Morning mist rolls across the village paths in thick, slow-moving ribbons. The workers shuffle toward the forest, rubbing the last of the sleep from their eyes, their laughter drifting between the houses like the first touch of sunlight.
Natsuo walks quietly among them, his head slightly bowed. When the first villager spots him, a greeting rings out, bright and jarringly cheerful:
"Good morning, footstool!"
Natsuo looks up, startled. Another villager waves a calloused hand. "Ah, Lord Kneeler! Up early today, are we?"
A third calls out, his voice carrying an almost affectionate lilt. "Don't work too hard—wouldn't want our favorite stool getting splinters!"
Natsuo blinks, his pace faltering. He searches their faces and finds no curled lips or narrowed eyes. Instead, he sees wide grins and casual nods. They are acknowledging him. They are speaking to him.
The realization is enough to lift his spirits, a strange, tentative bloom of warmth in his chest. He bows politely to the group, a soft, breathless laugh escaping him. It is a peculiar sensation; kindness wrapped in thorns still feels, in some hollow part of him, like kindness.
Suddenly, Banri appears beside him. He plants his hands on his hips, glaring daggers at the retreating workers.
"Cut it out!" he snaps, his voice cracking like a whip. "All of you!"
The villagers scatter, snickering among themselves as they head toward the tree line, but they back off nonetheless. Banri huffs, turning to Natsuo with his chest puffed out, ready to ignite with outrage on his friend's behalf.
"Seriously, Natsuo, don't let them—"
"It's a-alright," Natsuo says gently, his voice like a cooling breeze.
Banri stops mid-sentence, his mouth hanging open. "What?"
"T-they were speaking pleasantly," Natsuo replies. The small, genuine smile hasn't left his face. "It's n-nice to be greeted in the m-morning."
Banri stares at him in flat disbelief, his fury deflating into utter confusion. "Natsuo... they were insulting you."
Natsuo shrugs lightly, the movement easy and unburdened. "P-perhaps. But they w-were smiling. That's... e-enough."
Banri groans, burying his face in his palms with a muffled sound of frustration. "You make it so hard to protect you, you know that?"
Natsuo laughs softly, the sound light and clear as they continue their walk. "Thank you for t-trying."
The fragile warmth of the moment carries them forward, a brief reprieve from the weight of the world—right up until they reach the edge of the worksite.
The overseers' table sits in a vacuum of silence, stripped of its indolent patrons. In its place stand two stone-faced samurai and a messenger, the Ishida banner snapping sharply in the valley breeze beside them.
The messenger unfurls a heavy scroll with a crisp, authoritative snap.
"By order of Magistrate Ishida Saburō," he calls out, his voice slicing through the morning air, "the overseers will not be available for several weeks due to injuries sustained in a carriage accident. Until their return, all workers will heed the instructions of Natsuo-sama."
He thrusts several thick sheaves of parchment toward Natsuo. Dozens of heads turn in a single, synchronized motion.
Natsuo freezes, the papers crinkling beneath his grip. Beside him, Banri lets out a breathy, stunned whisper. "Oh..."
The villagers begin to whisper, too—but the pleasant teasing of the path has evaporated. Silence hangs for one heavy heartbeat before the murmuring swells, rising from a low drone to a chaotic wave of dissent.
"Wait—him?"
"You've got to be joking."
Natsuo's smile fades, retreating until his face is an exhibit of pale anxiety. He clutches the papers to his chest, shrinking under the collective weight of eyes that had been bright and pleased minutes ago, but now narrow with contempt.
Banri steps closer, his frame tense. But before he can utter a word, a thorny scoff punctures the noise.
Daiji pushes through the crowd. The villagers instinctively part for him, his presence moving through them like a dark storm front.
He stops a few feet from Natsuo, his broad arms crossed over his chest, his voice dripping with a venomous, practiced amusement.
"Well, isn't this perfect," Daiji says. "Yesterday you were on your knees, and today you stand as our overseer?"
A ripple of cruel laughter follows in his wake.
"Niisan—" Banri bristles, his jaw set.
"Oh, no," Daiji cuts him off without a glance. "Let me enjoy this."
He takes another step forward, his eyes locking onto Natsuo's with a hounding focus.
"Tell me, Natsuo," he sneers, "are they promoting you because you're competent... or because they need someone who's an expert at boot licking?"
The crowd erupts into laughter. Natsuo's throat hitches, his fingers tight against the magistrate's orders.
