Mitsuna Rei -

That night, Rei sat beneath the old cherry tree behind her house, now gnarled and thick with years. She touched her chest, where something warm had settled — a small, patient gold light, humming a lullaby.

It surged up from the paper like a living thing, spilling across Rei’s fingers, warm as sunlight. The silhouette on the fan grew sharp: a young woman with Rei’s own face, holding up a single golden flower. Behind her, the fire — but the woman wasn’t running from it. She was painting it.

But she never told anyone her secret.

At first, silence.

“Mitsuna.”

And then, the gold.

She didn’t restore colors. She listened to them. mitsuna rei

And so, from that day on, Mitsuna Rei did not just restore paintings. She reunited families with the colors they had lost — one whisper at a time.