Tokyo seemed kinder in September.
Not that it truly was, but there were days—rare ones—when the sky stayed clear until late, people spoke more softly, and even the traffic moved with a less impatient rhythm. The streets were bathed in beams of blue, red, and green from traffic lights, reflected in shop windows, and the air smelled of spices and tobacco.
That Saturday afternoon, Yuzu Tachibana was walking alone along a side street in the Yanaka district, moving slowly, her hands deep in the pockets of her light jacket. She had left school shortly after noon. It had been a long week, full of tests, meetings, distracted students. Impatient colleagues and principals with watchful eyes. All she wanted was a bit of peace: she needed air, silence, time without demands.
She walked alone and had no plan. Just a matcha boba tea in her hand and a vague feeling that something good might happen.
Passing through the main city square and turning down a side alley, she spotted it by chance, almost stumbling upon it with her eyes: a hidden little plaza, framed by low trees and faded buildings. And in the center, like an anomaly from a childhood dream, a red van.
It was one of those hand-decorated ones, the wood carved and painted in pastel colors. Hanging from the sides were Japanese masks of all kinds: some laughing, some crying, others simply watching. The back had been transformed into a tiny puppet stage, protected by a light velvet curtain, slightly ruffled by the wind.
About ten children were sitting on small colorful plastic chairs, right in front of the stage, their legs dangling, eyes fixed on the scene. Behind them, mothers, fathers, passersby. Some were laughing. Some were taking photos. The air in the area smelled of warm caramel, cotton candy, and chocolate.
Yuzu stopped. Without deciding to.
There was something in that atmosphere that disarmed her. She was enchanted and curious about all those little lights, the people laughing, chatting, gesturing… The whole scene gave her a sense of childlike calm, without haste.
She walked over to the sweets cart, picked up a blue cotton candy with a dark brown wooden stick at the end, and settled at the back of the small crowd, sipping her tea slowly.
She felt relaxed and pleasantly surprised.
The music began. A music box. Old, out of tune, but tender.
The first three puppets came on stage: one hopped clumsily, another bowed with exaggerated flair, the third danced on one leg. The children's laughter was crystalline, light. The story told of Pulcinella, one of the classic Italian carnival characters, trying to help a heartbroken friend from Naples win back his beloved. Many characters were introduced throughout the show that evening, but one struck her deeply. She had caught a glimpse of him before the curtain fell.
Then the curtain opened again.
And he stepped out. The fourth puppet.
He was different.
Tall, slender, with long white woolen hair, sunglasses, and—for some reason—a white blindfold over his eyes. He played the antagonist, the one who had stolen the beloved away from Pulcinella's friend, and he introduced himself with a deep bow, stepping to the center of the stage and opening his arms wide like an actor at his debut.
Yuzu gripped the cotton candy stick the moment she saw him. She was now far too curious to know how the story would end, so she decided to step just a little closer to get a better view. She was very short and petite, and it would have been difficult for her to focus on the stage while staying in the back.
The character was so out of place it felt like a joke. She didn't know whether to laugh or be bewildered.
"Please, tell me you noticed the puppet based on me."
The voice caught her off guard.
Behind her stood a very tall man, wearing an open black jacket, with messy white hair and a white blindfold over his eyes. He was smiling at her with the confidence of someone who had just declared an absolute truth.
Yuzu immediately lowered her gaze.
"Excuse me?"
"Sunglasses, perfect hair, dramatic entrance… That's clearly me. Don't you think?"
She held back a smile, staring at the puppet, who at that moment was making exaggerated bows.
"It seems a bit clumsy, actually," she said.
The man put on a hurt expression and brought a hand to his chest.
"Ouch. Not clumsy. Just… misunderstood. Happens a lot to geniuses."
His voice was playful, but his gaze—though hidden by the blindfold—was attentive.
He wasn't just trying to make her laugh.
He was observing.
Yuzu took a small step to the side, embarrassed. She looked down for a second, careful not to step on anyone's feet. Then she continued.
"Do you work with the puppet show?"
"Me? No. I'm far too tall to fit behind that curtain."
He gave a half-bow.
"Gojo. Satoru Gojo. I'm a teacher, in my free time."
She looked up. A second of hesitation.
Then she introduced herself.
"Yuzu. Tachibana."
A pause.
"I teach too. Art history. So no special effects—just brushes and canvas."
Gojo opened his arms wide.
"What a waste. I only use special effects. Way more fun."
They were still laughing when a child suddenly ran out of the crowd, bumping hard into Yuzu's side.
Her boba tea slipped from her hands. The cotton candy fell to the ground, crushed.
"Oh no…" she exclaimed.
She crouched quickly as the boy's father rushed over, apologizing nervously.
"I'm so sorry, really sorry!" Many, many deep bows.
"Don't worry, they're just kids, I understand! It's nothing," she replied gently, smiling. Even though, inside, she was a little sad.
When she stood up and turned back toward the man—Gojo—he was gone.
She figured he'd probably left, so she turned her eyes back to the stage.
But a few minutes later, he reappeared.
In his hands: a new boba tea and a blue cotton candy.
"Mission accomplished," he announced.
Yuzu turned, surprised. She looked at him.
"Though the vendor insisted on getting my autograph on the sticks. Matcha, right? I got one called electric strawberry, hope that's okay."
Yuzu laughed, accepting the gift.
"Thank you. You didn't have to."
"I know. But I needed to settle the score."
She looked up, surprised.
She didn't say anything.
Gojo shrugged, his eyes still on her face.
"Little balances must be kept."
Yuzu glanced down at the cup.
"Balances?"
"You lost a boba tea and a smile. I'm trying to give you at least one of the two back."
A faint smile brushed her lips. Just barely.
Then she turned toward the little truck, where the show had ended.
"Well, thank you. For the boba tea. And the script."
Gojo gave a small nod, almost serious.
"Until the next scene, Tachibana-sensei."
And he walked away, light on his feet.
He didn't look back.
Literally.
Yuzu stood there, cotton candy in one hand, boba tea in the other.
The curtain closed.
The children scattered.
She didn't know yet that this wasn't a meeting.
It was a beginning.