On the next day.
Midmorning sunlight dappled the forest floor as Shin moved quietly beneath the pines, a small basket hanging from one hand. His footsteps were soft, his breath steady—just as it had been the day before.
"…Weird dream."
He muttered the words under his breath, not expecting an answer. The memory of the dream lingered faintly—mirror shards floating in a dark void, one frame glowing at the center. But as usual, Shin didn't dwell on it. He brushed it off with a quiet exhale and focused on foraging.
Still, something felt… odd.
Earlier that morning, while tending to the garden, he'd noticed it. His hands had moved on their own—snipping herbs at the perfect moment of ripeness, shifting mulch to a shaded patch just before the heat peaked. It wasn't just experience. It felt instinctive, natural—like his body knew without conscious thought.
He dismissed it then.
But now, here in the woods, it was happening again. He stepped off the familiar trail, drawn by a subtle pull in his senses. His eyes shifted to a patch of brush—and found wild mitsuba growing beneath it. He was sure he hadn't seen it yesterday.
Strange.
He shook his head lightly, deciding not to think too hard.
Then, at the base of a pine tree, something caught his eye.
A faint glint. A curl of white beneath the moss.
Shin crouched. Nestled between the roots were several mushrooms—thick-stemmed and aromatic.
"…Matsutake?"
He blinked in disbelief. He'd passed this tree yesterday. Had he missed it?
He reviewed the scene in his memory—slowly, carefully. He hadn't overlooked this spot. He was sure of it. Yet here they were. Small, firm, earthy-scented—real matsutake.
After a moment's thought, he simply labeled it as coincidence. "Maybe they just sprouted overnight."
He gently harvested the mushrooms, double-checking them against the mental notes from last year's research. Not many—but enough for a shared meal.
The fragrance clung faintly to his hands as he stood.
Something was definitely different lately—but Shin, as always, chose not to voice it. He simply adjusted the basket in his grip and resumed his quiet trek down the mountain path.
_____________________
Shin descended the forest path quietly, the woven basket at his side filled with freshly gathered wild plants and the prize of the day—matsutake mushrooms.
As he rounded a bend shaded by cedar trees, he spotted an elderly man walking leisurely uphill. The man wore a faded but well-kept traditional kimono, and his stride—though slow—held a practiced grace. His presence felt oddly dignified, as if the mountain itself gave way to him.
Shin slowed his pace and gave a polite nod.
"Good morning."
The old man smiled warmly. "Oh, good morning to you, young one."
His sharp eyes flicked to the basket in Shin's hand. "Out foraging, are we? Most kids these days would be swinging sticks and chasing bugs, not filling baskets with forest gifts."
Shin gave a small shrug. "This is my version of playing."
The old man burst into a hearty laugh. "Now that's something you don't hear every day!"
He leaned forward slightly, peering into the basket.
"Hmm… wait a moment." His brows furrowed. "Is that… no, it can't be—matsutake?"
Shin tilted the basket slightly, showing its contents. "Some wild plants… and mostly matsutake."
The old man blinked, then let out a low whistle. "You're telling me you found these up here? In summer?"
"They were growing near pine roots," Shin answered simply. "I checked. They're real."
The man's eyes sparkled with interest. "Would you consider selling a few? I can pay you quite handsomely."
Shin shook his head. "They're for dinner tonight."
"Come now, I'll pay double the market price. Triple even."
"No, thank you."
"Four times?"
Shin gave a slight bow. "I'm sorry. These are for the orphanage."
The old man stared for a moment, then sighed in defeat. "You're a tough negotiator, boy. Not many kids your age would say no to money."
Shin just nodded lightly and resumed his walk down the trail.
The old man watched him go, chuckling under his breath—until his smile gradually faded into a thoughtful expression. As Shin moved along the uneven path, his footsteps were light, each movement carefully balanced without wasted effort.
"…That posture," the old man muttered, rubbing his chin. "The way he shifts his weight… that's not something a child learns from gardening."
His gaze lingered long after Shin disappeared into the forest's green veil.
______________
Shin returned to the orphanage just before noon, the morning sun warming the stone path beneath his feet. In his hands, the basket of foraged goods—now crowned with fresh matsutake—carried a faint earthy aroma.
As he stepped inside the kitchen, Akiha turned, wiping her hands on her apron.
"Welcome ba—wait, is that…?"
Her eyes widened. She practically dashed forward, peering into the basket with exaggerated awe. "Are these… are these real matsutake?!"
Shin gave a small nod. "Found them this morning."
Akiha's scream of joy echoed through the hall. Moments later, the orphanage manager appeared at the kitchen entrance, her usual calm demeanor shaken by the sudden noise.
