The Chosen Name

The rain had been falling for hours.

It slid down the windows of the small wooden house, forming thin streaks of water that reflected the warm glow of the oil lamps. Outside, the village was swallowed by darkness. The streets were empty, the shops closed, and even the wind seemed to have stopped to listen to the storm.

Far beyond the mountains, the lights of Tokyo shimmered in the distance. But here, in this tiny rural village, time felt frozen.

Inside the house, though, no one was sleeping.

"Mom... are you sure you're okay?"

The girl sitting beside the bed tried to keep her voice steady, but her fingers, tightly clutching the blanket, betrayed her.

She was about eight years old. Her slightly messy brown hair fell over her shoulders. She wore a simple nightgown and kept her eyes fixed on her mother, who was breathing slowly with one hand resting on her now-enormous belly.

The woman smiled gently.

"Yes, dear. I'm fine."

"But you said the same thing before."

"Because I'm still fine."

"And earlier you said the baby would only move a little. But it kicked at least ten times."

The mother lowered her gaze to her belly.

Just then, something moved beneath her skin.

The little girl's eyes widened.

"Did you feel that?"

"Of course I did."

"Was that a kick?"

"Maybe."

"Or maybe a punch."

The mother laughed softly.

"Maybe your brother's already trying to make space for himself."

The girl leaned in even closer. She placed a hand on her mother's stomach with extreme care, as if afraid of disturbing the baby.

For a few seconds, nothing happened.

Then the belly moved again.

The girl pulled her hand back with a small gasp.

"He answered me!"

"Do you really think so?"

"Yes. I asked him to move and he did."

"Then you'll have to be careful what you ask him."

The girl tilted her head.

"Why?"

"He might learn to listen to you."

"That'd be useful. I could tell him to clean his room."

"He's not even born yet and you're already bossing him around?"

"I'm his big sister. It's my duty to teach him things."

The mother smiled, watching her with affection.

"And what would you like to teach him?"

The girl thought seriously. She looked toward the window, beyond which only the rain and the reflection of the lamps were visible.

"I'd teach him how to recognize the seasons."

"The seasons?"

"Of course. I'd tell him that in spring the village smells like cherry blossoms, that in summer you have to drink lots of water, that in autumn the leaves turn red, and that in winter snow covers the rooftops."

The mother listened without interrupting.

"I'd also teach him where the river is. And the path that leads up the hill. And which trees bear sweet fruit and which ones are bitter."

"That sounds like a very demanding schedule."

"I'm not done yet."

The girl raised a finger.

"I'd teach him how to read."

"You'll have to teach him that with patience."

"I can read pretty well already."

"You're eight. It's normal for you to know how to read."

"But he won't."

"Not at first, no."

"Then I'll have to teach him the letters too."

The mother watched as she listed off her plans with a serious, focused expression. It was clear the girl wasn't playing: she had already decided what her role would be.

As soon as her brother was born, she would protect him.

"I'll also teach him the kingdom's rules," she continued.

"The kingdom's rules?"

"Yes. He needs to know you can't cross the border without permission, that you have to respect the laws, and that you should never insult the royal family."

The mother raised an eyebrow slightly.

"Do you think your brother will intend to insult the royal family?"

"I don't know. But he should know in advance."

"And what will you tell him about the Emperor?"

The girl straightened up in her chair.

"I'll tell him the Emperor is the Head of State of our country."

"And that's it?"

"No. I'll tell him he can't just do whatever he wants."

The mother smiled.

"Very good. Continue."

"I'll tell him the kingdom has a Constitution and that even the Emperor must respect it. Parliament approves the laws, the government enforces them, and the citizens must obey them."

"You've studied well."

"My teacher says constitutional monarchies work because the sovereign represents the country but doesn't rule alone."

The girl spoke with the confidence of someone who had repeated those words many times.

"And I'll also tell him that every nation has its own king or queen. Like our Yamato family, which is the oldest dynasty in the world. They're all monarchs, but each one must respect their country's Constitution."

"That'll be a very long lesson."

"Mom, he needs to know these things."

"You're right."

For a moment, the sound of rain filled the room.

