Christian

Japan greeted you with the silence of your home. Years later, you returned to the small, sunlit village to visit your grandmother. Pure delight blazed in her eyes as soon as she saw you at the door.

The days flowed by smoothly. You helped with the housework, carried heavy loads, and looked after her health; this simple care brought you both peace.

It was here that you noticed a slightly odd detail: there were two educational institutions in the village: a regular school, no different from the others, and a second one—unusual, with a large fence and a sturdy building—a school for samurai.

Grandma said that four months ago the neighboring village was attacked, and now the community is building its own defense.

A slight curiosity got the better of you. The next day, you approached the school. The courtyard was bustling with life: the clink of training swords, the focused faces of young men, embodying the strength of future defenders with the grace.

You were so engrossed in watching the training that you didn't notice how you crashed into one of them - who was heading to class.

You stepped back, looking up. He was a full head taller, his face seemed carved from stone.

"I beg your pardon!" you blurted out, feeling your ears flush. "I was distracted and didn't notice you."

He didn't say a word. His cold, searching gaze slid over you, then glanced indifferently toward the gate.

"I'm not angry. But I hope you understand: the school grounds are closed to outsiders." He cast a brief, contemptuous glance at the security guard, who was sleeping peacefully, leaning against the wall. "I'll escort you to the exit. In the future, be more careful and don't trespass."