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Shoko Ieiri was born on the coast of Kamakura. Her parents had settled in a small home near Yuigahama beach. As a child, Shoko spent countless days on the beach with her cat, Maru, curled up beside her on a towel while she buried herself in books. The sea breeze carried the scent of salt and fireworks in the summer. Leaving that quiet life behind for Jujutsu High had left a quiet ache of homesickness she never admitted, not even to herself.
July 23, 2012.
The summer heat was merciless, the kind that made the air shimmer above the platform at Tokyo Station. Satoru stood out like a beacon in his summer attire, a loose white tank top clinging slightly to his frame, board shorts, and flip flops that slapped lazily against the concrete. His signature sunglasses perched on the bridge of his nose, a blue popsicle dangled from his mouth, melting faster than he could lick it, dripping occasional blue streaks down his chin. His backpack hung on one shoulder, packed light as always, because who needed much when you were the strongest. On his other side stood a very irritated Shoko.
She wore a simple oversized t-shirt tucked into denim shorts, her long brown hair tied back in a messy ponytail to keep it off her neck. A cigarette dangled unlit from her lips, she had promised herself to cut back, but days like this tested that resolve. in one hand, she clutched a notebook she had been using to fan herself futilely against the humidity.
“God, when is this train gonna be here,” Shoko drawled, her voice flat and laced with irritation. She waved the notebook harder, stirring the thick air without much relief.
Satoru glanced down at her with a grin, sucking noisily on the popsicle. “It’s only twenty minutes late. Think of it as extra time to admire my impeccable summer look.” He struck a casual pose, flexing subtly, though sweat was making his tank top stick uncomfortably to his back.
She rolled her eyes, handing him the notebook without a word. He took it obligingly and began fanning her with exaggerated sweeps, like a servant attending royalty. “Better?” He asked playfully.
“Marginally,” she muttered, leaning slightly into the breeze he created. The platform was crowded with other travelers, families heading to the beach, surfers with boards tucked under arms, tourists snapping photos of the station’s architecture. The distant hum of the city mixed with announcements echoing overhead, but out here on the exposed platform for the Jr Yokosuka line, it felt like they were being slow roasted.
Satoru checked his watch again, the popsicle now reduced to a sticky stub. “You know, your parents are gonna love me. I’m charming, handsome, and I bring gifts.” He nodded toward bag, where he had stuffed some high end mochi and a bottle of sake he had borrowed from a mission stash.
Shoko snorted. “Or they’ll think you’re a delinquent whose corrupted their daughter.”
Finally, the train pulled in with a rush of cooler air from its air conditioning. Doors hissed open, and the crowd surged forward. Satoru grabbed Shoko's bag with one hand and her wrist with the other, pulling her along effortlessly through the press of bodies. They found seats near a window, the car half empty this far down the line. Cool air blasted from the vents above, sending immediate relief across their skin.
Satoru slumped into the seat, stretching his long legs into the aisle and tossing the popsicle stick into a nearby bin. “Nice,” he sighed, wiping his hands on his shorts. “Finally some civilization.”
Shoko dropped into the seat beside him, leaning her head back against the headrest and closing her eyes. “Don’t get too comfortable. We’ve still got over an hour.”
He turned to her, grin undimmed. “That’s plenty of time to plan my charm offensive on your folks. Seriously though, I wanna see Kamakura properly, not just when i’m zipping through on a mission exorcising some curse near the great buddha. I want the real deal, your beach, your old haunts, the spot where little Shoko read medical journals at age ten or whatever.”
She cracked one eye open. “Medical journals at ten. Give me some credit. I was reading romance novels and pretending to be bored.”
Satoru laughed, loud enough to earn a glance from the salaryman across the aisle. “Romance, huh. Shoulda known you had a secret sentimental side.”
Shoko hummed noncommittally, her mind already drifting to the moment they arrived. The familiar smell of salt and grilled eel from the shops along the street, the way her mother would immediately start fussing and her father would pretend not to care but would watch everything closely. Mostly, she thought about the long cold shower she would take the second they stepped inside. Water pressure at home was perfect, and nobody would barge in demanding she heal a missing limb.
Satoru kept talking beside her, describing the shaved ice place he had looked up, the hiking trail to one of the smaller temples, the sunset spot locals supposedly knew. She nodded at the right moments, murmured agreement when needed, but mostly let the rhythm of the train and the cool air lull her into a half doze.
