Preamble

In the maze of Ōsaka, between the neon signs of Dōtonbori and the glass towers of Umeda, everyday life sometimes hides hairline cracks. Moments when the familiar tips into the uncanny. Coincidences so unsettling they become impossible to ignore.

A few weeks earlier, one of their own had died in circumstances no one could truly explain. The Buddhist ritual of shijūku-nichi kuyo had taken place two days before that night of August 9, 2025. But according to the monk who oversaw it, something had not worked. “A thread slipped and melted into the other shore,” he had murmured.

That evening, under the summer full moon, they gathered to honor his memory. To give meaning to the incomprehensible.

And to tell.

— Ōsaka, autumn 2025