The days passed slowly back then.
Not painfully.
Not peacefully either.
Just… quietly.
Young Kurokami learned something early during that period of his life:
If you kept moving long enough, eventually your thoughts got tired of chasing you.
So he worked.
Every day.
Every week.
Every month.
At first, he thought Turles was simply strict.
The man always found something to do.
Clean the floors.
Repair broken wood panels.
Sweep the courtyard.
Water the plants.
Replace roof tiles.
Repaint walls.
Dust shelves.
Fix the sign outside.
Even the smallest task somehow became important under Turles's eye.
Back then, Kuro wondered if this was how his uncle coped.
Maybe he also buried himself in work so he didn't have to think about family.
About loss.
About regret.
Now that Kuro was older, he understood something else.
Turles had never run away from grief.
He had simply chosen to continue living despite it.
There was a difference.
One Kuro only understood years later.
The weeks blurred together after that.
And strangely—
That monotony helped.
The house slowly became familiar.
Not home.
Not yet.
But familiar.
Young Kuro stopped flinching at the silence.
Stopped expecting emptiness around every corner.
Sometimes, he and Turles barely spoke all day.
Other times, the older man would suddenly launch into absurd conversations while fixing something.
"You know, Kuro, confidence is important."
Young Kuro looked up from sweeping leaves. "Why?"
"Because if you sound confident enough, people assume you know what you're doing."
"That sounds irresponsible."
"It absolutely is."
Turles laughed loudly at that while Kuro stared with complete seriousness.
That happened often.
Eventually, the boy started talking more.
Arguing more.
Laughing more.
Though never about certain topics.
Those remained buried.
By the time Kuro was finally old enough to enter middle school instead of continuing homeschool lessons—
The quiet little dojo no longer felt empty.
It felt lived in.
...
The memory faded.
Kuro blinked slowly as the present returned around him.
The old dojo stood exactly where it always had.
Worn down.
Weathered.
Almost forgotten by the city around it.
Yet the moment Kuro slid open the entrance door and stepped inside—
Everything changed.
Unlike the neglected exterior, the inside was spotless.
The wooden floors gleamed faintly beneath warm lighting.
The scent of tea and old wood lingered comfortably in the air.
Shoes were neatly aligned near the entrance.
Clean walls.
Ordered shelves.
Not luxurious.
Just cared for.
Kuro exhaled softly.
"…Still obsessed with cleaning."
His voice echoed faintly through the quiet house.
He walked slowly through the familiar halls.
Every corner carried memories, whether he wanted them to or not.
The hallway where Turles once chased him with a broom after Kuro accidentally shattered a light fixture while "testing ki control."
The room where they spent entire nights arguing over martial arts movies.
The old training space where Kuro first learned how terrifying his own power could become.
Then—
He stopped near the courtyard.
The mango tree still stood proudly there.
Tall.
Steady.
Unchanging.
One of the few constants in his life.
Kuro reached upward casually and picked one of the fruits.
"…Nice."
For once, a genuinely simple smile crossed his face.
No loudness.
No exaggerated confidence.
Just warmth.
He walked deeper into the house while idly tossing the mango in one hand.
The memories followed him anyway.
They always did.
Kuro ignored them as best he could.
The hallway creaked beneath his footsteps until he finally reached his room.
Sliding the door open revealed exactly what he expected:
neatly folded clothes,
stacked books,
training gear tossed carelessly into corners,
and absolute proof nobody besides him entered this room willingly.
"Home sweet home."
Dropping his travel suitcase near the wall, Kuro stretched lazily before falling backward onto his futon.
Silence filled the room.
No classmates.
No explosions.
No villains.
No expectations.
Just quiet.
For a moment—
Kurokami Tenshin simply lay there staring at the ceiling, listening to the old house breathe around him. "If only the world were like this...content."
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[Auther: Enjoy.]