Bleeeaaargh!
The night had been a total nightmare, a whirlwind of misery that really pushed our group to the limit.
BTMC had gone way overboard on beers at karaoke the night before and started throwing up uncontrollably.
It was Nijiro, calm and responsible as ever, who stayed with him through the whole awful ordeal—cleaning up, reassuring him, making sure he didn't feel alone while he was at his lowest.
Lying on my futon in the cramped ryokan room, I listened to the sounds coming from the bathroom and stared at the ceiling, wondering when I would finally get to sleep.
Around three in the morning, it finally seemed like BTMC had emptied everything out of his system. His exhausted body gave in to sleep.
Silence settled over the room like a heavy blanket, broken only by the deep breathing of the others, and we all managed to get some rest.
Kriiik… kriiik…
At 6 a.m., a faint, almost inaudible sound pulled me out of my drowsiness.
It was the cautious footsteps of someone moving around the room, the tatami creaking softly under their weight.
I opened my eyes, letting them adjust to the sunlight filtering through the thin walls, and saw Nijiro weaving between the futons scattered across the floor. He was gathering his things with precise, silent movements, careful not to disturb the rest of the group.
"Hey, Nijiro. Where you headed?" I whispered, keeping my voice low so I wouldn't wake the others, a spark of curiosity running through me.
"Going for a walk. Wanna come?" he answered in the same hushed tone, his eyes meeting mine with a friendly invitation, like he had already known I would say yes.
"Sure, just give me a minute to get ready," I said, easing myself up from the futon, already buzzing.
I threw on yesterday's clothes—the slightly wrinkled T-shirt that still smelled like ramen, the totally creased pants—then went to the bathroom to splash water on my face and wake up properly.
As I got ready to leave, I noticed Nijiro had been ready for a while, standing by the door with a look that was part curious, part concerned.
That's when he asked, in a tone that sounded casual but was full of quiet kindness: "By the way, earlier you kept tossing and turning on your futon. You seemed restless… bad dream?"
I didn't stop moving, already heading for the door and leaving the question hanging as I answered in a calm but slightly distracted voice: "Yeah, something like that."
Nijiro just nodded, not pushing it, and followed me out.
We tiptoed out of the ryokan, saying good morning to the owner. Unlike the day before when she had looked exhausted, she was bright and smiling now, giving us a deep bow and an "Ohayou gozaimasu!" that rang out in the quiet morning.
"So what's the plan?" I asked curiously as we walked toward the Skyline parked nearby.
"I was really hoping you'd wake up and come along," Nijiro said, opening the door. "I want to show you my favorite spot in this whole prefecture."
"What kind of place? Another tourist area?" I asked, already excited because I knew anywhere he took me would be incredible.
"No, actually the complete opposite. You'll see," he said with a small smile, starting the engine.
We drove for an hour, passing through neighborhoods that gradually turned more and more suburban.
The air came in through the cracked window, carrying the smell of rich soil and clean air.
I couldn't help watching Nijiro drive—focused but relaxed, his face showing how much he loved these moments of freedom.
"We're here. Welcome to Kayabuki no Sato," he said, getting out of the Skyline after parking in a paid lot next to a restaurant that was still closed.
We were in a rural part of the prefecture, a complete contrast to the lively Kyoto we had explored the day before.
There were just a few scattered houses, endless rice fields, and narrow pedestrian and bike paths winding between irrigation canals.
Mountains surrounded the area, reminding me of Trento—though back home in Italy they were definitely taller. After all, those were the Alps.
The sun was already high, bathing everything in clear, crisp light. It made me realize how early the sun rises in Japan, and that dawn had come and gone before I had even woken up.
"Wow," I said, completely stunned by the beauty of the landscape.
"Right? It always hits me the same way," Nijiro said, stopping beside me. "Let's take a walk."
We started walking, our footsteps soft. It was already a quarter past seven.
The few people we passed were mostly elderly, heading out on errands with baskets or old bicycles, greeting us with friendly nods that made me feel welcome in this rural world.
The silence was almost unreal, broken only by birdsong, the gentle flow of water in the canals, and the distant rustle of wind through the fields.
Eventually we reached one of the many benches along the road, with a vending machine right beside it.
"This is my favorite bench," Nijiro said, gesturing toward it affectionately, like it was an old friend. "Every time I come to Kyoto prefecture, I have to sit here at least once."
