The train glided into Akabane Station, and the doors slid open. A cold, wet air pierced Hada's skin like a blade.

Rain. And not just rain—cold winter rain.

As he stepped onto the platform, drops splattered against the shoulders of his coat, soaking through little by little. The sky loomed a dull gray, oddly dim for midday. His breath clouded white, and he clenched his chilled fingers inside his coat pockets.

People hurried through the central gate with their heads down. Even with umbrellas, the relentless drizzle soaked collars and drained body heat. Overhead speakers announced train delays, but the chill made such details feel trivial.

Beyond the gate, the chaotic streets of Akabane spread out. Taxis waited at the rotary, and wet asphalt glistened with reflections of neon lights. Some izakayas had already lit their signs. Even in the rain, Akabane's energy didn't falter.

"Cold..."

He muttered aloud, regretting not bringing gloves. Lifting his collar and shrinking into his coat, he felt that familiar urge—on a day like this, you just want to duck into someplace warm. But first, work.

He opened his umbrella and headed toward a food manufacturer in Akabane.

"Might as well grab a small gift for the client," he thought.

Spying a department store near the station exit, he slipped inside.

Warmth and the aroma of baked sweets welcomed him. Inside a glass case, neatly arranged wagashi and pastries beckoned.

"Excuse me, what's popular as a gift?"

A smiling clerk pointed to a shelf.

"These Tokyo An-Butter Sandwiches are a hit. Moist cake with sweet red bean paste and a touch of salty butter—perfectly balanced."

(An-butter? My favorite. Actually, this might be just the right choice.)

"I'll take a box of those."

He paid, took the paper bag, and stepped back outside. The rain hadn't stopped. Umbrella in hand, he started walking toward the client's office.

Cold wind slapped his cheeks. His body, already accustomed to indoor warmth, was shocked back into the chill. Rain pooled along the curb, threatening to splash his coat hem.

He passed a ramen shop, where a delivery rider was handing off a paper bag, helmet still on and shoulders dripping.

Winter rain deliveries... like soldiers guarding a fragile flame.

They endure the cold to bring warmth to someone else. Perhaps that's what work is.

The rider disappeared into the mist.

Soon, he reached Akabaneya Shokuhin, a long-standing food company known for motsu stew and its signature croquettes. The building's red brick facade and modest signage stood quietly amid the gray streets.

He shook off his umbrella, tapped his coat dry, and stepped inside.

A soft warmth greeted him. His fingers began to thaw as he approached the receptionist.

"Good afternoon. I'm Hada from UBS Radio. Thank you for having me today."

He was led to a cozy meeting room. Vintage photos and posters of local events adorned the walls.

After a short wait, the company president entered—a short man in his late 60s, wearing his work uniform, exuding a down-to-earth, hands-on presence.

"Thanks for coming out in this weather. Welcome to Akabaneya Shokuhin."

"Thank you. I appreciate your time today."

They exchanged business cards and sat down.

"I've been thinking—we need to promote our Akabane croquettes more," the president said, laying out samples. "They've grown popular with younger folks, and tourists seem to like them. I wonder if we could do something with radio ads."

Hada took a bite.

Golden-brown crust gave way to fluffy potatoes inside. The subtle sweetness and crisp texture were perfectly balanced.

"Delicious. The sweetness of the potato and the crunch of the crust are spot on."

"Right? It's more than just a croquette. It's the taste of Akabane."

The conversation flowed easily. They brainstormed ways to capture that taste on the airwaves. The president even joked, "What if we ended the ad with 'Come eat our croquette, dammit!'"

They laughed.

By the time Hada left the building, the rain had eased to a drizzle. He took a long breath of the cold air.

Still early. Too early to head home. And he was in Akabane... not drinking here would be a crime.

"Alright."

He wandered the streets lined with izakayas, their red lanterns glowing through the mist. In Akabane, the line between day and night blurred. Workers finished shifts, others just starting, and some simply here for the sake of drinking.

Passing under the arcade, he was thankful for its shelter. Amid the scent of fried foods and the chatter of shoppers, he noticed steam rising in the distance.

