Days passed, as the sunlight crept gently over the tips of the leaves, spreading warmth on a quiet Sunday morning. The village breathed in peaceful rhythm, as the footsteps of its people moved toward the church like a sacred morning symphony. The church bell rang softly, marking an invisible call felt rather than heard. Among them, Mio and Ruka walked side by side, wearing their best clothes—not merely to show devotion, but as a tribute to the traditions they had inherited.
Elsewhere, in a small yard filled with the scent of damp earth and wildflowers, Ryu Tebujin was gardening. His hands dug into the soil with a calm rhythm, as if he were one with the land itself. He was not part of the current that flowed to the church—he stood on the riverbank, a silent observer of the rituals practiced by those around him.
Ruka saw him first, and with a spark of excitement, said to Mio, "Hey, isn't that him... the one who saved us that time?"
Ruka waved, cheerful and open. "Hello!" she called. Ryu, without hesitation, returned the wave with a slight smile and a gentle nod. Mio, a little hesitant, lowered her gaze. But Ruka gently took her hand, urging her to greet him as well. Ryu smiled at the interaction, amused, as if discovering an unexpected charm blooming amidst the morning's planted seeds.
"Come with us to church," Ruka invited spontaneously, her eyes glowing.
But Ryu gently shook his head. "I follow a different belief," he answered calmly.
Ruka nodded, understanding, though a question lingered in her heart.
Suddenly, Mio whispered something to Ruka. "I can't go. My period started three days ago, and it's still going."
Ryu, who had overheard a part of the conversation, offered something in a friendly tone. "In that case, you can sit here for a while. You can head back with Ruka after she's done."
Ruka agreed, and Mio took a seat on a faded wooden chair in front of Ryu's house. Meanwhile, Ryu finished his work, then took another chair and sat beside her, in a silence that wasn't awkward, but warm and peaceful.
"What do you think—does God exist or not?" Ryu asked suddenly.
Mio blinked, a little surprised. "I… I don't know. I worship because… that's what my grandmother taught me."
"So your faith doesn't come from your own will?"
"I guess you could say that…" Mio answered quietly.
"Then," Ryu repeated, "do you believe God exists or not?"
"I don't know…" she replied, softly but honestly.
The morning breeze gently brushed through their hair. The sky faded from light blue to pale white as the procession of villagers began returning from church. Ruka called out to Mio, and Mio politely bid farewell to Ryu.
"Thank you for keeping me company," she said.
"You're welcome. Take care," Ryu replied.
As they walked home, Ruka asked, "What were you two talking about?"
"He asked… if I was sure about my faith. If I chose it myself, or just followed what my grandmother taught me."
Ruka took a breath. "It seems like he doesn't believe in God."
"I think… he just thinks with logic," Mio replied quietly. "Imagine… the first humans were simply created. Then, out of gratitude or fear, they began to kneel, raise their hands, invent symbols and rules. From there grew religion, different in form, but all seemingly searching for the same thing—a sense of security, the feeling that they're not alone."
She continued, "God… maybe isn't a being, but hope. A belief born from surrender. Something humans created to soothe themselves in the midst of a mad world. Maybe all of this is just inherited doctrine…"
Ruka fell silent. For a long time. Then she said softly, "Don't get too close to Ryu. I'm afraid… you'll become like him. Believing in nothing."
They walked home separately.
Meanwhile, Ryu stood under the shower. The drops traced his body like time flowing without pause. In that silence, his mind wandered back to his conversation with Mio. He questioned not just the existence of God, but the very idea of truth. To him, religion had become a kind of stage—where leaders stood on pulpits proclaiming morality, while behind the scenes, they wielded power in the name of the Divine.
"How hypocritical," Ryu thought. "They say sin is wrong, yet use God's name to justify their greed."
And in the silence of his bathroom, amidst the sound of running water and the faint scent of soap, Ryu remained in place—at a crossroads between logic and belief, in a quiet place untouched by prayer, yet full of questions. For Ryu, no religion had yet been honest enough to earn his trust. No faith had managed to embrace his doubt without forcing him to submit.
And that was where he stood—a man who tended his garden each morning, while planting seeds of questions in the soil of his own heart.