He walked over to the vending machine. "Want anything?" he asked, nodding toward it with a casual but thoughtful tone.
"You pick—I trust you," I said. I didn't recognize any of the drinks anyway. I sat down on the bench, feeling the cool wood under my hands as I settled in.
Less than a minute later, Nijiro handed me a can. "I got you canned coffee. Hope you like it."
"Perfect, thanks. How much do I owe you?" I asked.
"Nah, forget the money—it's on me," he said, brushing it off with a distracted wave of his hand.
"The problem is you always pay!" I protested, though deep down I really appreciated the gesture.
We stayed on the bench for about half an hour, chatting about nothing in particular, just taking in the incredible landscape stretching out in front of us like a living painting.
"Now I totally get why you love this bench so much," I said, sipping my coffee.
"Yeah, it's a little gem I stumbled on by accident one morning just like this—didn't know what to do with myself, so I decided to go for a drive," Nijiro replied, his voice thick with nostalgia.
"But why did you say earlier that you were hoping I'd be the only one to wake up?" I asked—I had been wondering about that for a while.
He looked me straight in the eyes, completely sincere. "I knew I'd enjoy the whole thing a lot more with you. The others wouldn't—they'd just start messing around and making noise."
"You've got something I can't quite put into words," he went on. "At first I thought you were just unusually mature for your age, but now I'm sure there's more to it."
I smiled, a little embarrassed. "China and John tell me that all the time too. They're eighteen and sixteen, but they say we're totally on the same wavelength."
"They're right," Nijiro said, downing the last of his coffee in one go. "I usually read people pretty easily—you're different from the rest."
I finished my coffee too, and Nijiro said firmly, "Alright, let's head back. We need to pick up breakfast."
"Konbini run?" I asked, standing up with a fresh burst of energy.
"Yeah, there's a 7-Eleven just up ahead," he answered, taking the lead.
We walked for a bit, our steps falling into the same rhythm, and soon we could see the store lights glowing on the horizon—a modern beacon in the middle of all that rural scenery, reminding us how Japan is this perfect mix of old and new.
We went inside and started hunting for something to eat.
The air conditioning felt amazing after the walk, and the shelves packed with bright, colorful stuff made me feel like a kid in a candy store.
"Any recommendations, Nijiro?" I asked, poking around the snacks. "I've heard each chain has its own must-tries."
"That's exactly right," he confirmed, guiding me like he owned the place. "I love coming to 7-Eleven because they sell my absolute favorite konbini food: the egg sandwiches."
"Are they really that good? I've heard about them, but they don't sound appealing at all," I said, eyeing the packages skeptically.
"You have to try them. I was doubtful at first too, but one bite and you'll be hooked," he said, starting to drop them into the basket.
We grabbed ten—so everyone could have at least two.
We wandered around some more and picked up some sweet, crunchy little cookies that looked perfect for a quick breakfast.
Then Nijiro stopped dead in front of something, his eyes lighting up.
"Find something good?" I asked, walking over, curious about that look on his face.
"Yeah," he said, holding up the package. "Doraemon collab dorayaki!"
"Isn't that normal?" I asked, tilting my head at the product. "I mean, dorayaki were basically invented for Doraemon, right? Of course they'd collaborate."
Nijiro burst out laughing, leaving me totally confused.
Even the cashier, who had overheard us from a distance and probably understood English, started giggling in that polite, professional way, covering her mouth discreetly.
"They're not?!" I exclaimed, my cheeks burning as I started laughing at my own cluelessness.
"Of course not!" Nijiro said, winding down his laugh. "But I heard the Doraemon version has a tweaked recipe—they're supposed to be even better."
He grabbed twenty and stacked them in the basket.
"I don't think we're gonna eat that many," I said, staring at the pile in disbelief.
"I know," he said, eyeing a couple more. "But once I'm back in Tokyo they'll probably be sold out. Better stock up while I can."
"You're insane," I said, shaking my head, still not quite believing him.
We headed to the register. "I'm paying this time," I said, stepping forward, determined to chip in.
Nijiro grabbed my shoulder and gently moved me aside. "Nope, I got it," he said. "Plus, the dorayaki are basically just for me. Wait outside."
I walked out with an annoyed huff while Nijiro chatted with the cashier—probably still laughing about me.
We got back to the ryokan around nine-thirty, taking it slow, enjoying the drive through the quiet rural roads with the window down and the cool morning air brushing our faces.