Marubō Suisan.

Even outsiders had heard of it. Known for its oden and dashi-wari (hot sake diluted with broth), it was a standing bar with a cult following. No flashy sign—just the promise of warmth.

He slid open the door.

A wave of steam and the rich aroma of simmering broth greeted him instantly. The chill that had crept into his body dissipated just a little as warmth washed over him.

Inside stood a timeworn oden pot, its surface gently bubbling. Daikon, chikuwa, hanpen, and eggs bobbed in the golden broth, glistening with years of care and flavor.

"Welcome," said the owner, a man in his fifties wearing a white apron. His tone was curt but not unkind—there was a quiet hospitality behind his few words.

It was a standing-only establishment, mostly counter space. A few regulars huddled near the back, silently nursing drinks and poking at their oden with practiced ease.

Hada stood at a free corner of the counter and placed his order.

"Daikon, chikuwa-bu, and atsuage, please."

"And your drink?"

"Dashi-wari, please."

The owner nodded and moved with efficiency. He ladled out the requested items into a small bowl, then poured warm sake into a glass and topped it with hot oden broth.

The steam curled from the rim as Hada cupped the glass in his hands.

"Thanks."

He took a slow sip. First came the savory depth of the broth, then the subtle burn of sake trailing through his nose and chest.

"...That hits the spot."

He murmured it aloud. The warmth seeped from his stomach outward, melting the cold lodged in his fingertips.

He picked up the daikon. The chopsticks sank in with ease—it had been simmered to perfection. As he bit into it, the juicy broth burst across his tongue.

"This is it... just what I needed."

Next was the chikuwa-bu—soft, chewy, and thoroughly infused with the seasoned broth. Then came the atsuage, thick slices of deep-fried tofu, still holding broth within. One bite and it released a burst of umami that made Hada's eyes narrow in appreciation.

"Atsuage is amazing... this is something else."

Each bite was a testament to time, heat, and care—a humble dish elevated to art through patience.

He finished the dashi-wari and exhaled slowly.

Warm now, relaxed, he knew he wasn't done yet.

Not in Akabane.

He placed his payment on the counter. "Thanks, that was excellent."

As he stepped outside, the rain had eased to a fine mist.

"Where to next..."

He didn't need to think long. A red paper lantern caught his eye: Tachinomi Ippon.

He grinned. "Ippon, huh? Sounds like a place with guts."

Without hesitation, he walked in.

As soon as he stepped in, the counter came into view. Deeper inside, aged wooden tables lined the wall, already surrounded by groups of customers chatting away.

"Welcome!" came a spirited voice.

The shop was more spacious than it appeared from outside. Near the ceiling, shelves brimmed with sake bottles, each marked with bold calligraphy.

Hada took his spot at the end of the counter and scanned the handwritten menu pinned to the wall. It featured the classics: grilled offal skewers, stew, fried snacks, sashimi, grilled fish—

The starting lineup of Japan's culinary national team, he thought with a grin.

"Which player to send out first... Hmm."

He considered his previous drink—a warm sake with broth—and thought perhaps a chilled beer or a sour would do now. But with grilled offal in mind...

Wait. If it's motsuyaki, then Hoppy would be the right call.

"Alright."

With an expression of firm resolve, Hada ordered like a coach declaring his starting roster.

"Excuse me! I'll have a Hoppy set, salted motsuyaki, and ham katsu, please!"

After placing his order, he gave a small fist pump.

Soon the Hoppy set arrived—a glass filled with ice and generously poured shōchū. Hada uncapped the accompanying bottle of Hoppy, a Japanese beer-flavored, non-alcoholic soda, and poured it in. He stirred lightly.

"Cheers."

The cold burn of the shōchū hit first, followed by Hoppy's gentle sweetness. A crisp contrast to the warm sake he had earlier.

"Ahh... that's good."

Right then, the motsuyaki and ham katsu were served.

The skewered offal had perfect char marks, releasing an appetizing, smoky aroma. It was garnished simply with chopped scallions and salt—an invitation to dig in.

