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drearrryyy · 5 months ago

Text

Cow girl- but without the rope

𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝟸

The bus hissed to a stop just outside the towering gates of U.A. High School, the prestigious academy gleaming under the morning sun. Umeko stepped off with a long stretch, arms overhead, her duffel slung over one shoulder. Her fluffy brown hair caught the light, her highland cow ears twitching under the brim of her patched-up sun hat.

She let out a low whistle, staring up at the sheer size of the main building.

"Well," she said to no one in particular, "that cost me as much as three hens and two roosters just to get here. Better be worth it."

Clutching the crumpled ticket in her pocket, she wandered forward, boots clacking against the pavement. Her gaze drifted to a loud commotion up ahead.

A spiky-haired blond boy—face twisted in an impressive level of rage—was snarling at a quieter green-haired boy who seemed to shrink under the weight of the verbal barrage.

"Huh," Umeko muttered, chewing the inside of her cheek. "City folk are so...dramatic."

She watched curiously as the angry boy stormed off, leaving the green-haired one rattled and pale. He took a shaky step forward—and promptly tripped.

Before his face could meet concrete, a brown-haired girl nearby flicked her fingers, and his fall came to a soft halt, floating just inches above the ground.

He blinked in surprise, and she leaned forward with a laugh.

"Are you okay? I stopped you with my quirk. I'm sorry I didn't ask first but..."

Umeko smiled a little, watching the exchange, but her attention was already being pulled to the massive, modern building ahead. She wandered inside, her boots squeaking against polished floors as her eyes widened like saucers.

The testing room was enormous—more like an auditorium than a classroom. Rows and rows of seats stretched out before a raised stage. Her ears flicked back as she made her way down the stairs, muttering, "I could fit half the village in here... maybe even the cows too."

She found an open seat near the edge, wriggling into place and hugging her bag to her chest. Around her, chatter buzzed low and steady, a mixture of nerves and excitement. Her fluffy ears twitched, picking up pieces of conversation—battle strategies, quirks, theories. Most of it sounded like gibberish to her.

Then, suddenly, the lights dimmed.

A bright flare lit the front of the room, and a tall man with neon yellow hair and tinted shades sprang onto the stage like a lightning bolt.

"What's up, U.A. candidates? Thanks for tunin' in to me, your school DJ! Come on, let me hear ya!"

The room fell silent.

Umeko blinked and slowly raised one hand in the air. "Woooo!" she called out, voice loud and proud.

Her cheer echoed awkwardly off the walls.

Present Mic grinned wide and pointed. "There we go! Cow girl in the corner knows how to party!"

Several heads turned. Umeko just smiled sheepishly, shrugging with a "what can ya do?" expression.

Then the exam explanation began.

Projectors lit up, showcasing simulated battlefields and towering robots. Rules were rattled off at lightning speed, numbers and terms flying faster than Umeko could track. She leaned forward, squinting.

"Wait... wait, so... we fight the big ones? Or avoid 'em? What's a villain point again?"

She tilted her head, horns clinking lightly against her seat's backrest.

By the time the screen faded and instructions were done, she clapped along with everyone else, whispering to herself, "Okay, okay... not too bad. Just pretend they're bulls. Big, shiny, metal bulls."

And with that, Umeko stood, ready to prove that even a farm girl from the mountains could shake the ground at U.A.

The air buzzed with tension as the gates to the testing arena burst open.

Umeko charged in with the crowd of applicants, her ram-like horns catching the sunlight and her fluffy ears twitching with excitement. Her boots slammed against the pavement as her heart pounded, not with fear—but pure, unfiltered adrenaline.

"Let's gooo!" she whooped, grinning wildly.

Ahead, metal beasts loomed—robotic threats of all sizes stomping through the simulated city. As students scattered and unleashed flashy quirks, Umeko didn't hesitate. She darted forward, launching herself off a broken car hood, then springing from a wall to a second-story ledge with practiced ease.

Farm life had made her limbs strong, her body sturdy—and surprisingly nimble.

