"I'm sorry," Ms Nakada said with a hint of regret, "I didn't intend for the conversation to go that way." But there was no need for an apology; I had thoroughly enjoyed our encounter. The events leading to Ms Nakada’s apology began earlier that evening.

From my modest apartment hotel in Shintomi, a lesser-known neighbourhood between Ginza to the west and Tsukiji to the south, I'm preparing for an evening visit to the Shinjuku branch of "Hands," formerly known as Tokyu Hands—Japan's comprehensive destination for DIY, hobby, and lifestyle shopping. No trip to Tokyo feels complete without a stop at Hands, but I'd left it to the last moment this time.

The journey from Shintomi to Shinjuku is easily manageable by subway—just a brief walk to Hatchōbori Station to catch the Hibiya Line, transfer at Kasumigaseki to the Marunouchi Line, and alight at Shinjuku Sanchōme Station. From there, it's a short stroll to Takashimaya Times Square, the 16-storey shopping cathedral that houses Hands. Yet, with the clock approaching 8 PM, I have less than an hour before the department store closes at 9 PM. My flight leaves early tomorrow, making this my last opportunity. Every minute is precious. Outside, heavy rain pelts the window, with beads and droplets diffusing the city lights into a bokeh of soft, blurred colour. The downpour makes my decision clear—only a private car will do, taking me straight from door to door.

I head downstairs and step outside, where my driver is already waiting with the door open. Her car is parked so near the building's entrance that I won't need to raise my umbrella to stay dry as I enter. The vehicle is a pristine black mid-size sedan, adorned with a golden "N" within a sakura petal outline on the door and a silver crown emblem shining on the front grille. Its angular silhouette contrasts with the rounded shapes of modern car design. The dark, lustrous black paint catches only faint reflections from the dim light of street lamps and vending machines along this quiet side street, scattered by a cascade of tiny raindrops. The polished hubcaps shine from under the wheel wells, while the solid and worn tyres seem to carry the weight of countless rides through Tokyo's alleyways and avenues. The steady hum of the idling engine accompanies flickers of rain as they dance in the glow of the headlights—oblong, practical, and unpretentious.