"No question. This is gonna be good."

He bit into one. The fat burst with flavor, the meat chewy but tender. Each chew intensified the taste. A sip of Hoppy cut through the richness, resetting his palate for another bite.

"Motsuyaki and Hoppy—made for each other."

Next was the ham katsu—thickly cut, golden brown, and freshly fried. Steam rose from the juicy meat within.

"Oh yeah, this one's a winner."

He drizzled some sauce and took a bite.

Crunch.

The crispy coating gave way to the juicy ham and its savory punch. The tangy sauce brought it all together.

"Damn... this is addicting."

Alternating between motsuyaki, Hoppy, and ham katsu, Hada let time drift slowly by.

"First time in Akabane?" a man beside him asked. He was in work clothes, his cheeks already flushed from two glasses of Hoppy.

"No, been here a few times, but this is my first visit to this spot."

"Thought so. What I like here is how nothing's fancy."

He picked up a skewer.

"I don't go for frilly joints. I like a place with backbone—like this one."

"Yeah, I get that. Even the name says it all. 'Ippon'—one line, straight and simple."

"Exactly! It's a declaration. No nonsense."

There were no elaborate decorations or gimmicks here. Just great drinks and food. That was enough.

"It's a good place."

He raised his glass. The man smirked and downed his Hoppy in one go.

Finishing his ham katsu and Hoppy, Hada felt a buzz coming on—but not enough to call it a night.

"Excuse me, I'll have a plum shōchū."

"Oh, going for the big guns, eh?" the owner grinned, prepping the glass.

Plum shōchū—famous in Akabane. A glass brimming with strong shōchū, with just a hint of plum syrup. Sweet on the surface, deadly underneath.

"Here you go!"

The liquid shimmered at the edge of the glass, almost defying gravity.

"That's... a generous pour."

"Our regulars knock these back like water."

The man next to him chuckled.

One sip, and a faint sweetness teased his tongue—then a punch of alcohol slammed down his throat.

"Oof..."

Hada winced slightly. The owner chuckled from behind the counter.

"Good reaction. Want something else to nibble on?"

"Sure... I'll take the potato salad and some seared mackerel, please."

"You got it. Excellent combo."

The potato salad arrived in a small dish—creamy with a hint of mustard. The potatoes were chunky and moist, the texture perfect.

"Nice... this has character."

He nibbled slowly, sipping plum shōchū in between. The acidity of the salad mellowed the drink's strength—a surprisingly good match.

Next, the seared mackerel. Lightly charred skin, tender meat, balanced salt and fat. A dab of wasabi, a touch of soy, and it danced with the shōchū.

"This isn't just any old standing bar."

Each dish was simple but crafted with care, built to go with the drinks.

"Ippon doesn't dazzle, but it nails that 'subtle deliciousness,' y'know?" the man beside him chimed in.

"Yeah... I can see that."

"Don't need bells and whistles. Just good food, good booze—that's what 'Ippon' means."

He downed his drink with conviction.

Maybe the name did mean that—one line, no frills, just truth.

The owner behind the counter poured drinks with graceful ease. Everything about him said experience.

"Really is a great place."

Hada drained his glass and savored the last bite of mackerel.

"Thanks for the meal."

He placed his money down and gave a nod.

"See you again."

Outside, the rain had stopped. The pavement still glistened, but the streetlights reflecting off it felt somehow warmer.

Akabane was still alive with chatter and laughter, neon lights smudged gently into the misty night.

"Time to head home."

As he walked toward the station, a thought crossed his mind.

"Huh... what does 'Ippon' mean, anyway?"

Ippon. A name that evoked directness, simplicity.

"Is it about sticking to one principle? A single drink? Or something else...?"

He didn't find an answer—but maybe that was okay.

Some things—like a good drink or a good bar—weren't meant to be explained.

"I'll ask next time."

Sometimes, a chance visit to a humble bar can shift your life just a little.
The best places appear just when you need them most.

With that thought, Hada stepped through the ticket gate at Akabane Station.