Tadashi sat beside him, knees in the dirt, hands trembling.
The forest around them was silent now — too silent. Even the wind felt like it was holding its breath.
Goro leaned back against the log, shifting slowly until he found a position that hurt less. His face tightened, but he didn't complain. That wasn't his style.
He looked at Tadashi with soft, tired eyes.
"Relax that face, boy. You look like someone just kicked your puppy."
Tadashi swallowed hard. His voice came out small.
"Goro… you're hurt."
"Ain't blind. I noticed," Goro muttered, then let out a weak chuckle. "It's not the first time life took a swing at me."
"But this one's different," Tadashi whispered.
Goro didn't answer right away. Instead, he looked up at the sky peeking through the trees. The stars were faint through the branches, but a few glowed strongly.
"Haven't stared at those in a while," he said softly.
Tadashi clenched his fists.
"Goro… don't start talking like this."
"Like what?"
"Like you're giving up."
The old man turned his head slowly and gave Tadashi a look — a look that wasn't sad, or scared, or defeated. Just… worn and honest.
"Boy… I'm old. My legs crack if I sneeze too hard. My back been arguing with me for twenty years."
He chuckled quietly.
"I've fought wolves before. But not with someone to protect."
Tadashi's throat burned.
"Why did you do that? Why step in front of me?"
"Because you're a kid," Goro said simply. "And kids should have the chance to grow… even if they don't think they deserve it."
Tadashi felt his shoulders tighten. His eyes stung.
He didn't want to cry.
Not here.
Not in front of Goro.
Goro noticed anyway.
"Come now," he murmured. "Ain't nothin' wrong with crying. Means the heart's workin'. Means you still feel somethin'."
Tadashi wiped his eyes quickly.
"I just… I didn't want this to happen. I didn't want you involved."
Goro snorted.
"Boy, you're the one who dragged me into a wolf brawl by existing."
"…Sorry."
"Don't apologize," Goro said firmly. His voice shook, but the strength in it didn't. "You didn't hurt me. Life did. Age did. Wolves did. But you?"
He reached out with a trembling hand, placing it on Tadashi's shoulder.
"You kept me company."
Tadashi's chest tightened painfully.
"Goro… I don't want you to die."
"Pretty sure most people don't," Goro joked, though his smile faded a little after.
He let his hand fall back.
"But boy… listen to me."
Tadashi leaned in closer, shaking.
Goro's voice softened — the kind of softness that comes from the end of a long, long road.
"You were ready to throw your life away," he said.
"I saw it in your steps. Empty. Hopeless. Like you had nothin' left in you worth savin'."
Tadashi lowered his head.
"Look at me," Goro said.
Tadashi forced himself to raise his eyes.
Goro nodded once. "Good. Now remember this."
He took a long, steady breath.
"Life ain't a thing you wait to feel good about. You live first… then the meaning shows up later. Not the other way around."
Tadashi's tears finally slipped. He didn't bother wiping them.
Goro smiled gently — the warm kind, almost fatherly.
"You think you lost everything. You think you failed. But boy… failure's just proof that you tried. And hurtin' means you cared. That's what makes you human."
Tadashi shook, biting back a sob.
Goro continued, voice quieter but still clear:
"Find what made you smile. Hold it tight. And walk toward it. Even if the forest tries to swallow you whole."
Tadashi's tears fell harder now.
"Goro… please… don't—"
"Ssh," Goro murmured.
"Let an old man finish."
He shifted, wincing, but his expression stayed calm.
"I ain't scared. I lived my life. Made mistakes. Laughed a lot. Frowned a lot more."
His lips twitched.
"And I got to give one last idiot kid a push in the right direction."
Tadashi let out a broken laugh through his tears.
Goro nodded slowly.
"There it is. The kid's laugh. Don't lose that, you hear me?"
Tadashi wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.
"I won't."
"Good."
Goro's eyes softened further, lids lowering slightly.
"And kid… if you're gonna survive in this cursed forest… then don't live for death anymore. Live for the people you loved. Live for the person you want to become."
Goro's breathing grew quieter.
Tadashi leaned in, voice trembling.
"Goro…?"
The old man smiled — small, peaceful, and proud.
"Remember this, boy…"
His voice lowered to barely a whisper.