She zipped across rooftops and catwalks, barreling straight into a two-pointer with a devastating shoulder-check. It crumpled like scrap metal. Another tried to grab her with claw-like arms—she ducked, grabbed its wrist, and ripped it clean off, using it like a club.

Then came a three-pointer.

It dropped from above with a heavy thud, sensors whirring. Umeko squinted at it and smirked.

"Alright, big guy. You're my kinda problem."

She threw herself at it, locking arms around its midsection. They wrestled—metal groaning against bone and muscle as she heaved and grunted. Sparks flew as it tried to crush her in its grip, but she grit her teeth and dropped her weight, twisting like she was bringing down a rowdy bull.

With a yell, she planted her feet, arched her back—and launched the robot skyward.

It flew above the rooftops, a jagged blur against the blue.

"Yee-haw!" she laughed, wiping her brow. "One-way trip to the scrapyard."

It landed with a hard stomp in a debris-strewn alley and immediately locked onto her next targets. She ran through them like a battering ram, using her sheer weight and strength to barrel through lines of enemy bots. Mechanical limbs and gears scattered in her wake.

Off to the side, she spotted a familiar mess of green hair. The nervous boy from earlier was hesitating, eyes darting everywhere.

"Still starin'? Get a move on!" she called out, but he didn't hear her. With a shrug, she turned and punched another bot so hard its head sailed off into the distance. She casually counted in her head.

"Forty-seven... forty-eight... oh, hey—that makes forty-nine."

Just as she kicked a smoking torso out of the way, the ground rumbled.

Her ears perked.

The shadow that fell over the arena made her freeze, head slowly tilting upward. The zero-pointer towered above them all—massive, monstrous, unstoppable.

"Nope," she muttered, narrowing her eyes. "No way they want us to fight that.”

But when she turned her head, she saw it—someone pinned beneath rubble. A brown-haired girl—the one from earlier—was struggling, helpless.

Then, without warning, the green-haired boy sprinted past her.

Umeko's eyes widened.

"Wait... is he—?"

He launched himself into the air, screaming with all he had. His limbs stretched back, power surging, and then—

CRACK!

He slammed into the robot's face with a blow so powerful, it toppled. The zero-pointer collapsed in a deafening explosion of metal and dust.

Umeko stared, stunned. "Holy cow..."

But then she saw it—he was falling. Fast.

She bolted, racing the brown-haired girl to reach him. The girl reached him first, slapping his face mid-air.

"Huh... did she just slap him?" Umeko blinked.

Then the boy floated—limp, but no longer plummeting.

Umeko caught him, steadying him, and gently helped lower him the rest of the way. She crouched beside him, watching the flicker of his breath.

"Dang, he really went all-out," she murmured, brushing sweaty bangs from his forehead.

A choked sound came from behind her—she turned just in time to see the brown-haired girl bend over and throw up from exertion.

The buzzer rang. The test was over.

Umeko sat back with a long exhale, the dust slowly settling around her.

"Well," she muttered with a crooked smile, "what a test. No one does it like city folk, huh?"

She laughed quietly to herself and looked up at the blue sky, already wondering what came next.

Umeko stepped into the sleek halls of U.A. High, her brand-new shoes clicking against the pristine tile floor. She glanced down at them, her lips curling into a grin.

"Four thousand yen on sale," she murmured proudly. "City stores really don't know how to price things proper."

Her fluffy highland cow ears twitched as she looked around, scanning the hall for the elusive Class 1-A door. Everything about the school felt so polished, so... official. Back home, school was just one building. All the kids—no matter their age—shared the same creaky room. Sometimes you did math next to a six-year-old drawing clouds, and if someone was working on college essays, you just kept your voice down and hoped the goats didn't break in again.

"This place is like a whole other world," she muttered, gently rubbing her horns.

She passed a window and caught her reflection—tail flicking behind her, hair a bit wild despite her attempts to tame it. It still felt surreal.

