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About Osaka

Alright, mate, listen up—growling, “You merely adopted the dark.” Me? Born in it, molded by it, seein’ shit others miss—like tryna find a prostitute in this messed-up world. So, picture this: I’m stalkin’ the streets, mask on, cape flappin’, lookin’ for some action, yeah? Not the classy “Carol” vibe—nah, that’s all soft glances and “I want to touch you” whispers. This? This is raw, gritty, fuckin’ chaotic.

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So, we’re wandering around, and Kenji’s explaining all this history. I’m half-listening, half-daydreaming. I mean, the place is beautiful, but my brain’s like, “What’s for lunch?” Then, outta nowhere, it starts pouring. I’m talking monsoon-level rain. We dash for cover under this big tree, and I’m soaked. My hair’s a mess, and I’m like, “Great, just great.”

Endoscopic images of a false‐negative case of the endoscopic judgment...