The coffee alternative from the Kagoshima countryside.
I lost volleyball twice
COVID ended my college career in Canada before it really began. At twenty, I was already two years retired. Then a former coach for Japan's national team called my mom about a tryout in Fukuoka. I flew over, made the team, and moved my life here.
But two years off leaves a gap, and a player who isn't undeniable is replaceable. Volleyball let me go a second time. For a while after that, mornings had nothing in them worth getting up for.
A town nobody visits
A job in the town's revitalization program brought me to Osaki-cho, Kagoshima: eleven thousand people, and shrinking. What I remember from the first weeks is the quiet: no footsteps, nobody my age, just cicadas and wind turned all the way up.
But people here were warm to a stranger with no plan, and there was so much land standing still. I kept thinking someone should build something.
The town took me in
Osaki-cho gave me a hundred-year-old house nobody else wanted, beat down and half broken. I understood the feeling.
In the kitchen of the cafe where I teach the town's kids English, I blended the drink my own mornings were missing: matcha from a family mill one town over, sweet potato from the factory down the road, lion's mane and cordyceps because I still train like it matters. The farmers here eat simply and live long. Four ingredients felt like enough.
Mornings are still the fight
I won't pretend the story ends fixed. Mornings are still my weak point. What gets me up is building this company, and 6 a.m. work in the matcha fields. I made this cup for the person I was two years ago.
Every pouch is packed by hand in this town, and every order moves more of the work here: real jobs, in a place where more than half my neighbors are past sixty. Volleyball was my first shot at going pro. This is my second tryout, and I'm not doing it alone.