Isekai Slow Life: Kagura

Chapter 1: Invitation to Touno

The morning sun filtered through the woven curtains of Tatsu's modest home, casting soft, golden threads of light across the wooden floor. The scent of steeping tea mingled with the earthy undertones of parchment and ink, a familiar comfort in his quiet corner of Keimonomimi Village.

Tatsu sat cross-legged at his low table, journal open before him, a neat stack of trade reports to his left, and a steaming cup of mountain leaf tea to his right. His mushroom colored hair of chestnut and orange shifted slightly as he leaned forward, reviewing the parchment in silence.

Outside, the sounds of village life slowly stirred to life. Children laughed, cart wheels creaked on the dirt road, and birds called from the trees. But inside, all was still—save for the quiet scratching of his pen and the soft clink of ceramic as he took slow sips of tea.

He paused, setting the pen down, "It's strange, how peaceful this life is now… after everything."

His eyes drifted to the wooden beam above his doorframe, where a small wind chime danced gently in the breeze. It reminded him of home—his first home, the one he'd left behind when he died.

It happened in Tokyo Station. The screech of brakes. That pivital moment. It played out in his mind with painful clarity. His coworker, Suzuki, was swaying near the edge of the platform, pale, exhausted, her knees buckling beneath the weight of too many overtime shifts. He remembered lunging forward, grabbing her coat just as she began to fall. He remembered the force. The lights. The pain. And then… nothing.

He floated in an endless void—weightless, silent, formless. There was no pain, no fear, only a quiet numbness. Until the voice came. It was ethereal, ancient and endless, resonating not in his ears but in the space where a soul might dwell. It was neither male nor female, neither gentle nor harsh. It simply was.

"What a foolish, kind soul… You gave your life for another—not out of duty, but instinct. That's rare, even among humans. I think… I'll send you somewhere better."

Then the void cracked like ice. And with a jolt, he was reborn. Tatsu had awakened groggy and disoriented, lying face-first in the wreckage of an inn roof he'd shattered upon arrival. Wooden beams groaned around him. Light spilled through holes in the ceiling. And all around, wide-eyed Keimonomimi villagers stared down at him—canine ears twitching, feline tails flicking, some whispering in awe, others just blinking in stunned confusion. A new world. A new body. And, unknowingly, a second chance.

In the years since his unexpected arrival, Tatsu had poured himself into something greater than survival. With the knowledge from his old world—of business trade, negotiation, commerce, and diplomacy—he transformed Keimonomimi Village from a scattered settlement into a thriving hub of regional cooperation.

Word by word, stone by stone, he helped forge alliances with neighboring tribes and merchants. Fields grew full and orderly, goods flowed smoothly from hand to hand, and the mistrust that once plagued the village began to dissolve.

It hadn't gone unnoticed. He hadn't asked for the title. But when the villagers gathered beneath the elder tree and offered him the mantle of leadership, it felt… right. He accepted not out of ambition, but gratitude—for the second chance he'd been given, and for the people who had taken him in without question.

Now, standing at the edge of the village he helped shape, Tatsu glanced over the familiar paths, the lantern-lit homes, the laughter of children echoing through the twilight. His voice was quiet, more to himself than anyone else.

"This village… it was a mess when I landed here."

Keimonomimi Village had once been a loose collection of thatched huts swallowed by dense forest—half-wild, barely functioning. It had been plagued by infighting, distrust, and a dangerous proximity to roving beasts. Every family clung to what little they had. Trade was a game of hoarding and haggling, harvests unpredictable, and cooperation nearly nonexistent. Outsiders were met with suspicion—sometimes arrows.

Now, Keimonomimi Village was a place where strangers were met with cautious smiles rather than drawn blades. The once-barren market stalls brimmed with goods from neighboring regions—herbs, textiles, spices, and crafts traded under colorful canopies. Granaries stood tall and full, their stores carefully managed. Clan rivalries that once spilled blood beneath the moonlight had been replaced by communal festivals filled with song, laughter, and shared sake under the blooming sakura trees.

And while much of the credit was laid at Tatsu's feet, he never saw it that way. It had taken everyone—every weaver, every forager, every stubborn old hunter who learned to work alongside former rivals. Every child who grew up believing cooperation was stronger than fear. Tatsu was no messiah. Just the first to light the torch.

He hadn't been a warrior or a mage when he arrived—not in any meaningful way. On earth, he was a logistics manager with a commuter rail pass, a threadbare coat, and a stack of color-coded spreadsheets. Numbers had been his battlefield. Deadlines, his monsters.

