The mailbox at the Kojima flower shop creaked when opened—like it had something important to say but was too old to say it clearly.
Keiko grumbled to herself as she flipped through the day's delivery: bills, pamphlets, a coupon for half-off fertilizer… and a clean white envelope addressed to Kojima Satoru.
She paused, frowning.
It wasn't handwritten.
It came from Minato Hero Agency.
Keiko stared at it for a long time, then walked back into the shop, where soft jazz played on the radio and a gentle draft carried the smell of eucalyptus and damp soil.
Satoru sat behind the counter, his left arm still in a cast. He was arranging flower tags with his free hand, his movements slow but methodical.
"You got a letter," Keiko said, tossing it lightly onto the counter in front of him.
He blinked, catching it with his good hand.
As soon as he saw the sender's stamp, something shifted in his chest. It was small. Barely there. Like a trapped bird fluttering its wings.
He opened the envelope carefully, tearing just the edge. Inside was a single folded page.
---
To Kojima Satoru,
Following your continued assistance with patrol support and civilian aid operations under Minato Base's supervision, we are formally extending an offer to initiate preliminary qualification for a Field Youth Support Certificate.
This is not a Provisional Hero License. However, it would legally authorize you to act under direct agency supervision in specified situations.
Your courage, tenacity, and unorthodox persistence have not gone unnoticed.
If you are interested, please contact us to begin the evaluation process.
With respect,
Hoshino Rei, Hero Representative – Minato Base
---
Satoru read it twice. Then a third time. He felt his fingers tightening slightly around the page, like he was afraid it would disappear if he let go.
"What is it?" Keiko asked, pretending not to sound concerned.
Satoru folded the letter neatly and placed it inside his notebook.
"They want to give me… something like a license," he said slowly.
"Like a real license?"
"No. Not yet. Just a certification to work under supervision."
Keiko crossed her arms. "That sounds like a liability."
He smiled at that. "Probably."
She studied his face. There was no grin there. No gloating. Just something quieter. A kind of silent awe. The look of someone who had been running in the dark for so long and just now spotted a single streetlamp far away.
He didn't celebrate.
He didn't cheer.
He just nodded once and picked up another flower tag, writing the name of a plant he could barely spell with his non-dominant hand.
Keiko let him be.
Later that afternoon, after she left for her shift, Satoru made himself a cup of weak tea and took the letter out again.
He sat on the back step of the shop, where the wooden boards were slightly warped and the scent of soil clung to the air.
He didn't read it again.
He just held it in his lap, staring out at the small garden patch their mother used to tend. The chrysanthemums were blooming unevenly. The lilies were overgrown. He needed to fix that.
Tomorrow, maybe.
Today… he needed to sit.
---
Elsewhere, across the city…
On a quiet bench outside a middle school, Kana Fujimura sat with her backpack slumped beside her. She was kicking a small rock back and forth across the pavement.
Two older boys passed by, arguing about some viral video.
"That helmet guy? Nah, he works with that tiny agency now."
"They say he's gonna get some junior license thing."
"Tch. Still lame."
Kana didn't say anything.
She picked up the rock, turned it over in her hand, and tossed it over the fence.