On the wall beside the window hung a world map. It was large and colorful, with the borders of the different kingdoms traced in thin lines. Each territory bore the symbol of its royal family.

Asia sat at the center of the map, with Japan clearly visible. To the west stretched Europe, to the south Africa and Oceania, and beyond the oceans lay the Americas.

The girl got up from her chair and approached the map.

"Mom, will the baby be able to travel to all these kingdoms?"

"If he wants to, one day, yes."

"Even to the United States?"

"Even to the United States."

"Even though we live in Japan?"

"Of course. Kingdoms have borders, but that doesn't mean the world ends at a frontier."

The girl ran her finger over the map, tracing the lines that separated the various territories.

"Does every kingdom have a king?"

"Or a queen. It depends on the royal family and the laws of succession."

"And do they all have a Parliament?"

"Yes. Though the way it functions can vary from country to country."

"And do they all have an army?"

The mother hesitated briefly.

"Every kingdom has a defense force. Some armies are large, others smaller. But all have the duty of protecting their citizens."

"And if two kings fight?"

"It's not just the kings who decide. There are ministers, diplomats, and representatives from Parliament. Before a war breaks out, many people try to prevent it from happening."

The girl fell silent.

"But sometimes war happens anyway."

The mother looked out the window.

"Sometimes adults make the wrong decisions."

The answer seemed to satisfy her only partially.

"When he's born, I'll tell him not to make wrong decisions."

"That'll be good advice."

A thunderclap made the windows vibrate.

The girl quickly returned to the bedside and grabbed her mother's hand.

"The storm won't hurt the baby, right?"

"No, sweetheart."

"And what if he's born now?"

"Then we'll have to call the midwife immediately."

The mother tried to smile, but her expression suddenly changed.

Her hand on her belly tightened.

Her breath caught in her throat for a few seconds.

The girl noticed.

"Mom?"

The woman closed her eyes.

"I think it's time."

The girl froze.

"Time for what?"

"Time to go get help."

Fear flashed across her face.

"Now?"

"Now."

The mother tried to sit up, but another contraction forced her to stay lying down.

"Go to Mrs. Haruko. She lives in the house with the red roof, near the well. Tell her to come right away."

The girl nodded quickly.

"And you?"

"I'll wait for you here."

"But you can't wait alone."

"I'm not alone. Your brother is here with me."

The girl looked at her mother's belly with worry.

"Then I'll be right back."

She grabbed a shawl, wrapped it around her shoulders, and ran toward the door.

Before leaving, she turned back.

"Mom?"

"Yes?"

"Don't let him be born before I get back."

The mother laughed despite the pain.

"I'll do my best."

The door closed.

The girl ran through the rain, clutching the shawl around her body. The village streets were slippery, and mud seeped into her shoes, but she didn't stop.

The midwife's house was on the other side of the square. When the girl arrived, she knocked so hard the sound blended with the thunder.

The door opened shortly after.

"What's happening?"

"It's my mom! The baby's coming!"

The midwife didn't waste time. She grabbed her bag, put on her cloak, and followed the girl back into the storm.

Meanwhile, in the house, the mother breathed slowly.

Each contraction grew more intense.

She had prepared everything weeks in advance: clean sheets, hot water, bandages, and clothes for the newborn. Yet now that the moment had arrived, everything suddenly felt too small and fragile.

She placed both hands on her belly.

"Just a little longer," she whispered. "Hold on a little longer."

She didn't know if she was talking to the baby or to herself.

The door burst open.

Her daughter returned with the midwife, both soaked from the rain.

"Mom, I'm back!"

"Good girl, love."

The midwife approached the bed and began preparing what was needed.

"Breathe slowly. Don't waste your strength."

The girl stayed by her mother's side. She wanted to be brave, but her hands were trembling.

"Can I do something?"

"You can hold your mother's hand."

The girl squeezed it immediately.

Time passed slowly.

Outside, the storm continued to rage. Inside, the room filled with low voices, labored breaths, and firm instructions.

The girl tried not to cry.

"Mom, I'm here."

The woman squeezed her hand.

"I know."

"And the baby will be here too."

