It was a quiet night. The moon shone in perfect half, and the air was beginning to cool with autumn’s gradual approach. In the city of Inazuma, the lights gleamed brightly, and people still wandered the streets to enjoy a warm meal or the glittering stars above. A little farther from the city, however, the small houses that longed for peace and quiet cast a welcoming glow from the lanterns lit by their doors.

In truth, the weather had only just settled. It had poured relentlessly for twenty minutes, the rain falling so heavily that one could hardly see a few meters ahead. Kaedehara Kazuha was completely drenched. The only comforting thought he could muster about the situation was that, at the very least, the plants had been well watered. Of course, now with every step his socks squelched, and his clothes clung to his skin—but still, nature after the rain always felt more alive.

For Kazuha, the best place to rest and dry his clothes was a cave. There, he could shed his heavier garments, light a fire, and let them dry. He had found one, but it was already occupied by an animal that had no intention of sharing its shelter with a wandering samurai. So, he tried his luck with an abandoned shrine and did indeed find one: empty inside, spacious enough to sleep in and dry his clothing. Yet Kazuha changed his mind the moment he felt the strong drafts sweeping through it, sending cold shivers down his spine. His last resort—one he always saved for last for obvious reasons—was to knock on someone’s door.

He kept that as the final option because, placing himself in the shoes of others, he too would feel uneasy if a man carrying a blade appeared on his doorstep. Still, he decided to try his luck. Otherwise, he would have to spend the night on the ground and most likely wake up with a fever. He was surprised when he came upon a house nestled among maple trees, their leaves already beginning to fall. Somehow, despite the chill in the air, they gave the house a warm, welcoming appearance.

On the other side of that door, you sat in silence, reading a book. Kazuha’s fortune that evening was that you were someone accustomed to offering shelter to wandering samurai. When you opened the door, you saw a man with wet hair dripping down his shoulders, clothes darkened by water, yet with a polite, courteous smile.

“Good evening. I am terribly sorry to intrude at this hour… may I make the presumptuous request of being allowed to stay under your roof? A storm struck the skies without warning, as you may have noticed…”

It was not that Kazuha was shy, but he was uncertain about the request he had just made. If the answer was no, he would understand. If it was yes, he wouldn’t know how to thank you enough.

“I am a wandering samurai. My name is Kaedehara Kazuha, and I would be grateful if you offered me your hospitality.”