"That's not fair!" Banri snaps, his voice cracking with fury. "He works hard—harder than you, half the time!"
Daiji snorts, the sound, a sharp dismissal. "Working hard doesn't make him a leader, little brother. It makes him desperate."
He leans in, his voice dropping into a cold register that carries to the furthest edges of the clearing. "You think any of us want to take orders from a man who can't even stand up for himself?"
The messenger attempts to intervene. "You will obey his directions until—"
Daiji raises a hand, silencing the official with a look of pure, unbothered arrogance.
"We'll obey," he says, his gaze never leaving Natsuo's pale face. "Because we don't want trouble with the magistrate." Then he tilts his head, his smile twisting into something ugly. "But don't think for a second that means we respect you."
The words find their mark, sinking deep. Natsuo's fingers tighten until the parchment groans. He opens his mouth to speak, but the air in his lungs seems to have evaporated; no sound comes out.
Banri steps flush against his side, placing himself like a shield between Natsuo and the world. "You're not alone," he whispers, his voice thick with a fierce, quiet loyalty.
"Don't forget that."
The villagers begin to disperse, muttering and shaking their heads as they move toward their stations. They leave Natsuo standing frozen in the center of the clearing—a man suddenly elevated to the heights of command, yet feeling more untethered than ever before.
***
The worksite buzzes back to life, though the air feels heavier now, as if every laborer has taken it upon themselves to test the structural integrity of Natsuo's new authority.
Natsuo inhales slowly, his lungs burning with the dry scent of sawdust. He can do this. Nothing has changed.
He approaches the first group of workers hauling lumber toward the clearing.
"E-excuse me," he says gently, his hands clasped tightly in front of him. "If you angle the beams slightly to the right, it will stabilize the—"
"We got it," one of the men grunts, his eyes fixed on the horizon rather than the man speaking.
"Don't strain yourself, footstool," another adds, with a rough edge to his voice. "Wouldn't want to dirty those noble hands."
They laugh, the sound hollow and sharp, and walk away without a backward glance. Natsuo bows instinctively to their retreating backs. "R-right. Of course. You're d-doing excellent w-work."
He moves toward a team plasterting rocks into the base of the foundation. "I can f-fetch more water," he offers, his voice pitching higher in his desperation to be useful. "Or h-help carry—"
A carpenter barks a laugh that draws the attention of those nearby. "Yeah? Why don't you? We're awfully parched!"
"No, I—I just want t-to—"
"We don't need you."
The words die on his tongue, cold and final. Still, Natsuo does not stop. He circles the site tirelessly, trying again and again to find a crack in their armor.
"You're cutting too close to the grain—let me help."
"We're fine."
Near a stack of precut logs, a group of workers sit on the ground, their feet propped up in a display of blatant idleness.
"Lookie here," one calls out, "you might have some competition for the best seat in the house!" The group erupts into a chorus of mocking laughter.
Natsuo flinches, but he forces his expression to remain soft. "You're all w-working so hard... y-you definitely deserve a b-break."
Hours pass. Sweat clings to the nape of his neck, and his voice grows hoarse from the effort of speaking over the noise and the silence alike. Every attempt is met with a scoff, a cold glare, or a complete dismissal.
By midday, the villagers blatantly walk around him as though he is part of the architecture—an obstacle to be avoided, not a person to be heard.
Banri tries to work near him, his eyes darting toward Natsuo with growing concern, but Daiji pulls him away by the shoulder. "Don't baby him," Daiji mutters, loud enough for Natsuo to hear. "Let him crash on his own."
Natsuo keeps going. He offers help. He offers praise. He offers smiles that slowly, painfully, begin to crack at the edges like parched earth. And the villagers continue to push him aside, dragging their feet and leaving tasks unfinished out of spite.
Finally, as the sun begins to dip behind the treeline, the worksite empties. Tools are left scattered in disarray, and the workers drift home in clusters, their shadows long and mocking.
Natsuo stands alone in the center of the clearing, his shoulders sagging under a weight that has nothing to do with timber. The papers are still clutched in his hand like a lifeline, the ink blurred by the sweat of his palms.
Banri trudges up beside him, dirt-splattered and looking just as exhausted as his friend. "Let's go home," he murmurs, his voice stripped of its usual fire.
Natsuo nods weakly, unable to find his voice. They walk back together in a silence that feels heavier than any noise.
