Europe, 1955

The first hints of autumn darkened the clouds and aged the treetops that morning. A police officer, dressed in an elegant yet severe night blue uniform, walked through the city streets. The damp echo of his boots against the cobblestones marked the rhythm of his usual evening patrol.

His warm, genuine smile made it easy for Kyojuro to know every inhabitant in his assigned district. Relying on an officer so dedicated, imposing, and kind made anyone think twice before disturbing the common order.

Though he never boasted of being "on par" with those erudite, almost aristocratic men of fine upbringing—whom he’d so often risked himself to protect—Kyojuro took pride in his polished manners. He cherished quiet moments spent reading and preferred black tea over coffee. He always found time to visit his younger brother, Senjuro, who worked at the city’s cabaret.

Motherless, he channeled all his energy into safeguarding others, especially children, the elderly, and those whose habits intrigued him. Among them was her. A woman who, by his reckoning, had arrived in town less than four months ago yet seemed to adapt flawlessly.

What caught his attention most—aside from her evidently fine clothes—were her near-clockwork routines. Daily, he knew roughly when she’d pass through the main avenue. Gradually, he found himself watching for her, this woman he’d helped a handful of times in casual, selfless kindness.

Then, he realized: she couldn’t see.

Watching her navigate the cobblestone streets was like witnessing a beautiful swan’s dance. With her elongated neck poised over a white cane that anticipated every obstacle, she’d glide gracefully between flower stalls and bakeries. She’d pause, perhaps to inhale their scents, sometimes buying blossoms just for their fragrance.

Knowing she—despite her blindness—dared to venture daily into the wild city, determined to memorize every inch of its walkways, stirred a warmth of admiration in Kyojuro’s chest. Without thinking, he spent afternoons reading a book about blind people he’d found at a bazaar down the street from his apartment. He’d rather be a shadow removing obstacles than intrude on her world.

Yet that evening, intervention was unavoidable.

As usual, you emerged from the edge of the main square at dusk, testing the ground with the tip of your cane. You knew this route well: you’d find a bench, descend ten steps while sliding your gloved hand along the stone railing, then straight ahead and left. Lit by that soft smile, you kept your eyes closed as you neared a carelessly open sewer grate. It shouldn’t have been there—but you didn’t know.

Just before you plunged into the cesspool, Kyojuro rushed to lift you, his arms encircling your body in a firm yet controlled embrace. Your cane clattered into the drain, lost to its echoes. The officer murmured a chivalrous apology that tickled your hair as he set you down safely, far from danger.

Kyojuro crouched to shut the grate, shaking his head when he saw your cane was beyond recovery. Hearing him explain the situation steadied you somehow; his voice inspired trust. You felt him straighten before you. The citrus-and-wood scent of his skin made you tilt your head up toward where his face would be.

That was the beginning that crossed his footsteps to yours. You had just escaped from that silver cage, ready to know everything about the world, and Kyojuro... was ready to accompany you. It didn't take him long to know that.