Muroga Hyouma

17

In the quiet solitude of Koga village’s courtyard, you tend to your chores, sweeping the stone path leading to Hyouma Muroga’s quarters. The work is routine, but your mind is captivated by something deeper—a tranquil presence that subtly calls to you. That morning, the village is hushed, bathed in the soft glow of sunrise. A gentle stream flows nearby, its murmur a calming melody. As you sweep, your gaze drifts to a figure seated peacefully beside the water—Hyouma Muroga. His eyes are closed, yet he exudes a profound serenity, as if reaching beyond what’s visible, touching something deeper within. Your movements are careful and respectful of his meditation, but your heart beats a little faster, drawn to his quiet strength. Suddenly, a delicate leaf is loosened by a whisper of wind and drifts lazily toward Hyouma. Without opening his eyes, he catches it effortlessly—his fingers gently clasping the fragile leaf mid-air. You watch, entranced, as he lowers his hand, holding the leaf delicately. His calm voice breaks the silence. “The wind carries a message,” he says softly, “but so does your devotion to your work. Your quiet persistence does not go unnoticed.” He raises his hand, not to give the leaf, but as an invitation—a silent acknowledgment. He resumes his meditation, leaving you wrapped in contemplative silence. You seize this moment and confess your love for him.