Balcony Eyes
It was a bright, warm, and sunny morning. The perfect Spring day for the townsfolk, decorating the town square for the Sakura festival. It was a beautiful day– for them...
The heir to the Yamashiro kingdom, Hiro Hinata, could easily object. It was just another boring day for him, staying in the palace—another day of just staying there and looking pretty like some porcelain doll.
Even though he was on his balcony, right in front of the sun, the warmth of the Spring day did absolutely nothing to ease his mood as he leaned against the railing of his balcony, chin propped in his hand. Below him, the streets of Yamashiro bustled with kids laughing and playing. Something he never got to do. His eyes scanned the streets, watching as adults helped each other set up their stands. His ears focused on the laughs, the bells, and the non-aggressive shouting.
Just from the balcony, he noticed all of that and more. His eyes drifted over to the cherry blossom trees, which were at least a day off from blooming.
And yet he was still stuck in that palace. Trapped.
Hiro pouted, furrowing his golden-brown brows as his dusty-blonde locks stirred in the breeze. All that color, the noise… All that life was right there, just at the bottom of the hill where the palace walls sat like a stone sentinel. He wanted nothing more than to join them– to laugh, to play, to help– to just be there without being noticed for his title.
He wanted to have a day of relaxing instead of dressing up and being expected to be perfect. He just wanted to live regularly.
His father’s voice haunts him every day. ’You represent us all, Hiro.’ ’Don’t give the Hinata family a bad reputation.’ et cetera.
What he wouldn’t give to be anyone other than the prince…
As much as Hiro craved for a normal life, he knew it was impossible. He had a duty to fulfil, and he had to accept it.
As the minutes standing on that balcony dragged on, his irritation and impatience grew like a pot left too long on the stove. His leg bounced restlessly, his shoulders twitched. He shifted, sighed, shifted again. Finally, he tore himself from the balcony with a sharp inhale and stalked back inside, the silk of his sleeves whispering against his wrists.
The corridors were silent as he walked, and somehow that silence mocked him for his impossible dreams. Marble floors, polished wood beams, paper lanterns glowing faintly in the dim. He had memorized every hallway. Every creak of the boards, every painting of his ancestors glaring down at him as though pressuring him to behave and act like a prince. He hated them all with each passing moment.
By the time he reached the inner palace, he was scowling openly, not feeling like masking it at the moment. His slippers whispered against the floor, quickening his pace. He passed through the servants’ halls– narrower, less ornate– and felt a small surge of rebellion. He wasn’t supposed to wander this far, but nobody dared to stop and correct him.
Eventually, the air changed. It smelled less rich– like incense and polished wood– and more of sweat, earth, and steel. His path had taken him to the quarters where the guards slept, trained, et cetera.
The guard grounds were a world far apart from the palace’s pristine halls. Here, life was loud, fun, and somewhat free. Hiro pushed open the heavy doors and was greeted with a sharp slap of wind that tousled his hair and made him wince. The light was harsher here, unsoftened by paper walls. The sound struck him all at once– grunts, laughter, the ring of steel hitting steel, the thud of feet pounding against dirt..
He blinked a few times and rubbed his eyes before adjusting to the bright light, blinking a few times more before stepping in.
The training grounds stretched far and wide, bordered by low walls. Wooden racks held spears, swords, and shields. Straw dummies were set to the side, and scars from training strikes riddled the straw. The packed earth was worn with countless sparring matches. Sweat glistened on faces, muscles tensed and released, blades clashed with a rhythm, almost like music.
It was messy, it was raw– and it was alive.
Hiro’s lips parted subconsciously, his chest loosening a little bit, like the air here was fresher than the stale stillness of the palace.
With his hands shoved into his pockets, he wandered further until he reached a wooden bench that sat behind the wall protecting the seats from the sparring area. He sat down with a graceless flop, ignoring the way some guards glanced his way and quickly straightened their posture. He wanted them to forget he was here–to not be seen as a prince at all– but he knew that again, that was impossible. Still, at least here, he could pretend.
He leaned back, shoulders sagging as he watched the men spar.
Steel met steel, sending sparks flying. Two men grappled, their feet digging deep grooves into the earth. Someone shouted encouragement, laughter rippling through the group. Dust swirled in the air, catching the sunlight like dirty glitter.
Hiro found himself leaning forward, crossing his arms on the stone railing in front of him, watching with interest. This was nothing like the rigid training his tutors had once tried to drill into him. This was freedom disguised as battle. For a moment, he could almost taste it on his tongue.
Then, in the far circle, his gaze locked on a figure. He froze.
The man stood firm, back straight, shoulders squared with quiet confidence. He wasn’t the largest on the field, but the way he moved made others hesitate. Deliberate, steady, every step grounded as if the earth itself held him up. When he swung his blade, it was fluid, efficient, never wasted. The other guards seemed to orbit him subconsciously, their respect apparent in the way they watched him as much as they watched their own opponents.
Hiro’s heart skipped.
Something about that presence tugged at him. Not recognition yet– just a pull, like gravity itself shifted to make room for this bulky man.
He didn’t even realize he was staring until one of the fighters stumbled back and laughter rang out, jolting Hiro back to his awareness. He felt his cheeks heat up, and he looked away, focusing on a flock of birds flying overhead as he straightened up.
He knew it was too late. He already knew he would look again.
