-Afternoon-

  As the sun made its descend toward the horizon, Sen ventured deeper into the Streets.

  After some time, he spotted a wooden building with a star-shaped sign hanging above the entrance.

  (This building might be some kind of motel. Should check it out.)

  Pushing aside the noren curtain, Sen stepped inside.

  The first thing that greeted him was the scent of burning charcoal and tatami straw. A dimly lit genkan stretched before him—a sunken, stone-floored entrance where travelers removed their footwear. The space was small but clean, with wooden beams overhead and paper nterns casting soft, flickering light.

  An old man in a faded yukata sat behind a low wooden counter, squinting at a parchment ledger. To his right, a younger woman—likely his daughter—was tending to a small iron kettle, pouring tea into wooden cups.

  The old man gnced up, eyeing Sen’s rough clothing and foreign posture. His wrinkled face remained neutral, but his fingers tapped the table in thought.

  As Sen stepped into the genkan, he instinctively paused, unsure of the protocol. His shoes were heavy, worn from days of travel. The smell of tatami and charcoal soothed his senses, but he had little time to appreciate it. He needed to figure out what to do next.

  The old man behind the counter continued to observe, his eyes narrowing slightly as he took in Sen’s appearance. He seemed to sense that Sen didn’t know the proper customs, but after a moment of silence, the old man gestured toward the shoe rack.

  The younger woman, who had been busy with the kettle, gnced over. She gave a polite, if somewhat curious, bow of her head but remained silent.

  Sen crouched down awkwardly, pulling at his boots with rough hands. His movements were unpolished, but he managed to remove his footwear and pce them beside the others, trying to follow the lead of the older man.

  The old man’s eyes softened slightly.

  He tapped the ledger and then gestured for Sen to approach, indicating the next step. His hand motion suggested that Sen should walk over to the counter, where he would likely be asked to sign in.

  Sen wasn’t sure what was expected, but he shuffled forward, his eyes scanning the surroundings for clues. His foreign appearance and ck of words made him anxious, but he needed a pce to rest. He took a deep breath and approached the counter.

  The old man cleared his throat, and in the soft, slow tone of someone accustomed to guests who might struggle with nguage, he pointed to the ledger and said softly.

  "Namae...?"

  It was clear he was asking for Sen’s name, but the phrasing felt like an invitation to answer. The question hung in the air as the woman, busy with the tea, gnced over to observe.

  Sen, in his usual blunt manner, could only respond with a curt, "Sen," hoping the old man would understand. His simple Japanese was enough to communicate his name, but nothing more.

  The old man nodded once, as if not surprised by the simplicity of the answer. He then motioned toward the tea. “O-cha,” he said, as the younger woman pced a wooden cup of steaming tea on the counter, her gaze flicking briefly to Sen’s tired face.

  The next step was unclear. Was he supposed to pay? Was there more conversation to follow? Sen could only wait, his eyes scanning the room for any further signs of what was expected. The old man’s fingers tapped the ledger again, waiting for a next move from Sen.

  Sen eyed the steaming cup of tea, the soft aroma rising from it. His throat was dry, and the heat of the liquid seemed inviting, but he wasn't sure if it was a free gesture or part of the cost. The old man’s eyes were still on him, waiting for some form of action.

  Sen hesitated for a moment, then reached forward and grabbed the cup with one hand, lifting it to his lips. The warmth was a comfort after the long journey, and the tea was a simple but welcome relief.

  The old man nodded approvingly, as if this was the right move, and gestured for Sen to take a seat at the low wooden table beside the counter. The woman, still tending to the kettle, avoided eye contact but offered a small, polite smile.

  After Sen had a sip, the old man slowly opened the ledger again and tapped a finger on the page, then pointed to the empty space in front of Sen. It was clear that he expected payment or some kind of acknowledgment in exchange for the tea.

  Sen’s gaze flickered to the wooden cup of tea in front of him. The warm steam rose in soft tendrils, the scent of the tea filling the air. The old man’s eyes remained fixed on Sen, expectant, his fingers lightly tapping the edge of the edger. The silence lingered, and the weight of the situation was not lost on Sen. He didn’t have the luxury of waiting much longer; the day was fading fast, and rest was what he needed most.

  The young woman, noticing Sen’s hesitation, gave a small nod in the direction of the tea. It wasn’t a command but an unspoken gesture of hospitality—a way to ease his discomfort. Sen, though not accustomed to such social formalities, picked up the cup and drank. The warmth spread through him, and the bitterness of the tea was a welcome contrast to the exhaustion that had been building up.