But now, in that chaotic little hamlet of thatched roofs and wary eyes, those skills—resource planning, flow management, supply balancing—became the tools that changed everything.

He remembered his first harvest vividly. The fields were scattered, haphazardly seeded by tradition, not science. He had tested the soil density with a borrowed ladle, recalibrated the planting patterns, and introduced crop rotation. The skeptical villagers had grumbled, yet the results had silenced them.

And then… there was magic. Tatsu raised a hand, smiling softly to himself. With a flick of thought, a tiny orange flame flickered to life at the tip of his finger. It hovered there like a lazy firefly, casting a small circle of warmth and light across the dim evening air.

"It wasn't much at first," he murmured. "Just a mushroom man who could light campfires with his fingers." But the powers had grown—slowly, stubbornly, like the village itself. A little fire here. A warding glyph there. Nothing grand. Nothing flashy. But always useful. He watched the flame dance, then let it vanish into the twilight.

Sometimes he wondered how different things might have been, had he landed somewhere else. A city. A battlefield. Somewhere with expectations already waiting to smother him. But fate—or luck, or some laughing god—had dropped him here, in a half-broken village with no map and no future. And together, they'd built one.

His first real ability after his flames was "Verdant Touch", which had changed everything for the village—crops grew in minutes instead of months. What had been a village scraping to survive became an agricultural powerhouse practically overnight.

He also learned "Arcane Infusion", which let him enhance potions for traveling merchants and imbue scrolls with protection sigils. The alchemists and enchanters of the village soon sought him out as a reliable partner.

But it was "Spore Sense" that gave him an edge in survival. It whispered danger before it came. Ambushes, poisoned meals, false smiles—it tingled behind his eyes like a warning fog.

And when words failed, when things truly turned deadly, there was the "Mycelial Ward". A shield made from the very fungi that birthed him—thick, glowing, and almost impervious for a moment or two.

He used his powers sparingly. They weren't flashy. But they worked. And in a world where monsters stalked the wilds, where ancient ruins held secrets and undead aristocrats held banquets, that mattered.

Now, he was the village elder. Not because he fought the most monsters or cast the biggest spells—but because he built something that lasted.

He reached for another parchment and opened a logbook filled with stamps and signatures from across the world—evidence of his travels. He remembered riding across the sky on a grumbling old dragon named Bako, crates of goods lashed to its flanks. He'd seen the vampire courts of the Southern caverns, where the undead and vampires lived in gilded silence. He'd bartered with flame-dancers from the western desert, met elves who crafted homes in dense forests, and even negotiated peace between two bickering clans of sea demons in the ocean islands.

The comforting scent of steeped tea still hung in the air, warm and earthy, when the door creaked open—just enough to let in the mischief. Then came the whirlwind. With the sound of rushing footsteps and zero formality, a young Keimonomimi woman of the fox variety burst into the room, unannounced—as always.

THUMP!

Papers fluttered like startled birds, scattered by the sudden weight that landed squarely atop his desk. Tatsu didn't flinch. He simply took another slow sip of his tea, unbothered by the chaos, his gaze settling on the barefoot intruder now seated cross-legged on his desk.

She was as impossible to ignore as ever—her fiery orange hair styled into two wild pigtails that spiraled out from the sides of her head like twin flames. Her fox ears twitched with barely-contained excitement, and her crimson-painted toes gleamed in the morning light as they dangled just above the floor.

She grinned down at him, entirely too pleased with herself, a bundle of uninvited energy and trouble wrapped in charm.

"Morning, Elder Tatsu," she cooed, her voice honeyed with mock reverence.

"Trady," he said with a raised brow, "You know, most people knock."

"Most people aren't me," she replied, tossing a lock of her firey orange hair over her shoulder. Her fox ears twitched—always alert, always calculating. "Besides, what fun is knocking when I already have an open-door policy with you?"

She flashed a smile sharp enough to cut through steel and leaned forward slightly, her red eyes glinting with mischief. Her outfit, a snug green trader's jacket over a too-tight white blouse and a scandalously short black mini skirt, wasn't exactly regulation attire for Keimonomimi Village council meetings. Not that Trady had ever cared for rules.

Tatsu calmly gathered his scattered reports while she watched him work, chin resting in her hand.

"You've been busy," she said, glancing at the pages. "Still playing the role of humble elder while your trade empire grows faster than a goblin market riot."

"You'd know," he replied, stacking his notes neatly. "You've undercut my pricing on dried sunfruit for three caravans in a row."

"I prefer the term 'aggressively optimized distribution strategy.'"

He chuckled. "You mean haggling with that coy act and batting your lashes until the merchant caves?"

