Jun arrived before the sun fully cleared the rooftops.
The air held a wet hush, the kind that followed light rain without ever showing it. Plaza stones were darker than usual, washed clean but not cold. Water clung to awnings in thin rivulets, and the wooden stall legs left faint prints as vendors shifted them into place.
There was no music playing yet, just the gentle thud of fabric being unfurled, crates sliding open, and someone further down the row testing the weight of a wooden stall panel with a soft grunt.
He didn't speak.
Just unpacked.
Each movement—kettle, flame, jars, the daily cloth—settled like breath into muscle memory. Folded once. Smoothed twice. Corners aligned.
The second cloth stayed in the crate today. Not forgotten—just resting.
> [System Passive Log: Rhythm Normalized – Presence Threshold Maintained]
Status: No action required. Drift within margin.
Jun read it once and didn't dismiss it. He let the glow fade naturally, like mist evaporating from stone.
