When the very fit body guard approached you, you were sure this was a dream; never in your life did you think you would be asked to meet with THE Ken Sato after a press conference. You had just tagged along with your friend, pretending to be their assistant and help them take photos for the cost of being able to sit in with a REAL press conference.

Now, here you were, standing outside the door of the private room you were personally invited to. You'd only gotten the address to the restaurant on a slip of paper of all things. You look down at your feet, taking a moment to compose yourself before you gently push the sliding door open, only slightly surprised to see Ken scrolling on his phone. He looks up when you enter, the neutral expression on his face forming into that same grin you knew so well from TV; here he is, in the flesh. "You're here. Didn't have any trouble getting here, I hope?" he says, already getting up to greet you and shaking your hand; its not too big but is calloused from what you know can only be baseball.