The flight from Milan Malpensa to Tokyo Haneda felt like an eternity suspended between sky and time.
I left Italy at 5:30 a.m. on July 2, and after a flight of more than twelve and a half hours—with a nine-hour time difference ahead—I touched down at one in the morning on July 3.
I didn't have a choice: it was the only flight available that day, and pushing it back to July 4, the second and final date covered free of charge by the tournament staff, would have left me less than twenty-four hours to get my bearings before the Osu! World Cup kicked off on July 5.
I couldn't risk showing up exhausted and disoriented. Besides, I wanted to soak up every last particle of Tokyo, to dive headfirst into the megalopolis I had been dreaming about for months.
On the plane, I slept like the dead almost the entire time. I hadn't shut my eyes for that long in weeks, maybe months—the intense Osu! training had been keeping me up until dawn.
I dropped straight into a heavy sleep, lulled by the steady drone of the engines. I didn't even wake up for the meals, which were served complimentary.
I got off the plane with my black backpack slung over my shoulders, heart hammering with excitement for the days ahead.
Even at that late hour, the airport was buzzing with life—an endless maze of soft lighting, vast corridors, and a surreal atmosphere filled with weary travelers dragging suitcases, families with sleepy kids, and businessmen in pristine suits.
I figured I would have to make my own way to the hotel, but I decided to try my luck and contacted the tournament staff.
"Hello," I said in English, voice still rough from sleep, "I've arrived at Tokyo Haneda Airport. I was wondering if anyone might be available to take me to the hotel, as I understand the Uber service for players only operates during the day."
"Don't worry!" came a warm voice on the other end. It was a woman, her English fluent with just a light Japanese accent. "You're Mr…?"
"Christian Iori," I answered, gripping the phone tighter. "I'm one of the Osu! World Cup qualifiers. My nickname is Pantera Grigia."
"Perfect, Mr. Iori! We already have an Uber ready for you and a room booked at the Cerulean Tower Tokyu Hotel. You won't have to pay a thing—it's all covered. The driver will be there in exactly fifteen minutes. Please wait at the main exit, south side."
"Thank you very much," I said, a grin spreading across my face. "I'll wait at the main exit."
While I waited, I looked around: families reuniting in tearful hugs, bewildered tourists staring at Google Maps trying to get their bearings.
The air was cool, carrying a faint hint of summer humidity, and my stomach was growling.
Fifteen minutes later, there it was: a gleaming black Toyota Alphard that pulled up beside me with a soft hum.
I couldn't believe my eyes. An Uber Black—the luxury service I had only ever heard about back in Italy and could never afford.
I was pretty sure it was for me, but when the driver got out and spoke to me in Japanese, my heart skipped a beat.
He was a man in his fifties, gray hair slicked back, with a kind but professional expression.
"Iori-san desu ka?" he asked, his tone formal yet warm, his black suit impeccable under the airport lights.
Luckily, it was basic Japanese—the kind I had picked up from watching anime and reading children's picture books.
"Hai," I replied, nodding with a nervous smile—yes, I confirmed in Japanese.
Hearing my answer, the driver gave a small smile and opened the rear door for me with a smooth, practiced motion.
I settled in, enveloped by the scent of new leather and the cushioned quiet of the cabin, as if I had stepped into a luxury capsule cut off from the outside world.
The car pulled away without me saying a word: the tournament staff had already given the destination.
As we left the airport, I leaned against the tinted window, eyes glued to the view.
I immediately recognized the Shuto Expressway, Tokyo's iconic highway, with its sweeping curves, illuminated overpasses, and kanji road signs flashing past.
It took me straight back to the afternoons I had spent recovering from training, pushing a virtual Nissan Skyline to its limits on those very same roads in Assetto Corsa.
About half an hour later, we reached Shibuya. The Cerulean Tower Tokyu Hotel rose up before me—a forty-story skyscraper towering amid the pulsing lights of the district.
Coming from quiet Trento in northern Italy, with its mountains and low buildings, I stood there with my mouth open.
The driver helped me with my backpack, giving a slight bow before saying goodbye.
I stepped through the automatic doors into the lobby, greeted by an elegant space: polished marble floors reflecting the light from the soaring ceiling, swallowing the sound of my footsteps.
There were white leather sofas arranged in cozy corners, huge tropical plants in massive vases, and a faint fragrance of fresh flowers mixed with green tea drifting through the air. The lobby was deserted at that hour.
I approached the reception desk, voice a little hesitant. "I'm Christian Iori. The reservation is under the Osu! World Cup tournament."
The receptionist was a woman in her thirties, with a professional smile, black hair pulled into a perfect chignon, and flawless English.
As she checked my passport and the booking code on the computer, I read her name badge: Jessica Lee.
"Welcome, Mr. Iori," she said, handing me a sleek silver key card. "Your room is ready. If you need anything, room service is available twenty-four hours a day."
Then, with a spark of curiosity in her eyes, she added, "Fourteen years old! Congratulations on qualifying—you must be the youngest player. It's quite an achievement. How was the flight? You must be exhausted."
"Thanks," I replied, feeling a rush of pride mixed with embarrassment. "The flight was long, but I slept almost the entire way. I can't wait for the tournament to start."
