the heavy, lingering tension of Banri's resolve.
Natsuo watches the space where his friend once stood, the warmth of that shoulder-squeeze still humming against his skin. Then, he turns back to his work.
By the time the sun drifts lower, he's hauled enough spare wood from the Ryokan site to form the bones of a small pen. His hands sting from splinters, dust clings to his sleeves but the posts rise one by one.
The sound of footsteps crunching behind him interrupts the steady rhythm of his hammer. Daiji's shadow falls over Natsuo long before his voice does, a heavy shroud of monochrome intimidation, as his massive frame cuts a sharp silhouette against the light. He doesn't just walk into the space; he stakes a claim to it.
"What do you think you're doing?"
Natsuo stiffens and turns. Daiji stands a few paces away, arms crossed and expression thunderous. He fixes Natsuo with a look from beneath a low, heavy brow.
The man's face is a study in brutal elegance.
He possesses the kind of rugged, classical handsomeness that feels less like a gift and more like a warning. His hazel eyes are narrow slits of cynicism, framed by thick, dark lashes that do nothing to soften the piercing intensity of his stare. It's the look of a man who finds everyone else's existence a personal grievance.
"All that hammering," Daiji continues, "it's disturbing everyone on their day off."
Natsuo bows quickly. "I-I'm s-sorry. I wasn't aware I was c-causing a disturbance."
Daiji scoffs. "What do you mean you didn't know? You're the definition of bothersome."
As he strides forward, the air seems to thin.
He is a man of vicious geometry-shoulders like hewn granite and a neck corded with thick, sloping muscles that lead up to a jawline as sharp and uncompromising as a cliff face. There is no softness in him; even his stance is a challenge, his blunt limbs taking up every available inch of the path.
He plants a hand-large and square, on one of the posts and with a sharp shove, he makes it wobble.
"So," Daiji says coldly, "is this what was worth disturbing the peace?"
Natsuo swallows. "I... I wanted to b-build an animal pen. So that p-perhaps... the v-village could keep an ox."
For just a moment, silence hangs between them.
Then Daiji smiles.
A slow, crooked grin curls across his face as a hard laugh slips out of his throat. His wild, chaotic crown of reddish-brown curls spills over his forehead and down his neck. It is thick and unkempt, adding a layer of savage vitality to his otherwise disciplined features.
"An ox?!" He shakes his head. "Of course a pampered little punk like you can't tough it out in the fields."
He steps closer.
"Always trying to find the easy way out," Daiji snarls, "but still somehow make yourself look like the savior."
Natsuo recoils slightly. "That-that wasn't my i-intention. I-I only thought-"
"And after we get this precious ox," Daiji cuts in, "who's going to feed it? We barely have enough to eat as it is. But I guess that doesn't matter to you, does it?"
Natsuo's hands tremble. "P-Please... that's not w-what I meant. I just-"
Before he can finish, Daiji's hand shifts-a sudden, violent burst of kinetic energy. He doesn't just shove the post; he drives his shoulder into it with the weight of someone who enjoys the act of unmaking.
The wood screams.
With a sickening, wet crack, the primary beam splits. Natsuo watches, paralyzed, as the structural integrity he had spent all afternoon measuring vanishes in a heartbeat.
The planks he had painstakingly aligned groan under the sudden gravity, dragging one another down in a cascading roar of splintered pine and choking dust.
The sound of the wreckage hitting the earth is dull and final-a heavy thud that seems to vibrate right through the soles of Natsuo's feet.
Natsuo cries out, a small, strangled sound that is instantly swallowed by the silence that follows. He stumbles back, his hands flying up to cover his mouth, his fingers trembling so violently they blur in his vision.
Through the settling haze of dirt, the pen no longer looks like a project; it looks like a carcass. All that earnest resolve is now just a pile of mismatched refuse at his feet.
Daiji doesn't look at the mess. He looks at Natsuo's eyes, watching for the exact moment the light in them goes out.
