Chapter Text
Kasumi Miwa gripped the worn strap of her carry-on as the plane finally touched down with a gentle jolt at Munich Airport. The journey from Tokyo had been a blur of time zones and recycled air, but now, a crisp sense of reality settled in. She followed the stream of disembarking passengers toward baggage claim, her eyes scanning the foreign signs written in a language that, for the next three years, she would have to master. She could translate them, thanks to her diligent study back home, but seeing them in real life felt different—a tangible first step into a new life.
Once she’d retrieved her single large suitcase—packed with sensible clothes and far too many books she’d optimistically thought she would have time to read—she navigated the customs line. A stoic officer glanced at her passport and study visa, stamped them with an efficient thud, and waved her through. The sliding glass doors part, and Miwa stepped out into the arrival hall. The air was cool and smelled faintly of something she couldn’t place—maybe a subtle blend of German coffee and the chill of early autumn. She paused, taking in the bustle of the large terminal. Families reunited, business travelers hurrying past, and her, a lone Japanese student about to start at the Ludwig Maximilian University of Munich (LMU).
She pulled out the printout with the address of the student dormitory she’d been assigned. Her next hurdle was finding the S-Bahn train into the city center. A nervous flutter settled in her stomach. This was so much bigger than the dojo, so much bigger than Tokyo. “Excuse me,” she murmured to a passing airport employee, her voice barely a whisper, then quickly corrected herself, speaking up and enunciating her German carefully. The woman smiled kindly and pointed toward a set of escalators. Miwa offered a deep bow of thanks, shouldered her heavy backpack, and began the walk toward the train station, her gaze fixed forward.
Miwa continued to follow signs down two escalators, the murmur of German voices growing louder as she approached the subterranean train platforms. The S-Bahn station was clean and efficient-looking, with bright fluorescent lighting reflecting off the tiled walls. A digital display board confirmed her train, the S8, would be arriving in two minutes. She purchased her ticket from a machine, navigating the interface with deliberate care, and then stood on the platform, surrounded by people who all seemed to know exactly where they were going. When the sleek, quiet train slid into the station and opened its doors, she found an empty single seat near a window facing the right direction. She carefully stowed her suitcase in the small rack by the door and settled in, clutching her carry-on in her lap.
The train departed smoothly, picking up speed as it left the airport behind. Initially, the view outside the windows was typical of an airport perimeter—fences, service roads, and industrial buildings. But as they traveled further, the landscape began to change. Miwa watched the passing scenery with a quiet intensity. The initial grey urban sprawl gave way to rolling green fields dotted with distinct, red-roofed Bavarian houses. The sky, which had been clear blue above the airport, now held soft, cotton-ball clouds that looked close enough to touch. Everything felt expansive and vibrant, a stark contrast to the dense, vertical landscape of her home city. Her mind drifted from the changing world outside to the new world she was about to enter. The University of Munich. The name alone made her feel a mix of intense pride and gnawing anxiety. She was here to study international relations and European law—a massive leap from her life in a traditional dojo focused on martial arts.
She thought about her family back in Japan. They were supportive, of course, but she knew they worried about her being so far from home, a solo woman in a foreign country. They had instilled in her a strong sense of discipline and responsibility, qualities she was now going to put to the test in a rigorous academic environment she had only ever read about. The university was renowned, a place of historical significance and academic excellence. Miwa knew her German was good enough for daily communication and basic coursework, but was it truly academic fluent? She had studied the texts, memorized the grammar rules, but intellectual debate in a language that wasn’t her own seemed like a mountain she still had to climb. She also pondered the social dynamics. Her life in Japan had been clearly defined by her role in the dojo and her high school studies. Here, she was a blank slate, an “international student,” a category she had yet to fully understand. Would she make friends? Would she be lonely?
A gentle ding and an announcement of the next station pulled her momentarily from her thoughts. The countryside view was briefly replaced by suburban platforms and passing trains. She took a deep, steadying breath, trying to draw on the calm meditative focus she used before a Kendo match. She had made this choice. This daunting, exciting, terrifying choice to leave everything she knew behind and pursue her own path. The train rattled along, the rhythmic clickety-clack against the tracks almost lulling Miwa into a daze. She reached into the side pocket of her backpack for her phone, intending to text her parents a quick “I landed safely” message once she got a signal. Her fingers brushed against a folded paper pamphlet she’d been giving with her acceptance pocket. Orientation Schedule, the title read. She hadn’t really looked at it yet, planning to organize her life once she was safely in her dorm room.
With time to kill on the train, she unfolded the paper and scanned the first few lines, translating the German dates and times in her head.
Monday, November 3rd…Welcome Day. That was today. She quickly scanned the schedule for the main welcome session details.
Main building, Large Auditorium, Start: 2 PM.