Genjiro waits beneath the old torii gate, leaning lightly on his cane, face warm with a gentle smile as the two young men approach.
"There you are," he calls out, waving them over. "Long day, hmm?"
Banri groans loudly. Natsuo forces a small, polite smile.
Genjiro chuckles. "Well, come now. I've cooked the boar meat you left me earlier. Do you know how happy you've made this old man. Now hurry before the smell catches the others attention."
Banri blinks.
Natsuo blinks.
Both look at each other.
"Genjiro-san..." Natsuo begins slowly. "I... d-did not l-leave you any meat."
Genjiro raises his brows, gives a thoughtful hum, "Who else could get there hands on meat since the magistrate banned us from hunting. And isn't your furoshiki cloth? "
Natsuo's eyes widen—his breath halting.
Because it is his.
The same cloth he had offered to wrap around the wolf's injured leg.
"I... I—" He steps closer, staring at the fabric as though it might disappear. "Y-you caught me. I—was just t-trying to surprise y-you."
Banri peers over his shoulder. "Huh? You're the best Natsuo!"
Genjiro laughs. "Well you've done more than that!, we're eating well tonight. Praise the gods."
But Natsuo isn't listening.
He gently picks up the cloth with both hands, tracing its familiar folds—breathing in the faint scent of wisteria that clings to it.
A tightness grows in his chest—confusion, shock, and the quiet, fluttering realization that she returned it kindly. Silently.
He hides the smallest smile.
Genjiro turns, shuffling toward his home, waving them to follow. "Come, come. Let's eat before it grows cold."
***
Genjiro's home smells of miso, simmering boar, and the faint herbal scent of his old cedar shelves. The low table is already set: steaming bowls, fresh rice, pickled vegetables, and a clay pot bubbling softly in the center.
Banri plops down cross-legged with the ease of someone who's eaten here a thousand times. Natsuo kneels more carefully, hands folded in his lap, gaze low.
Genjiro settles at the head of the table, ladling portions with practiced hands.
"Well then," he begins with a soft chuckle, "how are things at the worksite? I hear the hammering all the way from here."
Natsuo stiffens.
He keeps his face turned just enough that Genjiro can't see the emotion flickering across it.
He answers the question over his shoulder, voice quiet.
"It's... p-progressing smoothly."
Genjiro's brows rise in interest, but he doesn't push.
Natsuo continues, swallowing once.
"I w-was also... put in c-charge of the p-project."
Genjiro beams, placing an encouraging, wrinkled hand over Natsuo's.
"That's wonderful news. Congratulations, Natsuo-sama."
Natsuo's breath stutters.
"You should be very proud of yourself," Genjiro adds, his voice gentle, steady, full of the kind of sincerity Natsuo rarely receives from anyone.
Natsuo forces a smile—small, fragile. "Th-thank you, Genjiro-sama. I... I'll try n-not to d-disappoint anyone."
Banri eyes him carefully, recognizing the cracks in his voice, but he says nothing just yet.
Genjiro begins serving their portions, humming under his breath. "Nonsense. You've worked hard your whole life. Harder than most."
Natsuo lowers his gaze to his bowl, fists tightening slightly in his hakama.
Banri leans over, knocking his shoulder lightly against Natsuo's. "Yeah! And besides, you've got me to help. I'll drag you through the day if I have to—Daiji can't stop me forever."
Natsuo lets out a soft laugh, surprised by the sound leaving his own throat. "Th-thank you, Banri."
"Don't thank me yet," Banri grins. "Tomorrow, you're gonna need all the help you can get."
Genjiro chuckles, raising his chopsticks. "Tomorrow, next week, next year—it doesn't matter. You are not alone, Natsuo-sama. You have people who believe in you."
The words settle deep.
Natsuo straightens slightly, shoulders no longer curled inward. The exhaustion of the day still clings to him, but it feels lighter now—less like a burden he must drag behind him, and more like a challenge he can face with them at his side.
He grips his chopsticks with renewed steadiness.
"I'll... do m-my b-best," he says softly. But there is a firmer note beneath it.
A spark.
Banri grins wide. "That's the spirit!"
Genjiro nods with the quiet pride of a man watching someone grow into themselves. "Good. Very good."
As they eat, the warm scent of miso and cooked meat fills the room, wrapping the three of them in gentle comfort.
Dinner winds down slowly, comfortably.
