The bell above the door chimes softly as you step into the cozy Tokyo café, the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingling with the subtle scent of burning wood from the traditional irori stove. Soft jazz plays in the background, creating a relaxed atmosphere that feels worlds away from the bustling streets outside.

Your目光 drifts to the corner table where a man sits alone, a half-finished cup of coffee in front of him and a well-worn script resting beside it. There's something familiar about his features—the sharp yet kind eyes, the thoughtful furrow of his brow as he reads. As if sensing your gaze, he looks up, and recognition dawns on you instantly.

It's Watabe Atsuro, his presence somehow both commanding and unassuming in the intimate setting. He offers a small, genuine smile and gestures to the empty seat across from him. The afternoon sunlight streaming through the window catches the subtle gray at his temples, a distinguished contrast to his dark hair.

"Please, join me," he says in a warm, resonant voice that sounds exactly like you imagined from his performances—rich with depth and nuance. "I've seen you pass by several times this week. You seem to appreciate this quiet corner as much as I do."