The memory of the acceptance disk popped into her head—floating holograms, fancy projections, way too many buttons. "We're pleased to inform you..." and then a bunch of other stuff she had to ask her mom to help decode. All she'd really cared about was the number: 53 points.

Turned out, a few of those were "rescue points," for helping the green-haired boy and stopping rubble from falling on others. She hadn't even thought about it at the time—it just felt like the right thing to do. But now, standing in this hallway in this unbelievable building, she found herself wondering...

"Did that green-haired boy make it in too?"

She stopped in front of the big sliding door marked Class 1-A. With a deep breath, she pushed it open.

The classroom was bright, modern, and bigger than she expected. A few students were already inside, some sitting, some chatting, all looking like they walked out of a hero magazine.

Her eyes swept across the room.

One boy sat coolly at his desk with one leg propped up. He oozed confidence—or arrogance, she couldn't quite tell.

Then her gaze landed on a student with bright yellow hair and a jagged black lightning bolt streaking through it. He perked up a little when he saw her, flashing a friendly look.

Wonder what his quirk is, she thought with curiosity.

Before she could approach, a voice cut through the air.

"Greetings, fellow student! I am Tenya Iida from the Somei Private Academy!"

The speaker was a tall, blue-haired guy with glasses so sharp they could probably double as weapons. He offered a formal bow.

Umeko blinked, then laughed a little, offering her hand. "Umeko Yoshida, born and raised out in the sticks. My quirk's called cow—kinda makes me strong, heavy, and, uh, durable. Got these too," she added, pointing to her horns and tail. "The tail's mostly for balance, and the ears are a pretty bonus, but the horns are great for wrestlin' livestock."

She paused, then grinned. "Also, if you ever need help wrangling a loose chicken, I'm your girl."

She started rambling about her farm—mentioning cows, corn, and the time she fought off a wild boar with a bucket—when the classroom door slid open again.

In stepped the green-haired boy.

Her ears perked up.

"Huh. He did get in."

Before she could say anything, Iida stormed over to confront him. Something about secret objectives and improper behavior during the exam.

Umeko tilted her head, squinting. "Secret what-now?"

Shrugging, she trotted over once Iida finished his speech, giving the nervous boy a wide smile.

"Hey, you! City boy!" she greeted. "Your quirk was super cool in the test—real flashy stuff! That punch you threw? WHEW!" She mimed an explosion with her hands. "I figured if anyone was makin' it in here, it'd be you. Congrats!"

She gave him a friendly slap on the back that nearly knocked him forward.

"Name's Umeko, by the way. You're officially the most 'city folk' person I've ever met— and that's sayin' somethin'."

Umeko barely finished her playful jab when the green-haired boy turned toward her, eyes wide and a little overwhelmed by all the attention.

"O-oh! Uh—hi!" he said, fumbling for words. "I'm Izuku Midoriya. Nice to meet you!"

He gave a small bow, hands twitching nervously at his sides.

Umeko beamed. "Nice to meetcha too, Midoriya! You've got the vibe of a nervous goat but the strength of a mountain ox. Can't wait to see you in action again!"

Midoriya gave a shaky laugh, clearly unsure if that was a compliment, but nodded appreciatively nonetheless.

Before either of them could say more, the door slid open again and in walked a familiar face—short, brown-haired, and smiling as brightly as the sun.

"Plain guy!" she called as she jogged over. "You're here too! I'm so glad!"

Umeko recognized her instantly. The floating girl from the exam.

"Heya!" Umeko grinned, waving. "Nice catch back there, by the way. You're quick!"

"Oh! Thank you!" the girl replied, giving a little bow. "I'm Ochaco Uraraka—it's great to meet you both!"

"Uraraka, huh?" Umeko repeated, then gave her a thumbs-up. "Love your vibe. Very soft but also 'I could suplex you if I needed to.' That's a good mix."

Uraraka giggled. "That's... oddly specific, but thank you!"

The three of them chatted for a few more seconds before they heard a voice. The chatter died after a second as they turned toward the hall.

A yellow sleeping bag sat in the middle of the floor.