Miwa’s eyes darted up to her phone screen to check the current time. It read 1:15 PM.
A jolt of adrenaline, sharp and immediate, shot through her. She was currently somewhere between the airport and the city center, and she had no idea how long the rest of the journey would take, let alone how to find the main university building from the central station. Panic began to bubble to her chest. Missing the main orientation session on her first day would be a disastrous start. She couldn’t afford to be disorganized here. Not now.
The train dinged again, and an automated voice announced her arrival. Miwa sprang up from her seat, nearly knocking her knee on the seat in front of her. She grabbed her heavy suitcase from the rack, heart pounding a frantic beat against her ribs. She was grateful for the years of Kendo training that allowed her to move with agility even while burdened with luggage. As the train pulled in Munich Central Station—a massive, sprawling hub of activity—the doors opened with a hiss. Miwa burst onto the platform, a small, focused whirlwind amidst the calm commuters. She had mere minutes to figure out the tram system or a taxi stand, drop her bags somewhere, and find the LMU main building. She looked wildly around the station concourse, her calm resolve of moments ago completely evaporated. This was no gentle introduction; this was a test.
Focus, Miwa, she told herself, the voice of her dojo master echoing in her mind. One step at a time.
Miwa arrived at the information desk slightly out of breath. A woman with short, particle blonde hair and a professional smile sat behind the counter. She was currently directing an older couple toward a regional train platform, speaking in fluent, rapid German. Miwa waited impatiently, shifting her weight from foot to foot, her eyes darting toward the main station exits. The clock on the wall above the desk now read 1:28 PM. As soon as the couple left, Miwa stepped up, placing both hands on the smooth countertop, leaning in slightly. Her German came out quickly, a little stressed, but clear.
“Greetings,” she began, slightly breathless. “I need to get Ludwig Maximillan University. The main building. How far is it from here?”
The woman’s smile remained, though her eyes widened slightly at the urgency in Miwa’s tone. “The university? It’s not far, perhaps twenty minutes by public transport, depending on traffic.”
“Twenty minutes,” Miwa repeated, doing the mental math. That would get her there right at 2:00 PM, assuming zero delays, but she still needed to check in and find the specific room. “Are there any taxis available right now?” she asked, already looking past the desk toward the main exits of the station, hoping to spot a taxi queue.
The woman pointed toward a specific set of revolving doors. “Yes, the taxi rank is just outside Exit North. You can’t miss it.” She paused, then added helpfully, “But the U-Bahn is very direct, too. U3 or U6 to the University station. It’s probably faster than a taxi at this time of day.”
Miwa considered the options quickly. The U-Bahn sounded faster, but involved navigating another system and carrying her heavy luggage through platforms and stairs. A taxi was a known quantity—door-to-door, faster to board, even if it might hit traffic. The stress of figuring out a subway route right now felt like too much.
“A taxi, thank you,” Miwa decided firmly. She gave the woman a hurried bow of thanks and pivoted away from the desk. She started power-walking toward the designated exit, the wheels of her suitcase rattling loudly on the hard station floor. She navigated around crowds of travelers and vendor kiosks, her eyes locked on the exit sign. She pushed through the revolving door and found herself in the cool autumn air of Munich.
A line of beige Mercedes taxis was waiting. Relief washed over her. She rushed to the front of the queue, hauling her suitcase with surprising strength, and opened the rear door of the first available car.
“Ludwig Maximilian University, Main building,” she instructed the driver as she climbed in, pointing to the university address on her pamphlet. The driver, a middle-aged man with a thick mustache, nodded and pulled smoothly away from the curb, merging into the city traffic. Miwa leaned back against the seat, her breathing gradually slow. The clock in the taxi read 1:35 PM. It was going to be close.
—
The taxi threaded through the narrow, busy streets of Munich’s city center. Miwa watched the time tick by on the meter, her tension mounting with every red light. They passed historic buildings and bustling shops, a vibrant new world blurring past her window, unseen in her focused anxiety. At 1:55 PM, the taxi pulled to a stop at a large, imposing building with a grand entrance. It was magnificent, much older and more ornate than she had pictured.
“Thank you,” Miwa quickly paid him, adding a generous tip in her haste, then wrestled her suitcase out of the trunk and onto the sidewalk. The massive building loomed over her. She hurried up the wide stone steps, pushing through heavy oak doors into the vast bustling foyer. Students were everywhere, laughing, talking, and hurrying between classes. Miwa felt incredibly conspicuous with her large suitcase, but she ignored the glances and scanned the hallway signs frantically. She broke into a half-jog, her suitcase rattling behind her like a determined little engine. She reached another set of heavy doors, paused for a split second to catch her breath, and pushed them open.
