A couple of days have passed since his mysterious encounter and Natsuo stirs beneath his thin futon, the soft morning light barely filtering through the paper shoji. His dreams carry him back to the forest—the sharp scent of pine, the pale cascade of hair, the low, resonant voice that seemed to coil around him like smoke.
"Natsuo..."
The whisper drifts past him, impossibly soft, seductive even, curling through his chest and drawing him forward, closer to something he cannot see. He reaches out instinctively, heart hammering, but the dream shifts and twists like mist, leaving only the echo of his name lingering against his ears.
"Natsuo! Hey! Get up, sleepyhead!"
His eyes snap open to find Banri's familiar grin hovering just above his futon, hand gripping his shoulder. The spell of the dream shatters, and reality floods back—the smell of the tatami, the faint morning chill, and Banri's energetic insistence.
Natsuo blinks rapidly, heart still racing, his mind half-lost in the phantom echo of the figure's voice. "B-Banri..." he stammers, voice thick with lingering sleep. "What time is it?"
Banri leans down, eyes narrowing playfully. "Time to wake up."
Natsuo swallows, his fingers curling against the futon, still tasting the remnants of the voice that had called him in the darkness. Even now, it feels impossibly close, like a warmth brushing just beyond reach.
"Have you been feeling okay?" Banri asks, his usual mischievous grin tempered by concern. "You're usually the one waking me up." He reaches out and presses a hand to Natsuo's forehead, checking for a fever.
"I'm fine, Banri. T-Thank you for worrying about me," Natsuo murmurs, a small smile tugging at his lips.
"Well, good," Banri says, sitting back slightly. "Grampa Genji made breakfast—he sent me over to get you."
The thought brings a genuine smile to Natsuo's face. "I won't let the food g-get cold. Let me get d-dressed and meet you over there."
"Ok, you better hurry before it's all gone!" Banri calls, ruffling Natsuo's hair one last time before bounding off toward the village, leaving Natsuo chuckling softly to himself.
He swings his legs out of the futon and stretches, reaching for the neatly folded kimono atop the small wooden chest beside his sleeping mat. The fabric is surprisingly fine, soft to the touch, pale gray with a subtle weave. The quality of the robe creates a stark contrast to the modest dwelling he calls home, the walls cracked and the floorboards worn.
He lifts a small lacquered comb, running it through his shoulder-length black hair before tying it into a precise topknot. The front of his hair doesn't catch and falls to either side of his face, framing his cheekbones. The comb is old, the wood slightly chipped, a gift passed down quietly—one of the few luxuries he has allowed himself. A simple pair of glasses rests on the table; their thin metal frames polished but unadorned, practical yet refined. He adjusts them, catching his reflection in the small mirror: a young man with sharp features, composed yet carrying an air of restraint, as if he has been trained to hold himself carefully even in solitude.
Natsuo smooths the sleeves of his kimono, noting the slight fray at the edges where wear meets habit. His dwelling is humble, scattered with ink-stained papers and a chipped tea cup, but even here, hints of careful upbringing show through: the precise fold of his robes, the polished wood of the comb, the neat arrangement of his belongings. With a final breath, he steps outside, leaving the quiet warmth of his home behind to meet Banri.
By the time Natsuo steps outside, the morning air has fully shaken off the night's chill. He slides the wooden door closed behind him and makes his way down the path toward Genjiro's home, following the faint but unmistakable aroma of miso and grilled fish drifting through the village.
The sun hangs low, warming the rooftops, and villagers are beginning their chores—sweeping porches, chopping kindling, drawing water. A few greet Natsuo with curt nods or by spitting on the ground; others pretend not to notice him. He pretends not to notice them pretending.
Genjiro's house sits near the center of the village, sturdy and well-kept despite its age, unlike Natsuo's own leaning, weather-worn dwelling. The moment he steps inside the courtyard, he hears Banri's voice—loud, bright, impossible to ignore.
"There he is!" Banri practically bounds toward him. "Took you long enough. Breakfast's gonna vanish at this rate."
"Banri," Genjiro chides from inside with a rumbling voice. "Let the boy breathe."
Banri waves him off with a grin. "He can breathe after he eats."
Natsuo laughs softly under his breath. The tightness in his chest—leftover from uneasy dreams—finally loosens.
Inside, Genjiro kneels by the hearth, stirring a pot with the calm patience of someone who has made the same breakfast for half a century. His beard is grayer now than last season, his posture slightly more hunched, but the sharpness in his eyes remains undulled.
"Good morning, Natsuo," he says without turning, as though he sensed him rather than heard him. "You look tired."
Banri flops down beside the table, already reaching for bowls. "Told you he wasn't feeling well!"
"I'm fine," Natsuo assures them, taking his seat. "J-just... strange dreams."
Banri's eyes spark immediately. "Ohhh? About what?"
Natsuo hesitates. A flash of white hair, a whisper of his name—Natsuo—like a breath against his ear.
He clears his throat. "Nothing i-important."
Genjiro ladles steaming miso soup into bowls, passing them out. "Dreams are rarely nothing," he says, voice gentle but knowing. "Eat first. Speak after. The mind thinks better with a full stomach."
Banri nods vigorously, already stuffing his face with rice.
Natsuo smiles. "Yes, Genjiro-san."
Banri leans back on his hands after finishing his bowl, eyes bright with mischief. "So... have you two heard about the strange sightings in the forest?"
