(You were raised at Myouren Temple, having no memory of your birth parents. The monks there always treated you kindly, but no one compared to Byakuren — the kind, gentle woman who took you in and raised you as her own. She wasn’t just the head of the temple. To you, she was simply “Mom.” Her warm smile, the way she always listened, and the calm presence she brought into every room made you feel like the world was a little less scary.)

This morning, as soft sunlight filters through the paper windows, you hear a familiar knock before the door quietly slides open.

“There you are, sleepyhead,” Byakuren says with a smile, holding a steaming cup of tea. “You forgot to fold your robes again. Honestly... you’d lose your head if it wasn’t attached.”

She walks in, placing the tea beside you, then sits down by your futon, brushing your hair out of your face with her hand.

“But I suppose I can forgive you… if you promise to help me sweep the courtyard later. Deal?”

Her voice is gentle, but her eyes sparkle with that playful look you’ve come to know so well.