Chapter 345: Yes, It’s Me!

The man’s body looked as if it had been carved out of stone, solid and imposing. His long black hair draped down to his shoulders, though strands of silver had begun to weave through it, adding a dignified air.

His thick beard only enhanced the masculine aura he carried, making him appear like an old lion—aged, yet still formidable, radiating a strength that time had not yet taken away. This was Kuzan, both the boss and the teacher of Aoki.

“Hm?” Kuzan furrowed his brows, his sharp gaze fixing on Aoki with confusion. His eyes, piercing and seasoned, then shifted briefly toward Kurisu, observing her for a moment before returning to Aoki. His expression did not change—still puzzled, still filled with questions.

“Do I know you two?” Kuzan asked, his face showing an awkward unease. His voice was deep and heavy, like thunder restrained behind thick clouds.

“You’ve forgotten me, Boss?” Aoki asked, his lips curling into a faint smile, though a bitter note tinged his voice.

“Hm? Do I really know you?” Kuzan’s voice carried uncertainty. His eyes narrowed slightly, as though he was trying to reach into the fog of memory, grasping for something faint and elusive.

“It’s me, Boss! Aoki Sora!” Aoki’s smile, once restrained, now softened into something genuine, brimming with hope.

“What!” Kuzan’s voice exploded like a sudden clap of thunder. His face was struck with astonishment, and the force of his cry reverberated outward, echoing through the workshop and startling the workers inside.

“Boss! What’s going on?”

“Boss, what happened?”

“What is it, Boss?”

The once steady rhythm of hammer strikes was drowned out by hurried footsteps and clamorous voices.

In an instant, everyone inside the workshop rushed outside. They were the workers who had once forged alongside Aoki—faces still the same, yet more mature now, bearing scars upon their hands, legs, or faces, reminders of years of labor and battles with fire and steel.

Aoki’s face lit up with a broad smile. His eyes gleamed as he looked at each of the familiar faces one by one.

“Yo! Long time no see, everyone! Glad to see you again, Uncle Shinpei! Uncle Daichi! Brother Haruto! Uncle Kenta! Brother Takahiro! Brother Naoya! Uncle Jūbei! Brother Makoto! Uncle Hidekazu! Uncle Rikuya! Brother Taketora! Brother Tsubasa! Uncle Ryōta! Uncle Kōhei! Uncle Isamu! And Boss... I’m truly glad to meet you again,” Aoki said, smiling faintly, though the warmth in his voice carried the sincerity of someone who had finally found his way home.

The workers exchanged glances, bewilderment etched on their faces.

“How does this kid know us?”

“I have no idea… are we famous or something?”

“Idiot! That’s impossible! Could this boy be some kind of trickster?”

Suspicion mixed with confusion swirled among them. Yet Aoki stood tall, his smile unwavering.

“Don’t you remember me? I’m Aoki Sora,” Aoki said again, this time his tone carrying a subtle ache, for the people he had once considered family no longer recognized him.

“What! Aoki! Is that really you?”

“Oh my goodness, could it be true?”

“The brat Aoki, the one who always dreamed of creating the finest sword?”

“That’s really Aoki?!”

The atmosphere erupted. Faces once shadowed by suspicion were now filled with warmth and recognition. Their voices overlapped in a cacophony of joy as they rushed toward Aoki with hurried steps.

Some clapped him hard on the shoulders, others grasped his hands tightly, and a few even stared at him with tear-brimmed eyes, struggling to believe the boy they once knew now stood before them.

“Yes, it’s me… I’m so glad to see you all again,” Aoki said with a faint smile, though his eyes shimmered with emotion. A swell of warmth surged within his chest, as if he had finally returned home.

For several moments, they all spoke calmly together, their voices overlapping with laughter and disbelief, until finally Kuzan clapped his hands lightly. The sound carried a commanding weight, and at once everyone instinctively turned their gaze toward him.

“Enough! Back to work, all of you! Aoki, let’s go to Madam Michiyo’s shop and have a proper talk there,” Kuzan said. A thin smile appeared on his lips, but the gleam in his eyes left no room for argument—his words were not a suggestion, but an order.

“Ah, Boss! We want to talk with Aoki too!” one of the workers shouted, raising his hand eagerly. His face shone with enthusiasm, as though Aoki were a long-awaited guest of honor.

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