"Iori," China started, looking me straight in the eye, dead serious. "There's something crucial I've been working on these past few weeks for your move to Japan."
I nodded, staying quiet, listening closely.
"Over the last two weeks, Nijiro and I have been trying to figure out a way to hide the fact that you'll be living alone," China went on.
"Why didn't you involve me?" I asked. "And anyway, wouldn't it be enough to just say I'm living with Nijiro?"
"No," China said, shaking his head. "If you declare you're living with Nijiro in Tokyo but your school is in Kyoto, the police or immigration would get suspicious right away. We can't risk something that obvious."
"We came up with an idea," China continued, a sly smile creeping onto his face. "We're going to create two Christian Iori."
"Huh?" I said, confused. "What do you mean?"
"Once you're in Japan, you and Nijiro will register in Kyoto, listing the school you'll actually attend and a real address in the Higashiyama ward—but one we don't actually own."
I was trying to keep up, but doubts were flooding in.
"Wait," I cut in. "Don't they ask Nijiro for proof of the address? If we don't have the place—"
"Don't worry," China interrupted. "I spent the last two weeks recreating every single document for that address, down to the last detail. Nijiro's already printed them."
"I hope it works, after all the effort I put in," he added. "I studied every detail of Japan's resident registration system—the jūminhyō."
"And if it doesn't work?" I asked, my voice shaking a little.
"Then you're fucked," China said, making my heart stop for a second.
I stepped closer, pissed off, staring him down. "So you're telling me I'm leaving for Japan tomorrow and I just have to hope the fake documents you made hold up, or I'm totally fucked?"
"And the best part is, if it falls apart, I'll regret it for the rest of my life because I won't even have been able to help!" I added a few seconds later, pressing a hand to my face.
"Sorry," China said, genuinely. "But trust me. It'll work."
"If you say so…" I sighed, calming down from the sudden anger I had unloaded on him—he had put so much work in for me.
"Anyway, once we're registered, we can't leave it like that forever. Sooner or later they'll figure it out," I went on.
"Exactly," he nodded. "About a week after you've registered—maybe a little longer—I'll get into the municipal database and change the address to one on the same street but with a nonexistent house number."
"And then?" I asked, curious despite the fear.
"Then I'll create the second Christian. This is the important part," China said, turning more serious than before as I listened.
"The second Christian will live at Nijiro's place in Tokyo and attend Tokyo Metropolitan Meguro High School—a big public school in Meguro ward that covers both junior and senior high, just like the one you'll actually go to."
"It's huge—over a thousand students," he added. "If anyone ever checks and can't find you in their records, the first assumption will be a system glitch, not fraud. We'll hide in the crowd."
The plan was insane, brilliant, and honestly kind of terrifying: China hacking municipal databases from Italy to create a phantom version of me.
I would be living two parallel lives—one real, in Kyoto, where I would physically be and attend my actual school, but officially registered at a nonexistent address tied to Nijiro; and one fake, in Tokyo, living with Nijiro and enrolled in a school I would never set foot in.
"Now listen carefully," China said. "You absolutely have to remember Tokyo Metropolitan Meguro High School. That's your alibi."
"If you're ever in Tokyo for any reason, you say that's your school. If you're in Kyoto, you give the name of your real one. Got it?"
"Yeah," I said, nodding over and over. "Speaking of which, what's the name of my school in Kyoto? I never asked Nijiro."
"Oh, I thought he'd told you. I don't know either," he said, shaking his head.
I turned my head to the right and saw Mathew and John watching us from a distance, talking among themselves. "Maybe I'll text him later and find out."
"Anyway," I said after a few seconds of silence, "you two have really put in a ton of work for me. None of this would even be possible without you."
"One day I owe you guys at least a dinner," I added, trying to lighten the mood.
"Obviously only if the documents actually work!" I exclaimed a moment later, and we all laughed.
"Relax," China said. "The one thing I'm actually reliable about is computers. It'll all go fine."
We walked back to the others, and even though I had listened to every word, I still hadn't fully processed how completely insane the plan was.
China was planning to break into the Higashiyama ward office database in Kyoto to change the residence, then into Meguro's in Tokyo to add a second Christian Iori.
"China's totally out of his mind," I thought to myself, smiling as I headed toward the guys sitting in the middle of the field.
I dropped down next to them, and for a while we just talked about random stuff—video games, Japan, what they were doing in the next few days.
The vibe was easy, but underneath it all was this quiet sadness about saying goodbye.
John was lying on the grass, hands behind his head, staring up at the sky. "So this is the last time the four of us hang out together, huh? You leave tomorrow, and who knows when we'll see you again."
"Hey, I'll come back eventually," I told him. "The school visa only lasts two years, so I'll have to return in 2027… unless I come back earlier because I flunk the exam."
"Wait, really?!" he said, lighting up and propping himself up on his elbows.
"Did you actually think the visa was permanent?" Mathew cut in, laughing.
"Anyway, we can still talk on Discord. And now you've got those new headphones," I said to John.
"You're right. It's not the end," John said, smiling as it sank in. "We'll play online, stay up late on voice chat. And you'll tell us everything about Japan—the temples, the food, the girls…"
We all cracked up. I glanced at my phone and saw it was already 7:45 p.m. Time was flying.
"Guys, I've got to run now. You know we eat really early at my house, at six-thirty... my mom's going to kill me," I said, standing up from the ground.
China walked over and held out his hand. "Then we'll touch base once you've got updates on the residence."
"Count on it," I said, shaking it firmly. "Thanks for everything, seriously."