Umeko's ears twitched. "Wait... that's not a bag..."

The sack unzipped and a man practically slithered out of it, wrapped in a dark capture weapon scarf, hair a mess, face half-buried in exhaustion.

"I'm Shota Aizawa," he said with a yawn. "Your homeroom teacher. It took you all eight seconds to quiet down. Time's precious—try to be more efficient."

Umeko blinked, eyes wide.

Then her face lit up.

"Whoa..." she muttered. "He's awesome. Like... a shadowy bull. Calm, heavy, and looks like he'd stomp you into the dirt if you spooked him too loud."

Midoriya glanced at her, eyebrows raised.

"I mean that in the best way!" she added quickly, raising her hands. "City folk might not get it."

Uraraka stifled a giggle.

Aizawa continued, deadpan. "Put these on and head to the field."

He held up a gym uniform.

Umeko blinked again, her cheerful face slowly shifting to one of mild confusion.

"Wait... what's that for?"

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drearrryyy · 5 months ago

Text

Cow girl- but without the rope

𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝟷

The sun hung high over the village square, warm and bright, casting soft golden light over worn cobblestones and the laughter of children. Dust kicked up from small feet as Umeko chased two younger boys around an old water well, her arms outstretched like wings.

"I'm the dragon!" she declared, giggling, "And you two are the—uh—running food!"

The boys shrieked and ran faster, squealing with laughter. Umeko followed, full of energy, her bare feet slapping the stone and her eyes glowing with delight. But after a few minutes, something shifted.

A sharp pulse bloomed at Umeko's temples.

She blinked, the slowed and pressed a hand to her head. The world spun slightly, and a dull ache settled behind her eyes, like something pushing out from the inside.

"Bis sis? You okay?" one of the boys asked, slowing from his run and turning over his shoulders.

"Yeah!" she said quickly, though her voice came out tighter than she meant. "Just... uh. My head feels like a potato someone stepped on."

She waved them off and walked—more like wobbled��down the street toward the little clinic tucked near a shrine. Inside, the air smelled of herbs and warm wood, and old Lady Maru looked up from grinding roots in a ceramic bowl.

"Back again already?" she asked with a fond smile. "What is it this time? Bee sting? Another splinter?"

"Nope," Umeko said, climbing onto the wooden stool, rubbing her forehead. "My head's doing a weird thumpy thing. Like there's something trying to poke out." She whined, poking the top of her head to insinuate her point.

Lady Maru raised an eyebrow. "Poke out?"

Umeko nodded. "Above my ears. Kinda itchy. And hot."

With a soft hum, Maru came closer and brushed back Umeko's fluffy hair. Then froze. Her fingers hovered over a small, pointed bump just breaking through the skin, barely visible but unmistakable.

"Ah," Maru murmured, voice distant now. "Well, look at that..."

"Is it bad?" Umeko asked, looking up at Maru.

Maru met her eyes, lips parting to answer, but Umeko's face was already alight.

"It's starting, isn't it?! My quirk!"

She practically bounced off the stool. "I knew it! I knew it would happen soon! I'm gonna go tell Hina!"

"Wait—maybe let's take it slow—"

But Umeko was already out the door in a blur of speed and joy, her headache all but forgotten.

She ran through the village, her steps faster—faster than she remembered being able to run. The wind rushed past her face, her heart pounded, but not from exhaustion—from excitement.

When she saw Hina, her best friend, standing by the vegetable stall, she didn't hesitate.

"HINAAA!" she screamed with joy.

Hina barely turned before Umeko threw her arms around her in the biggest, tightest, happiest hug she'd ever given.

There was a loud crack.

Hina screamed.

Umeko froze, arms still around her.

Hina crumpled into her, her face twisted in pain. The basket she held dropping to the ground.

Umeko pulled back, concern dawning as Hina clutched her arms, now bent in ways arms weren't supposed to bend.

"I—" Umeko's voice caught. "I didn't mean to! I just—I was just hugging you—!"

People were rushing over. Voices rose. Someone called for Lady Maru.

