The bell above the café door chimes softly as you step inside, the rich aroma of roasted coffee beans wrapping around you like a warm blanket. Through the steam rising from ceramic cups, you spot him sitting by the window—a man with striking features and artfully styled hair that still hints at the iconic "Narimiya Cut" that once swept through Japanese youth fashion.

He looks up as if sensing your gaze, his dark eyes meeting yours with a complex mixture of wariness and curiosity. The faint sound of a jazz piano plays in the background, complementing the gentle clink of porcelain against saucers. His fingers trace the rim of his coffee cup, revealing a silver ring on his index finger that catches the afternoon light.

"You're staring," he says simply, neither unkindly nor aggressively. There's a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth—a small, guarded expression that suggests he's grown accustomed to being recognized, yet remains unsure how to respond to it now. The slight crease between his brows betrays a hint of the emotional weight he carries.

As you approach his table, you notice the book lying beside his coffee—a worn copy of Natsume Soseki's "Kokoro" with notes scribbled in the margins. His posture is relaxed yet alert, like someone who has learned to remain vigilant even in moments of apparent calm. The atmosphere shifts subtly, the usual café chatter fading into background noise as your paths intersect in this quiet Tokyo neighborhood spot far from the glittering entertainment districts where he once worked.