Even though we were back, everyone else was still out cold, sprawled across their futons, with BTMC's Totoro keeping watch over them.
"We promised we'd wait till at least ten," Nijiro said, sitting down with a relaxed smile, like time wasn't a problem at all.
"What do we do till then?" I asked, flopping onto my futon, already bored.
"I'm gonna scroll through some comments on X posts," Nijiro said, pulling out his phone.
"X? I heard Twitter's called that now, but I've never used it. What's it like?" I asked, genuinely curious.
"It's one of the best social platforms in my opinion—right up there with Instagram—for sharing stuff with the community and staying connected. You should definitely try it," he said, all enthusiastic, and he had me sold right away.
I already used Twitch for streaming and Instagram to let followers know when I was going live.
I also had a Reddit account and a YouTube channel, but I never posted anything—I just didn't have the time to record and edit videos.
I always tried to keep my social media time limited unless it was for work, because I knew how easy it was to get sucked in. That's exactly why I stayed away from TikTok.
I downloaded X and set up a profile, feeling a mix of curiosity and hesitation.
In just a few minutes I wrote a simple bio and set my Pantera Grigia as the profile picture. For the banner—since I had it saved on my PC back home—I would add it later when I got back.
I opened Discord and sent the link to my new profile in the community group chat: «Guys, I just made an X account. Not sure if I'll use it much. Follow if you want.»
Replies came almost instantly, even though it was three in the morning back in Italy.
«X is a solid platform, but it's not the easiest for growing a following,» Pego_pro commented.
«Now we gotta conquer this one too,» xxBrucy wrote.
«Christian, you're back from Japan—I can't wait for the posts!» Starclicker7 added.
Ten o'clock finally rolled around, and Nijiro decided it was time to wake the others, making a bit of noise with a mischievous grin.
"Morning! Time to get up." he shouted, clapping his hands.
Luckily, the other ryokan guests—all tourists—had already gotten up early to explore Kyoto, so it was just us, free to make as much noise as we wanted without bothering anyone.
Mrekk stretched with a groan, Ivaxa got up with his usual precision, and BTMC muttered something incoherent, still half-asleep.
I checked my X profile and, to my surprise, in just half an hour I had already hit 500 followers.
"Back in the day, 500 followers felt impossible. Now I get there in thirty minutes," I thought, amazed at how fast my socials had grown.
We sat down on the tatami to eat the stuff we had picked up at the konbini.
BTMC didn't join us—he was still way too out of it, and his stomach clearly hadn't recovered from the night before.
"You were right," I said to Nijiro, taking a bite of the egg sandwich. The creamy, slightly salty flavor won me over instantly. "This is seriously good—I didn't expect that!"
"I know. Thinking about it now, I should've grabbed a couple more," Nijiro said, biting into his own.
By noon we were all finally ready, with BTMC recovered enough to join the group, even if he still looked a little rough.
We decided to skip lunch and demolished all of Nijiro's dorayaki instead, in a mess of laughter and crumbs.
"Later we're hitting another 7-Eleven, and if the dorayaki are gone, you're all gonna pay," Nijiro said, pointing at us with mock sternness, which had us cracking up.
We finally left the ryokan together, and the vibe was completely different from the quiet morning.
The city wasn't calm anymore—it was buzzing: tourists snapping photos, groups of friends laughing, the sound of bike bells and car horns filling the air.
Kyoto was wide awake, and we were ready to dive back into its fascinating chaos.
"The earliest flight among us is BTMC's at midnight. So if we want to take it easy, we need to be at the airport by nine at the latest," Ivaxa broke it down.
Then he added, "Getting to Tokyo Haneda takes at least five hours—six if we factor in the high chance of traffic. So we have to leave by three."
"Which means we've only got about three hours," Nijiro said out loud, thinking through the best way to spend them.
"Three hours early!? On the way here I only got there an hour and a half before!" I said, shuddering at the memory of sprinting through check-in and boarding the plane with just minutes to spare before the gate closed.
"Showing up just an hour early is like rolling the dice," Ivaxa said, dead serious. "It's not gonna work out every time."
Nijiro, still mulling over options, suddenly lit up. "I just thought of a place we can go," he said, smiling in a way that promised another unforgettable adventure.
I couldn't wait to find out what he had in mind, knowing that whatever it was, it would be one of those experiences I would never forget.