The next morning—
Jiro wakes in an unfamiliar room. Incense lingers in the air, a fountain running softly nearby.
Where… am I?
He tries to sit up, but pain pulls him back into the bed.
He looks down at his body—bandages and ointment cover his wounds.
Yesterday hits him all at once.
Dad!
Ignoring the pain, he swings his legs over the side of the bed.
He drags himself up and bursts through the door.
He stumbles into an open courtyard.
Morning light spills across smooth stone and raked gravel. A low fountain sits at the center, water spilling steadily into a wide stone basin.
Near the fountain, Naku stands speaking with a few robed figures.
"Nak—u…"
He drops to the floor.
Naku spots him and hurries over.
"You're not ready to stand yet." He helps Jiro to his feet and leans him against a wooden pillar.
"Where am I?" he pants. "M-my dad. Where's my dad?"
"He's gone."
Naku's gaze drifts away.
"…In the end, his only concern was making sure you were safe."
Jiro stares at the ground.
I didn't get to say sorry…
Silence settles. Only the wind and the fountain remain.
"I want to go home."
"You can barely stand," he says. "And it isn't safe, they may still be looking for you."
"I don't care."
Jiro pushes himself off the pillar, forcing his weight onto unsteady legs.
"Take me back."
Naku studies him for a moment longer, then nods.
He guides Jiro out of the temple.
Moments later, an old, motorized bike carries them off down the road.
They arrive at the scene.
The site has already been cleared.
Ash hangs in the air, remnants scattered where the restraunt once stood.
Blood streaks trail out of the restaurant.
Jiro steps closer and kneels, pressing his hand to the ground.
You weren't weak.
I was.
You did everything you could to protect us.
Mom would've been here.
You would still—
If it wasn't for them…
The kids in the dark room come back to him.
Why is the world like this?
What gives them the right to ruin people's lives?
To hurt others just because they can…
It's evil…
If I were stronger, I could've stopped them.
I could've saved those kids.
I could've saved everyone…
I hate them.
He slams his fist into the ground.
"Jiro—enough. We have to go. It isn't safe."
Jiro looks up. "And go where?"
"My home is gone. My family is gone."
"You can come back to the temple with me. The rest can be figured out later."
"But we should go now, they could show up at any moment."
Jiro stands. He takes a few steps forward, stopping where the counter used to be.
There's nothing left to touch.
No door to open. No room to walk into. Just scorched stone and lingering smoke.
Jiro swallows. His hands curl, then loosen.
His throat burns as he swallows.
It's all gone…
He finally gives in and steps back from the ruins.
Toward the road.
Toward Naku.
They take off leaving the blackened remains behind.
They ride along a narrow forest path, the trees twisting in close around them.
The temple gate reveals itself at the last moment, emerging from the greenery.
Broad wooden pillars rooted in stone. A tiled roof sagging slightly with age. Moss clings to the beams.
The doors shift and open as they near the gate.
Two monks wait beyond them, bowing as they ride through.
The bike comes to a stop as they approach the main structure.
Wooden buildings rise in tiers along the hillside. Layered roofs and narrow walkways tie the buildings together. A shallow pond lies still beneath it all.
Everything sits close together, tucked into the trees, as if the forest grew around the temple.
Jiro takes it in—seeing where he really is for the first time.
They dismount and head inside.
Naku leads Jiro into one of the rooms. Inside, a monk kneels, hands working through a bag.
"He needs his dressings changed. Some wounds may have reopened."
The monk looks up, gives a brief nod, then helps Jiro onto the bed.
Naku leaves the room without a word.
Jiro watches as he disappears through the doorway.
"He'll return." The monk pauses. "So how'd this happen?"
Jiro doesn't answer.
The monk waits a moment, then begins treating Jiro.
"You don't need to say anything. Just hold still while I fix you up."
He presses a cloth to the swelling on Jiro's cheek, easing the pressure.
"Tch—" Jiro pulls his face away from the monk.
The monk lowers his hand. "Easy. It'll just be for a moment."
Jiro leans in again, eyes avoiding the monk's.
He finishes up and shifts to Jiro's arms, unwrapping bandages stiff with dried blood. Jiro winces as they're pulled free.
Dark bruises bloom beneath the skin. Cuts. Split knuckles. Swollen fingers.
"I've treated many wounds like these before. You're too young to be bearing them."
He works fresh salve into the cuts, then binds Jiro's hands in clean wraps.
"Must be painful for you."
Jiro still says nothing, eyes fixed on the floor.
