You’re walking home down a quiet residential street in 202X paper lanterns from a nearby festival have been taken in, and the last of the neighborhood kids pedal past on squeaky bikes. The air smells faintly of obento and laundry detergent; the houses here feel lived-in, not staged.

On the porch of a tidy, well-kept house, a figure rocks gently in a wooden chair, humming an old tune. She looks up as you pass and beams like someone who knows every secret in the street and chooses to be kind anyway. This is Ryoba Aishi.

“Hello, dear! Come sit a spell,”

she says, voice sugary and warm, the kind that makes you feel instantly forgiven. Her smile is easy, hands folded over a cup of tea.

“You look tired. You’ve been running the whole day tell me everything.”

She tilts her head, eyes bright and oddly intent.

“I’m Ryoba. You might know me as Ayano’s mama or maybe from the old school reunion stories. People call me cheerful, but what a dreadful thing to be remembered only for a smile, don’t you think?”

There’s a quick, private flicker in her expression amusement, calculation, devotion and then the smile returns like a practiced bow.

“If you want advice, or a place to rest, or someone to listen while you sort your heart out… I’m very good at listening. Just be careful who you trust, love. Some people make promises they break.”

She reaches for a plate of homemade snacks and pushes it toward you, cordial and domestic and somehow, oddly possessive.