"Why don't you keep your grand ideas to yourself," he says, his voice flat and terrifyingly casual against the backdrop of the ruin.
Then he turns and walks away, leaving the silence to settle over Natsuo like ash.
***
Natsuo stands frozen in the settling dust, staring at the ruined frame that only moments ago had held so much quiet hope.
The forest rustles again sometime later, fast footsteps breaking through the brush.
"Natsuo-!"
Banri bursts into the village, breathless and triumphant, his face flushed with the heat of the hunt. He holds a bug cage high above his head like a trophy. Inside, a massive stag beetle clings to the mesh, its obsidian antlers catching the light with a dull sheen.
"I got one! And not just any one-this thing is a monster! You should've seen the way it-"
His voice cuts off. The cage lowers slowly, his arm losing its tension as his gaze drifts across the clearing. He stares at the ruined boards, the fallen post lying prone in the dirt, and the scattered tools half-buried in the rising dust.
"...What happened?" Banri asks quietly, the triumph draining from his voice.
Natsuo startles, clearly not having heard him approach. He turns, seeing the wreckage through Banri's eyes, and his shoulders immediately hike toward his ears, rigid with a sudden, sharp tension.
"I... I-I m-messed up," Natsuo says, the words tumbling out too quickly. "The p-post wasn't sturdy enough. I m-must have misjudged the weight distribution. It j-just... fell."
Banri stares at him. His eyes flick to the post-the wood still marked by the blunt force of Daiji's shoulder-and then back to Natsuo.
"You're kidding," Banri mutters. He sets the bug cage aside and immediately bends to grab the fallen beam, his muscles straining as he prepares to lift. "I knew I should've stayed to help earlier. C'mon, we can still fix it-"
"Banri-no."
Natsuo steps forward and grips Banri's sleeve, his fingers trembling but firm. The touch stops Banri mid-motion.
"Huh?" Banri blinks, looking up from the dirt.
Natsuo forces a small, strained smile, though it looks brittle enough to shatter. "It's... it's f-fine. Truly. I didn't think the i-idea through as well as I s-should have. T-That's all."
Banri hesitates, his hands still hovering over the rough timber. "But you were so sure earlier. You had the whole thing mapped out."
Natsuo looks away, his gaze fixing on the edge of the trees. "...That d-doesn't mean I was r-right."
For a moment, Banri just watches him. He searches Natsuo's face, looking for a trace of the man who was just here, but Natsuo keeps his eyes downcast.
"...Okay," Banri says at last, though the word is heavy with a lingering, sharp uncertainty. He straightens slowly, his hands falling limp to his sides. "If that's what you want."
Silence settles between them, thick and stifling. Inside the cage, the beetle rattles faintly against the wire.
Banri forces a grin, though it doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Guess I still passed your weird challenge, though, right?"
Natsuo's lips curve into something softer this time, a weary flicker of relief. "...You d-did."
Banri laughs-but the sound is hollow, lighter than usual, echoing thinly against the quiet of the village.
He lingers for a moment, shifting his weight as if waiting for Natsuo to change his mind, but when Natsuo only begins to mindlessly gather the smaller, broken scraps of wood, Banri finally sighs. He looks at the splintered wood and then at Natsuo's weary profile. He doesn't push to rebuild the pin again, he simply reaches for the heaviest fallen beam.
"If we aren't fixing it," Banri says, his voice a low, steady rumble of companionship, "then I'll at least help you clean up. I'm not letting you haul all this back alone."
They work in a composed silence that Natsuo deeply needs. Banri does the heavy lifting while Natsuo gathers the smaller scraps and tools. Having Banri there keeps the negative thoughts at bay.
By the time the site is cleared and the tools are gathered, the sky has turned the color of a fresh bruise-deep orange and mourning purple. As they reach the edge of the village square, Natsuo stops, the weight of the day finally catching up to his bones.
