Humans and plants have more in common than at first glance.
We all need the same things, but just in different forms.
“A wise man once stated that for a seed to grow, it needs a pot and soil to be buried in. Without a vessel and a proper environment, a seed would always remain just a seed,” an old man said, as he stared at a plant pot. A green bud had surfaced from the soil, barely noticeable to the naked eye. “However, there’s more to it than that. It’s not as simple as giving it the environment and necessities it needs. More so, it requires constant care and nurturing.”
On the short coffee table, the man grabbed a watering can and, with great caution, gently poured water onto the plant. He watched as the water slowly rained onto the bud, which he could almost feel sigh in relief—relishing the water that had been bestowed upon it. Though he was no god by any means, he was just doing his duty to make the plant flourish and live a fruitful life.
All plants should receive this level of attention and care, regardless of how dull or vibrant they appear.
He glanced across his traditional Japanese room, the sliding doors open to flaunt the bright summer day. Many plants of different colors and sizes covered his small open room, so much so that he began thinking he would need a larger space to store them all. His children were growing quite large indeed. He meant the plants, of course, but with how much time and care he spent on them, they might as well be considered family.
The sun’s rays spread across his face, concealing his features, and he knelt beside the plant bud, initiating a small prayer. As he murmured under his breath, the sunshine eventually reached the growing bud that rested on the low coffee table. Slowly rising from his prayer position, his smile widened as he saw it basking in the sunlight. Turning his head toward the outdoors, he murmured, "Thank you for your blessing, sun. Thank you for providing us with the warmth and life we cannot live without. There will never be a moment when we are not reliant on you. So, I thank you for your selflessness in seeking nothing in return.”
As if the sun had heard his prayer come to an end, the light slowly shrank out of the open room. His pleased gaze drifted as he watched it withdraw from him, his features becoming clear as the overexposure from the sun faded.
The wrinkles on his oval-shaped, narrow face bore years of wisdom and experience. His long silver hair extended to his shoulders, and he stroked his V-shaped grey beard with a charming smile, his eyes creased from age. Wearing a simple black-and-white traditional robe, the old man wasn’t one to care about fashion or expensive accessories. Not many people lived in his area, so he had no real reason to show off or impress others. As it turned out, many were scared to live on the city's outskirts. Perhaps that was warranted, given not many were skilled at defending themselves from monsters. It was only natural to fear something so prevailing. He, out of all people, should know the dangers of those devils.
After all, they had taken his daughter from him.
He often dwelled on what he could have done differently to prevent that incident from occurring. Maybe he should have forced his daughter to learn more about the art of the blade. But his daughter would always complain about the lessons, saying she despised them. He had only wanted her to pursue something she wanted and not feel forced to follow a path he had chosen.
“Maybe that was my mistake,” his cheerful smile flattened. “If I had taught her to become a samurai, she would have never died.”
The old man took a big breath and lifted his right foot to support himself as he stood back up. Walking out of his open room, a large courtyard extended around him while trees circled the space, granting privacy from onlookers—if there were any. Different training gears and obstacles lay on the courtyard grounds, made explicitly for samurai. Sure, they were outdated, but sometimes, the simplest equipment was just as good as extravagant ones if used correctly. The gear didn’t matter if the person behind it had no direction or knowledge of what to do.
In the flat and dry courtyard, the old man breathed in the sweet scents of the summer day, raising his hand to block out the bright sun. “I know…” he said, as if talking to the sun. “It doesn’t matter what I could have done differently, does it?” Crickets began singing their melody as he closed his eyes.
“People have a habit of trying to rewrite the past in their minds, wishing for some relief from their guilt. But in the end, it only proves to hurt you more, like reopening an already fresh wound.” He brought his hands together and prayed once more. However, this time it was slightly different. Who was he praying to now? Was it the sun or something else?
“It’s okay, isn’t it?” the man said as a small greenish bird landed on his left shoulder, perking its head with interest while chirping. “It’s okay not to be okay.”
He opened his eyes and reached out his finger for the bird to perch on. Without hesitation, the bird jumped onto his finger, chirping a beautiful tune. He ruffled its chest with his other finger, smiling.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
“Mr. Mushi?!” a voice called out from his open room. The bird fluttered away as Mushi turned his head to meet his helper, who struggled to get past all the pot plants to greet him. The rather beautiful brunette girl tiptoed around the room until she accidentally bumped into a large tree-like plant, startling her. Before the plant could fall, she quickly grabbed the stalk.
“Oh dear,” Mushi sighed. “Kiro, would you mind being careful? Those plants are very fragile.”
Kiro quickly bowed her head. “S-sorry, it won’t happen again, sir.”
“It’s quite alright. A mistake is simply a mistake. If you knew, you would have never done it. All we can do is learn from them and be more careful in the future.” Walking back into his room, Mushi reached out his hand and safely led the girl into the courtyard.
“Sorry again, sir,” Kiro said, embarrassed when they got out. “I know how much you care about those plants. I should have gone around the house to get to the courtyard.”