"What's all the commotion abou—"
She stopped. Her eyes landed on the mushrooms.
"No way."
Shin turned to face her, as calm as ever. "I saw them growing near the pine roots where I foraged yesterday."
The two women exchanged looks, now whispering in disbelief.
"So you're telling me… we're having this for lunch?" Akiha asked, eyes practically sparkling.
"No," Shin replied flatly, setting the basket down on the counter. "Dinner."
The hopeful atmosphere deflated in an instant.
With practiced efficiency, Shin then prepared a modest lunch for the residents—rice, pickled vegetables, and miso soup. The others ate contently, unaware of the treasure waiting for the evening meal.
_____________________
That afternoon passed like many before it. Shin sat quietly under the shade of the garden trellis, flipping through a well-worn book about seasonal recipes. Occasionally, he got up to tend to the herbs or check the tomatoes hanging low on the vines.
Evening came.
Shin stood over the small charcoal grill set up near the open kitchen window. The scent of sizzling matsutake filled the orphanage halls—a sharp, warm, foresty aroma that drew the children in like moths to flame.
The dinner table was livelier than usual.
"A-amazing… It's just grilled, but it's so rich…" Akiha muttered in disbelief, biting into a slice.
"This texture… this depth! It's like chewing happiness!" Haru declared dramatically, tears brimming at the corners of his eyes.
"Quit making it weird," one of the younger kids said, chewing noisily.
Even the usually reserved teens spoke less and ate more.
They all agreed: it was simple, but unforgettable.
__________________
The next morning, the orphanage was lively as ever. Birds chirped softly in the background, and the scent of herbs wafted faintly from the garden.
The director arrived at his usual time, dressed in his familiar tailored gentleman's suit, cane in hand. The manager greeted him at the entrance with her usual composed smile.
"Welcome back, Director."
"Thank you, thank you," he said with a polite bow. "It's always a pleasure."
As he stepped inside, however, he paused mid-step. His nose twitched.
A peculiar scent lingered faintly in the air—earthy, warm, and unmistakably rich. His eyes widened.
"...This scent… Wait a moment. Could it be—?"
The manager simply smiled, already preparing a cup of tea.
"It was matsutake," she said calmly, as though commenting on the weather.
The director's jaw dropped. "Matsutake? At the start of summer? That's impossible!"
She nodded, eyes twinkling. "That's what we thought too. But Shin brought back a small harvest from the mountain. We grilled them last night—simple preparation, really. Everyone enjoyed it thoroughly."
There was a long silence.
Then, with a dramatic gasp, the director collapsed forward onto all fours, head low in absolute comedic despair.
"No… No, no, no… Of all the days to be away…!"
He pounded the tatami softly, face solemn. "Why didn't I cancel yesterday's meeting…?! I could have basked in that aroma… that umami…!"
The manager sipped her tea, watching him quietly lament his missed opportunity.
"Well," she said with an amused tone, "next time, perhaps fate will be kinder."
The director groaned, still kneeling on the floor.
____________________
That same morning, Shin was nowhere near the forest trail. Instead, he sat along the banks of the nearby river, shaded by bamboo and tall grass. A long fishing rod rested in his hands, its line trailing into the gently moving water. Beside him sat a half-filled bucket with two trout swimming lazily inside.
The third one flopped in moments later, caught in a single, patient pull.
As Shin returned to reading a field guide on edible plants, he noticed someone approaching. The familiar sound of soft geta on dirt met his ears.
The old man from the mountain.
He sat beside Shin without a word at first, folding his legs and stretching his back with a grunt. Then he chuckled.
"Well now, we meet again, young man. Still not off playing tag or chasing beetles like the rest?"
Shin nodded without looking up. "I'm playing."
The old man laughed again. "You and I have very different ideas of fun."
He leaned over the bucket and raised an eyebrow. "Three good-sized trout… You've got skill."
"I'm just patient," Shin answered, flipping to the next page of his book.
The old man let out another amused breath, glancing toward the other children as they splashed and ran through the water upstream.
Then he turned his gaze back to Shin—quietly, thoughtfully.
The boy's posture was steady, his breathing calm, and his motions deliberate. There was no wasted movement. Even the way he blinked seemed measured.
The old man smiled faintly.
He's grounded, he thought. Rooted. Like a tree that's been standing far longer than it looks.
His eyes narrowed slightly, gaze sharpening—not in judgment, but in silent calculation.
This boy... might be worth watching.
He said nothing more.
Instead, the two sat side by side in the quiet hush of the riverbank—one fishing, one thinking—as the summer sun slowly climbed the sky.