Japan Bound: Heat, Maids, and Guitar Dreams
I jumped out of bed in the Japanese hotel room, took a cold shower, roughly dried my hair, and changed clothes. As usual, I reached for thin long pants and a long-sleeved shirt, but then Myeongjeon had second thoughts. 'Isn't Japan hotter than Korea?' Dressing like I did back home might make me melt. Shorts or a skirt with a short-sleeved top, then... Myeongjeon felt a twinge of resistance. Until now, skirts or revealing clothes had been for special occasions only—like promoting a song or performing. Everyday life in that getup? But Myeongjeon quickly changed her mind. Guys wear short sleeves and shorts too. Hiding from the sweltering heat would be the weird thing. With that resolve, Myeongjeon rummaged through the closet and pulled out dolphin pants. Not too tight, not too baggy—perfect ventilation. Just right.
"This is my first time traveling abroad."
Incheon Airport departure hall. With their guardian for the trip—Suyeon's mom, Lee Hyein—off at the duty-free shop, Iseo sipped her coffee from a seat near the exit and spoke up.
"Isn't that normal for most people?"
"Maybe? I figured you'd been at least once, Suyeon."
"...Nope."
Suyeon paused oddly for a moment. Iseo just thought, Eh, whatever. With Hyeona's arts college entrance exams looming, this Japan trip had been a sudden decision. Iseo had pushed for it, but Hyeona was the most fired up. Even now, she was glued to her tablet next to them, double-checking this and that.
"Why are you scheduling it so tightly?"
"We might only get to come once...! We have to see everything!"
Hyeona's tablet was marked up with spots: Animate, Surugaya, Melon Books, Mandarake, Maidreamin... A maid cafe?
"Why the hell would we go to a maid cafe? Do we really need that?"
"I've been to one in Korea."
"In Korea?"
"Yeah... It felt kinda off there, so I wanna try one in Japan. See what an authentic one's like."
"...Do we really need to experience that?"
Suyeon's question cut in mid-conversation. Iseo echoed with a "Yeah, right," but Hyeona seemed to disagree.
"We should. To level up as an otaku..."
"Who wants to level up that? What's the payoff?"
Suyeon's cool rebuttal. But Hyeona had her own logic.
"Obviously there's a payoff. Next time you're arguing with someone, you can say, 'Have you ever been to a real maid cafe in Japan?'"
'When would that even come up?' Iseo wondered. Suyeon looked equally skeptical.
"No one's having that conversation. It's not like otakus are duking it out."
Hyeona froze at Suyeon's blunt words, then spoke in a trembling voice.
"...Huh? You guys... aren't otakus now...?"
"I'm more curious why you'd think that."
"N-no, I mean, we just performed Bocchi the Rock songs, so I figured you'd gotten into music and then manga and anime too... Naturally..."
Hyeona mumbled, sounding flustered herself at Suyeon's baffled stare.
"Normal people don't do that. They don't just dive in and obsess like that."
Iseo explained it plainly. Hyeona stared back like the world was ending, but facts were facts. Time to face reality—the world wasn't all sunshine.
"Quit yapping and take this."
Seoha returned from duty-free with Suyeon's mom, handing over a bag as she spoke.
The hotel was near Tokyo Station. Partly because Hyeona wanted Akihabara, and Ochanomizu Station—the must-visit—wasn't far. Plus, Hyein said it was her go-to whenever she came for Tokyo business trips. Myeongjeon figured it wasn't bad at all. Looked pretty upscale. Even if the name made Korean blood boil, tempting you to hurl a lunchbox bomb at it.
"Can we really unpack this early? Isn't check-in at 2 or 3?"
"Usually, yeah. But I've stayed here a ton. Perks of being a regular."
Hyein answered Seoha's question. Myeongjeon wondered, 'How many stays make you a "regular"?' as she eyed the two keys from the counter: one for a double, one for a triple. Her and Hyein in one, the other three in the other.
"Isn't this place... expensive?"
Overwhelmed by the fancy interior, the girls finally asked once they saw "Mom" footing the bill. Hyein just smiled.
"It's a thank-you for getting along with my daughter. Don't worry about it. We're not staying long—just a night or two."
True to its luxury status, bellhops shadowed them from the shuttle all the way. They barely held the keys before handing them off, hauling luggage with top service. The other three let out awed "Whoa!"s.
'Is this capitalism...?'
But Myeongjeon recalled the old days. Servant culture lingered into his childhood—not in his house, but among the well-off. Even as a kid, he'd found it barbaric. Now it was justified as "paid work." Was that okay? Japan, man...