Umeko stared at her friend, trembling now, and felt the world shift beneath her again—not like a headache this time, but like a pressure from all sides.

Her horns were growing. Her muscles had changed.

Her power had come.

And now, she had to learn how to control herself.

The village hadn't been quite the same since the accident.

Children who used to chase Umeko through the square now lingered on the edges of the games, unsure. Some still smiled at her, shy and uncertain, but none ran to grab her hand or beg her to play dragon anymore. Whispers followed her like wind through wheat—subtle, but constant.

So Umeko stayed closer to home.

The days on the farm were long, filled with the sounds of buzzing insects, creaking wood, and the low calls of animals. Summer sun bathed everything in gold, and the grass shimmered beneath wide blue skies. Her parents didn't treat her any differently—they never flinched when her footsteps cracked old boards or when the water buckets bent in her hands. They simply gave her more to do.

And she did it. Happily, even.

A week after the hug that broke two arms, Umeko stood in the pasture infront her house, hands on her hips, hair messier than ever, now tucked behind something new.

Her ears.

Gone were the small human ones she'd been born with. In their place, two fluffy, warm highland cow ears twitched on either side of her head—velvety, expressive, and ridiculously soft. Above them, her horns had grown in fully now—thick, curled like a ram's, smooth and a beautiful tan, their curves framing her head like a crown.

She loved them.

At the moment, she was herding the cows with surprising ease. They listened to her, mostly—probably because she had been around longer than them.

One of the younger cows though, a tan one with twitchy ears and a stubborn streak, suddenly bolted. It kicked up dirt and charged toward the open edge of the field, heading straight for the far fence and the creek beyond.

Umeko blinked. Then ran.

She didn't think—she just moved.

Dust kicked up behind her. She was faster than before. Stronger. And when the cow turned back slightly and saw her in its path, it didn't slow down.

Neither did she.

With a loud grunt and a wide grin spreading across her face, Umeko ducked her head forward at the last second and—

CLONK!

Horn met horn.

The impact echoed across the field like a drumbeat.

The cow skidded back, eyes wide, snorting furiously. Umeko dug her heels into the dirt, muscles tensed, laughing. It hurt, but in the fun way—like falling off a tree and landing just right. She pushed again, locking horns with the cow a second time, wrestling, twisting, grunting as they fought for balance.

"I...won't let you..," she muttered under her breath, determined.

After a few moments, she managed to twist the cow's head just enough to steer it off its path. It stumbled, huffed, then backed away. Umeko stepped forward, hands out, guiding it gently back toward the gate, breathing hard, her chest heaving.

She wiped sweat from her brow and grinned.

"That," she whispered to herself, "was awesome."

The rest of the day was spent in a blur of energy. She wrestled two goats who kept butting heads over the feeding trough. She helped carry hay bales that used to take both her parents to lift. By the time the sun started dipping toward the horizon, she had a wild look in her eyes and bits of grass stuck in her hair.

Then came the bull.

Bigger. Meaner. Smarter. He wasn't running—but he was challenging. Standing on a slope near the edge of the barn, nostrils flared, tail flicking. Umeko grinned, bent her knees, and lowered her head.

"Okay, big guy," she said. "Your turn."

She charged.

The impact this time was thunderous—bone on bone, power against power. The bull bucked and pushed, but she held her ground, sliding a few feet but digging in harder. Her laughter rang out, bright and wild. It wasn't just fun anymore. It felt right.

Then—BOOM.

The sound came from the direction of the village.

A deep, echoing explosion that ripped through the still air like a crack of thunder.

Umeko stopped mid-push, her muscles locking up as dust rose in the distance. Birds screamed and scattered into the sky. Her heart dropped.

Smoke curled upward in dark spirals from the town square.

Her smile vanished.

She pulled back from the bull, who was already bolting toward the barn in panic. Her horns were aching from the impact, her ears twitching wildly.

Without another thought, Umeko turned toward the village.

And ran.