"Yes."

"And when he's born, I'll teach him everything."

"I'm sure you will."

"I'll also teach him not to be afraid of storms."

The mother smiled weakly.

"You might want to teach yourself that first."

The girl looked down, embarrassed.

Then another thunderclap exploded in the sky.

This time, she didn't move.

She stayed beside her mother.

After one final, long hour, a newborn's cry filled the room.

It was a small sound, but it seemed louder than the storm.

The midwife lifted the baby and wrapped him in a clean cloth. The mother, exhausted, let her head fall back onto the pillow.

The girl watched her little brother without speaking.

He was much smaller than she had imagined.

His face was reddish, his eyes closed, and one hand clenched into a tiny fist.

"Is that really him?" she asked.

The mother nodded.

"Yes. He's your brother."

The midwife brought the baby into the mother's arms.

For a while, no one said anything.

The woman looked at the newborn with an unreadable expression. There was exhaustion, relief, love, and a trace of fear.

The girl approached slowly.

"Can I touch him?"

"Of course."

With one finger, she brushed the baby's hand.

The little one moved his fingers and wrapped them around her index finger.

The girl held her breath.

"He recognized me."

"Maybe he just grabbed your finger."

"No. He recognized me."

The mother looked at her two children.

"Then you'll have to be kind to him."

"I will."

"You'll have to be patient."

"I will."

"And you must remember you're not his mother."

The girl paused.

"But I can be his sister."

"You can be his sister."

"And I can protect him?"

The mother stroked her hair.

"You can stay by his side. Sometimes that's the most important way to protect someone."

The girl nodded solemnly.

Then she looked at her mother.

"What should we name him?"

The room fell silent again.

That name had been discussed many times over the previous months. Lists had been made, suggestions offered and crossed out. Some names belonged to the grandparents, others had been chosen for their meaning.

But none seemed truly right.

The mother lowered her gaze to the baby.

The newborn had stopped crying. He seemed to be listening to the sounds of the room, as if trying to understand them.

The woman gently touched his forehead.

Then she smiled.

"I've decided to name him Yūto."

The girl repeated the name.

"Yūto."

"Yes."

"Why that name?"

The mother remained silent for a few seconds.

"Because I want him to have the strength to keep going, even when the road is difficult."

The girl looked at her brother.

"Then Yūto will become a strong person?"

"Not necessarily in the way you imagine."

"Can he become a knight?"

"If he wants to."

"An adventurer?"

"If he wants to."

"A soldier?"

"If he wants to."

"A Head of State?"

The mother smiled.

"That too, if he wants to. But he mustn't become anything just because others expect it of him."

The girl stared at her brother's face.

"Then he can choose for himself."

"Yes."

"And if he chooses something dangerous?"

The mother looked at the baby tenderly.

"Then we'll be here to remind him how important it is to come home."

The girl nodded.

Then, after a moment of hesitation, she asked:

"And Dad? What would he say if he were here?"

The silence that followed was heavier than any thunder.

The mother lowered her gaze. Her fingers tightened around the blanket.

"Your father... would be proud of you. Of both of you."

"But why isn't he here?"

The mother closed her eyes for a moment.

"Sometimes people have to leave to protect those they love."

The girl didn't seem satisfied with the answer, but she didn't press further.

"I'll tell him when I see him."

"Yes. You'll tell him."

The rain slowly began to ease.

The thunder rolled away beyond the mountains, and the village was once again immersed in an almost complete silence.

The midwife arranged the blankets and checked that the mother was okay. The girl remained seated beside the bed, still with one finger clasped in Yūto's tiny hand.

The newborn was sleeping.

No one in the room could imagine what kind of person he would become.

They didn't know he would travel beyond the kingdom's borders.

They didn't know he would meet princes, princesses, and sovereigns.

They didn't know that one day he would stand before the Emperor himself.

They didn't know he would have to choose between his family's safety and the truth about the world.

For that night, Yūto was just a newborn baby.

A baby wrapped in a blanket, protected by his mother and sister.

And, as the first light of dawn began to brighten the sky, the mother whispered his name once more.

"Welcome home, Yūto."