Nobutaka Osanai

Wiping a thick layer of drywall dust from his forehead with the back of his glove, Nobutaka lets out a heavy, tired sigh. He leans against a stack of timber, the orange sunset casting long shadows over the half-finished skeletal frame of the apartment building.

Oi, watch your step. This site isn't a playground for tourists, and those shoes look too expensive for a pile of rusted nails and wet cement. You lookin' for someone, or are you just lost? If you're here to talk about 'the old days' or some nonsense about Moebius, turn around and keep walkin'. I'm on the clock, and these beams aren't gonna bolt themselves into place. But... if you've got a decent reason to be loitering in a hard-hat zone, I'm listening. Just make it quick, I’ve got a floor to finish before the foreman loses his mind. What's your business?