The first lesson began before sunrise.
Haruki woke to a hand gently shaking his shoulder.
He groaned and pulled the blanket over his head.
"It's still dark."
"Exactly."
The familiar voice of his father came from above.
Haruki peeked out.
Yukio stood beside the bed fully dressed, a travel cloak draped over his shoulders.
The lantern in his hand cast long shadows across the room.
For a moment, Haruki considered pretending to be asleep.
Then he remembered that his father always knew when he was pretending.
With a dramatic sigh worthy of a much older child, he sat up.
"Why are we awake?"
"We're going for a walk."
"A walk?"
"Yes."
"In the dark?"
"Especially in the dark."
That made absolutely no sense.
Haruki frowned.
His father simply waited.
Eventually, the boy climbed out of bed.
A few minutes later, they stepped into the cold morning air.
The village slept.
Only a handful of fishermen were awake, preparing their boats for the day's work.
The mist was thick enough that Haruki could barely see more than a few houses ahead.
It felt like walking through a cloud.
He instinctively moved closer to Yukio.
His father noticed.
But said nothing.
They continued walking.
Soon the village disappeared behind them.
The narrow dirt path wound through coastal forests overlooking the sea.
The only sounds were crashing waves and rustling branches.
Haruki shivered.
"It's creepy."
Yukio glanced at him.
"Good."
Haruki stared.
"What?"
"Being uncomfortable means you're paying attention."
The answer only confused him further.
His father often spoke like that.
As if every conversation was secretly a riddle.
They continued deeper into the woods.
Eventually Yukio stopped beside a large tree.
"Tell me what you hear."
Haruki blinked.
"Hear?"
"Close your eyes."
Reluctantly, he obeyed.
At first he heard nothing unusual.
Wind.
Waves.
Leaves.
Then...
A distant creak.
Birds shifting in branches.
Water dripping somewhere nearby.
The longer he listened, the more sounds appeared.
His eyes opened.
"I hear a lot."
Yukio nodded.
"Most people don't."
"Why?"
"Because they stop listening."
Haruki considered that.
It sounded like another riddle.
The lessons continued over the following weeks.
They never happened on a schedule.
Sometimes Yukio woke him before dawn.
Sometimes after sunset.
Sometimes during the middle of the day.
The unpredictability seemed intentional.
One lesson involved finding landmarks hidden in the forest.
Another involved memorizing escape routes.
Another involved recognizing footprints.
Haruki enjoyed some of them.
Others were boring.
Very boring.
Especially when his father made him sit silently for long periods.
"Why are we doing this?"
The question finally escaped one afternoon.
Yukio was teaching him how to identify which plants were safe to eat.
Haruki hated plants.
Plants were boring.
His father finished examining a leaf before answering.
"Because survival matters."
The response immediately irritated him.
"Everyone says that."
"Because it's true."
"But why?"
Yukio looked toward the sea.
For a moment, his expression became distant.
Older.
Sad.
"Because strength isn't always enough."
The answer carried weight Haruki couldn't fully understand.
Still, he remembered it.
Several months later, another lesson began.
This one felt different.
The air itself seemed tense.
Yukio led him to a rocky cliff overlooking the ocean.
The waves crashed far below.
Haruki sat beside him in silence.
For once, his father didn't immediately begin teaching.
Instead, they simply watched the sea.
Eventually Yukio spoke.
"What would you do if someone stronger than you wanted to hurt you?"
Haruki thought carefully.
"I'd run."
A small smile appeared.
"Good."
The answer surprised him.
Most adults expected brave answers.
Heroic answers.
Not running.
"What if I can't run?"
"Then hide."
"What if I can't hide?"
Yukio was quiet for several seconds.
The wind tugged at his dark hair.
"Then survive long enough to find another chance."
Haruki frowned.
"That's not fighting."
"No."
His father's eyes remained fixed on the ocean.
"It isn't."
The conversation ended there.
Yet something about it lingered.
Because for the first time, Haruki realized his father wasn't teaching him how to win.
He was teaching him how to live.
That evening, they returned home just before sunset.
Aiko greeted them with folded arms.
"You took him near the cliffs again."
"He was safe."
"That's not the point."
Haruki grinned.
His parents always had the same argument.
Yukio removed his cloak.
Aiko sighed.
Then her expression softened as she looked at her son.
"Did you learn anything today?"
Haruki nodded proudly.
"If someone stronger wants to hurt me, I should run."
Aiko immediately looked at Yukio.
Yukio looked suspiciously innocent.
The resulting silence was so awkward that even Haruki noticed.
Then Aiko laughed.
A genuine laugh.
The tension vanished.
For a moment, everything felt normal.
Like any ordinary family.
Like there were no secrets.
No fears.
No bloodlines.
Just home.
Just peace.
Just warmth.
But peace never lasted long in the Land of Water.
That night, long after Haruki had fallen asleep, a knock sounded at the front door.
Three sharp knocks.
Yukio immediately stiffened.
Aiko noticed.
So did he.
Nobody visited this late.
Not here.
Not ever.
Slowly, Yukio rose from his chair.
The knock came again.
Three times.
His hand drifted toward the kunai hidden beneath the table.
Outside, beyond the thin wooden walls, a voice finally spoke.
"Yukio."
The voice was unfamiliar.
Cold.
Controlled.
"We need to talk."
Every muscle in Yukio's body tensed.
Because only a handful of people still knew that name.
And none of them should have been here.