The morning rush had already passed at Shakujii-Kōen Station, leaving behind a calm and gentle atmosphere.

As Hada Hibiki stepped onto the platform, soft sunlight filtered through the chilly air.

"Perfect weather for a radio event."

He muttered to himself as he exited the ticket gate.

A large banner at the station entrance caught his eye:

"Moriyama Ichirō: Stand Up! Celebrating 9,000 Broadcasts – See You at Shakujii Park!"

He'd handled ad sales for this show countless times since joining the company, and now it had reached 9,000 episodes. When the program began in April 1990, Hada had been just four years old.

He hadn't listened to radio back then. As a kid, he was more interested in TV variety shows and anime. Even through high school and university, radio remained a distant world.

And yet now, here he was—a radio advertising rep—working on this event. Life was funny that way.

He checked the time on his phone. 9:32 a.m.

The event wouldn't start until 2:00 p.m., but his job began long before that. As he made his way to the Shakujii Park Civic Center, he found himself thinking about Moriyama Ichirō.

To many, Moriyama was the voice of radio.

His warm, measured tone, unpretentious delivery, and easy connection with listeners gave his broadcasts a comforting presence. Even on hectic days, hearing his voice on the air made time feel a little softer.

"Radio is a medium that shares time with people," Moriyama had once said. Hada never forgot those words.

Selling radio meant dealing with sponsors. He had to win them over, match them with suitable programs, and propose effective ad placements. Sometimes, he'd even co-develop tie-in campaigns.

But back when he was still new, nothing came easy.

He froze in front of clients, fumbled his presentations, and often left meetings deflated.

One day, during a planning session, Moriyama had surprised him with a simple question:

"Hada-kun, do you like radio?"

Not about numbers. Not about planning. Just that.

"...Yes."

He'd answered honestly. Moriyama smiled gently.

"Then say that. Sponsors are people too."

At the time, Hada didn't quite grasp the meaning. But after countless sales meetings, he began to understand:

He wasn't just selling airtime—he was conveying what made radio worth loving.

Moriyama had helped him in countless ways. Still, it was always professional. They never went out for drinks or hung out privately.

He was kind to everyone and never acted superior, but also kept a quiet boundary.

That, Hada thought, might've been his way.

When he arrived at the Civic Center entrance, UBS Radio staff were already at work. There was a buzz in the air typical of event mornings.

Inside the hall, folding chairs were being set up, and sound equipment was still being hauled onto the stage. Staff were assembling tables, taping down cables—everyone busy with their roles.

A woman in her late thirties—Onodera from the event team—waved at him while checking her watch.

"Good morning, Hada-san! Perfect timing—can you help with something real quick?"

"...I'm in sales, you know."

He muttered, but of course, he helped. That was just who he was.

He lifted boxes of pamphlets with practiced ease. At radio events, salespeople were expected to pitch in with everything.

"Are the sponsor booths set up yet?"

"Still in progress. Their reps are coming soon, so we need to finish the table layout first."

"Got it."

As he carried the boxes, Hada glanced around the venue.

In the merch corner, samples of tote bags and T-shirts were already on display. In the greenroom, sound engineers were testing mics.

"Check—one, two, check—ahh, ahh—check check..."

"Sound checks are always a handful," Hada thought.

He made his way to the sponsor booth area. Tables were lined up with product samples and brochures. Staff were busy adjusting the displays.

A man in a suit approached, business card in hand.

"Good morning. I'm Hada from UBS Radio Sales."

"Good morning. Tanabe from Happiness Foods. Looking forward to today."

Tanabe, a sales rep in his late 40s, smiled warmly.

"We brought some samples for attendees to try."

"That's great. Free samples always work wonders at events."

"Exactly. The best way to get people interested is to let them taste it."

The Happiness Foods booth showcased their latest ready-to-eat meals and snack items.

"These could even be used in our listener giveaway campaigns."

"Yes, I think this is a great opportunity to build awareness."

