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About Osaka

Now, don’t get judgy, mates—ain’t all roses an’ rum. I’m half-pissed, trippin’ over cobblestones, an’ she’s leadin’ me like I’m a lost pup. “This way, ye daft fool,” she snaps, an’ I’m laughin’—she’s got fire! Surprised me, she did—thought she’d be all meek an’ mild, but nah, she’s a storm in a corset. “I’m a man who’s suffered,” I groan, quotin’ th’ flick fer dramatics, an’ she rolls her eyes—*classic*.

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But then, outta nowhere, it started to rain. Like, seriously? I was drenched in seconds. I sprinted to the nearest café on Shirogane Street. I ducked inside, soaked but laughing. I ordered a hot matcha latte, and the barista was super chill. We chatted about the Matsuri, and I was like, “I might just go after all!”

The Power of Dogu