Episode:2

The storm rolled on through the narrow streets of Kyoto, the wind howling like a ghost with unfinished business. Most had taken shelter by now—windows shut, lanterns dimmed. But one man remained outside, bent under a worn umbrella as he carried a crate of tools home from the factory.

His name was Daichi, a metalworker known more for his silence than for stories. Every night, he walked the same path—through alleys and shortcuts only locals knew, his hands calloused from years of labor, his heart worn but steady.

He had no family waiting at home. Only a kettle, a futon, and the echo of past regrets.

Tonight, however, was not a night for routine.

A sudden cry pierced the downpour. Faint, high-pitched—unmistakably a baby.

Daichi froze.

He looked around. The cry came again, carried by the wind from somewhere to his left. He turned down a side alley he usually avoided—too narrow, too cluttered. But the crying grew louder as he moved, more urgent.

Then he saw the shed.

Half-collapsed and covered in ivy, it looked abandoned. But the sound was clear now—just behind the wooden wall. Carefully, Daichi pushed open the crooked door.

Inside, in the shadows, a small shape glowed faintly.

A baby.

She was lying in an old wooden crate, wrapped in a soaked blanket, her cheeks red from cold but eyes wide with life. On her chest lay a silver locket, still faintly pulsing with soft blue light. It lit her features in a way that made her seem almost… ethereal.

Daichi blinked, unsure if his tired mind was playing tricks on him.

He stepped forward slowly, kneeling beside the crate.

“Hey… hey there, little one,” he murmured, his voice thick with disbelief. “What are you doing here?”

The baby looked at him and let out a hiccupping wail.

He scanned the shed, his voice rising slightly. “Hello? Is someone here? Did someone leave this baby?”

No answer. Only the storm.

He waited, but no one came.

With careful hands, he touched the blanket—still damp. The baby shivered, and he acted on instinct. He took off his outer jacket and wrapped her in it, cradling her gently. She was so small, barely the size of his forearm.

And the locket… it was warm. Not just warm—alive.

“Who would leave you out here like this?” he whispered.

There was no answer, of course. But in that moment, something shifted in him. Something ancient and instinctive. Maybe it was the look in her eyes, the way she stopped crying the moment he picked her up.

Maybe it was that he had no one waiting for him. And now—maybe she didn’t either.

Daichi looked down at the baby girl in his arms, and a quiet resolve settled in his chest.

He stood up, pulled the door closed behind him, and walked out into the rain—not just as a worker anymore, but as something more.

The next morning, the storm had passed, leaving the city drenched and glistening under a pale sky. Daichi stood outside the local police station, the baby girl bundled against his chest, the mysterious locket still glowing faintly under her blanket.

He’d hardly slept. His eyes were red-rimmed, but his arms never wavered.

Inside, he explained everything to the officer on duty—where he’d found the baby, the strange glow from the locket, the cries in the rain.

The officer listened, took notes, and frowned.

“No missing reports that match,” he said after checking their database. “We’ll post notices, check orphanages, ask around the neighborhood. But if no one comes forward...”

Daichi nodded slowly.

He already knew.

---

Days passed. No calls came. No one claimed the child.

Daichi returned to the station again and again, but the story remained the same: no witnesses, no parents, no answers. The locket’s strange light had dimmed, now just a pretty ornament around the child’s neck. A mystery in silver and silence.

Weeks became months.

He named her Hikari—light—because that’s what she had brought into his quiet, tired life. At first, he tried to stay distant, unsure if someone would come for her. But no one ever did.

So, slowly, he stopped waiting.

---

By the end of the first year, she had taken her first steps on the wooden floor of his small apartment, wobbling between toolboxes and empty rice bowls.

By the second year, she could say “Daichi” and “hot tea” and “stars.”

By the third, she would wait by the window every evening until he returned from the factory, waving excitedly the moment she saw his figure on the corner.

She was curious, bright, and full of laughter—though the locket still hung around her neck, untouched and unexplained.

Sometimes, it shimmered when she was asleep.

Sometimes, he caught her looking at it with a strange expression, as if it whispered to her in dreams.

But Daichi never asked questions.

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