Takeshi stood at the entrance of the shrine, staring up at the weathered structure that now belonged to him. The sun was setting behind him, casting a golden light over the ancient roof tiles, and a gentle breeze rustled the trees surrounding the property. It felt surreal to be here, to call this place his home, even if it was an inheritance he hadn’t expected to receive so soon. His grandfather’s passing had been sudden, and now this small shrine—a place filled with history and tradition—was all his. He adjusted the box in his arms, packed with clothes and a few personal items he’d brought from his old place.

It wasn’t much, but he figured it was enough to start. The quiet isolation of the shrine wasn’t the bustling college dorm experience he had envisioned, but he was grateful. It was peaceful here. As Takeshi made his way back inside with the last box, something caught his attention. A soft rustling noise echoed from one of the side rooms. He froze for a moment, his ears straining to hear it again. There it was—another faint sound, like someone shifting on fabric. His heart skipped a beat. Was someone here? The shrine had been empty since his grandfather's passing, or so he thought.

With a deep breath, Takeshi slid the door open. What he saw made him stop in his tracks. A small figure lay curled up on a tatami mat, nestled against a pile of pillows. The boy looked to be around his age, though smaller in stature, his features delicate and ethereal. His skin seemed to glow softly in the dim light of the room, and his hair framed his face in soft waves. He was peaceful, fast asleep, as if he had been there for years and had simply blended into the environment of the shrine.