  Once he finished the tea, the old man repeated the earlier motion, tapping the ledger again, then giving a pointed gnce toward the open space behind him—likely a guest room. The motion was clear, "Pay up” or “Settle your stay.” A pce to sleep would be waiting if Sen could pay the appropriate amount.

  Sen nodded, understanding the gesture, but his Japanese was still far too limited to ask about the price or what was expected of him. He reached into his sack—his rough calcutions would have to suffice.

  He pced a yellow coin on the counter, his eyes meeting the old man’s in an attempt to communicate. The old man’s brow furrowed slightly as he examined the coin, then nodded, clearly accepting the amount.

  He gestured to a small alcove in the back, where a thin partition divided the space. "This way," he said, his voice soft yet firm. He didn’t need to speak much; the act of guiding Sen to the sleeping quarters was enough.

  Sen followed, his worn body aching from the road. The room was small but cozy, with a tatami mat and a futon neatly id out. It was simple, but it would do for a night’s rest. The old man offered a final gesture toward the futon, before stepping back into the hallway, leaving Sen alone to settle in.

  As Sen id down, his eyes caught the flickering light from the paper nterns, casting soft shadows along the room’s walls. It wasn’t much, but in this unfamiliar nd, it felt like peaceful surrender. For a brief moment, Sen let his guard down, allowing himself the rare luxury of rest.

  But as the night crept on, his mind remained sharp, always alert—this world was new, and he had much yet to discover.

  -Dawn-

  As dawn broke, the soft light of early morning filtered through the rice-paper window, casting a faint glow across the tatami mat. The sounds of the inn stirred slowly, a quiet murmur of daily life beginning. The birds outside started their songs, and the first rays of the sun warmed the wooden beams above Sen’s head.

  Sen woke with a groan, the stiffness in his body a reminder of the long journey and hard training. The futon beneath him had been comfortable enough, but his sleep had been restless, his mind never truly at ease in this strange world. He sat up slowly, rubbing his face with a tired hand. The smells of the inn’s kitchen and the faint scent of charcoal filled the air.

  Outside, the inn began to stir more vigorously. The clink of porcein cups being set on low wooden tables and the soft voices of the staff preparing for the day could be heard. Sen pulled himself up from the futon, stretching his arms, muscles aching from both travel and the tension of this unfamiliar pce. He grabbed his clothes, the faded fabric hanging loosely on his frame. His boots were where he had left them, and he took a moment to put them back on with a resigned sigh.

  The noren curtain was already pushed aside, and as Sen made his way out of the small room, he stepped into the corridor. The sounds of the inn’s morning routines echoed through the wooden structure, and the air felt fresher now, cooler than the night before.

  The old man was behind the counter once more, the young woman quietly serving breakfast to another guest who had arrived te the previous evening. A small, low wooden table was set with bowls of rice, meat, and miso soup, the traditional breakfast for a traveler here.

  The old man looked up at Sen, offering a nod of recognition, but his expression was still neutral, as if he expected nothing more than a polite acknowledgment.

  The young woman, seeing Sen standing in the entryway, gave a soft smile and gestured toward the meal id out on the low table. Her voice was gentle as she spoke a few words to him, but all Sen could manage was a simple nod, trying his best to follow along.

  “Asa gohan,” she said, a polite invitation to breakfast, before returning to her task.

  Sen didn’t need to understand every word—he recognized the meal offered as a sign of respect, and his stomach reminded him that it was more than time to eat.

  He walked over to the table, sitting on one of the small cushions provided. The food was simple but hearty: steamed rice, a small grilled fish, and a bowl of warm miso soup. It wasn’t much, but it was exactly what he needed.

  He ate quickly, his hands moving with the efficiency of someone used to getting by on little. As he ate, the old man continued with his duties, occasionally eyeing Sen but saying little.

  The morning passed slowly, as it always did in inns like this, and the day outside continued to brighten. Sen finished his meal, feeling refreshed after the food. He pced the wooden bowl back on the table, his gaze briefly meeting the old man’s.

  After a moment of silence, the old man gave a short nod, as if signaling that Sen was free to go or do as he pleased. The young woman, still tending to her morning chores, gave him another polite smile before returning to the kitchen.

  Sen stood, his body feeling a bit lighter now that he had some food in his stomach. The rest of the world beyond the inn was waiting, and while this brief moment of calm had been appreciated, it was time to move on. He turned toward the door, making his way back through the corridor toward the genkan.

  As he stepped out, the street outside had already come alive. People of different races were bustling about, carts creaked past, and the soft sounds of the world waking up echoed around him. It was a new day, and Sen knew that no matter how small the moment, it was one more step in this strange world he now found himself in.