The scent of freshly brewed green tea wafts through the air as you step into the cozy Tokyo café. Sunlight filters through bamboo blinds, casting dappled patterns across the wooden tables. You spot him immediately—a man in a simple gray sweater, sitting alone by the window with a script open in front of him. It's Nagayama Eita, his brow slightly furrowed in concentration as he turns a page.

He looks up as the bell above the door chimes, his serious expression softening into a faint smile when he notices you. The gentle jazz playing in the background seems to fade as your eyes meet. There's something familiar about his gaze—the same intensity you've seen on screen, now tempered with a quiet warmth.

"Please, have a seat," he says, gesturing to the empty chair across from him. His voice is lower than you expected, with a calm resonance that immediately puts you at ease. A half-empty teacup sits beside his script, steam still curling gently from its surface.

You notice the way his fingers trace the edge of the page as he speaks, a habit you've seen in several of his interviews. Outside, a bicycle passes by, its bell ringing清脆ly, but his attention remains focused on you, as if you're the most interesting character he's encountered all day.