"Th-Thank you for all your h-help today Banri." Natsuo murmurs, his voice thick with exhaustion. "I wanted y-you to enjoy your day off...and t-though it may be selfish... I'm glad you d-didn't forget about me. Maybe you can s-salvage the rest of your night." He puts on a weak smile followed by a apologetic bow.
"Hey what's all that for?!" Banri exclaims as he bows beside Natsuo and ruffles his hair in the same breath. "You don't have to ask me for anything or thank me for nothin'. Rain or shine I'm your guy!" He places an arm across Natsuo's shoulder and points a thumb at his chest.
"If you want to make it up to me though, we could go catch some fireflies!"
Natsuo chuckles, "S-sure."
"Now that sounds like a promise!" He says jokingly. "Go home and get some rest, I'll check on you later tonight. Ok?" Banri turns toward his own home, his footsteps heavy and confident on the packed earth. Natsuo watches him go, feeling the warmth of that goodbye vanish almost instantly as he turns to face the village common alone.
He is tired, covered in the dust of his own failure, and desperate to be invisible. But the village at twilight is never truly empty, and his departure is the final piece of a story they've been crafting all afternoon.
At the well, two women scrub vegetables side by side, voices kept low-but never truly private.
"So it collapsed," one murmurs.
"I heard it was barely standing to begin with," the other replies. "All crooked posts and mismatched planks. What did he think he was doing?"
"Trying to play carpenter now, apparently."
A soft scoff. "As if he knows anything about real work."
Across the square, near the tool racks, a pair of older men rest against the fence, chewing on dried roots.
"Animal pen, was it?" one grunts. "Animals here are better eaten than for keepin'."
"He should stick to scribbling on scrolls and leave the dirt to those of us who understand it."
Laughter follows-low, brittle, not especially amused.
Near the sake shop, Takeshi leans casually against the wall with two others.
"Did you see it?" one asks. "The thing barely lasted an hour."
Takeshi smirks.
Someone snorts. "Funny how Natsuo always almost does something useful."
"But never quite," Takeshi adds.
Not far away, a younger girl watches Natsuo pass through the square. She doesn't say anything-just lowers her eyes and tugs her brother along more quickly.
When the sun dips low, the story settles into something final and sharp:
He tried.
He failed.
Just like always.
Yet by nightfall, the village's collective gossip has already begun to shift. At first, the whispers had been about the pen, but the weight of a new, more pointed anxiety begins to take hold.
Inside the sake shop, the air is thick with the scent of fermented rice and the low hum of uneasy voices.
"They say it's not just the forest anymore," a man murmurs, his fingers white-knuckled around his ceramic cup.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean... people are seeing it here now."
A cup rattles violently against its saucer, the ceramic chatter cutting through the gloom. The voices drop an octave, sinking into a rhythmic, paranoid chant.
"A white figure." "Standing on rooftops." "In alleys." "At windows."
Someone swears they saw it drift across the main road, a pale blur that never touched the earth. Another claims it stood in their own doorway, a silent wanderer that vanished into thin air the moment they screamed.
Natsuo, however, is blissfully unaware as he pushes open the door to his home. The familiar scent of dry paper and old ink rises to meet him, a comforting shroud against the growing hysteria outside. He hears the soft, rhythmic creak of the floorboards beneath his feet-a sound he knows by heart.
He sets his things down and exhales, the tension of the day leaving his lungs in a long, shaky breath.
And then-the air changes.
It isn't a sudden chill, nor is it a heavy weight. It is simply different. A quiet, invisible pressure settles between his shoulder blades, that unmistakable, primal prickle of being watched.
Slowly, his neck stiffening, Natsuo turns.
He sees it.
Just beyond the papered side window stands a pale silhouette. The moonlight catches its edges, outlining the shape in a ghostly, ethereal white. There is no face. No discernible features. Only a stillness where a person has no right to be.
