Kannaichō, Yokohama. The moment Hada stepped out of the train gates at Kannai Station, the immense structure of Yokohama Blue Stadium loomed before him.

Posters for the season opener lined the station interior, and the city was already brimming with baseball fever. A few fans in team jerseys strolled nearby, their energy contagious.

"Yokohama really is a baseball town," Hada murmured as he shifted into work mode.

Today's task: a meeting with the team operator, Dina Corporation, as UBS Radio prepared for another year of broadcasting games from the stadium. Alongside the usual broadcast planning, a new project was on the table—featuring stadium food in a special radio segment.

Though Hada liked baseball, he wasn't a superfan. Still, he'd reviewed the team's lineup and stats ahead of time. It might not be enough to impress the die-hard professionals he was about to meet, but he reminded himself:

"I'm a radio sales rep, not a baseball encyclopedia."

With that mantra, he made his way down the main avenue, the stadium's outer walls already bustling with pre-season activity.

Soon, he arrived at the office building housing Dina's headquarters. The building's entry was boldly styled in the team's colors—blue and white. At reception, he gave his name.

"Mr. Hada from UBS Radio? Right this way."

In the elevator, the walls were lined with posters and framed photos of iconic plays from the team's history. Hada glanced around, half-worried he'd be quizzed on them.

(What if they ask something I can't answer...?)

He felt like a student walking into an exam room, but steeled himself. His job was to listen, communicate, and build trust.

Led to a conference room, Hada took a deep breath before entering.

Inside, a man in his late forties was flipping through a small notebook while muttering to himself. Despite the business suit, his colorful tie stood out.

"Ah, Mr. Hada! Kimura from PR."

"Pleasure to meet you," Hada replied.

"Just finishing my pre-meeting ritual... I write a haiku before every session," Kimura said with a grin.

Hada blinked, unsure how to respond.

"Let's get down to business."

They sat. Hada opened with the main proposal.

"We're planning to highlight stadium food during our broadcasts this season—"

"The scent of yakisoba / floats across the summer sky / stadium whispers," Kimura interjected with a spontaneous verse.

Hada gave a polite smile. "Yes... we'd like to showcase local favorites, maybe even new items, to encourage fans to visit."

"Delicious bites / traveling on radio waves / can flavors reach ears?" Kimura mused aloud again.

Hada waited, carefully navigating the odd rhythm of the meeting.

Eventually, Kimura nodded seriously. "I love it. Local food tie-ins are excellent. Do you have vendors in mind?"

"Some, but I'd love your suggestions."

"I'm a food-hopping enthusiast! Let's brainstorm together."

The meeting wrapped with Kimura reciting one last haiku: "Gourmet journey / when walked with good company / brings victories."

Hada offered a half-laugh, shaking Kimura's hand.

Back on the street, he let out a breath.

"Well, that was... unique."

Evening had descended. As he passed the stadium, the city glowed with warm lights and pre-season buzz. Yet his stomach rumbled, nudging him back into the present.

Near Kannai Station, he drifted past bars, bistros, noodle shops, unsure of what he craved. He hesitated before each menu.

"What am I in the mood for?"

Soon, his feet led him into a narrow alley. A warm light spilled from an old red-brick building, where a sign read: "Aging Meat & Wine."

He peered inside. Stylish but unpretentious. Just right.

He stepped through the door.

"Good evening. Just one?"

"Yes, counter, please."

Inside, mellow lighting, wine bottles lining antique wooden shelves, and a showcase of aging beef set the mood. He sat.

When the server returned with a menu, he asked, "What's your recommendation?"

"Our 45-day dry-aged Wagyu sirloin is very popular."

"I'll take that. And a red wine pairing, please."

"Certainly. Would you like a cheese platter while you wait?"

"Sounds perfect."

The red wine arrived, along with a plate of Camembert, cheddar, and blue cheese, accented with nuts and dried fruits.

He took a sip—fruity, lightly tannic, just right.

Then, a bite of Camembert—creamy, mild, comforting. Paired beautifully with the wine.

Next, the blue cheese. A dab of honey on a cracker made it bold yet balanced.

He let himself sink into the moment, forgetting about meetings, clients, and even haiku.

Then came the minestrone.

The tomato-based soup glowed with diced carrots, zucchini, and onions. But what caught his eye were the plump meatballs floating generously within.

He spooned a sip.

Tart tomato, sweet simmered vegetables.

"This hits the spot."

A bite of meatball—tender, flavorful, infused with subtle herbs. It melted into the broth.

He sampled the vegetables—perfectly cooked, preserving their texture. Every spoonful warmed him to the core.

As he finished, the main event arrived: the dry-aged steak.

Perfectly seared, blushing pink inside, juices glistening.

He cut in—soft yet substantial.

The first bite was an explosion of umami.

"Incredible."

He chased it with wine. The fat and acid danced in harmony.

As he neared the end, he eyed the remaining meat juices.

"Excuse me, could I get some bread?"

A basket of lightly toasted baguette arrived.

He dipped a slice into the juices.

"Just as I thought—divine."

Then, inspiration struck.

He soaked another slice in the minestrone.

"Like an onion soup. Needs... cheese."

"Do you have grated cheese?" he asked.

Moments later, a small dish of grated Parmesan arrived.

He sprinkled it over the soup-soaked bread.

The cheese melted gently, releasing a savory aroma.

He took a bite.

Tomato, herbs, cheese, bread—rich, comforting, brilliant.

He smiled.

As he savored the final spoonfuls, he realized his glass was empty.

"One more glass of red, please. Something fuller this time."

The new pour was deeper, darker. He sipped slowly, letting it linger with the final bites of steak, cheese, and soup.

As the wine faded on his tongue, so did the stress of the day.

The bill arrived. He stood.

"That was perfect. Thank you."

The staff handed him a small paper bag.

"A gift—our house-baked baguette."

He was surprised—and touched.

Outside, the Yokohama night greeted him with a gentle breeze.

Bread in hand, warmth in his chest, he smiled.

He turned back to glance at the glowing sign.

Sometimes, a random stop changes everything.

The best places appear when you need them most.