Banri ends up telling a ridiculous story about tripping into a basket of daikon, Genjiro laughs so hard he wheezes, and even Natsuo finds himself smiling—really smiling, the kind that reaches his eyes.
When the dishes are washed and put away, Genjiro shoos them toward the door.
"Go on, you two. Get some rest. Tomorrow will come early."
Banri salutes dramatically before sprinting off toward home. "See you tomorrow, Natsuo! Don't oversleep! I'm banging on your door at sunrise!"
Natsuo chuckles softly, waving as Banri disappears down the narrow path.
He lingers a moment longer with Genjiro, bowing. "Thank you. For t-the meal. A-And f-for...everything."
Genjiro's eyes soften. "Remember—storms pass, and those who endure grow stronger."
He pats Natsuo's arm. "Your mother would be proud."
The words hit something deep—but content.
He bows again, then steps out into the cool night air.
The village is quiet now.
Lanterns glow behind paper windows.
Crickets chirp beneath the moonlight.
Natsuo walks the familiar dirt path back to his small dwelling, the steady rhythm of his boots brushing against the earth soothing his mind.
He holds his hands behind his back, posture straight—a posture of someone trying, truly trying, to meet tomorrow head-on.
I can do better, he thinks.
I will do better.
Natsuo reaches the threshold of his home, but he pauses, his hand hovering over the sliding door.
Something feels... different.
A faint breeze rustles the treetops beyond the village, moving through the canopy with a rhythmic sigh. It isn't harsh or unnatural, but a soft, intentional stirring that sends a sharp prickle down the back of his neck. Natsuo turns, his gaze drawn toward the edge of the clearing.
A faint shimmer of white catches his eye.
"Is... someone there?"
Silence is his only answer.
Then—very faintly—Utari's shape glints between the branches. It is just the outline, a silver-white curve against the gloom, but it is unmistakable. Natsuo's lips part, a name hovering on the tip of his tongue, but before he can speak, the white flicker and the wolf's silhouette vanish into the darkness as if they were made of nothing but mist.
A strange, profound sense of reassurance washes over him. It feels as though someone had come to look in on him, just for a fleeting moment, simply to be sure he was all right.
He presses a hand to his chest, feeling the steady, grounding beat of his own heart.
"...Thank you," he whispers to the empty air.
***
The morning air is thick with a resentment that Natsuo can feel in his very bones, yet he straightens his back, squares his shoulders, and begins walking toward the construction site with a quiet resolve.
Today... he will try again.
As he walks toward the site, the "greetings" from the path have soured. There is no more teasing; there is only a cold, hard silence that breaks only for the sound of someone spitting into the dirt as he passes.
But Natsuo doesn't shy away.
He nods politely to each group he passes.
Banri runs up to meet him, waving wildly. "Natsuo! Did you get any sleep last night?"
"Yes I d-did. I felt more re-relaxed than usual. I believe it is f-from the recent encouragement I h-have received from you, Genjiro-san and..." He pauses as his memory flashes back to a white wolf and his mistress.
Banri slings an arm around his shoulder. "And who? Has Daiji started to come around?"
Natsuo laughs nervously. "It is q-quite the story, but I b-believe I have made a new a-acquaint—" The sight before him steals the words out of his mouth.
When they reach the clearing, the scene is a disaster. Men are sitting on half-finished beams, smoking pipes or staring at the sky.
Tools lie rusting in the damp grass. The progress from the day before has stalled entirely.
Banri halts beside Natsuo as they look on in stunned silence.
"I meant what I said last night. I'm here to help." Banri declares as he slaps a reassuring hand on Natsuo's shoulder.
"How about I try to talk some sense into those guys over there and we meet in the middle?"
Natsuo slowly nods his head in agreement as he recovers from the shock.
"Th-Thank you, Banri."
Taking a deep breath to settle his nerves, he walks towards the defiant workers.
A few heads turn as he ambles by. Some workers look him over, measuring how far they can push him today.
Natsuo approaches a group of men lounging near the central support. "G-Good morning.
He offers a small bow.
"I w-would like to start by t-thanking you all for arriving on time. For our f-first task could we s-secure these beams? The sun is rising q-quickly and the heat makes it a grueling t-task."
The lead carpenter, a man with arms like gnarled oak roots, doesn't even bother to stand. He slowly spits a stream of tobacco juice near Natsuo's boots and looks him up and down with slow, simmering disgust.
"Is that a fact?" the carpenter draws out the words. "See, I only take orders from real men. If you're so worried about the schedule, dig the holes yourself, sama."