"Life… is already mean enough. Don't be the one who ends your own story. Keep walking… even when it hurts."
Tadashi's tears fell freely now.
"Goro…"
The old man exhaled long and slow, settling back against the log.
"Good… boy…"
His eyes drifted shut.
And the forest grew still.
Tadashi sat there, shaking, holding the old man's hand as the night wrapped around them — silent, cold, and painfully real.
But his heart…
For the first time since waking in the forest…
It beat with direction.
With something to honor.
With a reason to keep walking.
Tadashi didn't know how long he stayed beside Goro.
It could've been minutes.
It could've been hours.
The forest didn't change.
Nothing came to comfort him except the stillness around him.
He kept holding Goro's hand, thumb brushing over the old man's fingers as if that alone might keep him here a little longer.
But the warmth had already faded.
Finally, Tadashi whispered,
"…Thank you."
His voice cracked.
He cleared his throat, but it didn't steady. Nothing did.
Slowly, he let go.
He sat there in silence a little longer before he moved. Not because he was ready — but because Goro would've scolded him if he didn't.
"Don't freeze up, boy."
"Keep walking."
"You're still breathing, ain't you?"
Tadashi wiped his face with the back of his hand and pushed himself up to his feet. His legs trembled from exhaustion and shock, but they held.
He looked down at Goro one last time.
"I'll make it out," Tadashi whispered. "I promise."
The wind blew softly — not warm, not comforting… but enough to nudge the leaves around him, like a quiet push forward.
Tadashi turned and started walking.
Every step felt heavier, but not like before.
Before, walking felt pointless.
Now, walking felt necessary.
Tadashi didn't rush.
Didn't panic.
Didn't break down again.
He simply moved.
He remembered everything Goro said — and everything he taught without meaning to.
"Keep your eyes open."
"Listen more than you look."
"Your feet'll save you before your hands do."
"Animals ain't monsters. They're survivors like us."
So Tadashi applied those lessons.
He stepped lightly to avoid snapping branches.
He checked his surroundings every few steps.
He listened for growls, hisses, footsteps — anything.
For the first time since arriving in this forest… he was living, not just existing.
It didn't take long for the forest to test him again.
Tadashi stopped when he heard the low rustle from the bushes.
His first instinct was fear — deep, sharp, immediate. His heart sped up.
But he didn't freeze.
He crouched slightly, ready to move like Goro taught him.
He scanned the ground for anything he could use — a broken branch, a stone, anything.
The bushes shook harder.
Tadashi's breath caught.
Then—
A wild boar burst out, charging straight toward him.
Tadashi reacted instantly. He dove to the side, rolling across the dirt. The boar missed him by inches, slamming its tusks into a tree trunk.
Tadashi scrambled up, grabbing a long stick.
The boar turned, snorting harshly.
Tadashi tightened his grip and whispered,
"Sorry… but I'm not stopping here."
The boar charged again.
Tadashi sidestepped the first hit — but the second swipe caught his leg. Not a deep wound, just enough to knock him off balance. He stumbled and forced himself upright again.
He couldn't beat the boar head-on.
So he used the terrain.
He backed up slowly, luring the boar toward a cluster of trees where two trunks grew close together.
The boar snorted and charged again—
—and Tadashi moved at the last second.
The boar couldn't slow down in time.
Its body slammed between the two trunks, getting stuck long enough for Tadashi to run.
Not bravely.
Not stylishly.
Just smart — and alive.
He panted heavily as he reached a safe distance. His leg stung, but he could walk. That was enough.
He whispered under his breath,
"Thanks, Goro."
When the sun finally lowered behind the trees, Tadashi found a small, sheltered spot beneath an overhang of roots — a place Goro would've approved of.
He gathered dead branches, checked for insects, and started a fire the way he'd seen Goro do it.
It wasn't perfect.
It took him forever.
He burned his fingers twice.
But eventually… the flames appeared.
Tadashi sat down in front of it, legs crossed, arms around himself.
The fire crackled softly.
He felt alone — truly alone — but he also felt something he hadn't felt since waking in the forest:
Direction.
He whispered quietly, looking at the flames,
"Day one… done."
It wasn't actually day one. He had lived through fourteen attempts already.
But this — this version of him — the one Goro shaped, the one who wanted to live…
This was Day One.
And he planned to reach Day Seven.