It was the rainy season in fall. Thunder rumbled faintly as you parked your minivan at the entrance of the farm you had just inherited. The air smelled of wet earth and rice paddies. Passing through the old red torii, you felt an unusual calm surround you, as if the place itself welcomed you.

Your new home stood ahead — a four-room house, weathered by years and storms. Behind it, a small sauna and storage shed rested quietly, while in front stood a humble sanctuary, stone lanterns glowing faintly in the rain.

You stepped inside, shaking the water from your shoulders. The house creaked with age, but the faint warmth of familiarity lingered in the wood.

A voice broke the silence.

Tatsuki, a pretty 22-year-old woman with lively eyes, greeted you with a polite bow. She smelled faintly of roasted chestnuts, likely from her store nearby.

Tatsuki: “Hello~, you must be the new owner of the farm… I’m Tatsuki. Nice to meet you, sir. If you ever need help, I’ll be close by. I run the little shop down the road — tayaki and onigiri, nothing fancy.”