Shin woke up before everyone else.
Not because he heard a noise, or because he had a bad dream. He just woke up. He stayed lying there, staring upward, waiting to see whether sleep would leave for good or linger a little longer. Sometimes it left. Sometimes it stayed, like a visitor who takes too long to get up from the chair.
The ceiling was low, made of dark wood. It had some stains he knew by heart. He didn't think of them as shapes or anything like that. It was just the ceiling. When there was nothing else to do, his eyes always ended up there.
It was cold. Not the kind of cold that hurts or makes you complain. Just a light chill that made the body feel heavy, as if it still wasn't time to get out of bed.
He pulled the blanket up to his chin and turned slightly to the side.
The house was still asleep.
You could tell because everything felt quiet in a different way. It wasn't complete silence—there never was. There was always the wind hitting something outside, or the wood creaking softly. But while his parents slept, the house seemed smaller. As if it were holding itself back so it wouldn't wake anyone.
Shin liked that moment.
He stayed there, still, thinking about nothing in particular. Sometimes he remembered things from the day before—a fish that almost got away, a strange stone he found near the river—but soon forgot them. Thoughts didn't stay with him for long.
After a while, he felt hungry.
That always came before anything else.
He sat up slowly in bed, careful not to make any noise. The floor was cold on his feet. He made a face, but didn't complain. He already knew how it was.
He went to the door and peeked out.
The room looked the same as always. The table in the same place, the bench against the wall, the window closed. The oil lamp was out, but there was still a faint smell of burnt oil. Everything normal.
His mother was still asleep.
Hana lay on her side, her face almost hidden in the pillow. Shin looked just long enough to see that she was breathing calmly. That was enough. He didn't feel like waking her. She always said he could take a piece of bread if he woke up early.
He went to the table, grabbed what was left from the night before, and took a bite without hurry. He chewed while looking at the floor, distracted, nudging a loose splinter of wood with his foot.
While he ate, he waited.
He didn't know exactly for what. He just waited.
When Ryo woke up, you could tell.
Not because of noise. His father wasn't the type to slam doors or walk heavily. Even so, something changed. The house felt more… awake. As if it had remembered that the day had already begun.
Shin heard the sound of water being stirred in the bucket outside. Then footsteps. Calm. Steady.
Ryo entered the house adjusting his clothes, his face still half-closed with sleep. He looked at his son and nodded, in that simple way that could mean both "good morning" and "have you eaten already?"
— You're up early — he said, without surprise.
— I was hungry — Shin replied, shrugging.
Ryo went to the table, sat down, and started eating too. He didn't say anything else. He didn't need to.
They stayed there in silence, sharing the food and the beginning of the day.
Hana woke up shortly after. She ran a hand through her hair, yawned, complained about the cold. She saw the two of them sitting there and smiled faintly.
— You two look like cats — she said. — Always awake before the sun.
Ryo gave a half-smile. Shin just kept eating.
It was a morning like so many others.
And Shin wasn't thinking about danger, or change, or anything big. He was only thinking that, after eating, there might still be time to go to the river before his father left.
The day seemed normal.
And to him, that was everything.