A wave of warm air and hundreds of eyes met her immediately. The massive auditorium was nearly full. People were gathered in small groups around the edges of the room, while others found seats in the tiered rows. At the front of the room, a woman with a microphone was already beginning her presentation, gesturing to a screen displaying the university crest. Miwa froze just inside the doorway. She was late enough to be noticed, but early enough not to miss the opening remarks. Just in time.
A student volunteer standing near the door saw her and smiled warmly, gesturing to a small table near the entrance laden with folders. Miwa quickly made her way over, dropped her suitcase beside the table, and grabbed a welcome packet.
“Weclome to LMU,” the volunteer whispered cheerfully in heavily accented English, noticing Miwa’s luggage and possibly her flustered state.
“Thank you,” Miwa whispered back, her heart finally settling into a normal rhythm. She quickly scanned the room for a free seat, her eyes landing on an aisle seat halfway up the auditorium. Clutching her folder, Miwa navigated the steps, her focus now entirely on the woman at the lectern who was beginning to introduce the faculty. She settled into her seat, trying to blend in despite the lingering sound of her arrival. She opened her welcome packet, attempting to follow along as the speaker outlined the history of the university. Her mind, however, was still racing from the taxi ride.
She forced herself to focus, taking in the scene before her. Most students were gathered with friends, animatedly chatting, but a few sat alone, looking as overwhelmed as she felt. It was during a lull in the presentation, when the speaker paused for applause after introducing the Dean of the Political Science department, that Miwa felt a gaze. It was not an obvious stare, but a subtle, steady weight. Years of dojo discipline had honed her awareness of her surroundings. She discreetly glanced across the auditorium, letting her eyes drift over the faces.
About four rows up and slightly to her right, sat a young man.
He was striking, with pale blonde hair that seemed to catch the auditorium's overhead lights, framing a face of almost unnerving symmetry and stillness. Unlike the other students around him who were either taking notes or whispering to neighbors, he was completely motionless, hands folded neatly in his lap, his posture impeccably relaxed. But it was his eyes that held her. They were a clear, almost translucent blue, fixed directly on her. There was no curiosity in his gaze, no overt interest, just pure, calm analysis, as if she were a piece of data to be cataloged.
MIwa felt an immediate, instinctive shiver that had nothing to do with the room’s temperature. It wasn’t threatening, exactly, but it was profoundly unsettling. His presence was a void of calm in a chaotic room, yet it drew her attention more than the speaker on stage. She broke eye contact first, a slight flush rising in her cheeks. She quickly looked down at her welcome packet, pretending to read the schedule. She tried to dismiss the moment, attributing the intense gaze to her own conspicuous entrance with the suitcase. He was probably just wondering why some international student had rushed in late with her luggage. She made herself listen to the presentation again, focusing on the words about student services and library access. Yet, an invisible thread seemed to remain between them.
After a few minutes, unable to help herself, Miwa subtly raised her eyes again.
He was no longer looking at her. His attention was now directed forward toward the podium, a slight, almost imperceptible smile touching the corner of his lips as the speaker introduced the general rules of the campus conduct. He seemed utterly absorbed in the rules and structures of the university, his face once again a picture of composed, passive perfection. Miwa let out a silent breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. She decided he was simply focused and perhaps a little peculiar.
The orientation session finally drew to a close with a final round of polite applause. Miwa gathered her belongings, retrieved her suitcase from the back of the auditorium, and navigated her way out of the main building with the flow of departing students. The encounter with the intense young man was pushed to the back of her mind, replaced by the immediate, practical challenge of getting to her accommodation.
Following the information she’s scrawled on a piece of paper earlier, she found the nearby U-Bahn station and rode the subway for a few stops to the area where her dorm was located. The journey was smoother this time; she was growing accustomed to the efficiency of Munich’s public transport. She emerged like a quieter, tree-lined street that looked exactly like the photos she’d been sent. The student housing complex was modern, with large windows and a clean, minimalist design. Finding the administrative office was easy, and after showing her passport and signing a few forms written in fastidious legal German, she was handed a small set of keys and a map to her block and room.
“Fourth floor, room 402,” the helpful housing officer told her. “Elevator to your left.”
Miwa thanked her and followed the directions. The elevator ride was mercifully brief. She found room 402 tucked at the end of the corridor. Taking a deep breath, she inserted the key and turned the lock. The door opened onto a small but functional single dorm room. It was sparse and clean: a single bed in the corner with crisp white linens, a large desk by the window, a bookshelf, and a small wardrobe. A private, compact bathroom was just off the entrance. It was a blank canvas, completely devoid of personality, but it was hers. She rolled her suitcase into the room and let it fall silent on the laminate flooring. The sudden silence after the noise of the airport, the trains, and the university felt heavy. She stood in the center of the room for a long moment, simply taking it all in. She walked over to the window and looked out. The view wasn’t spectacular—just an inner courtyard and another wing of the dorm—but it was peaceful.
