"Mitaka today, huh..."

Mid-morning, Hada gazed out the window of the Chūō Line train, watching the scenery blur by as he pictured his destination.

Mitaka Station. Right next to Kichijōji, yet worlds apart in atmosphere—a quieter, more subdued town untouched by tourist bustle. The south exit led toward Ghibli Museum crowds and Inokashira Park's lush greens, while the north exit opened into tranquil residential neighborhoods with few tall buildings. Hada didn't come here often for work, but it was one of those places that made him think: this would be a nice place to live.

He pulled out his phone to confirm his schedule.

Today's meeting was at STUDIO 384—a sound production studio tucked away in Mitaka. Known for handling film dubbing, anime voiceover work, and radio recordings, the studio had collaborated with UBS Radio before. This time, they were discussing jingles for a new program.

After exiting the station and walking past the south exit's buzz, the town quieted quickly. He passed cafés and restaurants along the main road before entering the residential side streets.

STUDIO 384 was nestled into the first floor of an apartment building, with no large signage, just a discreet label on the door.

In the world of sound work, this kind of hidden, low-profile studio was hardly unusual.

As Hada opened the door, he was met by the studio's familiar, cool stillness.

"Welcome. You must be Mr. Hada from UBS Radio?"

The receptionist, a man in his early thirties wearing glasses and an affable expression, greeted him.

"Yes, thank you."

"We've been expecting you. Director Miyasaka is waiting in the conference room. This way, please."

The meeting room had walls lined with sound-absorbing panels and a minimalist layout. At the far end sat a man in a loose outfit, his shoulder-length hair tied back, grinning as he rose.

"Nice to meet you. I'm Miyasaka."

After exchanging business cards, they got down to it.

"So this new program is called THE GOLDEN TIME. It's a late-night show aimed at adults who enjoy winding down in the evening," Hada began, spreading his documents.

"We'll play jazz and city pop, offering lifestyle ideas for nighttime listeners. The jingle should have a refined, urban feel."

Miyasaka nodded, thoughtful. "So maybe a jazz-based sound with a solid bass line—or something with a dreamy, synth-driven vibe."

"I like the synth idea too," Hada said.

"Still, for a deep-night atmosphere, live instruments might give it more warmth. A brushed drum rhythm over a walking upright bass, for instance."

"That sounds perfect."

They spoke fluidly, aligning on tone, audience, and mood. Miyasaka agreed to create two drafts—one jazzier, one more synth-forward.

Thirty minutes later, the direction was clear.

"Got any plans after this?" Miyasaka asked.

"Not really. I thought I'd just wander a bit and find somewhere to eat."

"You're not hopping over to Kichijōji?"

"Too many choices there. Sometimes it's better to keep it simple."

"There's a neat little place on the north side of Mitaka. Can't say more—but if you find it, you'll know."

As Hada stepped out into the crisp winter air, the sun was already dipping. He glanced at the time—past 4 p.m.

"Feels like the days are getting longer..."

He walked, choosing the opposite direction of the station.

Mitaka didn't have the clamor of Kichijōji, which suited him just fine. He passed a tiny secondhand bookstore, its paperbacks gently rustled by the breeze.

He paused, considering going in—then smiled.

Next time.

Eventually, he found himself in a narrow alley. A weathered sign above a liquor shop read Sake no Matsuya, but tucked behind it, a small curtain fluttered beneath a hand-lettered note: Standing bar in back.

Just before stepping in, something caught his eye—a small, softly lit sign in the alley corner: Misaki. A traditional eatery?

He walked over.

The frosted glass of the entrance gave away little, but a warm glow and the subtle scent of simmering broth tugged at his senses.

"Let's give this a shot."

He slid the door open.

"Welcome."

A calm voice greeted him. Inside was a cozy L-shaped counter with seven seats. Behind it stood a woman in her late fifties, dressed in a white apron. She gestured toward an open spot.

"Right this way."

Hada sat and glanced around. Short menu strips lined the wall: Oden, Simmered Fish, Dashimaki Tamago. Simple, comforting.

"This might be a winner."

"What'll it be?"

"Hot sake, please."

Soon, a small tokkuri and choko were placed in front of him, alongside a plate of mustard-dressed nanohana greens.

"Nanohana, huh? Feels like spring."

He took a sip—soft, fragrant, warming.

"...Good sake."

The woman smiled.

"You like your drinks."

"Occupational hazard."

"Radio, right?"

"How'd you guess?"

"Your voice. Calm, deliberate. Used to have studio folks here—writers, producers. Not so much anymore."

Their conversation was light, easy. Soon he had oden—daikon and ganmodoki, both steeped in golden broth, gently steaming.

He savored them slowly, warming from within.

Eventually, he noticed a list on a whiteboard: Simmered Fish, Spinach with Sesame, Vinegared Miso.

"Got anything off-menu?"

"Hmm... ankimo with ponzu, and seared shime-saba."

"Both sound too good to pass up."

"Then you shouldn't," she said with a wink.

They were perfect. Rich monkfish liver balanced by citrusy ponzu. Saba lightly torched, skin crisp, salt drawing out the sweetness.

Still peckish, he asked for a recommendation.

"How about kamameshi? Chicken burdock or oyster."

Oyster kamameshi.

"Definitely the oyster one."

"It'll take time."

"I've got time."

While the rice cooked, he tried a shochu with hot water. Soft, sweet aroma—gentle, different from sake.

Outside, a commotion erupted. Drunken shouting. A street scuffle.

He stepped out. Intervened. Calmed it. Returned.

She looked at him.

"You're okay?"

"All good. Just a hobby."

She smiled, lifting the lid of the kamameshi pot.

The aroma of oysters filled the air.

"Here you go."

He savored each bite—the rice soaked in oyster essence, the tender flesh, the crispy okoge at the bottom.

At last, he placed down his chopsticks.

"Thank you. That was incredible."

"You're very welcome."

She reached for her glasses and put them on as she calculated his bill.

Hada, watching her, was momentarily captivated. The way she put on her glasses—it reminded him of someone returning home after a long day of work, slipping back into their true self. The simple gesture stirred something inside him.

She handed him the bill with a soft smile.

He glanced at it.

"Is the kamameshi missing from this?"

"That one's on me. Just promise you'll come again."

He looked at her for a moment, then smiled.

"Then I'll take you up on that."

He paid, pocketed his wallet, and bowed slightly.

"Thank you. I'll be back."

She nodded quietly, already wiping down the counter.

As he stepped outside, the chill kissed his cheeks.

"Mitaka, huh... not a bad place to drink after all."

Sometimes, a random stop changes everything.

The best places appear when you need them most.