Shinji: The Disastrous

The next morning, Shinji woke to the hiss of Sumi's kettle and the thin, clean scent of river-mint drifting across the hut. Dawn light leaked through the reed shutters, bright enough that he could count the dust motes swirling above his blanket.

He flexed his fingers, then his toes, testing for surprises. All in working order, only smaller. Sumi shuffled over, braid swinging against her shoulder like a slowly ticking pendulum. "Up," she said, setting a bowl of rice gruel beside him.

"Eat, then you can go home. Hut is for the sick folk, and you are merely wobbly." Shinji's heart jumped; he tried to sit without looking too eager and nearly folded in half when his stomach protested.

Sumi steadied him with two fingers under the elbow, eyes flat as an old slate. "Careful. You body has slowly forgotten how to move. You need to teach it how to move again. Do short laps to the brook, light stretches, a hundred deep breaths before bed. Nothing too much and be carefull, or you'll be back on my mat."

He nodded, spooning the porridge. It tasted like someone had whispered salt in the bowl rather sugar, but warm food was warm food. "Thank you, Sumi-san." The healer grunted, then produced a rolled cord of twisted reeds.

"Grip this." He squeezed it, but it barely dented. "

Every morning and night. Builds hand strength without tearing scars." She tucked the cord into his sash and stepped aside just as the door flung wide and Hana burst in, Ren a half-step behind. Hana slowed when she saw Shinji upright, eyes shining.

Ren and Hana bowed to Sumi, then hurried to Shinji's bedside. Hana inspected him the way Mother inspected seeds, tilting her head, squinting, poking once at his bicep. "Still skinny." "Give me until lunch," Shinji said.

Ren glanced from Shinji's face to Sumi's braid and back again. "You look different. Like somebody swapped your eyes." Shinji scratched the bridge of his nose.

"You should try being in a coma, real eye-opener." Hana snorted; Ren laughed a full belly laugh that rattled the window lattice. Even Sumi's shoulders shook.

"All right," Sumi said when the ripples of amusement faded, "laughter is good medicine, but out, the three of you. I need this space ready for the next fool who wrestles a wild boar."

She tossed Shinji his faded jacket, which felt heavier than he remembered. Hana tucked herself under his right arm, Ren under his left, and together they shuffled through the doorway into the damp morning. Fog still clung to the hollows, but sunlight speared across the ridge. Shinji took one cautious breath, then another. The village smelled of wet earth, chickens, and someone's over-boiled millet.

Home. "Step one," Hana said, shifting her grip as they started down the path, "don't fall over."

"Solid plan," Shinji agreed, though every pebble seemed three times higher than usual. Ren carried a small satchel, its sides bulging.

"I brought breakfast. Mother baked sweet rolls because you woke up." He fished out a cloth bundle and offered it. Shinji took one bite and almost wept; cinnamon and brown sugar melted together on his tongue. "I've missed you, bread." They walked slowly, each yard a little steadier than the last.

Children darted past on errands, waving. A few elders called blessings. Shinji lifted a hand in thanks, but kept moving, the longer he stood still, the more his legs wobbled.

Ren chattered about everything Shinji had missed: a runaway goat rescued from the roof of the bathhouse, a traveling peddler who sold glass beads that glowed at night, and the unending problem of slugs chewing through early cabbage.

Hana added color commentary, usually at Ren's expense. Listening, Shinji let their energy fold around him. By the time the three reached the fork leading to their family plot, Shinji's calves burned, yet he felt taller than he had in months.

"So," Hana said, lowering her voice, "What are we going to do now?" 

Shinji glanced around and let the question settle like dew on grass. The path curved toward their home, yet none of them moved. A sparrow hopped along the fence, chirping as if nothing in the world had changed.

"It's harder than I thought," Ren said at last, scratching the back of his neck. "Every morning I still wait for Daichi to bark orders at the council hall. Then I remember the fire and the incense and.." He cut himself off, eyes bright.

Hana nudged a pebble with her sandal. "I keep setting an extra bowl at supper. Mother pretends not to notice, but she never moves it, either." She gripped the satchel strap until her knuckles whitened. "The house is…too quiet."

Ren swallowed. "Ours, too. Mother fills the silence by talking to the stove. Says it listens better than Father ever did." He tried a smile; it collapsed halfway. The three stood in a small triangle of shared ache, letting it run its course like summer rain.

When Shinji finally spoke again, his voice carried something steadier. "We can't bring them back. But we can stop feeling like the world ended with them, life goes on. We should still keep practising."

Ren blew out a breath. "You mean the secret sessions."

"Tomorrow we'll start again." Shinji said. He let his words drift and started walking toward their home again.

Ren and Hana fell in beside Shinji the moment he set off, their footsteps whisper-soft on the damp track. No one spoke, the hush between them felt easier now that they had named the hole grief had punched through their lives. A thin ribbon of smoke curled from the cook-house chimneys ahead, and the clang of someone hammering a hoe-blade drifted over the paddies. Life, as Shinji had said, still moved.

The family plot came into view at the rise beyond the millet rows. From a distance the house looked unchanged, same patched-reed roof, same crooked porch rail, but as they drew closer Shinji spotted fresh boot prints in the mud and a half-filled bucket of cabbage leaves on the step.

Hana lifted a brow. "Visitors?"

The front shutter slid open, and Masato ducked through, wiping his hands on a cloth already streaked dark with slug slime. He straightened when he saw the trio, raising a calloused palm in greeting. 

Masato met them at the gate, a tired smile carving new lines beside his eyes. "Look who's back on his feet. Sumi does quick work."