A wave of exhaustion finally hit her, both physical and emotional. Miwa had made it through the travel, the rush, and orientation without any major blunders. She picked up her backpack, rummaged inside, and pulled out a small, framed photo of her parents and her little brother, taken in the dojo garden in Japan. She placed it carefully on her desk, right beside the desk lamp. It was a small anchor in this vast new reality.
Miwa unzipped her large suitcase and pushed it onto the open floor space. The act felt definitive, a firm step toward making this blank room her own. The suitcase was a neatly packed, compartmentalized version of her life. She started with the bedding, pulling out a plush, dark blue comforter that felt much softer and thicker than the standard-issue white one on the bed. She laid it out, its deep color immediately making the space feel warmer. The two pillows followed, one for her head and a smaller decorative one she had impulsively bought, a geometric pattern of muted blues and greys.
Next came the items for her desk. After placing her framed family photo, she took out a compact desk lamp. The warm, diffused light from the lamp cut through the harsh overhead lighting, carving out a small, inviting pool of warmth. Beside it, she placed a simple pencil holder and a notebook with a leather-bound cover she’d received as a gift. It felt like a promise of study and hard work, a testament to why she was here. From a smaller side pocket, she pulled out a small packet of incense and a simple, unglazed ceramic holder. She had packed her favorite scent, a light, woody fragrance that reminded her of the dojo and the quiet rituals of home. She placed it near the window, deciding she would light it later, once she had settled everything else.
The closet was next. She hung her few nice jackets and organized her folded clothes on the small shelves. There wasn’t much, but every item was carefully chosen and folded with the precision of someone used to a spartan aesthetic. She found a spot for her kendo hakama and keikogi, placing them on their own hanger with a sense of reverence. The uniforms were a part of her, a connection to her discipline and her past, even as she stepped into a new future.
Finally, she opened the last zipper of her suitcase, revealing a rolled-up scroll wrapped neatly in silk. She unrolled it carefully on the clean floor, revealing a beautiful, traditional calligraphy piece, written by her grandfather. It was the kanji for “resolve.” She had already purchased some strong, removable adhesive hooks at the airport. After carefully measuring the space above her bed, she centered the scroll and hung it, smoothing it out so it lay flat against the stark white wall. It was the perfect final touch, a quiet, powerful presence in the room.
Stepping back, she surveyed the room. It was still, still a dorm room, but it was no longer a blank space. It was a place with purpose, with soft colors and personal items that grounded her. The warmth from the desk lamp, the memory held in the photograph, and the strength embodied in the calligraphy had transformed it. It was her own little sanctuary, thousands of miles from home, but feeling a little bit closer all the same.
Miwa stepped out of her room, leaving the door ajar. She looked down the long, carpeted hallway. The doors were all identical, and the space was quiet. The soft, impersonal lighting was a stark contrast to the cozy glow of her room. It was one long, empty corridor of potential neighbors. She took a deep breath, feeling a sense of satisfaction. Her personal space was secure, and now she was venturing out into the unknown of her new dorm life.
Just then, she noticed movement at the far end of the hallway. A figure was walking toward her, his posture relaxed yet elegant with his hands behind his back. The closer he got, the more the features became clear: the pale blonde hair, the calm, composed face. It was the young man from the orientation. A faint sense of unease flickered within her. The unnerving assessment from the auditorium flashed through her mind, but she quickly suppressed it. He was a fellow student, a potential neighbor, and her ingrained Japanese politeness dictated she be friendly. He hadn’t done anything wrong; he had simply looked at her.
As he drew level with her door, Miwa offered a small, friendly smile and a slight nod. “Hello, Kasumi Miwa,” she said, her voice clear and gentle.
The man’s pace didn’t change, but his head tilted almost imperceptibly, his cool blue eyes meeting hers. A small, almost invisible smile touched his lips, gone as quickly as it appeared. He didn’t speak. He simply walked past her, his footsteps making no sound on the carpet, and continued down the hall before entering a room just two doors down from hers.
Miwa stood there for a moment, the polite smile frozen on her face. The encounter was brief, yet it left a profound impression. The lack of a verbal response, the almost unnerving self-possession—it was unlike any social interaction she had ever experienced. It wasn’t rude, but it was certainly distant. She watched his door close quietly. A peculiar sensation settled over her, a strange mix of intrigue and apprehension. He wasn’t like the other students she had seen. He was a puzzle, and living just two doors away, he was a puzzle she now shared a hallway with. Miwa took a deep breath, closed her own door, and leaned against it for a moment, the cozy warmth of her suddenly feeling very important.