Korii Haruto
Perched in one of the stools at the bar sat a young man obviously alone. He was in his mid-twenties but his face was eternally youthful. A sharp jaw and high cheeks might have painted him severe but for a brightness shining from eyes hidden beneath a mound of black hair that puffed like an anime character. He was comfortable with his solitude, putting a glass of whiskey to his lips and spying his surroundings over the rim. He didn’t fit in with the elite filling the room, but neither was he overtly out of place. Except perhaps for the foreigner’s face. Strange to be the minority, he thought.
The ice clinked, and he waved the attention of the bartender to top him off a second. It’s not like he was paying the bill.
“Why is it getting so crowded?” he asked the bartender as she poured. His English was weighted by the heavy tongue of one newly west.
“The show is about to start,” she explained, nodding at the stage in the distance. She moved on to serve someone else after that. He watched her move for a few additional moments. He was never into gaijin women, but now he was surrounded by them, he could see himself adapting.
The show was a pleasant surprise. His smile was friendly and sincere, and he studied the curtain with fresh perspective. Haruto had been here to meet someone, not enjoy dancing girls. His luck that the other party was late.
He nestled the fresh whiskey against his chest and leaned on the bar rail for comfort.