This was Akira Toriyama's home—and his studio.
To be precise, it was a quirky-looking house connected to a more standard single-family home by an elevated walkway, covering over 5,000 square feet.
The conventional house was where Toriyama and his family lived.
The odd, orange-colored building? That was his workspace.
Urban legend has it that Toriyama once considered moving to Tokyo to make submitting manuscripts easier. To keep him in town, Aichi Prefecture supposedly built a road from his house to Nagoya Airport.
True or not, Toriyama definitely stayed put in his hometown.
Luke double-checked the address in his hand. Something seemed off.
He checked again. Nope, it was right.
So, he walked up to the door of the standard house, ready to pay his visit.
This meeting with Toriyama had been arranged through Brother Jackie, who acted as the middleman.
No need to dive into the details of how Jackie and Toriyama knew each other.
Logically, since this was a work-related visit, Luke should've headed to the weird orange house—Toriyama's studio.
The Japanese are big on boundaries, keeping work and personal life separate.
But Toriyama had given him the address of his family home.
That was interesting.
It could mean Toriyama was being friendly, inviting Luke into his home to show warmth.
Or it could mean he wasn't interested in talking business, choosing his home to subtly signal a polite rejection.
Luke figured the second option was more likely.
No big deal, though. He grabbed an elegant, long wooden box from his car and rang the doorbell.
Ding-dong!
The door opened quickly, revealing Akira Toriyama, wearing round-framed glasses.
Born in 1955, he was pushing 47 years old.
At 5'8", he wasn't short, but next to Luke's 6'2" frame, he was almost a head shorter.
"First time meeting you—welcome to my humble home, Master Luke."
Toriyama bowed first, a standard 30-degree bow, showing his respect.
Japan's a country obsessed with hierarchy and etiquette.
Sure, Toriyama was a national treasure as a manga artist, with global fame, but in Japan, his social status was roughly on par with a kendo master like Saijo.
And Luke? He was the master of masters.
After the apprenticeship ceremony, Japanese media had hyped him up as the greatest swordsman in the history of Japanese kendo.
Taking down three kendo legends single-handedly was undeniable proof. The video of that fight in the Hanama private room had gone viral, sparking a frenzy across Japan.
They went all-in on Westernization, learning from Europe and America.
But Japan has always revered ancient culture.
Take cuisine—it's seen as high-end in Japan.
Ancient poetry, calligraphy, crafts? The Japanese adore them.
So, Luke, a guy showing off unmatched skill with cold weapons?
That hit every button in the Japanese psyche.
A powerful, mysterious swordsman from the "daddy country"!
Double the thrill!
The media didn't hold back, calling him a swordsman beyond the legendary Sword Saint—an unbeatable Sword God.
Luke found the "Sword God" title a bit cringey.
But whatever, if they wanted to call him that, fine.
So when Toriyama greeted him with that respectful bow, Japanese etiquette dictated Luke should stand tall, accept it, then return a slight 15-degree bow.
But he wasn't Japanese.
Why play by their rigid hierarchy rules?
Toriyama's manga wasn't just Luke's childhood comfort food—his work had also done a lot to spread culture.
So, Luke genuinely respected him.
Instead of bowing, he smiled and extended his right hand.
Toriyama, a bit puzzled, reached out and shook it.
Luke enthusiastically clasped Toriyama's hand with both of his, saying warmly, "Mr. Toriyama, I grew up reading your manga. Your work brought so much joy to my childhood."
"Thank you for your kind words, Master Luke."
They headed to the living room and sat down.
Toriyama's wife thoughtfully brought tea and snacks before quietly backing out of the room.
Only then did Toriyama speak up. "Seeing how young you are, Master Luke, I'm honestly jealous. At my age, forget intense exercise—even working a bit extra leaves me wiped out."
Luke caught the subtext immediately.
Before coming, he'd already floated the idea of collaborating on a manga with Toriyama through Brother Jackie.
Toriyama's comment wasn't just casual envy.
The key was that line: working a bit extra leaves me wiped out.
It was a polite way of saying he probably couldn't collaborate on a manga.
Luke wasn't surprised.
The long serialization of Dragon Ball had burned through all of Toriyama's passion and energy. After that, he'd basically semi-retired, occasionally putting out short serials or standalone works.
He'd also done character designs for Japan's national RPG, Dragon Quest.
It seemed like Toriyama's creative fire had gone out, and he had no interest in making another long-form manga.
In his past life, over the next 20-plus years, Toriyama indeed never produced another work on the level of Dragon Ball.
His peak was forever stuck in the '80s and '90s.
But was that the full story?
Luke remembered an interview where Toriyama said, "If only there was a machine that could turn the ideas in my head straight into manga pages."
That showed he still had creative urges.
It was just that the effort-to-reward ratio was too low. Surpassing Dragon Ball—or even coming close—was nearly impossible.
If he couldn't work another miracle, why bother with all that exhausting work?
He'd already made plenty of money. Why not just enjoy life?
It was a real, human perspective—no judgment there.
Facing this laid-back Toriyama, Luke didn't try to persuade him directly.
Instead, he set the long wooden box he'd brought on the table.
"My first visit, so I brought a gift. I think you'll like it."