A ripple of mocking laughter erupts from the group. One man mimics Natsuo's stutter, making a high-pitched whimpering sound that brings a fresh wave of jeers.
Natsuo's face flushes, but he doesn't retreat. He reaches for a heavy iron-headed shovel leaning against a nearby crate.
"I w-will help, then. If we work t-together—"
Before his fingers can close around the handle, a younger worker kicks the shovel away. It skitters across the rocky soil, clattering into a drainage ditch.
"Don't touch the tools," the man hisses, stepping into Natsuo's personal space to tower over him. "You'll just dull the edge with those pampered hands. Go back to your silk cushions and let us handle the heavy lifting... when we feel like it."
Natsuo stands frozen for a moment, looking at the shovel lying in the water where the worker kicked it. He feels the heat rising in his neck, but he keeps his head lowered.
He doesn't argue. He doesn't demand it back. Instead, he offers a shallow, polite bow to the men laughing at his expense.
"I u-understand," he murmurs to the dirt. "I will f-find another way to be u-useful."
As he walks away, he can hear the lead carpenter call out behind him, "That's right! Why don't you find some flowers to pick, footstool!"
Natsuo exhales a shaky breath, his fingers curling into the fabric of his sleeves. Not now, he tells himself. I will figure out how to reach them later. For now, the work must continue.
He moves toward the northern edge of the clearing, where a team is tasked with hoisting the heavy ridge beams using a system of pulleys and hemp ropes.
The workers are indifferent. They move with a sluggish, heavy-footed pace, intentionally fumbling with the knots.
"That t-type of knot will not be strong enough f-for the load." Natsuo explains.
The man doesn't even turn around. He just lets the rope slacken.
"I don't remember asking for a tutor," the worker interrupts, leaning heavily against a support post and closing his eyes.
"Why don't you go check the inventory? Or count the pebbles? Just stay out of our sight."
"The k-knots that are implemented are i-integral for the overall stability and safety of the c-crane and pulley system. R-Right here, a Wako knot should be u-used. You've tied an Otoko knot w-which may seem tightly drawn, b-but the weight of the beam will loosen it over t-time." Natsuo persists, pointing upward to the bounded hemp. "If it b-becomes undone—"
The worker finally opens one eye, a look of pure, cold malice crossing his face. "Here you go again, thinkin' you know more than everyone. It's stable. I've been doing this for ten years. You've been 'Overseer' for ten minutes. Get lost before I decide to loosen my foot in your ass."
Natsuo bites his lip, his throat tightening. He looks at the knot, then at the men who are pointedly ignoring him. He realizes then that they aren't just being lazy—they are pushing him until he breaks. They would rather risk the whole structure collapsing than take a single direction from him.
He bows again, though his hands are trembling now. "I... I s-see. I'll check on the s-supplies."
He turns and finds Banri, who has been watching from a distance, his face twisted in a snarl of fury.
"Natsuo, you can't just let them—"
"I k-know, Banri," Natsuo whispers, his eyes stinging. "But i-if I push they will o-only push back. I can't earn t-their respect that way."
Natsuo's heart sinks as he retreats toward the supply shed. He can feel the eyes of the workers on his back—heavy, mocking, and satisfied. He forces himself to look at the inventory scroll, but the characters blur before his eyes.
"Natsuo's right, you know," Banri's voice suddenly rings out, stubborn and sharp. "That knot is basically untying itself!"
Natsuo spins around just in time to see Banri scrambling up the rickety ladder leaning against the primary support.
"Banri, n-no! Get d-down!" Natsuo shouts, his voice cracking.
"I'm just going to redo it!" Banri calls back, his hand reaching for the groaning line. "It'll take two seconds!"
The workers lounging below don't move. One of them even lets out a bored yawn. "Let him fix it if he wants," he mutters. "It's not like it will make a difference."
Then, the world goes silent.
The final loop of the primary knot gives way.
The heavy ridge beam—hundreds of pounds of solid timber—lurches downward. It doesn't fall straight; it swings in a violent arc, smashing into the ladder Banri is perched upon. The wood of the ladder shatters like glass.
"BANRI!" Natsuo screams.
Banri is thrown into the air, his fingers frantically clawing at a cross-brace. He manages to catch a splintered strut, but he is dangling forty feet above the stone-pitted ground.
Worse, the primary beam is still swinging, its momentum carrying it back toward the very brace Banri is clinging to. If it hits, it won't just knock him off—it will crush his chest against the frame.
