Toma had no more classes today. Just the one in the morning. He liked to stack them—every other day if possible. It gave him space. For homework. For work. For life. For clarity.

	He had received the message from Seiji and didn’t hesitate. No delay. No detour. Straight to Shibuya.

	He entered the Starbucks overlooking the Scramble, ordered a trenta medium roast coffee, [i]black[/i]. No cream, no sugar, no illusion. Only truth.

	When the barista asked for his name, he gave it without pause.

	“Seiji.”

	He waited for the cup, then leaned in casually.

	“Mind if I borrow your pen?” he asked, eyeing the [i]Sharpie[/i]. “I just want to write an inside joke to my friend," his customer service voice bleeding through. "It's a gift!”

	The barista beamed, then nodded.

	Toma took the pen and, with deliberate strokes, exaggerated the crown printed on the ubiquitous emblem. He made it black. Larger. More visible. It stood out clearly against the white cup. A signal—not loud, not obvious, but unmistakable to [i]those who knew[/i].

	He found the most noticeable spot in the café. A table near the window, where the Scramble pulsed below like a living question. He set the cup down—name and crown facing outward to the space.

	Then—he waited. His eyes ever languidly scanning the patrons and passersby. Especially anyone who seemed to linger. He watched the room intently, not for danger... but for [i]intent[/i].

	Every so often, he would take a sip. Mainly because he enjoyed the beverage. Though it helped sell the ruse. It was slightly uncomfortable having to veil his truth like this. Although, emblazoning it onto the cup so that the truth could be in plane view did help with the dissonance. 

	If any one was one of Seiji’s recruits, then the cup would be noticed. If not—he was just a guy enjoying coffee.