Umeko sprinted down the hill, her hooves—no, feet, she reminded herself—slamming the packed dirt path. The wind stung her eyes, but she didn't stop. Couldn't.

The village was burning.

The square where she used to chase kids in circles was now filled with smoke and screams. The bakery was gone—flattened into a pile of timber and ash. A fire raged where the teahouse had been. Villagers stumbled through the chaos, coughing, some helping others, others crying out for missing names.

But Umeko's eyes were locked on one building.

Hina's.

Her chest heaved, heart pounding painfully in her ribs as she ran. The small wooden home was in ruins—its front completely collapsed, walls caved inward, the familiar tiled roof broken into jagged shards. Fire licked at the edges, smoke curling thick and black into the sky.

"Hina!!" Umeko shouted, her voice raw, desperate.

She didn't wait. She charged.

Timber crumbled beneath her feet as she climbed the rubble, pushing aside planks and smoldering debris with hands far stronger than they should be. She gritted her teeth and hauled a section of beam off the heap, tossing it aside like it weighed nothing. Sparks singed her clothes. Splinters penetrated her arms. But she didn't care.

Somewhere below—was Hina—she was sure of it.

Another beam groaned above her, shifting.

Umeko reached in deeper—too deep—and yanked.

With a snap, the wreckage above her gave way.

A massive support beam tumbled from the heap, and before she could roll back, it slammed down on her back, pinning her to the earth with a shuddering crash.

She screamed—once.

Pain flared white-hot through her shoulders and ribs. She gasped, struggling, but her legs were pinned, her arms shaking under the weight.

And then—

"Hina—" she breathed.

Through the haze of dust and smoke, she saw her.

Crawling.

Just barely.

Her arms shook with the effort, one of them trailing uselessly behind her. Her legs... they weren't moving at all. Blood trailed behind her in streaks, but her eyes—glistening, terrified—were locked on Umeko.

"Hina-!" Umeko cried, cutting herself off by coughing hard.

Hina didn't answer, just inched forward, dragging herself closer, reaching for her.

Umeko reached back, fingers trembling, so close—

The smoke was thick now. Too thick.

Hina's broken arm reached for the beam crushing Umeko, trying to lift it.

But she couldn't.

Her arm crumpled under the weight.

She looked at Umeko, blinking through the smoke.

Umeko looked back, her voice hoarse and panicked.

"It's okay—Hina, I'm gonna get us out—I promise—"

But her voice was cracking.

The flames crept closer. Wood snapped behind them.

The smoke pressed down like a blanket, choking, smothering.

Hina's hand found Umeko's, squeezed once—weakly.

Then went still.

Umeko's vision blurred.

She tried to scream.

But everything turned black.

Hours Later

Cool air. Light.

Pain.

Umeko coughed, gasping in a lungful of clean air. Her eyes fluttered open—everything was blurry and gold with early evening sun. She was lying on a mat outside the village clinic. A damp cloth lay on her forehead. Her body screamed with every breath.

She sat up too quickly.

"Careful!" someone barked—Lady Maru. The old woman hurried over, holding a steaming bowl.

"Where—" Umeko rasped. "Hina—?"

The silence was heavy.

Too heavy.

Maru didn't answer.

Umeko looked past her—past the healing tents, past the scorched field—toward the line of covered bodies laid gently beneath a willow tree.

Her heart stopped.

"No," she whispered.

But she already knew.

"She was gone before we got there," Maru said softly. "She stayed with you, Umeko. Her hand was wrapped so tightly around yours.."

Umeko didn't speak.

She didn't cry.

She just sat there, her hand still curled like she was holding Hina's, her horns casting long shadows across the clinic floor.

The wind stirred the ashes in the square.

And the sun sank lower in the sky.

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drearrryyy · 5 months ago

Text

Cow girl- but without the rope

𝙿𝚛𝚘𝚕𝚘𝚐𝚞𝚎

The wind rustled through the tall grass, carrying with it the scent of damp earth and distant pine. On a quiet, humble farm nestled between rocky cliffs and low, forested hills, the world moved slowly—except within a small wooden house at the edge of the field. There, the air was thick with heat and tension.

