I woke up before the sun, the way I always did, but instead of heading straight to the courtyard I sat on my futon for a long minute, listening.
The house was still. Mother's breathing came soft and even from her room down the hall. No hurried footsteps. No worried sighs yet. Just the faint creak of old wood and the distant call of the first birds.
I slipped into my haori and stepped outside anyway. The cherry petals from yesterday still dusted the stone path like pale pink snow. I picked up the wooden sword, but I didn't start the forms right away. I just held it, feeling the smooth grain under my small fingers. Ten years old. My hands were bigger than they had been before, but they still looked like a boy's hands.
I went through the first three forms only, slow and careful, each breath measured. Dance. Clear Blue Sky. Raging Sun. The golden-red sparks of cursed energy stayed small and contained, barely brighter than fireflies. I wasn't trying to push today. The scout's visit yesterday still lingered in the air like incense smoke that wouldn't quite fade.
By the time the sky turned pale gold, I was back inside, washing my face at the basin. Mother was already in the kitchen. She looked tired — the kind of tired that came from lying awake thinking too much.
"Good morning, Yoriichi," she said, forcing a bright smile as she set out the rice. "Did you sleep well?"
I nodded and knelt at the table. "Yes, Mother. Did you?"
She hesitated just a second before answering. "Well enough." Her eyes flicked to the small card resting beside the tea pot = the one the scout, Hiroshi Takeda, had given her yesterday. The Kyoto Jujutsu High seal glowed faintly even in daylight. She had left it there all night, like she couldn't decide whether to hide it or throw it away.
We ate in comfortable silence for a while. I could feel her watching me the way she sometimes did when she thought I wasn't looking. checking my face, my posture, the calm way I held my chopsticks. At ten I still ate like a child, a little messy with the pickled vegetables, but my cursed energy stayed perfectly tucked away. No leaks. No accidents.
After breakfast she cleared the bowls and then did something she hadn't done in months. She pulled out an old wooden box from the cupboard and set it on the table between us.
"Today we're not training," she said firmly, but her voice was gentle. "Not the sword forms. Not the... shadows. We're going to do normal things. Like a real mother and son."
I tilted my head. "Normal things?"
She opened the box. Inside were old hanafuda cards — the same pattern as my earrings and a few simple games she used to play with Father. "We'll play a few rounds. Then we'll walk to the market and buy something sweet. Maybe mochi. And tonight I'll read you that old storybook you like, the one about the sun and the moon. No cursed energy talk. No practicing until the birds wake up. just... today."
I could see how much she needed this. The worry lines around her eyes were deeper since yesterday. So I smiled the small, soft smile that always seemed to ease her.
"Yes, Mother. I'd like that."
We spent the morning at the low table. She taught me the rules of the card game again, even though I already knew them perfectly. I let her win the first two rounds on purpose, laughing quietly when she clapped her hands in delight. For a little while she looked younger — thirty-seven but laughing like the girl she must have been before Father died.
"You're letting me win," she teased, poking my forehead right above the flame birthmark.
"Maybe a little," I admitted, voice soft.
She ruffled my long hair, crimson tips catching the light. "That's okay. Ten-year-olds are allowed to be nice to their mothers."
After lunch we walked to the market together. The basket swung on her arm. I stayed close, wooden sword left at home for once so I really would look like any other boy. The streets were busy with weekend shoppers. I kept Transparent World half-open, just enough to make sure no small curses were drifting too close, but I didn't act on anything. Today really was for her.
We bought red bean mochi and fresh peaches. Mother let me pick the ripest ones. A group of kids my age ran past playing tag; one of them bumped into me and apologized with a quick bow. I bowed back politely. I paused for a moment, watching them run around without a care.Part of me wondered what that would be like. But the thought passed quickly. I liked my mornings with the sword. I liked the quiet power humming under my skin.
On the way home Mother grew quiet again. She kept touching the pocket where she had slipped the scout's card.
"Yoriichi," she said finally, voice low as we turned onto our lane lined with cherry trees. "That man yesterday.... he seemed kind. And Kyoto Jujutsu High is supposed to be safe. They protect their students. Your father always said the schools were the best place for children with strong energy."
I walked beside her, short legs matching her pace. "I know."
She stopped under one of the trees and crouched so we were eye-level. "I'm not saying you have to go. I'm not pushing you. I just... I worry. You're ten. You shouldn't have to carry this alone. If something stronger than a Grade 3 ever comes, I won't be able to protect you the way a mother should."
I reached out and hugged her right there on the path, arms wrapping around her neck the way a normal ten-year-old would. "You already protect me," I whispered against her shoulder. "Every day. By being my mother."
She held me tight for a long time. When she finally pulled back there were tears in her eyes, but she was smiling. "My brave boy. Alright. No more heavy talk today. Let's go home and eat those mochi before the birds steal them."
That evening she kept her promise. After dinner she pulled out the old storybook and read to me by lantern light while I lay on my futon. The tale was simple, a sun spirit who burned too brightly and learned to share its warmth instead of destroying everything it touched. I listened quietly, eyes half-closed, letting her voice wash over me. My hanafuda earrings clicked softly when I shifted.
When she finished the story she tucked the blanket around me like I was much younger. "Sleep well, my little sun," she whispered, kissing my forehead right on the birthmark. "No training before dawn tomorrow. Promise me."
"I promise," I said.
She left the door open a crack so the hallway light could keep me company, the way she used to when I was smaller.
I waited until her breathing slowed into sleep.
Then I lay there in the dark, staring at the wooden ceiling beams. The card from Kyoto Jujutsu High was still on the kitchen table. I could feel its faint presence even from here — a little rectangle of thick paper that somehow felt heavier than it looked. Mother hadn't put it away. She hadn't thrown it out either.
For the first time in a while I let myself wonder what it would be like if I said yes. Real teachers. Other kids who could see curses too. A place where I wouldn't have to pretend every single day that I was just an ordinary boy. But then I thought about Mother's laugh today when she won at cards, and the way she had held my hand the whole walk home, and the promise I had just made.
I turned onto my side and pulled the blanket up to my chin. My body was still small. My power was still growing with me, slow and steady like a tree putting down roots. There was no rush. The world outside our little house in Kyoto would keep spinning whether I stepped into it tomorrow or next year.
I closed my eyes and let Transparent World drift gently through the house instead. Mother's cursed energy glowed soft and steady in her room, peaceful for the first time in days. The garden koi slept in their pond. Even the distant streets felt quieter tonight.
A tiny, warm smile touched my lips.
Tomorrow I would keep my promise, no sword forms before dawn.
But the quiet strength inside me kept humming anyway, patient as ever.
The card on the table would still be there in the morning. And so would I, a ten-year-old boy who loved his mother, trained in secret, and carried something bright and warm no one else could quite see/