The lounging workers are suddenly on their feet, their faces drained of color. But they don't move forward. They move backward, a wall of cowardice retreating from the "Crush Zone" as the structure begins to moan and tilt.
Natsuo doesn't hesitate.
He runs forward, his boots kicking up clouds of dust as he sprints toward the tilting framework. He scales the jagged, broken remnants of the northern wall, his hands catching on splinters that tear through his skin.
Natsuo throws himself across a gap in the floorboards, a gap that would have terrified him only a week ago, sliding toward the edge where Banri's grip is failing.
"Natsuo, what are you doing?!" Banri howls, his face covered in sawdust and tears. "Get away while you can."
The massive ridge beam swings back, a wall of wood coming to end it all.
Natsuo lunges over the edge, his body half-suspended in the air. He anchors his legs around a vertical support post and reaches down.
His fingers lock around Banri's forearm—not with the "soft" grip of a noble, but with the desperate, bone-crushing strength of a man who refuses to lose his friend.
"N-No I'm not leaving without you!" Natsuo roars.
The stutter is gone. The timidity is gone. As the shadow of the beam looms over them, Natsuo heaves with a strength born of pure, desperate adrenaline. His muscles scream, the tendons in his neck standing out like cords.
He wrenches Banri upward, pulling him onto the stable foundation just as the ridge beam slams into the brace with a sound that shakes the very earth.
The entire northern scaffold collapses in where Banri had been hanging only seconds before.
A terrifying silence falls over the clearing.
When the dust settles, Natsuo and Banri sit, breath coming in ragged, sobbing gasps.
"Natsuo..." Banri's voice is a broken rasp. He tries to sit up, but his knees are like water. He collapses back down, a choked, wet laugh escaping his throat. "You... you looked so cool!
"But that was totally dangerous, you could have died." Banri whispers, the bravado draining out of him. His eyes well up, though he tries to blink the tears away with a frustrated sniff.
Natsuo looks at Banri completely astounded. "How c-could you— but, y-you were the one who was at r-risk of dying."
Banri reaches out with a shaking hand and grips Natsuo's shoulder, pulling him into a rough, clumsy embrace—the kind of hug that says more than any apology could.
Daiji storms through the crowd, his eyes blazing. He shoves a bystander out of the way, his voice a raw, desperate bark. "Banri! Banri! Where are you?! Are you hurt?!"
Banri still sitting down looks up at his brother. "N-no. I'm okay, thanks to Natsuo."
Daiji rounds on Natsuo, his face twisting as he prepares to spit venom—to blame him for the rickety pulley, for the heat, for the very air they breathe.
But he freezes.
Daiji's jaw works silently.
His anger falters.
He lets out a sharp breath and steps forward until he's looming over Natsuo. He looks like he'd rather be doing anything else in the world than what he's about to do.
"My brother is still standing because of you." His voice low and tight with a pride that's clearly stinging. So... th-thank you. For that, and only that."
He doesn't offer a hand. He doesn't offer a smile. He just gives a single, stiff nod that looks like it cost him a tooth to deliver.
"Don't expect me to start liking you," he adds over his shoulder as he grabs Banri's arm to haul him away.
"Daiji! How could you say that after what happened." Bari protests as he's being whisked away.
The workers creep forward, their faces masks of shame. The man who had told Natsuo to "get lost" stares at the wreckage, then at the "footstool" who is now bloodied and bruised due to their ignorance.
Natsuo looks up. His eyes are raw, but they aren't looking for an apology. They are looking for order.
"I... w-want you all to t-take a look around y-you," Natsuo says. His voice is low, but it carries to the furthest edge of the site.
"Collect y-yourselves. C-Check for injuries. Then we'll inspect all the tools, r-ropes and go over proper procedure t-together."
The lead carpenter, the man who had spat at his feet that morning, is the first to move. He doesn't say a word. He simply walks over, reaches down, and offers Natsuo a hand up.
"You heard him!" the carpenter barks at the others. "Move!"
Natsuo stands there amid the sudden, purposeful bustle. Dust clings to his fine clothes, and his hands still tremble with the fading electrical hum of the rescue, but for the first time since arriving in this village, he feels steady.
He lowers his head, focusing on the dirt at his feet, trying to suppress the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He is afraid that if he acknowledges the feeling too loudly, it might shatter like the scaffolding behind him.