[ WP ] You have inherited a lost Japanese historical artifact , the Honjo Masamune , from the old WWII vet next door , and Japan now knows .

First time, feedback is nice. 
 
 
 
 A thunderous crack resonates through the air. the air is heavy and gross. I just want to go home. Mr Ito was a nice man, I enjoyed his company. It served as an escape, an adventure. His life was one of trials, of strife, of excitement. This particular event was boring and not at all encompassing of Saito ’ s life. Saito Ito born December, 7 1921; Died June, 22 2015. That's what the obituary said anyway, Saito said he died when he got old, when he couldn ’ t live the life he wanted. 
 
 I am wet and cold and want to go home. But not my home, then I have to see them. I don ’ t like seeing them sometimes it hurts. I usually prefer to spend my time at Saito ’ s house, he was always so inviting and full of stories. I would sit for hours want listen to him talk about his life. It was such a pleasant escape that soon my days consisted of climbing out my window in the morning and climbing into them at night. Everything in between was with Saito. The less I have to see them the better. I have seven “ siblings ”. I am an orphan. My foster “ parents ” run what they call a tight ship. Its true, such a tight ship they do n't notice me go missing for twelve hours a day. I didn ’ t think they would mind, my door is locked from the outside anyway. Its not that they wanted to lock me up, they just didn ’ t want me in their part of the house. That is why they left me the window. I hate that room. 
 
 Finally the service is over. My old friend is laid to rest. I am alone again. There is so much more I wanted to learn about the world through Saito. He did so much. At 18 he volunteered to join the military. A courageous act indeed but even more so when you consider his heritage. Saito was a first generation american of japanese descent. It was a difficult time for those of the asian persuasion. Saito ended up being a member of a special forces crew in the pacific theater. After the war he traveled for thirty years. Rock climbing, deep sea diving, mountain climbing, surfing, and every other extreme sport you can imagine Saito tried. He said he was looking for purpose after the war. He was looking for beauty. In his travels he picked up artifacts, antiques, and trinkets. He stored them all in three chests in his basement. They were worth a fortune now. Sometimes we would go down and go through the items and he would relive his adventures. But that's all gone now. And I am alone. 
 
 A man introducing himself as Saito ’ s lawyer hands me a letter after the service. The letter is a summons to the reading of Saito ’ s will. I was surprised, Saito has two children I figured everything he owns will have gone to them. I have only met his daughter once, she is a nurse and a hospital a state over. His son is a realtor on the other side of the country. From everything I have heard they are nice people which makes me wonder why I even received a summons. 
 
 We all gather in Saito ’ s living room. There are six people in attendance; Myself, His children, What seems to be an old friend, and two japanese men I have never seen. The lawyer reads over the will and it reads like I expected. Everything is going to his children which I think is right. We are nearing the end of the will and the final passages read. “ And as for my collection. All the contents of the basement of my home are to be left in the care of my two children. However, all the contents of the attic are to me left to my dear and loyal friend Gregl ”. The attic? I have never been to the attic, I wasn ’ t aware there was one. I make some conversation with the other attendees but wait for a time when I think it's appropriate to head upstairs. I did n't find it in good taste to rush up there given the somber occasion. I make it up there and find the place is stacked high with boxes. So many it would take me a few days to get through. So I go home for the night to get some rest. I see the two siblings leave and the old friend leave. The two japanese men go to their car. It is a small black sedan. They don ’ t leave. I go home and fall asleep. 
 
 The next morning I head over to the house to start going over the boxes in the attic. On my way over I see the black sedan, they must have had car trouble. Over the next couple days I examine the contents of the boxes, they are all full of Saito ’ s stories. Hand written stories of his adventures. This was the greatest gift Saito could give to me. His last act made me more happy than he could have known. I am almost don ’ t with the boxes, it seems that this will be my last day going through the boxes, I am sad in a way because that means he is really gone. On my way over I see the black sedan, except it had moved. “ huh ” I thought to myself and keep going. I make it to the attic and there are two boxes left. One is a standard box, the other is very long and short box. Perhaps to house rolled up maps or something of that nature. The standard box had more stories. I filed them. I have been trying to make a file of all of his stories by date, there were so many it was difficult but I was almost done. Finally the last box. I open it and a cloud of dust rises like it hasn ’ t been touched in some time, much longer than the other boxes. 
 
 Inside the box rest a piece of paper and a long stick. No wait, thats a sheath. It was a sword. The paper had some japanese writing in it. Sprawled across the bottom in english read “ Honjo Masamune?? ” I pick up the sword and head home. The sword is so magnificently light, It can ’ t be a real combat sword. On my way out I test it on one of the boxes. I swing hard and it passes through the box without damaging it. “ I must have missed ” I say and the top of the box hits the floor. It was impossibly light and ridiculously sharp. I am excited over my find. I walk with a jovialness like I did after coming home from Saito ’ s stories. I feel connected to him again. I am happy. On my way home I see the sedan is missing. I walk over to check it out. There looks like there is something on the ground. Its a white square, no wait, a picture. It is a picture of me entering the house. On the back is written. 
 我々が知っています