Then John came up, gave me a high five, and we hugged hard, like brothers. "Next time we see each other, you better have won another World Cup, and I'll be a pro soccer player, got it? So grind over there!"
"For sure. You grind too," I told him.
Finally Mathew stepped forward and offered his hand.
"You'll wait for me?" he asked, looking me dead in the eyes with that same intensity he always had when we talked about the dreams we shared.
"Obviously. We're gonna become master swordsmen," I said, gripping his hand tight.
It had all started in November 2022, a few months after I had begun watching anime because of him.
Mathew had suggested I try reading a manga, saying it was different from regular books.
At first I had refused — I wasn't much of a reader — but one day he decided to bring a physical copy to school: the first volume of Naruto.
"Give it a try," he had told me. Even though battle shōnen wasn't really my thing, I decided to give it a chance.
I finished it during recess, but decided not to continue with it, looking instead for something closer to my taste.
A few days later I started reading Vinland Saga online, and that's how I discovered seinen: grittier, more mature stories, which I preferred.
Then, in October 2024, Mathew brought the first volume of Vagabond to school — the seinen manga by Takehiko Inoue about the adventures of Japan's greatest swordsman: Miyamoto Musashi.
That day, before class started, while I was looking at my phone, Mathew set the volume down on my desk.
"Give it a read," he said. "It's seinen."
"Mathew, reading seinen?" I thought, knowing he only read shonen; so, at break, I started reading it.
"Wow," I said, closing the volume at the end of the day. "It's incredible."
"Right?" Mathew answered, eyes lighting up. "The way he fights, grows, faces his inner demons… it's poetry with a sword."
In no time I devoured every other volume available online—the manga had been on hiatus for years, leaving Miyamoto Musashi stranded halfway through his journey. But those pages had branded themselves on me.
One night, on a Discord voice call, Mathew said, "Iori, why just go to Japan for fun? Why don't we move there and become master swordsmen like Miyamoto Musashi?"
At first it sounded insane, but deep down I loved the idea.
Learning to wield a katana, meditating in temples… it felt so far removed from my everyday life that it only made me want it more.
"I'm in," I finally said. "We'll be the two greatest swordsmen of the twenty-first century. Together."
"It's a promise," Mathew said, and I could hear his voice shake with emotion.
"Obviously," I answered, eyes stinging like any dreamer's would.
But now, heading to Japan, I was the only one leaving the next day.
Mathew had asked his parents if he could go with me, but of course they shut it down flat.
"You're too young, it's dangerous, it costs too much," they had said, and that was the end of it in the Carapas house.
He stayed crushed for weeks, but eventually accepted it and swore he would join me one day.
I gave one last wave to the guys watching from the little gate at the edge of the soccer field.
I had finally said goodbye to everyone I cared about back in Italy; all that remained was to leave.
I walked home, savoring those final stretches of familiar streets that had shaped my childhood.
About a minute in, I heard a familiar voice yelling my last name from behind, breathless and far off.
"Iori! Iori! Wait up!" I spun around. It was John, sprinting toward me, arms flailing.
"What's up," I said once he reached me and caught his breath.
"I just wanted to tell you to live this thing to the fullest, every single day. Not many people get to do what you're doing," he said, clapping a hand on my shoulder.
"Don't waste a second," he went on, smiling. "Savor it all—the food, the culture, the adventures. Live every day there like it's your last."
He was right. Hardly anyone gets to move to Japan as a minor on a student visa, and I was one of the lucky few.
"Thanks, John. I'll try," I said, shaking his hand.
He nodded, then jogged back toward Mathew and China, waving the whole way until he vanished around the corner.
I kept walking home, turning John's words over in my head and realizing how much they would help me make the most of everything waiting for me in just a few days.
I finally got home at eight. I dropped my keys in their usual spot by the door, kicked off my shoes, and headed into the living room.
I said hi to my brother, parked at his setup playing Minecraft, and to my sister, watching some video on the TV.
The living-room table had already been cleared, just like I had dreaded.
So I went straight to the kitchen, stomach growling from all the hunger I had built up.
"Here I am," I said, sliding onto a stool at the kitchen island, where four slices of grilled chicken breast waited for me, alongside a small salad dressed with balsamic vinegar—just how I liked it.
I had barely picked up my fork when I turned right and caught my mom staring me down, arms folded tight, eyes sharp enough to cut glass. She was furious, no question.
"Did you get lost?!" she shouted at me, her voice sharp. "You know we eat at six-thirty! It's eight o'clock!"
"Sorry," I muttered, slicing into the chicken. "I had to say goodbye to Mathew, John, and China."
"You left at five," she fired back, stepping closer, tone thick with accusation. "Did a goodbye really need all that time?"
Before heading back to the living room, she let out a sigh and added, "You're lucky tonight. Since it's your last dinner here, I left your plate out."
I knew exactly what she meant. Whenever I was late because of a stream or some endless online match, she would clear everything away without a second thought.
Those nights I either went hungry until morning or slipped out alone to buy something with my own money, learning the hard way that punctuality mattered.
"And anyway," she finished, disappointment threading through her voice, "you could've at least eaten with the family on your last night."
She left the room. I ate in silence, feeling bad for her, while my mind was already racing ahead to tomorrow.
That night I tried to get to bed early—around ten—so I would be rested for the next day.
My body, though, wasn't used to turning in that early, or to getting that much sleep; I usually averaged just four hours a night.
I tossed and turned for hours, heart hammering with excitement. I couldn't wait to be in Japan again, to breathe that air, to start a whole new life.