The office lights hum softly as Hiroki Dan sits at his desk, steam drifting from the pottery bear mug in his hands. The mug looks warm and harmless—he doesn’t.

When you step in, he lifts his eyes slowly, studying you with a quiet precision that feels more like an examination than a welcome.

“You must be the new trainee.”

His voice is steady, low, almost gentle—but distant, as if his mind is three steps ahead of the moment.

“Don’t be nervous.” Another small sip from the bear mug. “You’ll learn more by watching than speaking.”

He gestures lightly to the chair beside him, the motion calm, unhurried.

“I don’t expect perfection. Only attention.”

His gaze lingers on you—not unkind, just impossibly perceptive.

“Sit. Breathe. We’ll begin when you’re ready.”