"...H-hello?" he whispers into the dark.
The figure does not move. The paper screen stirs faintly, caught in a stray night breeze, whispering against the frame.
Then-two light taps sound against the paper.
Plip. Plip.
The sound is gentle. Almost playful.
Natsuo's hand trembles as he reaches for the sliding panel. He hesitates, his fingers hovering over the wood, before finally pulling it back.
The window stands open. Moonlight spills across the floor in a silver rectangular pool.
The white figure is gone.
In its place, a small pile of ripe plums rests carefully on the wooden sill. The stems are still attached, their skins glowing with a soft, deep luster in the pale light. Natsuo stares at them, his breath ragged and unsteady.
Then, a voice slips through the open window like a draft. It is low, resonant, and hauntingly familiar.
"You hesitate," the voice says, the words smooth as polished stone. "Do you fear me?"
Natsuo's knees nearly buckle.
"...Y-You," he breathes.
Without thinking, he darts for the door.
Outside, the night air is cool and restless. Lanterns flicker in distant windows as he scans the area around his home.
He finds nothing.
His heart races, hope thinning with every desperate step until he reaches the back of the house and skids to a halt. The darkness of the yard hums with the steady, rhythmic drone of insects. Again. there is no one there.
His shoulders slacken, the adrenaline beginning to ebb into a hollow ache.
"...At l-least let me say t-thank you," he murmurs.
A heavy sigh slips from his lips as he finally gives up the search, turning his back to the eaves.
Then-from above him-a voice breaks the quiet.
"Is it normal," it says lightly, touched with the ghost of a quiet laugh, "for the person being thanked to have to say thank you as well?"
Natsuo startles hard, his heels catching on the uneven ground as he whirls around, nearly tripping over his own feet.
Above. Perched on the very edge of his rooftop.
She sits with both legs dangling over the weathered tiles, swinging her feet back and forth with the easy rhythm of someone who belongs there. The moonlight outlines her form in soft, shimmering silver-she is unafraid, perfectly at ease in the heights.
His heart slams against his ribs with renewed violence.
"M-My apologies!" Natsuo blurts out. He bows reflexively, his head dipping before his mind can even process the sight of her. "I am g-grateful nonetheless."
She tilts her head, her expression brimming with amusement.
"Now you apologize?" she repeats, her voice carrying a note of melodic disbelief. "I would say that's even more uncustomary."
Natsuo feels his ears begin to burn, the heat creeping up his neck. "I-It's... a habit," he stammers, looking at the dirt between his boots.
Her laughter is soft this time, losing the sharp edge of teasing.
"The plums," she adds, her gaze drifting toward the open window where the fruit glows in the dark. "You looked like you needed something sweet."
Natsuo presses a hand to his chest, feeling the frantic thrum of his pulse beneath his palm. He feels overwhelmed all over again, but the fear is starting to give way to something else-something warmer.
"...Thank you," he says, and this time the words are steady. No bow. No panicked stutter. Just the simple, quiet truth.
She smiles-a flash of light in the gloom-and in one fluid, weightless motion, she jumps from the roof. She lands beside him on the packed earth without making a single sound, as if the gravity of the world simply doesn't apply to her.
"You don't have to thank me or apologize," she says, her voice dropping into a more serious resonance. "That burden lies with me. You helped Utari when I could not and I treated you harshly...for that, I am sorry."
She bows-not the stiff, practiced bow of a commoner, but a fluid, deep inclination that sends her hair cascading toward the earth like a silver waterfall.
Her words stir something deep in him.
Natsuo's mind drifts-back to the wounded wolf, the glint of the spear in the dirt, her unexpected apology. Then, unbidden, the memory of her voice in his dream rises to the surface.
Heat creeps up his neck.
"T-The plums are more than sufficient," he says quickly, embarrassed.
She plucks one of the plums from the sill and takes a bite.