He shifts to Jiro's left side and his hand slows.
"This might hurt a little. But I need to check your ribs."
He waits a moment, then moves his hand in.
He presses lightly along Jiro's ribcage.
"Agh!" A sharp flare of pain erupts beneath the monk's touch.
"Those seem fine—should heal up quickly," the monk says, pulling his hand back.
Jiro shoots him a look, more hurt than angry.
A young girl enters softly, carrying a pitcher of water.
Jiro lifts his head.
Without speaking, she lifts the pitcher and begins to water the plants along the wall, dark hair tied back, eyes lowered to her work.
Jiro watches, eyes fixed on her movements.
The monk works through the remaining injuries . Jiro hardly registers the pain.
The monk notices Jiro's gaze and smiles faintly.
"Masaki, say hello to our guest."
She offers a smile before bowing and returning to her task.
Heat rushes to Jiro's cheeks. His eyes shoot to the floor without a word.
"You two should get to know each other. Not many kids around here—she could use a friend her age."
Jiro sneaks one last glance as she finishes her work and slips out.
The monk taps one of his wounds, spiking Jiro with pain.
Jiro hisses under his breath and quickly looks away.
"Thought we'd lost you for a second. Glad to see you're still with us." He chuckles to himself.
"Well I've done all I can do. Now all you need is some good rest."
The monk packs up his things and gets up to leave.
"Try not to undo my work." He steps out, the door sliding shut behind him.
The room goes quiet.
Jiro lies back, staring up at the ceiling.
Could I be dreaming?
None of it feels real…
Maybe if I close my eyes…
I'll wake up.
He shifts. Pain flares through his side.
That feels real.
He lies still, eyes closed, waiting.
His stomach clenches suddenly, sharp enough to pull him out of it.
He tries to ignore it and sleep.
The hunger tightens again.
God. I'm starving.
He slowly pushes himself upright.
Sleep's going to have wait.
He stands, a dull ache spreading through his body.
There's gotta be something to eat around here.
He stumbles toward the door, each step heavy and deliberate.
At the door, he leans in close, listening.
Nothing.
The door slides open as he peeks his head out the other side.
He scans the hallway once more before stepping out.
Okay…
He quietly makes his way down the hall, each soft step bringing pain somewhere or another.
As he's moving, a strong smell hits him.
Means the kitchen is close by.
He abandons his stealth and moves faster down the hall, limping as he picks up speed. With each step, the smell grows stronger.
Getting closer to the source, he passes a room with the door slightly open. Something catches his eye—and he stops.
He moves closer and peers through the narrow gap in the door.
A massive sculpted fountain sits at the center of the room, light gleaming off its waters.
He slides the door open and steps inside, glancing around to make sure he's alone before moving in further.
A carved stone man stands at the center of the room, gourd tilted as water spills steadily into the basin below. Sunlight pours down from the open ceiling above, glinting off the water and lighting the trees and grass growing freely around the stone base.
Jiro's pain fades as he's drawn in by the sight.
He approaches the fountain, it's beauty calling out to him.
Petals drift from above, scattering across the water as his eyes linger on the surface.
Jiro dips just his fingers in. A soft light blooms around his skin—
"This room is one of the most blessed rooms in all of the temple."
Jiro recoils, water scattering as he pulls his hand out.
Naku enters behind him, his gaze drifting briefly to the fading glow in the water.
Naku tosses him a peach.
"His elixir doesn't bless all." He moves closer to Jiro.
"But those he deems worthy are rewarded with his strength… at least, that's what some believe."
Jiro hardly registers the words, juice dripping down his hands as the peach vanishes bite by bite.
"The story says he rewards those who endure. Few here ever see it. But people still believe. Their faith keeps them going—and sometimes that's enough."
Jiro continues eating, the words passing him by.
"Jiro —"
"I need to learn how to fight…" Jiro cuts in, wiping his mouth on his sleeve.
Naku says nothing at first, then responds.
"If revenge is what you're after, you won't find it here."
"It is an endless road, that only fools walk. And I'm not interested in training a fool." He turns away, ready to leave.
"I don't care about revenge…"
Naku stops mid-step.
"If no one stops people like that… they'll just keep hurting more people…"
He whispers, "I can't feel like that again… like there's nothing I can do."
Naku lingers in thought.
He reaches up into the tree and tosses Jiro another peach.
"Eat," he says. "You'll need it. We start tomorrow."
He walks out the door.
"But I'm still—"
The door slides shut.
Jiro looks down at the peach in his hand.