The sky above the slums was the color of ash — dim, cracked, and tired.
The moon hung crookedly, its reflection split in the puddles of a ruined street.
Ten days without food.
Ten days of hunger gnawing at his ribs like rats beneath floorboards.
Rin Tsukihara stirred from the torn mattress he called a bed, his breath fogging in the cold morning air. The faint glint of the moonlight shimmered across his eyes — pale silver, almost unnatural against the dirt that smeared his face.
He exhaled sharply.
"Guess I'm still alive," he muttered, stretching stiff limbs. "Ten days and counting… surviving off hope and hallucinations."
The streets outside were a wasteland — children fought over scraps, merchants screamed false promises, and men with hollow eyes stalked corners like shadows hunting shadows. Rin moved through it quietly, looking for work, for anything. By sundown, he had found nothing but rejection and sneers.
When the sky turned indigo, he stopped under a rusted sign and sighed.
"Guess I'm stealing tonight."
He climbed the rooftops, his bare feet soundless on the cracked tiles. His body flowed with instinct — quick, quiet, reactive. There was rhythm in his movements, a faint echo of something graceful buried beneath survival.
Then he saw him.
A tall man in a tattered, foreign cloak walking calmly through the chaos — too calm, too out of place.
Rin's stomach twisted, but his eyes sharpened. "He looks loaded… perfect."
He followed silently from above, shadows shifting beneath the dying moonlight. But as he leapt to another roof, the man stopped — not turning, not flinching — just speaking.
"You can come out now, boy. I've let you follow me long enough."
Rin froze.
How—?
He dropped down lightly, landing in a crouch on the cracked pavement. His voice stayed even, but his pulse pounded.
"Well, you're no ordinary traveler. Not many people can sense me that quickly."
He straightened, half-grinning. "When did you notice?"
The man's voice was deep but calm — like still water.
"The moment you started. Your steps have rhythm, but no control. Sloppy footwork."
Rin's grin faltered.
"Oh yeah? Well, sloppy or not, I haven't eaten in ten days. So don't blame me for what happens next."
He dropped into an odd stance — knees bent, arms loose, one hand low and open, the other held like a blade. His gaze locked on the man's centerline.
(The man's thoughts) — That stance… impossible. That flow— it hasn't been seen since the fall of the Tsukiren…
"Tell me something," the man said suddenly. "What's your name?"
Rin," he replied sharply. "Why?"
"Because, Rin…" The man tilted his head, eyes glowing faintly beneath his hood. "You don't look like someone meant to kill."
Rin's jaw tightened. "And how the hell would you know that?!"
"Because your hands are shaking."
The words struck deeper than any blade.
Rin's breath hitched, anger rising — not at the man, but at himself. His body moved before thought — a desperate charge, faster than hunger should allow.
He struck.
A blur of motion.
A whisper of rhythm.
A glint of silver light trailing his hand.
But the man was gone.
A gust of air — a thud — and Rin hit the ground before he even realized what happened.
Five strikes.
Chest. Head. Arm. Legs.
Each precise, gentle, devastating.
"What a fool," the man murmured, catching Rin's collapsing body. "But a dangerous one… that rhythm was not human."
Before darkness took him, Rin saw the moon again — its reflection shimmering across the man's staff.
Later…
Rin awoke to warmth — a small cabin lit by faint silver fire. The scent of stew filled the air.
"So you've decided to wake up," said the familiar voice. "For someone so lively, you sleep like a corpse."
Rin blinked, startled to see the same man stirring a pot over glowing coals.
"Wha— why'd you bring me here?"
"Because leaving you outside would've been rude."
The man smiled faintly. "And I don't enjoy watching kids freeze."
Rin's eyes darted to the food. His stomach growled.
"Alright, fine. Guess I owe you one, old man."
The man stopped mid-stir. His tone turned sharp.
"Old man? I'm barely in my early five-thousands."
Rin stared.
"…You're kidding."
"Do I look like I'm kidding?"
The two locked eyes — one amused, one utterly confused — until the man chuckled softly and handed him a bowl.
"Eat, Rin. You'll need your strength. You have a long path ahead."
Rin hesitated, then accepted, whispering,
"…You still haven't told me your name."
The man looked toward the cracked window, where the moon shimmered faintly on the horizon.
"Rokuro," he said at last. "Rokuro Hiranuma — The Still Moon Sage."
And as Rin ate, he felt something stir deep within him —
a rhythm, soft and steady,
like the tide returning to the shore.