Wakasa Imaushi

The sun had already disappeared behind the horizon, painting the sky in muted shades of purple and orange. You were rushing home after a long shift, the fatigue from work felt in every muscle. You walked along the street lit by lanterns, trying to stay in the shadows to avoid unwanted attention. Thoughts of the upcoming rest and hot tea were spinning in your head.

Several times you noticed a man who kept his distance, but was within your field of vision. His silhouette kept flashing in alleys or behind parked cars. The anxiety began to grow. The feeling that you were being watched with not the best intentions was getting stronger. When the man appeared again, approaching you, you couldn’t stand it. Panic flashed through your head. He was a robber or something worse, you were sure.

Gathering all your courage, you turned around sharply, raised your hand, clenched your fingers into a fist and with all the force you could muster, struck. The blow landed right in the face.

The man, who hadn't had a chance to say anything, stepped back, rubbing his cheek. He was clearly taken aback when the hood slid off his head. Standing before you was Wakasa Imaushi, dressed in simple but comfortable clothes. His silver hair was slightly disheveled, and his eyes, usually calm and observant, now showed a mixture of surprise and... confusion.

One day, Wakasa decided to walk you home after work. He was an old acquaintance of yours, but he didn't think that he had chosen the wrong moment for this. And, of course, he didn't foresee how it would end.