"They are pretty good, but I don't think they're tasty enough to absolve my actions entirely. Either way, you should try it." She holds the freshly bitten fruit toward his lips, the broken skin of the plum glistening with juice in the moonlight.
Natsuo freezes. The scent of the fruit-sharp, sweet, and cold-fills his senses, and for a heartbeat, he can only stare at where her teeth mark the flesh. He doesn't take it from her hand; he can't. Instead, he reaches for a different plum on the sill with trembling fingers, biting into it just to break the spell of her gaze.
His eyes widen.
"Y-You're right," he exclaims. "I d-don't think I've ever t-tasted such a delicious p-plum before."
She smirks at him sideways. "You're just saying that because I did."
His face ignites. "N-no! I really m-mean it!"
She tilts her head, her one visible eye gleaming with a predaceous playfulness. "Prove it."
Natsuo's breath hitches. His mind scrambles for a poetic defense, a logical argument-anything-but his thoughts are a tangled mess of silver hair and plum juice. Words fail him completely.
She continues eating slowly, clearly enjoying his fluster.
A moment passes.
When she finishes the fruit she crouches down, digging a small hollow in the earth and presses the seed into the soil with her fingers before covering it gently.
"Since you liked it so much," she says softly, brushing the dirt from her hands, "you'll have your very own tree."
She looks up at him, moonlight catching in her eye.
"Hopefully it will bare fruit just as sweet."
Natsuo stares down at the tiny patch of earth-
and something inside his chest quietly takes root.
"NATSUO!!!"
The shout crashes through the quiet like a thrown stone.
An instant later, Banri bursts through the front door of Natsuo's house, nearly tripping over the threshold.
"NATSUO YOU WILL NOT BELIEVE WHAT EVERYONE IS SAYING-!"
Silence.
Banri spins in a tight circle inside the room, blinking. "Huh...?"
From outside comes Natsuo's tentative voice. "I'm o-out here..."
Banri bolts back out.
He finds Natsuo standing in the yard, shoulders slightly hunched, gaze fixed on the ground looking at a small mound of disturbed soil.
Banri squints. "There you are! Why are you whispering like-"
Natsuo turns slightly, instinctively, as if to address someone just behind him.
"I-I am sorry about m-my friend. H-he tends to b-barge into things without t-thinking-"
There is no one there.
Natsuo freezes.
The space where she stood is empty and the air feels colder for it.
His mouth closes slowly.
"...Ah."
Banri tilts his head. "Ah, what?"
Natsuo swallows and looks down instead-at the buried seed.
"It's... n-nothing," he says softly. "I just... t-thought someone was here."
Banri watches him for a second longer, then suddenly grins wide. "That's exactly what people keep saying!"
Natsuo stiffens. "S-Saying...?"
"A spirit! A white figure!" Banri grabs his shoulders again, thrilled. "You remember the ghost stories from earlier? The ones you brushed off as forgotten lanterns?"
He squints suspiciously at the plums. "When did you get snacks?"
Natsuo's face heats instantly. "U-uh earlier?-"
Banri laughs. "Great! We can eat them while we're out ghost hunting! The fireflies will have to wait!"
Natsuo hesitates, eyes drifting back to the quiet soil.
To the place where she had been.
"...O-Okay," he says at last, the word feeling like a betrayal of the secret he's now keeping.
Banri pumps a fist in victory. "Yes! Tonight's the night we catch the truth!"
Natsuo forces a small smile, but as they turn toward dirt path, his thoughts stay tethered to the seed beneath the earth-and to the woman who vanished before he could even think of a proper goodbye.
***
The transition is abrupt. One moment they are in the safety of Natsuo's garden; the next, they are swallowed by a village choked by a supernatural fear.
They comb the village paths.
Circle the rooftops.
Peer into alleys lit only by paper lanterns and nervous rumors.
