The sun had already begun its slow slide toward the western treeline by the time Jiro finished the last of his rounds.
He had left the house not long after the midday meal, brushing aside Tsunade’s quiet insistence that she should accompany him. The commander had stood in the doorway with that same controlled posture she wore in the square, clearly unwilling to let the newly discovered sage wander off alone. He had met her eyes and told her, as evenly as he could manage, that there were things he needed to finish on his own.
Old patients. Final herb stocks. Goodbyes that would feel wrong with a Temple knight standing behind him. There were just too many things he couldn’t leave behind without giving them a proper closure.
When he explained how he would feel uneasy with her beside him everywhere he went, she had studied him for a long moment, then given a short nod and stayed.
Now the light was turning gold and soft. Dust hung in the air along the narrow path that led to the cluster of houses on the northern edge of the village. Jiro stopped in front of a low wooden door, raised his hand, and knocked twice.
“Grandma… It’s Jiro,” he called.
A moment later, the door creaked open just enough for a wrinkled face to peer out. The old woman’s eyes widened the instant she recognized him.
“Oh… Jiro. You came?”
She sounded genuinely startled, as though the morning’s announcement should have turned him into something that no longer knocked on ordinary doors.
“I did,” he said, offering a small smile. “You asked me to come in to check on you; I heard from Miss Grisha. So? May I come in?”
She stepped aside quickly. The inside of the house smelled of dried mint and the faint bitterness of the joint salve he had mixed for her two days earlier. She moved slower than usual, favoring the ankle that still gave her trouble, but she waved him toward the low stool near the window without hesitation.
“I heard the rumours from the square,” she said while he set his satchel down. “Everyone’s talking. You have become a Sage. So, why are you still walking all the way out here as nothing has changed? I’m just an unworthy old woman.”
“Well, I still have work to finish, don’t I? Plus, how can I just go away without showing up in front of you even once,” Jiro answered. He pulled out the small cloth pouch of powdered root and the carefully measured vials. “They gave me the night. I just didn’t want to leave without making sure you understood the new schedule for this medicine I made for you.”
He walked her through it one more time: when to take the powder, how much water, what to do if the swelling returned. She listened with the same attentive silence she always gave him, nodding at the right places. When he finished, she reached out and patted the back of his hand with her thin fingers.
“You’re a good boy, Jiro,” she said quietly. “Even after you became a Sage, you didn’t forget your roots.”
Jiro hesitated, then added, “What are you talking about, Granny? How can I change like that overnight? So what if I became a Sage? What’s so good about it?”
“Huuufhhh… if only you knew how important you are…..” The old woman just gave a sigh.
“Oh, about Miss Grisha… please don’t give her such a hard time while I’m gone. She already carries most of the village on her back.”
The old woman let out a short, dry laugh that turned into a soft cough unexpectedly.
“Kuaghhh, kuaghhh…… I know. I know. Most places this far from a town don’t even have a proper apothecary. Having someone like her is already a blessing. It’s just your mixes that worked a little better on this old ankle of mine, that’s all. Don’t worry. I won’t be rude to her. Not anymore. In this mortal realm, anyone who can keep a body from falling apart is worth more than gold. I understand that.”
He stayed a few minutes longer, checking the bandage one last time, then stood. The light outside had deepened into that particular orange that only came just before true evening. He said his goodbye, received another pat on the hand, and stepped back into the cooling air.
The rest of the afternoon had gone much the same way. He had walked the familiar forest paths one final time, filling his satchel with the last good nightbloom of the season even though he no longer needed it for the apothecary. He had also stopped by the shop. Grisha had taken one look at him and dropped the pestle, crying until her face was blotchy and her voice gone hoarse. She had clung to his sleeve and made him promise three separate times that he would write to her when he would be at the capital. He had promised, awkward and a little guilty, and left before she could start her usual banter again.
Now that the path home was quiet, he really enjoyed this feeling of walking home for the last time. He still couldn’t believe all of this. But knowing this was not a dream at least, he enjoyed and locked in every bit of the scenery of this village of his into his mind as he could.
Smoke rose from a few chimneys. Somewhere a dog barked once and fell silent. When the familiar outline of his family’s single-room house came into view, he saw her.
Tsunade stood with her back against the outer wall, arms loosely crossed, face turned toward the western sky. The last light caught in her long wheat-colored hair and traced the solid line of her shoulders.
She looked entirely out of place at this moment against the weathered wood and thatch, too tall, too composed, and too clearly belonging to a world of polished armor and temple halls. For a moment Jiro simply stopped and watched her. The thought rose unbidden and a little foolish: if only she were closer to his own age. She had to be somewhere in her middle twenties at least. The difference was not enormous, but it was enough to make the quiet admiration in his chest feel slightly improper. He always wished someone like her to be his lover. And now that he finally met someone, she just had to turn out to be way ahead of his league.
He cleared his throat as he approached.
She also turned at the sound. The professional mask she wore in front of crowds was nowhere to be seen on her face.
“Jiro-sama. You’ve returned.”
“Yeah.” He stopped a few paces away, suddenly aware of the dust on his pants and the faint green stains on his fingers from the herbs. “Did you manage to rest at all?”
“Yeah, I did. Your mother was kind enough to offer their bed. I slept for a short while.”
Hearing about the bed, the image arrived before he could stop it: his father’s broad back, his mother’s muffled sounds, the creak of wood that had become the soundtrack of his childhood. Nausea rolled through his stomach, sharp and unwelcome, realising how the woman of his dream was saying with this innocent face that she slept on that hellish bed. He looked away toward the darkening fields and forced the thought down.
“That’s… good,” he managed to recover himself. “I’m glad.”
Tsunade seemed to take the pause for ordinary tiredness. She pushed away from the wall and gestured lightly toward the open path that ran along the edge of the village.
“Your business is finished, right?"
“Yeah, as finished as it can be.”
She studied him for a moment, then said, “Then, walk with me. We can enjoy the evening view of your village while we walk, and there are also some things you should understand before tomorrow.”
He fell into step beside her without argument.