Trady's tail swished behind her, brushing one of his clay teacups dangerously close to the edge. "I can't help it if people want to give me better deals," she said innocently, then added with a smirk, "Must be the skirt."

Tatsu smirked back, but he knew better. Trady's charm was more than skin deep. Like most fox Keimonomimi, she was born beautiful and trained to use it—but beneath the flirtatious exterior was a cold, coin-counting mind sharper than any sword.

He'd tried once—just once—to get past that mask, to see if there was more behind the smirks and sidelong glances. But Trady had been very clear. "I don't have time for love, Elder. Only profit," she said, putting him in his place and making her stance on relationships clear.

Still, she was his most trusted rival, occasional partner in trade, and maybe the only person who could sit barefoot on his desk without being thrown out. Her tail flicked again as she produced a parchment from her jacket. "So," she said, voice turning business-serious. "I just got back from the port. Thought you'd want to see this."

She slid the parchment across the table. Tatsu unfolded it—and immediately recognized the elaborate brush strokes and the elegant red seal. An invitation to the Touno Island Spring Festival.

"I know that look," Trady said, watching his expression change. "You've heard of the place?"

"I've seen something like this before," he murmured, fingertips brushing the calligraphy. "The art, the clothing… It's too similar to the world I came from."

"Maybe they got lost in the same cosmic rift as you."

He glanced up. "You're not surprised?"

"Please," she said, scoffing. "You're not the only Isekai'd soul in this world. There are dozens like you. Half the world is built on the back of otherworlders."

"Fair point," he said.

"And you're going?" she asked, already knowing the answer.

Tatsu gave a slow nod. "Yeah. I think I need to see it for myself."

She leaned back, balancing on her hands, letting the morning sun shine through the window behind her.

"Well, in that case…" she said with a grin. "Try not to fall for one of those island Oni girls. I hear they're as dangerous as they are cute."

Tatsu raised an eyebrow. "Jealous?"

"Hardly. Romance slows down the purse strings." She winked and hopped down from the table with all the grace of a dancer. "But if you find anything worth trading, you'd better bring me a sample."

As she turned to leave, her tail swaying confidently behind her, she paused in the doorway.

"Oh, and Tatsu?" she added without looking back. "If they offer you sake, drink it. Oni brew's got bite." Then, with a sly chuckle, she was gone.

Tatsu folded the invitation again, setting it carefully beside his journal. "Touno Island." An echo of a world he left behind… and maybe something more.

As Trady's footsteps faded into the village square, Tatsu grabbed the ornate invitation and slipped it into his pocket. A quiet decision settled in his chest. "I'm definitely going."

With a final sip of now-lukewarm tea, he stepped out into the warm Keimonomimi sun, letting the breeze ruffle his cloak. The village was alive with the gentle bustle of morning trade—vendors calling out deals, the laughter of children, and the rhythmic thump of hammer on steel from the blacksmith's forge.

"Elder Tatsu!" The voice came from below—small, sprightly, and unmistakably goblin.

Prim nearly skidded to a stop in front of him, her oversized satchel bouncing against her hip. Just twelve years old, she had the fire of a seasoned merchant and the energy of a sugar-dosed imp. Her pale green skin glowed slightly in the sunlight, her ears twitching with pride as she held out a fistful of sparkling stones.

"Look what I got in trade!" she beamed, thrusting the cluster of faintly glowing crystals up at him. "Traded three tallow candles for 'em from that traveling dwarf smith!"

Tatsu crouched and took one of the crystals in hand, letting the morning light refract through it. It wasn't just shiny—there was magic laced into it, however faint. "Not bad. Not bad at all."

He handed it back with a nod. "You got a sharp eye, Prim. You'll make a fine trader someday."

"I am a trader!" she pouted, stuffing the crystals back into her bag. "Junior class."

He chuckled and gave her a quick pat on the head. "Then how about a mission, Junior Trader?"

Her eyes sparkled. Tatsu stood up and continued, "I need you to find Knivi and Maxim and bring them here. Tell them we've got a trip to plan."

Before the sentence was done, Prim was already halfway across the square, her braids flapping behind her like a banner. She was fast when properly motivated. It wasn't long before she returned—trailing two very distinct figures behind her.

First came Knivi, ever the picture of stoic vigilance. Her grey wolf ears twitched once before flattening slightly in acknowledgment as she approached. Her long grey tail was slightly tousled, and her eyes scanned the area like she was tracking something even during casual conversation. The brown leather jacket hugged her lean frame, and a long, curved dagger was strapped to her thigh in a worn sheath.

"You called?" she said simply.