Outside the window, Tokyo gradually gave way to suburbs, then to glimpses of the sea glittering under the midday sun. Satoru reached over at one point, lacing his fingers loosely with hers on the armrest. She squeezed once in quiet acknowledgment. The train rattled on toward Kamakura, carrying them both back to a piece of her past she hadn’t visited in years.
The train pulled into Kamakura Station just as the sun began to dip toward the horizon. Golden light spilled across the platform and painted the old wooden roof beams in warm amber. Shoko stood first, stretching her arms above her head with a quiet sigh. Satoru followed, slinging both their bags over his shoulders. Outside the station the air felt different immediately. Cooler, heavier with salt and the faint cry of seagulls overhead. The summer crowds had thinned as evening approached, leaving only a handful of locals and surfers heading home with salt-crusted hair.
They caught the Enoshima electric railway bus toward Yuigahama, a short ride that wound through narrow streets lined with old wooden houses and small shops closing up for the day. Shoko leaned her forehead against the window, watching familiar landmarks slide by. A tiny shrine she used to pass every day on her walk to school. The convenience store where she bought ice cream after exams. the surf shop that had been there since she was small. Satoru sat beside her, unusually quiet, his hand resting on her knee. He took in everything with open curiosity, sunglasses now pushed up into his white hair as the light softened.
When they stepped off the bus the neighborhood felt suspended in that perfect hush between day and night. The ocean was only a few streets away, its presence announced by the steady rhythm of waves and the sharp tang of brine on the breeze. Shoko inhaled deeply, shoulders loosening for the first time all day.
“Smells exactly the same,” she murmured.
Satoru grinned sideways at her. “Salty freedom. I get it now.”
The Ieiri house sat on a quiet lane just inland from the beach. A modest two-story home with pale blue siding and a small front garden overflowing with hydrangeas and potted herbs. A wooden nameplate by the gate read 家入 in neat characters. The front door flew open before they could even reach it.
“Shoko!”
Her mother appeared first, mid-fifties, petite, with the same tired but kind eyes as her daughter and brown hair starting to silver at the temples. She wore a simple floral apron over jeans and rushed down the steps to envelop Shoko in a tight hug, kissing both cheeks with enthusiastic smacks.
“Our little Shoko, you’re finally home! Look at you. Too thin. You’ve been working too hard again.”
Shoko let herself be hugged, a faint flush rising on her cheeks. “Mom, I’m fine. It’s only been a year.”
Her father followed more slowly, tall and lanky like Shoko, glasses perched on his nose, wearing an old fishing vest. He ruffled Shoko’s hair gently, the way he had when she was small. “Welcome back, kid.”
Then both parents turned to Satoru, who had been hanging back with an expectant grin.
“And this must be Satoru,” her mother said brightly, eyes lighting up. without waiting for introductions she stepped forward and pulled him into a warm hug, barely coming up to his chest. “We’ve heard so much about you. Thank you for taking care of our girl.”
Satoru blinked, arms hovering in surprise. Hugs from strangers weren’t exactly common in his life. Then his face broke into a boyish, lopsided smile and he hugged her back carefully, like he was afraid he’d break her.
“Happy to be here, Mrs. Ieiri!”
Her father reached up and Satoru bent slightly so he could ruffle his hair, the same gesture he’d just used on Shoko. “Tall one aren't you? Good to meet you, son. Come in, come in. Shoes off at the door.”
Satoru blinked, still smiling, but Shoko caught the slight wideness in his eyes behind the glasses he’d slipped back on. He looked at her over her mother’s shoulder and mouthed “Son?” with exaggerated shock. She smirked and shrugged.
Inside the house smelled of tatami and simmering miso and something grilled. It wasn’t large. A cozy living room opened straight into the dining area and kitchen. Wooden floors creaked softly under their feet. Family photos lined the walls and crowded every flat surface. Satoru's gaze went immediately to them.
One framed picture showed a chubby baby Shoko with round cheeks and a tuft of brown hair, sitting on a beach towel between much younger versions of her parents. Another from elementary school. Shoko in a yellow sundress, solemnly holding a tiny black and white kitten that must have been Maru, both staring seriously at the camera.
Satoru leaned closer, grinning wider. “You were a little chunk,” he whispered.
“Shut up,” Shoko muttered.
Her mother bustled ahead. “Dinner’s almost ready. Shoko, show Satoru your room so he can put the bags down. Then come eat before it gets cold.”
Shoko led him up the narrow staircase. The steps groaned familiarly under their weight. At the top she pushed open the second door on the left.
