"A man without a home is a leaf in the wind. A man with a home is a tree with roots. The first task of any survivor is to find soil."
– From a Kaishi philosophical text, The Gardener's War
The brief, brilliant sunlight that had greeted Riku outside Watanabe & Sons was a fleeting gift.
As he walked away, the clouds reclaimed the sky. The city was once more cast in a soft, gray light.
The relief was still there. It was a warm current beneath the surface. But the cold reality of his situation rose to meet it.
He had the promise of a job, but it started tomorrow.
Today, he was still a man with a damp jacket. A single melon bun in his stomach. And no place to call his own.
The thought of another night on a cold bench sent a shiver through him.
His first priority was shelter. A roof. A door that locked. A space, however small, where he could breathe without looking over his shoulder.
He clutched the velvet pouch in his pocket. The money was his only lifeline. He needed to be frugal.
He couldn't just walk into a hotel. That would invite questions. It would burn through his funds at an alarming rate. He needed a room for rent.
........
With a new sense of purpose, he began to walk. This time, with observation.
He stayed in the vicinity of Mr. Watanabe's office. It was a district that blended small businesses with older residential buildings.
The streets were narrow. They were flanked by two- and three-story structures whose facades showed the patient wear of time and rain.
Power lines formed a dense, intricate web overhead.
He passed a tiny shop selling nothing but stamps and seals. A bicycle repairman worked in an open-air garage. A vending machine hummed quietly, its glowing buttons offering a rainbow of canned drinks.
This was a neighborhood that worked. A place of routine and quiet industry. It felt like a place one could disappear into.
After nearly an hour, his eyes caught a sign taped to the window of a small real estate office.
He peered through the glass. The office was empty. A calendar from two years ago still hung on the wall.
Discouraged, he turned to leave when he saw it. Another, smaller sign, written on weathered wood. It hung from the second-floor balcony of an apartment building just down the street.
Three simple characters: 空室あり (Room Available).
The building was older than the others. A simple two-story structure of faded beige stucco with dark wooden railings. A flight of external metal stairs led to the second floor.
It looked unassuming. Quiet. And most importantly, affordable.
........
Taking a deep breath, Riku walked up to the building's entrance.
A small sign next to a door marked "Manager" instructed visitors to inquire within. He knocked.
The door slid open to reveal a woman in her late sixties. She was small and wiry. Her sharp, intelligent eyes took in Riku's entire appearance in a single glance. Her graying hair was tied back in a neat bun.
"Yes?" she asked, her voice direct.
"Excuse me," Riku began, bowing his head slightly. "I saw the sign. Is the room still available?"
The woman, Mrs. Tanaka, looked him up and down again. She noted his thin jacket and the exhaustion in his eyes.
"You have a job?" she asked, skipping the pleasantries.
The question was a lifeline. "Yes, ma'am. I start tomorrow morning at Watanabe & Sons, the import consultancy."
The mention of a local business seemed to thaw her reserve by a few degrees.
"You have a guarantor?"
Riku's heart sank. Of course. A guarantor. He had no one.
"I… I'm new to Torai," he said. "I don't have one yet. But I can pay a deposit. I can pay for several months in advance."
Mrs. Tanaka considered this. Her lips were pursed. "Key money and a two-month security deposit. Non-negotiable. Can you manage that?"
Riku's mind raced. "How much is the rent?"
"Forty-five thousand yen a month," she stated flatly.
He had no choice. This was his only shot. "I can do that," he said. His voice was steadier than he felt.
........
She seemed surprised. But she led him up the clanging metal stairs to apartment 2B. She unlocked the door and slid it open.
The room was a single space of six tatami mats. Their woven straw scent filled the air.
It was immaculately clean.
To one side was a tiny kitchenette with a single gas burner. A compact bathroom was tucked into a corner.
The only furniture was a low wooden table and a rotary phone on the floor.
It was sparse. But it was a sanctuary.
"I'll take it," Riku said immediately.
Back in her apartment, the transaction felt surreal. Riku carefully counted out the crisp, unfamiliar yen. The stack of bills he pushed across the table was terrifyingly large.
As Mrs. Tanaka handed him a worn brass key, the weight in his stomach was replaced by the solid reality of it.
He had a home.
He spent the next hour in his new, empty room. He was just sitting on the tatami mats. The silence was a balm.
Step one was complete.
........
The dwindling pile of cash spurred him to his next task. His clothes marked him as a transient.
He hid the bulk of his remaining money under a loose floorboard. He took what he needed and headed back out.
At a second-hand store, he bought two pairs of dark trousers, three simple button-down shirts, a plain dark sweater, and a thick wool coat.
His last stop was a convenience store for soap, a toothbrush, a small bag of rice, and a few packages of instant ramen.
It was survival food. But it felt like a feast.
........
Back in his apartment, as evening descended, he took a hot shower in the tiny bathroom. The water washed away the grime and chill of the previous night.
Dressed in clean clothes, he boiled water and made ramen. He sat at the low table as he ate.
Through the window, the neon signs of distant shops painted the low-hanging clouds in hues of red and blue.
The sounds of the city were softer here. They were muted by the walls of his room—the rumble of a passing train, the faint chatter from a neighbor's television.
They were no longer threats. They were the simple, ambient sounds of his new world.
The fear hadn't vanished. It was a quiet hum beneath the surface.
But for the first time since waking on that bench, the fear was overshadowed by a quiet determination.
He had a key in his pocket. A roof over his head. And a job to go to in the morning.
He looked at the business card on the table. Second chances are earned, not given.
Today, he thought, he had earned the right to sleep in a warm bed.
Tomorrow, he would start earning the rest.