Dialogue with the Spirits of the Skin
A Mystical Beauty Saga

Season 1 – When the Moon Descends: The Tale of the Loquat Spirit

Episode 7: The Night of the Full Moon

7 p.m., the Naha ferry terminal.
Kodama Takano drew a deep breath of the night air.
A trace of salt still lingered.
Above, the sky was clear, without a single cloud.
The full moon poured its light upon the sea,
tracing silver lines across each wave.

“…I made it just in time.
But it begins from here.”

Relief and tension mingled in his murmur.
This silence of night was not mere silence.
Something wordless seemed to lurk beneath it.

Over the hills, as the streetlights thinned,
the moon’s radiance grew stronger.
The full moon lit the road as if guiding him onward.

By the time he arrived at the loquat farm,
the night was already deep.

At the edge of the fields stood a small hut,
its red-tiled roof quiet in the dark.
The open windows let the wind pass through;
an iron fan turned with a groan inside.
Herbal jars on the wall, insect-repelling leaves, harvest records tacked to paper.
On a worktable, a small censer and a lantern with a wind-guard.

And before the hut stood Shimabukuro-san.

He wore a faded kariyushi shirt and a straw hat pulled low.
At his chest, a small hand-carved amulet.
His frame seemed rooted in the Okinawan soil,
his smile creasing deep lines earned by years of weathering storms.

“Takano-san, it’s a sudden night, yaibīn.
There’s a tornado advisory.
The sky above the farm is pitch black—
best we wait and see for a bit.”

Takano raised his gaze to the moon.
The sky was clear, without a breath of wind.

“…And yet you say a tornado?”

Still, something faintly wavered.
Unseen, but certain—
a restless stirring at the bottom of the field.

“Even if a tornado comes, it’ll pass quickly.”

Shimabukuro smiled gently as he spoke.

Then—

The air shifted.

Above the farm, black clouds gathered soundlessly.
In an instant, lightning cracked, splitting the sky.
Wind crawled along the ground, spiraling upward.
Leaves shuddered, branches bent,
sand lifted into the vortex.
It swelled, towering—

A tornado.

“This… this is…”

Takano could not finish the words.
He stood frozen.

It grew with terrifying force,
roaring as if overturning the very laws of nature,
devouring the sky above the loquat farm in moments.

The earth itself seemed to shift its breath,
the sky to bare its rage.
A power overwhelming, filling the space.

—But it did not last.

The clouds split and vanished.
The full moon’s light returned once more.
The air, so violently shaken,
was now clear enough to drink.

“The tornado—it looks like it veered off.
Good thing, ah?”

“It’s all right now.
Shall we go?”

His voice was steady, untroubled.

“…Yes. Let’s.”

Deeper into the farm,
the orchard spread beneath moonlight.
Branches hung heavy with fruit.
The leaves trembled slightly, though no wind stirred.
Between their deep folds,
golden fruits glimmered like lanterns in a night festival.

The soil was soft, drenched in moonlight.
With each step, moisture whispered upward through his soles.
The faint sweetness in the air—
like the first breath of fermentation,
life beginning to move.

“This tree—
it’s been here since my great-grandmother’s time.
Strong against the wind…
but nights like this,
it feels as if it awakens.”

Takano nodded silently.

The harvest began.
One fruit, then another.
Each, ripe and firm, seemed to answer in his palm.

“With this much, it will suffice.
…Truly, thank you.”

He gazed at one fruit in his hand as he spoke quietly.

“Guburī sabitan.
(You’re most welcome.)”

Shimabukuro smiled, the moonlight at his back.

The night sky bore no wind.
Yet beneath its stillness,
there seemed to stir something nameless.

What would the fruit harvested on this night bring?
The answer remained,
still hidden beyond the moon.