Her childhood room hadn’t changed much. Pale yellow walls now slightly faded. A single bed pushed against one window overlooking the garden. A low desk still cluttered with old textbooks and half-dead succulents. Band posters from her middle school phase. The pillows and comforter were newish, but a handful of old plushies remained lined up against the headboard. A worn stuffed tanuki, a faded totoro, a small black cat that looked suspiciously like Maru.
Satoru stepped inside and stopped, taking it all in with something like reverence. He set their bags gently by the door and walked to the center of the room, turning slowly.
“This is perfect,” he said softly.
Then, without ceremony, he flopped backward onto her bed, arms spread wide, white hair fanning across her pillow. “Ahh. Childhood bed acquired.”
Shoko leaned against the doorframe, arms folded, watching him with a fond eye roll. “Don’t get too comfortable. Dinner.”
“But this is like. Archaeological gold.” He picked up the totoro plush and held it up. “You slept with this?”
“Until I was fourteen, maybe. Don’t judge.”
“Never.” He hugged the plush to his chest dramatically. “I love it. I love all of this. It’s so you.”
She felt warmth creep up her neck. “It’s just a room.”
“It’s your room.” He sat up, still holding totoro. “I feel like i’m meeting kid Shoko and she’s cooler than I expected.”
“Dinner!” her mother’s voice floated up the stairs.
They headed back down. The dining table had been set with steaming dishes. Grilled sanma with grated daikon, miso soup with wakame and tofu, hijiki salad, pickled vegetables, and a big bowl of rice still faintly smoking. Simple, perfect summer food.
Her father was already seated, pouring barley tea into glasses. Her mother fussed over final touches, setting down a plate of sliced tomatoes from the garden.
Satoru sat cross-legged without hesitation, inhaling deeply. “This smells incredible.”
“Eat plenty,” her mother said, beaming as she served him an extra piece of fish. “You’re so tall. You need fuel.”
Shoko’s father launched into a long story about the neighbor’s cat getting stuck in their tree again and how he’d had to borrow a ladder from the surf shop. It was comfortable background noise, the kind of rambling family talk Shoko hadn’t realized she’d missed.
Satoru ate with hungrily, complimenting every bite.
Her mother flushed with pleasure, waving him off but clearly delighted. “It’s nothing special. Just home cooking.”
“Home cooking is the best kind.” He replied sincerely.
Shoko watched him charm her parents without even trying. Just being his open, hungry, appreciative self. Her father asked about his work in vague terms. Shoko had warned them never to pry too deep. Satoru answered lightly, talking about travel and helping people, steering away from anything dark.
After dinner they lingered over watermelon from the fridge, sweet and cold.
Upstairs again, they changed in the bathroom one at a time. Shoko emerged in loose cotton pajamas, hair down for once. Satoru had brought soft gray sweatpants and an old jujutsu high t-shirt that was slightly too small on him now, clinging to his shoulders. He unpacked a few things from his backpack. Toothbrush, charger, the gifts he’d brought for tomorrow. The room felt smaller with both of them in it. The single bed suddenly very obvious. Shoko’s parents had assumed they’d share without comment.
Satoru climbed in first, scooting to the wall side to leave room. The mattress dipped under his weight. Shoko turned off the overhead light, leaving only the soft glow of a small lamp shaped like a moon that she’d had since childhood.
She slipped in beside him, the sheets cool and smelling faintly of sun-dried laundry. For a moment they lay side by side, staring at the ceiling where glow-in-the-dark stars still faintly shimmered from years ago.
“Your parents are great,” he said quietly.
“Yeah. They’re pretty normal.”
“Normal is amazing.” he rolled onto his side to face her. “Thanks for bringing me here.”
She turned her head to look at him. His eyes were soft in the low light. “Thanks for wanting to come.”
He reached out, his arm sliding around her waist, pulling her gently closer until her back rested against his chest. She fit there easily, just like they’d done a hundred times before.
His breath was warm against her neck. “Comfy?”
“Mm.” She let her hand settle over his where it rested on her stomach. “Don’t hog the blanket.”
“Never,” he lied cheerfully.
Outside, the waves kept their steady rhythm against the shore a few streets away. Cicadas sang in the garden. Somewhere down the hall her parents’ voices murmured softly before lights clicked off.
Shoko closed her eyes, feeling the solid warmth of him behind her, the faint thump of his heartbeat against her spine. Homesickness she hadn’t named eased somewhere deep in her chest. For the first time in years, everything felt quietly, perfectly in place.