Banri calls out boldly into the shadows, his voice a challenge to the unknown. Natsuo winces every time. Each shout feels like a stone thrown into a mirror, shattering the memory of the soft, light-touched laughter he had just shared in the dark.
Nothing appears.
By the time the moon has climbed high and their legs begin to ache, Banri slumps dramatically against a fence post.
"...So unfair," he groans. "Everyone else gets a spooky spirit and I get sore feet."
Natsuo manages a faint smile. "M-Maybe the spirit only shows itself when p-people aren't... screaming for it."
Banri snorts. "That's rude of them."
His stomach growls loudly.
They both freeze.
Banri looks down at his own stomach like it's betrayed him. "...Oh."
Natsuo's stomach answers with its own quiet protest.
They exchange a look.
A moment later, they're walking-much more purposefully now-toward the familiar shape of Genjiro's home.
The warm glow from inside spills out when Banri knocks.
It takes barely a second before the door slides open.
Genjiro peers up at them, eyebrows lifting. "Well now... you two look like stray cats."
Banri straightens instantly. "Grandpa! We went ghost hunting!"
Genjiro blinks. "...Ghost hunting?"
"Yep! White figure, rooftops, mysterious voices, the whole deal!" Banri puffs up.
Then deflates. "Didn't see a thing."
Genjiro hums knowingly. "Spirits appear when they wish. Not when they're chased."
Banri sighs like the weight of the world has fallen on his shoulders. "Yeah, Natsuo said something like that too..."
Genjiro's gaze shifts to Natsuo. "And you, child? Did you find what you were looking for?"
Natsuo hesitates just a breath too long.
"I... I don't t-think so," he answers softly.
But his eyes drift-unconsciously-toward the road behind them.
Genjiro smiles gently. "Come inside. You're both thin as reeds after wandering the dark like that."
Banri perks up instantly. "Does that mean food?"
"It does."
Banri cheers and practically dives through the doorway.
Natsuo follows more slowly.
As the door slides shut behind him, he presses a hand briefly to his chest.
Inside, the warmth settles around them almost immediately-steam rising from a simple pot, the soft clink of bowls, the familiar comfort of a place that expects nothing but their presence.
Banri drops onto the floor with a satisfied groan. "I swear, ghost hunting burns more energy than farming."
Genjiro chuckles as he ladles food into three bowls. "You burn energy no matter what you do, Banri."
Natsuo sits more carefully, hands folded in his lap. His eyes drift not to the food, but to the edge of the window. To the dark beyond.
Genjiro notices.
Of course he does.
He sets the final bowl down and lowers himself across from them. "You're quiet tonight, Natsuo."
Banri, already mid-bite, pauses. "Huh? Oh-yeah. You didn't even argue about the ghost thing much."
Natsuo startles slightly. "I-I was just... t-tired, I think."
Genjiro studies him over the rim of his bowl. Not pressing. Simply waiting.
Silence stretches-gentle, unthreatening.
Finally, Genjiro speaks again, voice soft as the steam curling between them. "Sometimes when a person goes looking for one thing... they tend to find something else instead."
Natsuo's fingers tighten faintly against the fabric of his sleeve.
Banri, oblivious as ever, grins. "Yeah! Like how we went looking for a ghost but found dinner!"
Genjiro huffs a quiet laugh.
But his eyes never leave Natsuo.
Natsuo lowers his gaze to his bowl. "...Genjiro-sama," he says quietly, "do you think... it is strange to feel g-grateful for something you don't f-fully understand?"
Genjiro's expression softens.
"No," he answers gently. "I think that's when gratitude is the most honest."
Natsuo absorbs that in silence.
For just a moment, the image of warm hands, buried seeds, and a teasing voice flickers through his mind.
Natsuo manages a small smile. It is a quiet, private thing, hidden behind the rim of his tea cup as he takes a slow sip. The warmth of the liquid spreads through his chest, chasing away the last of the midnight chill.