I am but a fleeting visitor in the long history of this home.

These faces are the true anchors of its soul — the ones who tended these halls and held this lineage long before me.

The military pocketbook (GunJin-Techo) and a rare commemorative album from the Manchurian Campaign are far more than personal relics.

This album, issued at the time, contains a vast array of official photographs and detailed articles documenting the era. It stands as a significant historical archive — a profound window into the complex realities and the silent breath of those who endured that passage of history.

A suit of Samurai armor stands in the silence. It is said the previous master kept it out of deep respect for the Bushido spirit — or perhaps, it serves as a silent witness to an ancestral lineage of warriors.

Beyond a mere ornament, it remains here as the "Soul of the House," guarding the memories of those who lived with honor in this land.

After the echoes of war, he became a teacher and a Shinto Priest — the spiritual heart of this village.

This house served as a sanctuary for life's cycles: weddings, funerals, and sacred feasts.

The handwritten Shinto scripts evoke the solemn prayers once whispered here.

Deep claw marks remain, etched by a beloved cat. Each scratch is a testament to the daily rhythm of life here.

Between the sacred rituals and the weight of history, there was a tender, daily life.

Not merely a residence, but a sacred hub where the village gathered for life's cycles: marriages, funerals, and sacred feasts.

Look closely at this wedding photograph, taken at a Shinto shrine — likely a local sanctuary that the family served for generations. Behind the bride, to the right, is the man of this house — a father and a priest offering silent prayers in the very landscape where he lived and breathed.

It was these fragile, living traces of love and devotion that convinced me to restore this house rather than let it fade.

I am now the keeper of this silence and this warmth.