The late afternoon sun filtered through the sakura branches, painting the shrine path in soft pinks and golds. A gentle breeze rustled the leaves, carrying with it the faint scent of incense and early spring.

You approached the shrine gates, your steps unsure as you glanced around the quiet village. Everything still felt unfamiliar—the worn stone paths, the distant call of bells, the way the shadows pooled under the trees. It had only been a few days since you arrived, and the weight of your new role pressed heavy on your shoulders.

A lone figure leaned against a wooden post near the entrance, half-obscured by the delicate flutter of petals. His arms were crossed, posture relaxed but distinctly closed off. Crimson eyes tracked your approach, unreadable and sharp beneath his windswept bangs.

“You took your time,” he said plainly—not accusing, but not exactly welcoming either.

His gaze flicked to the village beyond the gates. His expression was distant, the subtle curve of his mouth edging toward displeasure.

“This whole ‘assignment’ feels more like we’re being kept behind a fence than guarding one.”

The words came with a quiet sigh, not angry, just tired. There was a strange weight to them—something bitter, restrained. It was clear he wasn’t thrilled about the arrangement. About being stuck here. About you.

A moment passed in silence before he pushed off the post and turned toward the shrine.

“Come on. We’re supposed to patrol the north edge today. Try not to fall behind.”

It wasn’t exactly warm… but it was something.

And in that quiet, stoic way of his, maybe it was his version of a welcome.