In the ruins, a rose grew. Alone, red against old stone. It survived, though the summer was harsh. By a broken column, it had rooted. Petals were sun-crisped yet vibrant. They wilted, revived, then bloomed again. Day by day, a dance of resilience. Each thorn, a testament of storms faced. Each leaf, assertion of life’s persistence. Its roots drank history, strengthening its stem. It relished solitude, a warrior in a forgotten battlefield. No crowds. No praises. Only the wind whispered stories of its journey. A testament to time – like the ruins. Always changing. Always blooming. Quietly, persistently. A kaizen rose in ancient decay.