Satoru pressed a light kiss to the back of her shoulder, barely there. Neither of them spoke again. Sleep came slowly, sweetly, wrapped in salt air and old memories and the new weight of his arm around her.
Morning crept in softly through the thin curtains of Shoko’s childhood room. The first thing she noticed was the familiar chorus of cicadas starting their daily drone outside the window. The second was the warmth pressed against her back, Satoru’s arm still draped loosely over her waist, his breathing slow and even in sleep. She stayed still for a minute, listening to the distant crash of waves and the quiet rhythm of him beside her. It felt surreal, this overlap of past and present.
Eventually the smell of breakfast drifted upstairs. Miso, grilled fish, simmering rice. Shoko extricated herself carefully. Satoru stirred, mumbled something incoherent about sweets, and rolled onto his stomach, white hair a mess across the pillow. She smiled despite herself and padded downstairs.
The table was already set when she reached the kitchen. Tamagoyaki sliced into perfect rolls, glistening with a touch of soy. a small plate of grilled aji horse mackerel. Steamed rice in a wooden ohitsu. Pickled vegetables bright with color. Her mother moved around the room in quiet efficiency, humming an old enka tune under her breath.
“Morning,” Shoko said, voice rough from sleep.
Her mother turned with a warm smile. “Good morning, sleepyhead. Sit, sit. I’ll bring the tea.”
Satoru appeared a few minutes later, hair somehow already tamed into its usual defiant spikes, wearing the same gray sweatpants but now with a loose linen shirt he’d pulled from his bag. He looked unfairly awake.
“Smells amazing,” he announced, sliding into the seat across from Shoko. He wasted no time piling his plate high with eggs and rice, adding two pieces of fish before anyone could protest.
Shoko’s father came in from the back door, wiping his hands on a towel. “Morning, kids. Garden needs a little attention after breakfast if anyone’s interested.”
Satoru’s hand shot up mid-bite. “Me. I’ll help.”
Shoko raised an eyebrow. “You know what a weed looks like?”
“Point me at it and it’ll be gone,” he said confidently, mouth half full.
Her father chuckled. “That’s the spirit.”
Breakfast passed in easy chatter. Satoru ate seconds, then thirds, praising the tamagoyaki until her mother blushed and insisted it was just eggs. When the plates were mostly empty, Satoru stood and stretched.
“Ready when you are, sir.”
Shoko’s father led him out the back door to the small garden that wrapped around the side of the house. Tomatoes heavy on the vines, rows of shiso and myoga ginger, morning glories climbing a bamboo trellis. The sun was already warm but not yet brutal, the air thick with the green smell of leaves and turned earth.
Shoko stayed inside with her mother, who immediately began clearing dishes and boiling water for a second pot of tea.
“He’s sweet,” her mother said without preamble, setting two cups on the table between them. Genmaicha this time, the toasted rice popping softly as hot water hit the leaves.
Shoko wrapped her hands around the warm cup. “Yeah. He is.”
Her mother sat across from her, eyes gentle. “He looks at you like you’re the only person in the room. Even when he’s talking to us.”
Shoko felt heat rise in her cheeks. She focused on the steam curling from her tea.
“He’s good to you?” Her mother asked quietly.
“Better than I deserve sometimes.”
“Nonsense.” Her mother reached over and patted her hand. “You deserve everything good. I’ve been thinking. You two seem serious. Have you talked about. Well. The future?”
Shoko nearly choked on her tea. “Mom.”
“What? i’m allowed to ask. You’re not getting any younger, and he’s clearly smitten. A tall boy like that, strong, polite. Your father likes him already.”
Shoko groaned softly. “We’re taking it slow.”
Her mother smiled knowingly. “Slow is fine. Just don’t take too slow. Life goes quick, Shoko-chan.”
Outside the kitchen window she could see Satoru in the garden. He’d stripped off his shirt in the rising heat, revealing the lean lines of muscle that usually stayed hidden under loose clothing. He was hauling a bag of soil effortlessly while her father pointed out where to spread it. Every time her father tried to lift something heavy, Satoru intercepted with an easy grin and did it himself. Her father laughed, clapping him on the back, clearly delighted to have the help.
“See?” Her mother nodded toward the window. “He fits right in.”
Shoko watched Satoru wipe sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, sunglasses pushed up into his hair, smiling at something her father said. Something warm unfolded in her chest.
After the garden was tended, Satoru came back inside flushed and satisfied, dirt under his nails. “Your dad’s got the greenest thumb I’ve ever seen. Those tomatoes are monsters.”
