Three years ago…
The rain came down in fat, relentless drops, turning the cobblestone streets of East Klyrode into a treacherous, ankle-deep soup. Haruka Harasen—eighteen, straight-backed, and still impossibly proud—stood in the middle of it all, soaking wet and fuming.
Her hair was plastered to her face. Her uniform was no longer navy—it was mud brown. Her boots made squelching sounds with every stubborn step forward. She'd just failed her fifth field exam in a row.
She hated field exams.
"I followed all the protocols!" she shouted at no one in particular. "The enemy was subdued, the hostage was extracted, and I only blew up one wall this time!"
A passing hawker cart splashed a puddle across her. She stopped walking. Closed her eyes.
"I hate this kingdom."
From beneath a crumbling stone archway, someone chuckled.
"You talk to yourself a lot, or is today special?"
Haruka turned, hand already on her sword. She was soaked, humiliated, and not in the mood for strangers.
The man lounging under the arch was older, maybe in his thirties or forties—it was hard to tell with all the scars and the ridiculous amount of hair. His gray robe looked like it hadn't been washed in years. A bamboo staff leaned against the wall beside him. He was drinking from a steaming bowl of soup like the rain didn't exist.
He grinned at her like he knew something she didn't.
"You got the look of someone who just lost a duel with a puddle," he added.
Haruka's eye twitched. "Who are you?"
He stood and gave a theatrical bow.
"Sakata Buddha, Master Monk, Vagabond Philosopher, Former Prince of the Northern Wind—retired, and… teacher of lost causes."
She blinked. "...What?"
He gestured to her with his soup spoon. "You look like one."
---
That was how it started.
She'd stormed off, of course. Called him a washed-up lunatic. Threatened to report him. But somehow, he kept turning up. At the next inn. At her training field. Once, even sitting in the audience at a noble family hearing, snacking loudly on pickled radish and offering unsolicited commentary.
It was like trying to shake off a raincloud with opinions.
And yet…
He always had advice. Good advice. Frustratingly good. And annoying jokes.
"You know your sword form is decent," he said once, lazily balancing upside-down on a tree branch. "But your heart's locked up tighter than a noblewoman's corset."
Haruka had almost thrown her sword at him. Almost.
But over time, things changed.
He taught her to breathe differently—to feel the wind before moving. He spoke of ki and emotion, how they weren't enemies but partners. He made her laugh when she wanted to scream. Listened when she was too proud to admit she was scared.
And one night, over cheap dumplings and terrible sake, he finally asked her:
"Why do you want to be strong, Haruka?"
She hadn't expected the question. She stared into her bowl for a long time before answering.
"Because in the Harasen Clan, strength is the only thing that makes people listen."
Sakata smiled—softly, this time. "Then maybe it's time we taught them how to hear something else."
---
A year passed.
Then two.
She followed him across half the continent—through old ruins, forgotten temples, and taverns filled with more bandits than chairs. She watched him help strangers without asking for thanks. He never stayed in one place long, but he always left behind something—fixed roofs, solved feuds, or just people who laughed a little more than they used to.
Sakata didn't just teach her how to fight.
He taught her how to live.
And even though he still drove her crazy—especially when he flirted with barmaids twice his age or got lost because he refused to ask for directions—Haruka stayed.
Not because she had to.
But because somewhere along the way…
He'd become family.
---
Present Day
As they rested in the shade of a half-crumbled temple wall, Sakata stretched out his back with a loud groan.
"Ughhh, these old bones. You know I was once limber enough to dodge an elf queen's slap at point-blank range?"
Haruka rolled her eyes, peeling an orange. "Is this going to be another story where you end up shirtless and surrounded by assassins?"
"I was shirtless, yes, but it wasn't my fault they were assassins. I thought it was a hot springs party!"
She tossed him a piece of orange.
He caught it without looking.
"…You've changed a lot," he said suddenly.
She raised a brow. "That so?"
"Yeah. You're stronger now. Not just in the sword. In here." He tapped his chest.
A rare moment of quiet passed between them.
Then Haruka smirked. "You've changed too."
Sakata blinked. "I have?"
"Yeah. You got even lazier."
He laughed so loud it scared a flock of birds from the trees.
---
To be continued...