For the first time in his life, Markara stepped out of his home country.
As the plane door opened, a soft breeze touched his face. The air was cool and clean.
It was spring in Japan, and everything felt fresh, like he had entered a different world.
He had just landed at Kansai International Airport, in Osaka.
But something felt odd.
Instead of arriving at a regular terminal, the plane had come to a stop on an open runway.
Markara glanced around, confused.
There was no jet bridge.
No sleek hallway connecting the plane to the airport like he'd seen in videos online.
Just a metal staircase leading down to the open runway.
Markara blinked in confusion.
He glanced around—still no airport building in sight.
After hesitating for a moment, he turned politely to a nearby flight attendant.
"Excuse me... how do we get to the airport?" Markara asked, trying not to sound too unsure.
"I thought we were supposed to land at the gate."
The flight attendant gave him a gentle, practiced smile—like she'd answered this question hundreds of times.
"Ah, don't worry. A shuttle will take you to the terminal shortly."
Markara tilted his head.
Wait a second...
"Is this... a budget airline?" he muttered under his breath.
He reached into his sling bag and pulled out his ticket, scanning the logo and fine print.
Yup.
There it was. The cheapest airline available.
He let out a small sigh, everything made sense during his trip, multiple delays, cramped seats, zero entertainment on board, not even a screen.
Still, he could not really complain, it was his first time flying and traveling abroad.
After a short wait, a shuttle bus pulled up to the side of the runway.
Markara followed the other passengers as they boarded, and within a few minutes, they were on their way to the main terminal.
The ride was quiet.
Markara stared out the window, watching the airport buildings grow larger as they got closer.
But once they arrived…
A new problem appeared.
How do I even get out of here?
It was his first time going through international arrival procedures, and none of it made much sense to him.
There were signs everywhere—some in Japanese, some in English—but the lines, the machines, the process… it was all overwhelming.
He stood frozen near the immigration area, clutching his passport tightly.
After a moment of hesitation, he quietly approached a nearby airport staff member.
"Um… sorry," he said in English, "Could you help me? I… don't really know how to check out."
The staff member smiled kindly and began explaining everything—how to go through immigration, where to scan his passport, when to pick up his luggage, and how to pass through customs.
Markara listened carefully, nodding and thanking her again and again.
It was stressful.
When he finally got to check out and claim his luggage, his smart phone suddenly rang.
When he finally got through immigration and picked up his luggage, His shoulders relaxed for the first time in hours.
Just as he was about to step into the arrival lobby, his smartphone suddenly rang.
At the exact same moment, his stomach growled—loud enough for him to hear over the ringtone.
He froze awkwardly, clutching his bag in one hand and his phone in the other.
"...Seriously?" he muttered under his breath.
A sigh escaped his lips as he looked down at the screen.
Akari.
He hesitated for a moment, then tapped the answer button.
"Hello?"
Her voice came through immediately, calm and direct.
"Come outside. Someone will be waiting for you at the arrival area."
Beep.
She hung up before he could say anything else.
Markara stared at the phone, blinking.
"...She really likes hanging up on people, huh?"
He sighed again and adjusted the strap of his bag.
Is Akari even trustworthy? he thought to himself. I still know nothing about her.
But he didn't have much choice now.
He followed the signs and made his way outside.
Just past the sliding glass doors, standing in the crowd of drivers and greeters, was a middle-aged man in a dark suit.
He was short, stocky, and completely bald.
"Markara Lewis"
Written in bold, neat letters.
Markara walked slowly toward the man, glancing around to make sure no one else was holding a similar sign.
When he stopped in front of him, he pointed to himself, a little uncertain.
"Hi… I'm Markara Lewis."
The man looked up from the sign, gave him a quick once-over, and nodded.
Without a word, he folded the paper neatly and tucked it into his jacket.
Then he gave a polite bow.
"Markara-san, please follow me."
His voice was quiet but clear, his accent sharp—definitely Japanese.
Markara blinked, then nodded and followed without question.
The man didn't say anything more.
He simply turned and began walking toward the parking lot.
Markara followed the man silently through the parking lot.
After a short walk, they stopped in front of a sleek, black luxury car.
It looked expensive.
The man walked to the back door and, without a word, pulled it open.
Markara took a cautious step forward—
And froze.
Sitting comfortably inside, legs crossed, was a woman in a sharp black suit.
Her short, dark hair was neatly tucked behind her ears.
Her expression was calm, unreadable.
But Markara recognized her immediately.
"M-Miss Akari?!"
His voice cracked slightly from surprise.
She glanced at him with that same calm, unreadable expression.
"Get in," she said quietly. "There are a lot of eyes out here."
Markara nodded quickly and slid into the back seat without another word.
The door shut behind him with a soft thud.
Just as he was about to sit back and settle into the silence—
Grrrrrrkkk—
His stomach growled.
Loudly.
The sound echoed awkwardly inside the quiet, luxury car.
Markara froze, wide-eyed.
Akari turned to look at him, one eyebrow slightly raised.
He gave an awkward smile, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Uh… sorry. It's been a long day."