The teacher who waited

Every morning, Sensei Matsuda opened the doors of his tiny school, swept the wooden floors, and prepared the ink and brushes for his students. Every morning, he waited. And sometimes, no one came.

The year before, the Meiji government had declared that all children should be educated, but in his village, old habits died hard. The farmers still needed their sons in the fields, their daughters at the looms. Who had time for books when there was rice to plant?

But Sensei Matsuda kept waiting. One by one, they came. First a boy whose father wanted him to learn numbers for the market, then a girl whose mother whispered that education would make her strong.

Years later, when those children had grown, they remembered him. Some became merchants, others went to the city, but when they returned, they bowed deeply before the little schoolhouse. Because they knew. Because they remembered.

And still, every morning, Sensei Matsuda would sweep the floors, set out the ink, and wait.

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