Right behind her came Maxim, tall and calm as a moonlit lake. His gray skin shimmered faintly under the village sun, demon horns curling slightly from his head like bone-carved crowns. Gold eyes flicked from Tatsu to the others, always reading, calculating. His alchemical robe was stained at the hems and his belt sagged slightly from the weight of various satchels, vials, and bundled herbs.

"I assume this isn't about another soap shipment?" he said dryly, adjusting a strap.

Tatsu smiled. "Actually, it's a bit of a… diplomatic journey."

He pulled out the invitation and let them read. Knivi's brow furrowed as she skimmed it, while Maxim simply raised a brow.

"Touno Island?" Knivi said, rubbing her chin. "I've heard of it. It's about time for their Spring Featival."

"Exactly," Tatsu replied. "But the style, the script, even the seal… it reminds me of home. Of Japan."

Maxim tilted his head. "You think this place is connected to your original world?"

"Maybe not directly," Tatsu said. "But I need to find out. And if it really is what I suspect, there might be an opportunity here—for knowledge, trade… and maybe more."

"I'm in," said Prim, raising her hand. "They might have snacks."

Knivi smirked faintly and nodded. "I've been due for some vacation time anyway. If there's danger, you'll need me."

Maxim let out a long, slow breath. "I suppose someone has to keep you from getting poisoned or cursed. Count me in."

Tatsu grinned. "Then pack generously and don't forget to bring some extra soaps. We leave at dawn."

The next day, the party met up heading towards the road to Drakenburg. It was a journey Tatsu had made many times before, but it never failed to stir something inside him—awe, admiration, and a flicker of old-world nostalgia. Riding atop a wagon hitched to a drake-beast, crates of goods bundled neatly behind them, the party passed through lush farmlands and wind-swept hills, where the scent of wildflowers mingled with the earthy musk of freshly tilled soil.

As the sun crested overhead, the skyline of Drakenburg unfurled before them—majestic and proud.

The city was a marvel of old and new, stone and steam, magic and mechanism. Massive, spiraling towers rose from the city's center, their black-brick spires laced with glowing runes and iron filigree. The high outer walls—charcoal-gray and covered in flowering ivy—encircled the city like protective arms, with gilded crests marking the houses of noble guilds and trade unions that governed its inner workings.

Within, cobbled roads pulsed with life. Merchant stalls formed vivid lines of color and sound, their canopies fluttering in the wind as hawkers shouted over one another in countless tongues. Smoke curled lazily from iron chimneys, and the chime of enchanted bells signaled cargo being lifted high by arcane pulleys toward towering warehouses built into cliffside terraces.

Airships hovered above in rigid formation—smaller, cargo-bearing skiffs flitting between them like birds around giants—while beneath it all, the harbor stretched wide and gleaming, filled with ships from every corner of the world.

Tatsu and his companions descended toward the waterfront, their presence barely noted amidst the rush of sailors, dock workers, and travelers. Knivi kept an eye on the crowd, her hand near her dagger. Prim darted from stall to stall, ogling skewered meat and candied fruit while Maxim silently took notes on magical crystal prices displayed by the local alchemists.

Then they saw it—the ship bound for Touno Island. It was enormous. A seafaring galleon fitted with crimson sails adorned with golden embroidery in the shape of sakura blossoms. The wood was lacquered black, polished to a shine, and trimmed in gilded edges. Oni figures were carved into the railings, stylized in traditional eastern armor with reverent detail. Several crew members—clearly Oni themselves—moved with graceful efficiency, horns gleaming beneath wide straw hats.

"This is… impressive," Maxim muttered.

"I've never seen one so fancy," Knivi added, arms crossed. "Looks more like a palace on water."

"First time I've seen Oni craftsmanship up close," Tatsu said, stepping forward. "It's beautiful."

A portly Oni stepped forward, checking their tickets with a respectful bow. "Welcome, honored guests. The journey to Touno, capital of the Oni Islands, begins shortly. Please board."

One by one, the group ascended the wide ramp, the scent of sea salt and incense mixing on the breeze. As they stepped aboard, a deep bell chimed from the ship's deck, and the sails began to unfurl with a soft flutter. The harbor bustled below them, slowly shrinking from view.

Tatsu leaned against the railing, watching as the spires of Drakenburg faded into the misty horizon, the ship carving its way across the azure waters.

The wind tugged at his coat, and something tugged at his thoughts. "Touno Island… a place that looks like home… What is this place?" He smiled to himself as Prim's laughter echoed from below deck and Maxim began sketching the ship's design in his journal. Whatever Touno Island held, he'd soon find out. And so, their journey began.