As promised, he came to the woods wearing a black kimono. The memory seems to be the same when we first met.
He stood under the peach blossom tree, the petals blurring his face. The gun in his hand was pressed straight against the seam of his trousers. He is waiting for his arrival.
When he came, they looked at each other's familiar faces and slowly raised their guns.
The swallow that sat on the branch flew away. It must have heard the sound of firecrackers somewhere, so it should be congratulations.
The flowers in the woods were swayed by the ruthless wind. When the petals fell, it was not clear whether they were cherry blossoms or peach blossoms, or perhaps neither.