They wrapped up their brief meeting, and Hada checked his watch—10:40 a.m.

Time for Moriyama and Kondo to arrive.

As he headed toward the greenroom, he saw staff chatting near the entrance. In the center stood a composed man in a gray jacket and black slacks—Moriyama Ichirō.

He didn't need flashy clothes to stand out. His presence alone radiated decades of experience in radio.

When Hada approached, Moriyama looked his way and smiled gently.

"Good morning, Moriyama-san."

"Hada-kun, thanks for your hard work."

"Thanks. We're almost done with setup."

"I can see everyone's busy."

Moriyama slowly scanned the venue: the half-built stage, staff laying out pamphlets, audio checks humming through the speakers.

"Nice venue."

"Yeah. Shakujii Park has a good atmosphere."

"It's lovely to meet listeners in a peaceful place like this."

He smiled again and said he'd go prepare in the greenroom.

Hada watched his back fade into the hallway, feeling the weight of the milestone they were celebrating—9,000 broadcasts.

Ten minutes later, a familiar, upbeat voice rang out near the venue entrance.

"Good morning!"

It was Kondo Taeko, dressed casually in a bright cardigan and slim-fit pants. Her cheerful presence immediately lifted the room.

"Morning, Kondo-san," Hada greeted her.

"Busy as always, Hada-kun?"

"Well, that's event day for you."

"True, but that's the charm of radio events, isn't it?"

She looked toward the unfinished stage, reminiscing aloud.

"I remember our first live recording—total mic failure. We had to speak without amplification."

"Seriously?"

"Yes! Moriyama-san just said, 'Let's do it like usual,' and spoke straight to the audience. Everyone quieted down to listen. It turned into a beautiful moment."

"That kind of calm under pressure... That's Moriyama-san for you."

"Exactly. It's one of the things I respect most about him."

She headed to the greenroom, leaving Hada to check the time—12:30 p.m.

The event was drawing near.

Staff were finalizing stage details. At the sponsor booths, Happiness Foods reps adjusted their displays. Hada did a final walk-through with Onodera.

"Looks like we're good to go."

"Almost time. Sponsors all set?"

"All clear."

Just then, Moriyama emerged from the greenroom.

"Ready to begin?"

"Yes, we're just about to open the doors."

He scanned the hall, gave a small nod, and said:

"Alright, let's do this."

At 2:00 p.m., the house lights dimmed, and the upbeat jingle of "Stand Up!" filled the air.

The crowd settled, and an announcer stepped on stage.

"Thank you all for coming! Today we're celebrating a major milestone—9,000 broadcasts of UBS Radio's beloved program, 'Moriyama Ichirō: Stand Up!'"

A roar of applause followed.

"Let's take a look back at this incredible journey together. Now, please welcome our stars of the day: Moriyama Ichirō and Kondo Taeko!"

The applause swelled as the two hosts stepped onto the stage.

Moriyama walked with calm confidence. Kondo followed with an energetic wave.

Moriyama scanned the audience, smiling warmly.

"Thank you. I'm so happy to see so many of you here today."

Kondo raised her mic, beaming.

"This show has lasted because of you, our listeners. Let's enjoy every moment of today together!"

A shout of "Congratulations!" came from the crowd, followed by more clapping.

The show moved into a nostalgic retrospective—stories from the past, audience Q&A, and heartfelt moments.

Toward the end, Moriyama addressed the crowd:

"Radio is about sharing time through voices. I hope we continue to be a quiet companion in your daily lives."

Another wave of applause.

The event ended, leaving behind a warm, lingering sense of connection.

As the audience filed out, satisfied and smiling, the hall slowly transitioned into cleanup mode. Staff began dismantling the equipment and stacking chairs, the vibrant energy of the event giving way to a calm afterglow.

Hada took a deep breath and glanced at his phone—6:10 p.m.