“Wait till you taste them tonight,” her father said proudly.
They retreated upstairs to change. Shoko pulled out her old bathing suit from a drawer. Simple black one-piece, nothing fancy. Over it she threw a loose white button-up and denim shorts. Satoru emerged from the bathroom in board shorts and a tank top, sunglasses back in place.
“Beach time?” He asked hopefully.
“Beach time.”
Her mother packed them a small bag with towels, sunscreen, and extra water bottles. “Don’t stay out too long. Lunch at noon.”
The walk to Yuigahama beach took less than ten minutes. The streets were filling with summer families, kids on bikes, surfers heading out with boards under their arms. The air grew heavier with salt the closer they got until finally the sand stretched out before them, glittering under late morning sun.
Shoko led him past the main crowded stretch to a quieter spot farther down where the beach curved gently and fewer umbrellas dotted the landscape. A place she’d claimed as hers growing up, partially hidden by some rocks and sea grass.
They stopped at a small beach stand first. Satoru bought two popsicles. Melon for her, cola for himself. Then they spread their towels and sat facing the water.
The sea was brilliant blue, dotted with distant sails and the occasional swimmer. Waves rolled in with steady patience, hissing against the sand before retreating.
Satoru licked his popsicle thoughtfully. “You are seriously lucky, you know that?”
Shoko glanced at him. “Hm?”
“Growing up here. Ocean every day. Quiet streets. Parents who love you. Cat on the beach. It’s like a postcard.”
She leaned back on her elbows, feeling warm sand under her palms. “It was pretty great. boring sometimes when I was a teenager. Couldn’t wait to get to Tokyo.”
“And now?”
“Now I get why people come back.” She looked at him sideways. “I’m glad you came with me.”
He grinned, bright and sudden. “Me too. Best vacation ever.”
They finished their popsicles and wandered. along the shoreline first, letting waves chase their feet. Then up into the small streets behind the beach where convenience stores and shaved ice stands clustered. Satoru bought them canned coffee and onigiri for later. Shoko picked out her favorite childhood chips. Puchi potato, the tiny bags she’d hoard while reading on the sand.
They walked without urgency. Past surf shops blasting reggae, past old ladies selling flowers from buckets, past the tiny shrine tucked into a corner where Shoko used to toss coins before exams.
At one point Satoru stopped at a lookout over the water, hands on the railing. “This view. Damn.”
Shoko stood beside him, wind tugging her hair loose from its tie. “Sunsets are better. We’ll come back tonight if you want.”
“Definitely.”
He reached for her hand, threading their fingers together like it was the most natural thing. They stayed there a while, watching tankers far out on the horizon and kites dancing above the sand.
Eventually they circled back to their spot. Spread the towels again and lay in the sun. Satoru stretched out like a cat, arms behind his head. Shoko sat cross-legged, applying sunscreen to her shoulders.
“Need help?” He offered lazily.
“I’ve got it.”
But when she struggled with her back he sat up anyway, taking the bottle without waiting for permission. his hands were warm and careful, spreading lotion in slow circles. She closed her eyes at the feel of it.
“You burn easy?” He asked.
“Not really. But better safe.”
“Mm.” His thumbs brushed the nape of her neck. “Soft.”
She elbowed him lightly. “Behave.”
“Always.”
They lay side by side after that, listening to children shouting farther down the beach, the rhythmic crash of waves, gulls overhead. Satoru talked idly about nothing important. Places he wanted to take her someday. Okinawa maybe, or Hokkaido in winter. She hummed responses, half drowsing in the heat.
At some point his hand found hers again across the towels. She squeezed once.
“Thanks for sharing this with me,” he said quietly.
Shoko turned her head to look at him. His eyes were hidden behind dark lenses but his expression was soft, open in a way he rarely let the world see.
“Thanks for wanting it,” she replied.
The sun climbed higher, baking the sand warm beneath them. Time stretched lazy and golden. For once there were no curses, no emergencies, no blood on her hands. Just salt air and the boy beside her and the quiet certainty that this weekend had shifted something between them in the best possible way.
When the sun grew too hot they packed up slowly, shaking sand from towels, gathering empty cans and wrappers. The walk home felt lighter, shoulders brushing as they navigated the narrow streets.
Lunch waited when they returned. Cold somen noodles with dipping sauce, fresh tomatoes from the garden, more of her mother’s gentle questions and her father’s quiet pride in showing Satoru the new buds on his chili plants.
But the morning on the beach lingered like salt on their skin. A perfect, ordinary memory neither of them would forget.