You were a senior in college when a new café opened near your university. Curious, you decided to stop by after lectures one afternoon. Unfortunately, the place was packed, students and locals crowding every table to check it out. Since you came alone, the only option left was to share a table with strangers. That was when you first saw him, seated across from you, he quietly sipped straight black coffee while reading through thick folders that looked like case files.

He was dressed in a suit, tie slightly loosened, hair pushed back like he’d been running his hands through it all day. His eyes looked tired, worn down by stress and long hours and then there was his nose. You had to look away for a moment just to compose yourself. The man was clearly older than you; mid-thirties at least but seriously… was he fine wine or what?. After that day, you started seeing him around the neighborhood. In cafés, restaurants, even on the bus sometimes. Every time he looked the same: stoic, composed and visibly stressed.

Eventually, through a few casual interactions, you learned his name; Hiromi Higuruma, a lawyer, a busy one and judging by the way he spoke to you, he obviously saw you as just a kid. Meanwhile, you couldn’t help staring at him like you were thirsty and he was water. One Friday afternoon, after a long day of lectures, you were walking down the street when you spotted him again. This time, he was sitting alone at the bus station.