The next morning, Aoi Kazama woke up feeling as though her body no longer belonged to her. She scrambled up from the floor, rubbing her stiff, aching neck and trying to work out the kinks.
The bed was already empty; Gyutaro was gone as well.
Aoi stepped out of the shack and found Ume crouching in the small yard. The girl was dressed in her usual faded, threadbare rags, intently scratching something into the dirt with a fallen twig.
"Ume," Aoi called out softly.
Ume looked up, her eyes instantly sparking with joy when she saw Aoi. "Big Sister Aoi, you're awake!"
Aoi walked over and knelt beside her, looking at the ground with curiosity. "What are you doing, Ume?"
Ume pointed a finger at the crooked, jagged characters she had drawn. Her eyes were bright with pride. "I'm learning how to write!"
"Whoa! Ume, that's impressive!" Aoi ruffled her hair affectionately. "Do you know how to write your name? Or your brother's?"
Ume shook her head, looking down at the dirt with a touch of bashfulness. "I don't know how yet."
"It's okay. I'll teach you." Aoi smiled, picked up a twig of her own, and carefully traced the character for 'Ume' (Plum) in the earth.
"Look. This character here—this is your name."
Ume watched with rapt attention. Following Aoi's strokes, she drew a wobbly, distorted version of 'Ume' right next to it.
"Ume!" she chirped loudly, a delighted smile blooming on her small face.
Aoi then wrote out the four characters for 'Gyutaro.' "And this one belongs to your brother."
Just then, the gate creaked open, and Gyutaro stepped into the yard. He paused for a beat when he saw the scene before him.
Ume immediately scrambled up and ran to him, tugging at the hem of his clothes. "Onii-chan, Onii-chan! Look! Big Sister Aoi taught me how to write our names!"
Gyutaro followed her pointing finger. His gaze lingered on the shaky 'Ume' and the neatly written 'Gyutaro' before shifting toward Aoi.
Aoi offered him a small, warm smile.
Gyutaro's expression grew complicated, as if something deep inside his chest had been stirred by a gentle hand. He didn't speak immediately; he just stood there in a heavy silence.
After a long moment, he reached into his breast pocket and pulled out two rice balls, still faintly warm, and handed them to the girls.
"Eat."
Ume took hers and began nibbling happily.
Watching her, Aoi felt a wave of warmth settle in her chest. She took the other rice ball and began to eat. Gyutaro hesitated for a second before pulling out a third one for himself, eating in silence alongside them.
The three of them sat in the yard, bathed in the soft, golden glow of the morning sun, quietly sharing their meal.
Once they finished, Aoi turned to Gyutaro. "I want to find a job. That way, things won't be so hard on you."
Gyutaro looked up, sparing her a glance, but said nothing.
Aoi continued, "I've had some schooling. I should be able to find something respectable."
Gyutaro was silent for a while before finally muttering, "If you can find one, go ahead."
Aoi found work surprisingly quickly—a position as a bookkeeper.
It was a newly opened silk merchant's shop. The owner, a trader from out of town, desperately needed someone literate and quick with numbers to manage the ledgers. Leveraging her modern education and her naturally meticulous nature, Aoi was hired on the spot.
"You can read, and you know arithmetic?" the owner asked, quite surprised. In a place like the Entertainment District, such skills were rare among young women who weren't high-ranking courtesans.
"I know a little," Aoi replied with a modest smile.
"Good, good!" The owner was thrilled. "The accounts are yours. Work hard, and I'll see that you're well-compensated."
Aoi bowed gratefully. "Thank you, sir."
Aoi requested a small advance on her wages. On her way home after her first day, she took a detour through the market. She bought some fresh fabric and groceries. When she arrived back at the shack, Gyutaro was already in the yard, meticulously wiping down his rusted sickle.
"What did you buy all this for?" His voice was as frosty as ever.
Aoi set the bags aside with a smile. "Ume's clothes are far too old. I want to make her something new."
"I also bought ingredients. I'm going to make something delicious for you and Ume tonight!"
Gyutaro didn't respond. He just lowered his head and went back to his sickle, though his movements seemed just a fraction slower than before.
Aoi busied herself at the small stove, and soon, a savory aroma began to waft through the air. Ume sat nearby, watching her with wide, curious eyes and peppered her with questions.
"Big Sister Aoi, what are you making? It smells so good!"
"I'm making a feast for our little Ume," Aoi said, playfully pinching her cheek.
"Dinner's ready!" Aoi called out, bringing the bowls over and setting them on the ground.
"Whoa! It smells amazing!" Ume picked up her chopsticks and took a big bite. "So good! Big Sister, you're incredible!"
Aoi smiled at her, then looked toward Gyutaro. "You should try some too."
Gyutaro hesitated, then picked up his chopsticks and took a bite. He didn't say a word, but he continued to eat steadily in silence.
The meal was quiet, but the atmosphere was unusually tender.
Late That Night
Ume had already fallen into a deep, rhythmic sleep.
Gyutaro leaned against the wall, watching Aoi's profile in the dim light. A sudden, fleeting thought crossed his mind: Living like this... might not be so bad.
Then, he shook his head violently, as if physically striking the dangerous thought from his mind.
The next morning, Gyutaro took his sickle and headed out to collect debts. This was his world—this was his work.
He cornered a debtor in a narrow, filthy alleyway. The man cowered in the corner, staring in terror at the cold, glinting edge of the sickle in Gyutaro's hand.
"B-Big Brother, give me a few more days! I swear I'll have the money!" the man stammered, his voice thin with fear.
Gyutaro stepped forward, expressionless, and pressed the blade against the man's throat.
"I've already given you plenty of chances," Gyutaro said, his voice like ice. "Today, you give me the money, or you give me your life."
The man trembled violently. "I... I really don't have any..."
Gyutaro's eyes turned cold. He applied a fraction of pressure, the blade nicking the man's skin. A thin line of blood welled up.
"Gah!" the man shrieked. "Don't kill me! I'll pay! I'll pay right now!"
He fumbled frantically, pulling a pouch of coins from his robes and throwing it onto the dirt.
Gyutaro withdrew his sickle, snatched up the pouch, and turned to leave. He didn't look back; he didn't spare the man a second glance. He knew this would happen again tomorrow, and the day after that.
As he walked home, a nagging thought pulled at his mind. If Aoi knew... if she knew what kind of work I did... would she look down on me?
Then he caught himself. Why am I even thinking that? What do her thoughts have to do with me?
He was Gyutaro. He didn't need anyone's understanding, and he certainly didn't need anyone's pity. His sole purpose for existing was to protect Ume—to keep her fed, clothed, and safe from the world's cruelty.
As for Aoi... she was just a temporary guest. Once she found a better path, she would leave.
They were never meant for the same world.