Fragment 9. Homecoming

The morning train starts operating at 5:30 AM. So we arrived at the station before then. Even though I had been unconscious for half the night, I was still very sleepy. I yawned widely while waiting on the platform.

“Hora, Haruno! That’s rude! Cover your mouth when you yawn.”

“Sorry.”

“Seriously. This kid…”

Mother was back to being her usual naggy self. It could be annoying sometimes, but I'd rather see my mother like this than seeing her putting on a face like she did last night.

Not long after her scolding, the announcer declared our train’s arrival. We boarded the JR Yokohama Line toward Shin-Yokohama Station. Once there, we followed the signs leading to the shinkansen platform.

As expected of the bullet train. Traveling from Yokohama to Nagoya took less than two hours. It would’ve taken five by car.

While waiting for the train to reach our destination, we ate breakfast. We hadn’t had time to eat at home since we left so early. Fortunately, Mother had prepared bento for us. So we ate while enjoying the morning scenery.

Arriving at Nagoya Station, we still had to take a bus to Shirakawa. That should be our final mode of transportation.

The closer we got to my hometown, the more restless I became. I mean, this was my first time making this trip. Usually, my parents were the ones who visited during national or school holidays. You could say I had never left my hometown since the day I was born.

Moving to Tokyo was my first time leaving my birthplace. But that was a one-way trip. This was my first time returning, and everything felt unfamiliar.

After getting off the bus, the first thing I did was take a deep breath. Feeling the air I missed fill my lungs made me think, Yes, I’m home.

We began walking into the village. Just like always, it was quiet. No train sounds, no honking cars, only the calming sounds of nature.

At first, I thought we would stop by the house I used to live in. But Father walked past it. Even with a listing posted, selling a countryside house wasn’t easy. It was a bit sad to part with a home full of memories. But leaving it empty would only ruin it, so maybe letting someone else care for it was better.

Our true destination lay atop the hill. We climbed the stairs leading straight up.

Along the way, I heard whispers.

“Isn’t that the Young Miss?”

“I thought the Young Miss left this place long ago.”

“Yay! The Young Miss has returned!!”

“Shut it! What if she hears us? Didn’t you remember we must not approach her?”

“But the Young Miss can neither see nor hear us anymore, right? So why must we hide?”

“Well…”

I kept listening to their conversation about this “Young Miss.” But the problem was, I couldn’t find who was speaking.

No matter where I looked, I saw no one but my parents and me. When I looked ahead at Father leading the way, and then at Mother panting behind me, neither showed signs of hearing the voices. They acted as if nothing was unusual.

Reflexively, I tightened my grip on the straps of my backpack. Once again, something was happening only to me. I thought I’d be safe with my parents beside me, but even they couldn’t perceive what I did. So I kept the discomfort to myself.

When we reached the top, the first thing that greeted us was a small shrine standing quietly among the trees. From afar, it looked surprisingly well maintained. The ground was free of fallen leaves, the wooden paint looked new, and its roof glimmered softly in the sunlight. For such a humble shrine, it felt remarkably tidy, as though someone took great care of every corner.

The main building sat at the center, slightly elevated from the surrounding ground. A small wooden gate stood before it, marking the sacred area. The roof curved in typical Shinto style, with a thick rope—shimenawa—hanging above the entrance. Seeing it gave off an inexplicable sense of calm, as if the place was meant to ease one’s burdens.

On the right stood a small building with wooden racks filled with ema—prayer plaques that have yellowed with age. Some are still new, with marker writing that has not yet faded. The wind gently rustled them, producing soft clacking sounds that blended with the forest’s atmosphere.

On the left was the temizuya—water basin for purification. Wooden ladles sat neatly atop the stone trough. The steady flow of water was the clearest sound in the quiet shrine grounds.

This shrine was usually deserted. Its location atop the hill made visitors rare. But today, someone was standing before the main building, facing the altar in silent reverence. Feeling our presence, that person turned around.

He smiled gently. His eyes looked straight at us, unmistakably directing the smile toward us.

The man had white skin and blond hair. He was well-built and about 185 centimeters tall.

He wore a long white robe with red accents and gold trim, giving him a sacred yet majestic appearance. The design resembled a pope’s vestments, but sleek and graceful like a miko outfit. A short white cape with gold trim rested on his shoulders, while a vertical red panel accentuated the front.

He also wore a tall mitre-style headpiece, white with golden patterns and faint red touches. The staff he held was straight, topped with a crystal ornament.

Seeing him, the first thought that crossed my mind was, When did this place become a tourist attraction?

I had never seen him before, so he was clearly not a local. Judging from his appearance, he was most likely a foreigner. His outfit was flashy enough that I suspected he was cosplaying. However, I couldn’t recall any foreigners visiting this village—let alone this shrine. So I was confused why someone like him was here.

In stark contrast to my confusion, Father walked up to the eccentric man and knelt on one knee before him. Mother followed suit.

Normally, I would politely greet someone Father knew—but kneeling like that?! Hell nah.

While I stood frozen, the man welcomed us as though he owned this place.

“Welcome to Minemori Shrine,” he said with a smile.