The sky outside had turned a deep shade of dusk. He stepped out of the Civic Center and into the quiet air of Shakujii Park. The contrast from the lively event hall was almost startling.

"Might as well take a walk before heading home," he said to himself.

The nearby pond shimmered in the fading light, rippling softly as the breeze moved across its surface. Ducks floated lazily along the water, and the faint sound of rustling leaves provided a natural soundtrack.

There weren't many people left in the park—just a few couples walking and an elderly man feeding birds. Hada strolled along the path circling the pond, taking in the tranquility.

After some time, his stomach reminded him that it was long past dinner.

He turned away from the park and wandered into a quieter residential street. That's when he saw it: a small wooden sign beside a narrow staircase leading down to a basement level.

"Makanaiya Nagasaki"

The signboard listed dishes like "Sara-udon," "Champon," and "Kakuni." No neon lights. No flashy menus.

Just quiet, handwritten promise.

He glanced again at the wooden frame, where a handwritten menu featured dishes like Sara-udon, Champon, and Kakuni.

"A Nagasaki-style place... huh."

Just what he needed—a warm, hearty meal. This place might be a hidden gem.

He descended the stairs and pushed open the door. A gentle warmth and soft lighting welcomed him. A woman behind the counter greeted him with a smile.

"Welcome. Just one?"

"Yes."

"Please have a seat at the counter."

The interior was small but well-kept. Wooden counters, handwritten menus on the wall, and the soft hum of jazz in the background created a relaxing ambiance.

Behind the counter stood a man with strong, tanned arms and closely cropped hair. He looked more like a construction worker than a chef, but the way he handled his utensils was nothing short of precise and practiced.

His wife, presumably, worked beside him with quiet grace—prepping dishes, wiping plates, and keeping the rhythm of the kitchen smooth.

"A draft beer, please," Hada said.

The woman nodded and brought over a tall glass chilled to perfection. She poured slowly, letting the head settle into a creamy, cloud-like dome.

Hada raised the glass.

One sip, and his eyes widened.

"...This is incredible."

The beer was silky, crisp, and perfectly balanced. Nothing too bitter. Just smooth, refined refreshment.

He glanced over the menu. Kakuni. Aji nanbanzuke. Champon. Sara-udon.

He decided to start with Kakuni and Aji nanbanzuke.

The chef didn't say much. He simply went to work. A slab of pork belly was cut and gently simmered in a rich sauce. The aji (horse mackerel) was lightly fried, then soaked in a tangy marinade with onions.

When the plates arrived, Hada knew he'd chosen right.

The Kakuni fell apart at the touch of his chopsticks, soaked in a sweet-savory glaze. The Aji was crispy, balanced by the refreshing zing of vinegar and onions.

Everything went down perfectly with another sip of beer.

"Another draft, please," he said, without hesitation.

As he sipped his second glass, his eyes fell back on the menu.

Sara-udon.

"One Sara-udon, please."

The chef immediately sprang into action. Thin noodles were deep-fried until golden and crunchy. He then stir-fried cabbage, carrots, mushrooms, shrimp, squid, and pork with a thick, glossy sauce.

The final dish arrived: a tower of crispy noodles, half-buried under a savory seafood-vegetable gravy that shimmered under the light.

He took a bite.

Crunch. Soft. Flavor.

The textures shifted as the sauce slowly soaked the noodles—each bite a mix of crispy and tender. He added a bit of mustard and a splash of Worcestershire sauce, per the sign's suggestion.

It elevated the flavor to new heights.

"Another beer," he whispered, surrendering completely.

His final glass arrived. He raised it in a quiet toast.

To good work.

To good food.

To good timing.

He finished the last bite of his Sara-udon and drained the glass.

At the register, he looked back at the counter one last time.

"Great place," he said.

The owner simply nodded.

Outside, the night air had turned crisp.

With a full belly and a warm heart, Hada walked back toward the station.

Sometimes, all it takes is one unexpected place to change the shape of your day.

The best places appear when you need them most.