'Nah, this is convenient as hell.'
Just moments ago critiquing capitalism, Myeongjeon shelved it—no dragging her own suitcase up, bags delivered right to the room. These folks were paid pros. No need to grumble. No job's beneath another.
"Please enjoy your stay."
"Ah! Thank you!"
Amid unpacking, chatter drifted from the next room. Sounded like Hyeona—fluent Japanese.
"You speak Japanese too?"
Myeongjeon asked, impressed. Hyeona replied smoothly, no Korean stumbles.
"Uh... a little..."
"Japanese is a core otaku virtue."
"What about you?"
Iseo jumped in as Hyeona answered, then Seoha attacked Iseo out of nowhere. Ignoring Iseo's betrayed glare at Seoha, Myeongjeon turned back to her room. Hyein emerged, unpacked.
"Alright, kids. Ready for some food?"
They wandered out from the hotel. The girls, thrilled by unfamiliar sights, trailed Hyein with "Whoa!"s and "No way!"s.
"Not excited?"
Iseo asked, sticking by Myeongjeon.
"I am," Myeongjeon said, though she wasn't. She'd been to Japan a few times—mostly for gear buys or session gigs. Quick ins and outs. Time had passed, but Japan felt frozen, same vibe.
Catching up to confident Hyein, Myeongjeon asked, "Reservation?"
"Nah. Isn't winging it part of the fun?"
He nodded. Yeah, overplanning killed the joy. Especially for them...
"Hyeona seemed to know some Japanese earlier."
"Really? I only use English here. Handy if she can help with stuff."
Strolling aimlessly, they hit a promising spot: classic "Japanese restaurant" vibe, not too rowdy.
"This one. Hyeona."
"Yes?"
"I'm bad at Japanese. You any good?"
Hyeona hesitated but nodded. Inside, after waiting for the server, menus were pure Japanese.
"What? Why so pricey?"
"What's on the menu?"
Iseo and Seoha gawked; Hyein squinted. Hyeona sidled up.
"Um... Unaju place, I think. Eel rice bowl."
"Thanks. Eel okay, kids?"
Nods all around, Myeongjeon included. Buoyed, Hyeona beamed: "Leave the ordering to me!"
But her glory was short-lived.
"What sauce would you like?"
"Hitsumabushi style, or regular?"
"Dessert?"
"Uh... s-sorry... J-jotto slowly, yukkuri, what was it..."
Thinking she spoke Japanese, the server unleashed rapid-fire—dialect-tinged accent. Hyeona teared up, desperately trying, but struggling hard by Myeongjeon's eye.
"Didn't you say you knew Japanese?"
"N-not that much..."
"It's fine. He talked too fast. Normal not to catch it."
Despite Hyein's comfort, Hyeona sulked. Myeongjeon thought, 'Kinda different issue,' but stayed quiet. No need to kick her while down.
"Otaku types are like that. You know the saying? They can yell 'I'll fight to the death to save the world!' but choke on 'Medium ramen, please. Chopsticks and pepper.' That's otakus for ya."
Iseo, grinning wickedly, poked relentlessly.
"Y-you...! Soy-sauce bitch can't even speak Japanese! Fashion otaku! Cosplay girl! Fake with your menthal concept! I hate Soy-sauce bitch!"
Fuming at the one-sided roast, Hyeona blurted it out and bolted like in a manga. Seoha chased the stunned Hyeona; Iseo blanked on "fashion otaku," "fake," "hate Soy-sauce bitch." Myeongjeon just thought, What a farce.
Ochanomizu. Started as shops for nearby college kids, now a 500-meter instrument street packed with stores.
He was a clerk there. Not ancient tradition, but long enough for pride—and skills to demo for customers.
'Those folks won't buy anything.'
He had a nose for browsers. Nailed it 90% from years of practice. These new ones? Total no-buys.
'Mom...? Teacher maybe. Young-looking aunt? Anyway, one adult and four obvious high school girls. Korean tourists, probably.'
Spot-on. They burst in chattering incomprehensible Korean: "Holy crap," "So many instruments? Can we try?" He figured girls like that never bought. Girl bands? Manga fantasy. Even real ones lacked skill. Not bias—just fact.
"Can we play this? For demonstrate."
"Uh... yeah. Sure."
The "aunt" spoke fluent English—surprising—but didn't sway him. Then the tall, curvy girl grabbed the Jack Bruce Warwick Thumb fretless signature, yelling, "I've always wanted to try this! Warwick fretless!" He almost winced—wasting it on her. Until she played.