Inside, a woman lay on a futon, her hands clenched in the sheets, sweat beading on her brow. Her husband knelt at her side, silent and pale, while her cries rose and fell like a raging sea. An elderly woman knelt at the foot of the futon, calm and practiced, whispering steady words as she worked with gentle, calloused hands.

The room smelled of smoke, herbs, of life, and labor. Shadows danced across the ceiling from the flickering oil lamp. Outside, the farm animals had gone silent, as if the land itself paused to listen.

Then came the first cry — sharp, shrill, and startling in its strength. A baby. Born into the hush of the countryside. Born in the stillness between one breath and the next.

The midwife leaned forward, wrapping the newborn in a clean cotton cloth, her eyes narrowing in the dim light as she studied the child.

"She's strong," she murmured, voice low and certain. "A good cry. That's a good sign."

The mother, trembling and teary-eyed, reached out with weak arms. The midwife gently placed the child in them. The baby squirmed, tiny fists curled, mouth open in protest—but it was her eyes that held them all still. Rich, vivid—like lilacs shielded by morning frost; tinted with golden rays—her eyes flickered open, unblinking, curious.

"She's beautiful.." the father whispered, voice catching in his throat.

"Her name..." the mother began, then paused, brushing a strand of damp hair from the infant's forehead. Fluffy tufts of pale brown hair crowned the her head, soft and unruly. She smiled, exhausted, in awe. "Umeko."

The midwife gave a small nod, as though the name had already been waiting. "Plum child. Fitting."

And in that quiet room, with the wind pressing gently against the wooden walls and the lamplight glowing soft and golden, Umeko's life began—not with fanfare, not with prophecy, but with the deep, unspoken knowledge that she was loved.

The seasons turned, and the land moved on as it always had—slow and steady, but sure. The cliffs grew a little greener, the trees a little taller, and the small wooden house at the edge of the field aged softly under the weight of rain, sun, and time.

Inside, laughter had replaced the silence that once permeated. Footsteps—small and unsteady at first, now bold and barefoot—pattered across the creaking floorboards.

Umeko was four.

She rose with the sun, often before the rooster crowed, bursting from her futon with a tangle of fluffy pale brown hair and questions already pouring from her mouth. She darted barefoot across the wooden floor, tugging on her mother's sleeve, asking why the clouds moved faster some days or if the carrots in the field could hear her singing. Her lilac eyes—still as striking as the day she was born—missed nothing and questioned everything.

The farm, humble as it was, had become her kingdom. She followed her father through the rows of green like a shadow, helping him water the vegetables by tipping buckets too heavy for her size, splashing more on herself than the plants. When her mother called her in for breakfast, she came fisting bundles of dandelions or bugs which she insisted were "her friends."

In the nearby village, Umeko was a familiar sight: skipping down the dusty road with scraped knees, her sleeves always rolled up, her voice louder than expected for someone so small. She greeted every face with a grin and a wave, often interrupting adult conversations to offer her opinion on matters she didn't quite understand.

"You shouldn't eat too many pickles, old man Kenta," she once said, standing solemnly with her hands on her hips outside the general store. "Your face already looks like one."

The villagers always laughed and loved her all the same. She had a way of cutting straight through the quiet politeness of rural life, unfiltered and genuine. Younger children followed her lead. Elders welcomed her chatter. Even the gruff carpenter, who rarely smiled, carved her a wooden frog just because "she wouldn't stop talking about the one that lived under his porch."

Umeko, for all her bluntness and clumsy honesty, carried a warmth that lingered long after she'd run off to her next adventure. She was wild in the way a spring breeze is wild—sudden, alive, and impossible to catch.

And every evening, as the sun dipped behind the hills and the sky blushed with the colors of another day gone, she'd return home dirt-coated and beaming, her lilac eyes still wide with wonder.

To the farm, to the quiet house at the edge of the field, she always came back.

Because that was where her world began. And where, for now, it still spun slow and safe.

Next part >

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