Mushi dismissed her worries with a gentle pat on her head. “I never liked the words ‘should have.’ There are many things that we should have or could have done, but in the end, that’s not what happened. And I’m telling you once again, it’s alright. You always help out in the house. A few accidents are quite common,” he said truthfully, to which she gradually nodded. “Now tell me, what did you want to say before?”
“Oh yes, I almost forgot. Well, um… the verdict is in from the court. It’s finally over.”
The information left Mushi a little stunned, but he had been expecting it—it was long overdue. He lifted his head and sighed in relief. “I see…” He eyed the large clouds swirling above. “How long did he get?”
“Forty-four years and, well, two months if you count the time he spent when he was arrested and waited to go on trial,” she replied.
He couldn’t help but chuckle. “They went soft on him. He’ll get out when he’s eighty or so. Unfortunate.”
Kiro nodded in agreement, frowning slightly. “It’s just how the court works. But besides that, I think you’d be delighted to hear that—”
“I often wonder,” Mushi cut her off, thinking aloud, “if I saw that man before me, what would I do?”
The pretty brunette helper tilted her head in confusion. “You mean Mr. Shinzu?”
He nodded reluctantly, staring at the sky and averting her gaze. “Yes… he took so much from me and forever ruined the lives of those poor innocent children. They may never recover from what they experienced. So I often dwell on useless scenarios, wondering what I'd do if that man stood right in front of me.”
Mushi could vaguely see a swirly silhouette of the evil man being formed by the sun's heat waves. He could see the illusion stare at him, its eyes glowing ruby red—the eyes of a monster.
However, the mirage disappeared before Mushi could contemplate whether it was real, and his hands were already placed in an offensive position, ready to unsheathe his sword to cut his enemy down.
“Would I kill him? Would I break the oath that I’ve placed on myself?” he murmured, his voice calm and veiled with prudence. Kiro fumbled with her words, gathering what she should say.
“I–well… I don’t think, sir. You’re a kind man.”
“Mr. Mushi from the past isn’t the person you see before you. Mr. Mushi was the heir of a well-known samurai clan who tried to overthrow the AOK—and a person who betrayed his family. My mistakes run deep. Deeper than any blade could pierce.”
“You only did what you thought was right at the time,” Kiro contested.
“You’re correct…” he agreed. “There are many things I could have done, but in the end, that is not what happened. I carry my mistakes with me, for each one makes me who I am,” Mushi gave a thin smile, signaling Kiro not to worry. “The best thing about making mistakes is that you now understand how to prevent them from occurring, and with that comes the ability to guide others. Such as yourself,” he finished, giving her a pat on the head.
“Is that referring to when I almost knocked over the plant?” Kiro frowned.
He chuckled in amusement. “Possibly.”
“I take it back, you’re mean!” she joked. However, she had more to say. “Anyway, I’ve been trying to tell you that both ki—” Before she could finish the sentence, two young voices entered Mushi’s room, creating a disturbance. “Oh dear, it looks like they found you first.”
Mushi blinked, confused. “They? You don’t mean…”
Kiro nodded with a wide grin. “That’s right. You got custody of the kids.”
He was left even more stunned than when he found out the court had come to a verdict. He at least thought he would have some time to prepare.
“What’s with all these plants?” a boy squeaked in the room.
“I can barely move past them,” a girl replied.
Mushi could see two small light blue heads struggling to move between the large plants. He had grown nervous to greet someone for the first time in years. What should he say? How should he leave a good first impression? However, it seemed the kids would leave their first impression, just not the one he was expecting.
“Hey, look at this one—Oh no…” the girl shrieked, and the sound of glass breaking followed. With wide eyes, Mushi rushed over from the courtyard and through his open doors, only to see one of his favorite plants tipped over with shards of a broken ceramic pot scattered across the floor.
Two light blue-haired figures stood guiltily below him. Their features looked so alike that they would be indistinguishable if they had the same hairstyle, and those deep blue eyes sent a wave of painful but happy memories. They were the spitting image of their mother when she was that age. It almost fooled him so much that he began murmuring the name of his dead daughter under his breath.
“Oh no,” Kiro gasped. “That was Mushi’s favorite plant.”
That information only made them pale even more. The two kids were too afraid to greet the old man, fearing he was mad. The girl dreadfully hid behind the boy and peeked, her eyes slightly tearing up.
“I-it was an accident,” the boy protected her, assuming the old man would suddenly hit them. “I’ll take the punishment for her. So please…”
Mushi stared into the eyes of the children, who bore memories no kid should have. And it shook him into silence. The fact that they were so scared of a man they knew nothing of spoke to their deep-rooted hostility and alertness toward others. Those were not emotions people were born with. They were created…
Mushi kneeled down, startling both of the kids. Without asking another question, he embraced both while tears streamed down his face. They were too shocked to even reply or process what was happening, unsure why this old man was hugging them. His helper stood in silence, watching them with a relieved smile.
Pulling back to face them, and with both hands on each of their shoulders, he sobbed—
“Welcome home, Ayame, Genkai…”