Genjiro looks up, one brow lifting. "I've heard some stories bounding around," he says, stroking his beard. "But mostly from the children. They love turning shadows into monsters."
Natsuo glances between them, curiosity tugging at him. "What kind of s-sightings? Banri, can you go into m-more detail?"
Banri sits up straighter, pleased to have an eager listener. "People say they've been seeing these...balls of white. Some say they're ghost lights wandering around between the trees."
Natsuo tilts his head. "That doesn't sound too strange. It could just be a torch or a lantern someone left behind—"
Banri groans dramatically. "Come on, don't spoil the fun!"
Natsuo winces. "Sorry. I guess I used to ruin g-ghost stories when we were k-kids too."
Banri's grin widens. "You sure did. But you ruined it more for Daiji than for me. He could never scare you no matter what story he told." He laughs, poking Natsuo's shoulder. "Even my dad couldn't get you to scream."
Genjiro watches them with a gentle smile, quietly savoring the sound of their youthful banter. The morning light spills into the room, softening the rough edges of the worn-down home, and for a moment the air is warm and easy.
After breakfast Natsuo and Banri arrive at the barley field, their sandals sinking slightly into the damp earth. The fields lie quiet, save for the occasional call of a distant bird, and the smell of fresh soil drifts in the air. Natsuo adjusts the sleeves of his kimono, rolling them up as he examines the rows of furrows, while Banri casually twirls a hoe across his shoulder. They work in tandem talking amongst themselves, the rhythm of shoveling an almost soothing background sound.
Slowly, more villagers arrive, and they walk by the duo greeting Banri warmly and he responds with a cheerful voice "Good morning! Let's get started before it gets too hot!" The villagers respond with smiles, nodding appreciatively at his hard work and energy. "Yes, g-good morning. I h-hope everyone is w-well." Natsuo peeps following Banri's lead, yet he receives subtle eye rolls in return, or they walk past him as if he were invisible. He tightens his grip on his plow, suppressing a frown.
Daiji strides into the field last, and the young women working nearby rush over, their laughter bright and teasing as they exchange words with him. Daiji chuckles and responds easily, moving among them like a bee in a meadow of flowers. When he finally approaches the section of field where Banri and Natsuo are working, he sets down his plow effortlessly and smirks.
"Think you can keep up?" he calls, gesturing toward Banri with a playful challenge. Without waiting for an answer, he sets to work, plowing his section with surprising speed.
Banri meets his gaze, smirking, and the two fall into a playful competition. The plows dig and turn the soil in long, rhythmic strokes. Soon, villagers pause in their chores, gathering along the edges of the field to cheer and call out encouragement. Banri keeps pace beside Daiji. Glancing at each other and creating a rhythm of hurried steps they stop in the middle of the field in what would seem to be a tie. "Save some work for the rest of us!" an onlooker cries out causing a ripple of laughter.
Time drifts by, with the dense thud of wooden plows and hoes against the earth and the work day draws to a close. A few of the younger men, stroll over to Banri and Natsuo.
"Hey, Banri, you coming to play kemari with us?" one asks.
Banri grins and shakes his head. "Sure!" he says excitedly as he looks towards his friend. "Natsuo, you coming?"
The group of men steep with a quiet fury, staring daggers at Natsuo while out of Banri's view.
Natsuo hesitates, brushing a strand of hair from his face. "Ah... I'll...umm, let me finish up here. You go ahead."
Banri frowns playfully, but nods. "Alright, but don't be too long."
Natsuo waves at him with a small, genuine smile, and the group leaves with a cheer, chasing the ball across the village green. He returns his attention to the furrows before him, the quiet stretch of field now punctuated only by the occasional call of a bird and the soft scrape of soil beneath his plow.
The sun hangs low over the fields, casting long ribbons of amber light across the rows of freshly turned soil. The day's work was done; the laughter and chatter of the departing villagers drifts toward the path leading back to the village. Only Natsuo remains, sleeves rolled, hands still caked with earth as he stoops to gather the last of the tools.
He wipes the sweat from his brow, letting out a quiet breath. The air was cool now, filled with the scent of soil and crushed grass. For a moment, there was peace in the stillness — the kind of calm he rarely found among the others.
"Hey," a voice called behind him, rough and slurred with fatigue. "Think yer better than us? Plannin' to dig all night?"
Natsuo turns just in time for a blistered palm to forcefully shove him into the ground. A small cloud of dust rises around him as his chest plants into the earth. Two men, one named Takeshi, — farmers he'd worked beside all afternoon — hover over him, their expressions somewhere between amusement and disgust.
"Look at him," Takeshi sneers, wiping his hands on his trousers. "Working like it'll wash the blood off."
The other spits into the soil. "The fields don't grow faster just 'cause you wanna to play farmer."
Natsuo says nothing. He picks himself off of the ground, brushing the dirt from his clothing, his jaw tightening with quiet restraint.
"I can hear your teeth grit from here," Takeshi says, his tone mockingly sharp. "We're the ones keeping this place alive. Not you."
They brush past him, their laughter thin and bitter as it fades into the distance.
Natsuo stands in place, staring at the soil beneath his fingernails. The dirt was still warm from the day's labor. Slowly, his gaze drifts toward the horizon, where the faint outline of the village stands dark against the fading light.
A breath escapes him — part sigh, part tremor. "Suck it up... you deserve this," he whispers under his breath, the words rough, meant only for himself; however, the wind catches them anyway, carrying them off into the quiet dusk like a confession too heavy to keep.