A young porter in an elegant red uniform, with a shy smile, took my backpack and led me to the elevator.
When he pressed the button for the thirty-fifth floor, my eyes went wide. "Floor thirty-five?!" My heart leaped.
I had never slept that high up in my life—in Trento, I lived on the fourth and top floor of my building. Quite a difference.The elevator opened with a soft ding, and the porter led me down a hallway lit by recessed lights in the ceiling, thick carpet muffling every footstep.
He opened the door to room 3507, set my backpack inside, and gave a small bow before leaving.
I switched on the main light and stood there breathless for several seconds.
The room was enormous—a level of luxury I couldn't have pictured just hours earlier, especially for a game like Osu! that had nowhere near the following of giants like League of Legends or Valorant.
To the right, just inside the door, was the bathroom: an oasis of white tiles, with a Japanese toilet that looked like some futuristic gadget. Buttons for seat heating, adjustable water jets, even an option for "relaxing sounds".
"You could spend half a day in here and still not try everything," I thought, laughing to myself.
Further in, the room opened up into a wide, elegant space.
On the right was a king-size bed with crisp white sheets that felt soft and cool, flanked by two dark-wood nightstands, each with a touch-activated LED lamp.
Behind the headboard, a black decorative panel with slots backlit by soft LEDs gave the whole area a warm, enveloping glow.
Right above the bed sat a package wrapped in pink paper—the iconic Osu! color—tied with a white ribbon, all done with perfect care.
I opened it.
Inside was a letter printed on heavy paper, the tournament logo at the top:
"Congratulations! You've qualified for the sixth edition of the year's most important and prestigious Osu! tournament, Osu! World Cup 2025. We hope your stay in the world's largest megalopolis, Tokyo, will be unforgettable and that you'll take home the 3.5 million yen prize. Have fun!" Signed: The Osu! World Cup 2025 staff.
Under the letter was a plush toy—a pink circle with "Osu!" written across the middle.
I picked it up, fingers sinking into the soft, fuzzy fabric, and smiled. I had no idea why they were giving these to the players, but it warmed something inside me in a way I hadn't expected.
Even if I didn't win the tournament, this trip, this plush, this room—they would be memories I would carry forever.
Right then I realized something: I couldn't just focus on the matches. I had to live Japan, soak up every single moment of this adventure.
In front of the bed, a 50-inch OLED TV sat on a dark-wood cabinet, next to a fully stocked minibar with energy drinks and a big closet I decided not to bother with—I would rather keep everything in my backpack and save the time.
But the real knockout was at the far end of the room: a floor-to-ceiling window overlooking Shibuya, with motorized curtains I could control with a remote.
I walked over, pulse racing with excitement, and hit the button. The curtains glided open slowly, revealing the city in all its glory.
The view took my breath away—an explosion of nighttime life: skyscrapers twinkling, cars streaking along the streets below, and the world's busiest, most famous intersection, Shibuya Crossing, still swarming with people even at two in the morning.
I just stood there, mouth open, my reflection overlapping with the city lights.
I dropped onto the little sofa by the window, the 100-yen coin China had given me clutched tight in my hand.
My dad's words echoed again: "You'll stop wasting time on those useless games."
I squeezed the coin, cold metal against my skin. I wasn't here just to win. I was here to prove who I was: Christian Iori, Pantera Grigia, a kid with a dream bigger than any ten-star map.
I pulled out my phone and fired off a quick message on our community Discord server:
«Guys, I'm in Tokyo! Shibuya is insane! Think I'm gonna go explore it—I slept on the plane anyway, then it's World Cup time. Ready to crush it?» I attached a photo of the view from my window.
Replies came instantly—it was only 7 p.m. on July 2 back in Italy:
«Shibuya's waiting—go wreck everything!» Pego_pro wrote.
«That view's gotta be unreal!» Shamus007 answered.
«Hell yeah, Iori! Pro tip: hit Akihabara tomorrow,» Zenchidori added.
I sat on the sofa a little longer, the faint hum of the city barely making it through the soundproof glass.
But I couldn't stay still. Shibuya was calling, its energy practically vibrating through the window.
I pulled my black hoodie back on—the same one from the airport.
Key card, phone, and I was out the door, pulling it shut behind me.
Back in the elevator, all those glowing buttons looked like they were daring me to press every one. "I'm not a little kid," I muttered to myself, smirking as I hit the lobby button.
Down in the lobby, Jessica spotted me as I walked past. "Mr. Iori, not planning to rest, I see?" she said, leaning on the counter with an amused smile.
"Be careful out there. Tokyo is huge, and you're only fourteen—you'll turn fifteen on the sixth, correct? Still very young. Keep your eyes open."
Then, like she wanted to soften it: "Though you don't get much trouble here... not like Chicago, where I'm from."
"Thanks for the heads-up," I said, nodding. "I'll be careful, I promise."
I stepped through the sliding doors and that same rush of wonder hit me all over again.
"Tokyo is beautiful."
Cool night air brushed my face, carrying the smell of street food and the distant sound of laughter and car horns.
I started walking toward the main intersection—Shibuya Crossing. I didn't know exactly where I was headed, but it didn't matter.
I was in Tokyo, and this was my first night as Pantera Grigia in the city of dreams.