YOSUKE SHIN
"Nice to meet you then, Jiro Ikigai," the old man said. After their handshake, his brown robe almost dipped into the tea cup.
"Be careful, old man," I said, staring into his brown eyes, partly hidden by his gray hair.
"What brings you here?" he asked.
"We are here for negotiation," I replied.
He furrowed his brows. "What kind of negotiation?"
"You remember Taro?" I asked. Recognition flickered across his face. I continued, "He wants to rebuild the village he lived in for so many years."
"Oh really?" His voice brightened with excitement. He shot to his feet and disappeared into a small room.
I heard objects clattering and falling inside, until finally, he returned holding a golden card.
He placed it in my hand.
"What is this card?" I asked curiously.
"Show that at the entrance of the main building and you'll get in without question," he said.
"Thanks, old man." I stood, and Jiro—my Jiro, not the old man—followed.
Before we left, the elder added, "I know you are strong, but be careful. Life is unexpected sometimes."
"Okay, gramps. Thank you for everything," I said. Jiro thanked him too, and then we stepped outside, heading toward the main building.
Jiro asked, "How does that old man have a card like this?"
"Now, the head of the Yoshi village is someone I don't know," I explained, "but back then, that old man Jiro was the greatest leader in the history of this village."
Jiro nodded. "I'm not that surprised. He seemed very smart."
I shook my head with a grin. "Trust me, he doesn't seem smart. He's the smartest person I know."
We walked for a few minutes, weaving through the village. My eyes soaked in the houses, the roads, the faces of the people—though I didn't recognize anyone anymore. Still, a wide smile spread across my face.
Finally, I stopped. "We are here."
The building loomed before us, exactly as I remembered from years ago. Time hadn't claimed it—the owner had kept it in pristine condition.
We climbed the long staircase until we reached the white gate, guarded by two men.
Both wore the same uniform: a blue shirt, gray pants, with gold trim gleaming at the edges. Their spears had handles of the same gold.
"Stop there," they barked in unison.
The one on the right demanded, "Why are you here?"
I didn't want to seem suspicious. Slowly, I reached into my pocket, pulled out the golden card, and held it up.
The guard's eyes widened. He immediately stepped back, bowed low, and said, "I'm sorry, sir. Please forgive my attitude."
"It's fine," I said.
At once, both guards opened the doors for us.
The moment we stepped through, the sheer scale of the space hit me. A vast hall stretched out before us, far larger than the small doors suggested. A red-and-black carpet unfurled across the pristine white floor.
Ahead stood two sweeping staircases, perfectly symmetrical—one curving to the right, the other to the left.
Between them stood a woman, poised and graceful. She looked directly at us, her voice clear and welcoming:
"Welcome to the main hall."