A Manga Without a Punchline [Episode 6] — Light glasses, heavy words. The adult 'sense of distance' I learned at a bar at seventy.

“From that customer over there.”
At my regular bar, the bartender placed a drink in front of me.

The sender was a woman in her thirties sitting a little ways away.

Having reached seventy, I lifted my glass slightly in acknowledgment.
However, I didn't speak to her right away.

For someone like me who has lived through the long Showa era, Reiwa-era human relationships are sometimes difficult.
What I intend as friendliness can come across as being overly familiar.
What I intend as a compliment can be seen as unwanted interference.
A word meant with good intentions might be perceived as harassment.

So, how can I naturally interact with people of different ages and generations?

Starting with the act of 'buying a drink,' this seventy-year-old rock-and-roll guy arrived at a surprisingly simple answer.

Closeness is not something I get to decide.
It is something that grows little by little between two people.

The adult 'sense of distance' I learned at a bar

I am Sera Masato—Masato Hoshizora.
A musician who has reached seventy, the age of Koki.

It was about half a century ago that I stepped into this world, admiring the legendary guitarist Jeff Beck.

The bandmates I played music with when I was young have passed away, one by one.

Even so, there is a partner who still remains by my side today.
My Fender Stratocaster.

For some reason, my fans call me 'Stellina'.
It seems it means 'little star' in Italian.
Just hearing the sound of it, it's a very cute name.

Why did a seventy-year-old rock-and-roll guy come to be called by such a name?
If you want to know the story behind it, please bear with me for a while.

Episode 6: 'Aun no Kokyu' (In Sync)

The stylish gesture of saying, 'From that customer over there.'

Have you ever seen a scene like this in a movie set in a bar?

A man stares at a woman sitting a little ways away.
He gives a nod to the bartender.
After a while, a cocktail is placed in front of the woman.

“From that customer over there.”
The woman looks back.
The man says nothing, just lifts his glass ever so slightly.

—It's cheesy.
But it makes for a good picture.

It's a familiar trope in movies and television.
The act of buying someone a drink is expressed in English-speaking countries as 'buying someone a drink.'
Treating an acquaintance or someone you happen to be with to a drink at a tavern has long been a form of socializing.

“Can I get you a drink?”
That isn't necessarily a pick-up line.
It could be a sign of affection, a greeting, or sometimes an expression of 'I have no hostility toward you.'

Eventually, in the world of movies and dramas, it began to be staged more romantically.

A man sitting a little ways away nods to the bartender and has a cocktail delivered to a beautiful stranger.

Their eyes meet across their glasses.
No words are exchanged.
Yet, only the premonition that something might begin remains.

For a movie, there is no more convenient 'adult encounter' than this.
In Japan, too, this style became widely known through Showa-era movies, television dramas, and even comedy sketches.

However, a real bar is different from a movie.
A glass doesn't slide across the counter from far away.

You speak directly to someone sitting nearby,
“If you'd like, may I buy you a drink?”
Or, you check the other person's intentions through the bartender.
I believe that the original act of 'buying a drink' is less about picking someone up and more

closer to a greetingthan anything else.However, this is important.

If there is the freedom to buy a drink, there is also the freedom to decline it.

The bartender is the 'kind person' in the bar.

In today's Japanese bars, especially authentic bars that value quiet time, the establishment may sometimes not relay a drink to a stranger.

It might place the burden of refusal on the other person.
They might be someone who wants to drink quietly alone.
It might ruin the atmosphere of the bar.
It is the bartender who makes that judgment.

I have long interpreted the word 'bartender' on my own as 'bar + tender,' or in other words,a kind person in the baras I have taken it.
Of course, this isn't about etymology.
It's my own view of a bartender.

They stand behind the counter, watching the customers while making drinks.
Are they someone who wants to talk?
Are they someone who wants to be left alone?
Are they too drunk?
Are they making the customer next to them uncomfortable?
By picking up on such small pieces of information, they quietly adjust the atmosphere of the place so that no one gets hurt.

That is precisely why there is meaning in a bartender judging, 'Let's not do that.'
And I think that in the background of that, there is also a change in the sense of 'distance between people' in society as a whole.

What was 'normal' in the Showa era looks different in the Reiwa era.

Is Japan today not in the middle of a slow transition
from a culture of 'enduring even if it's somewhat unpleasant' to a culture of 'respecting the other person's dignity and boundaries'?
When I was young,
there was certainly an atmosphere that 'if it's to train a subordinate, it can't be helped if it's a bit harsh.'

Being yelled at.
Being forced to drink.
“Can't you drink my drink?”

“Don't leave before me.”
It wasn't just once or twice that I was showered with such words.
At the time, that was treated like a 'baptism to become a working adult.'
There were things that would be called 'alcohol harassment' today.
Values have changed.

Now, the idea that


'even if you are in a position to teach, that doesn't mean you can hurt the other person's personality'

has come to be shared, at least more than before.I think that in itself is a very good change.However, there are also difficulties.
For me, having lived through the long Showa era, there is a little bit of 'fear'.

Might a word I said with good intentions hurt the other person?
Might what I intended as a compliment be unwanted interference?
Might what I intended with friendliness be closing the distance too much?

For me, who has lived freely in the world of rock, sometimes Reiwa-era human relationships feel like walking through an invisible minefield.

A drink was sent to me by a woman in her thirties.

Recently, at my regular bar, I was treated to a 'drink' for the first time in a while.
The sender was a woman in her thirties sitting a few seats away.

The bartender placed a glass in front of me.
'This is from the customer over there.'
—Oh, come on.
This isn't a movie.

Thinking that, I looked at her, and she was looking back at me.
I lifted my glass just a little.
She also raised her glass slightly.

That was all.
I didn't start a conversation right away.

Just because I received a drink doesn't mean I'm obligated to talk.
And it certainly doesn't mean I've earned the right to be intimate.

So, I decided to practice
'Light glasses, heavy words.'
I lift the glass lightly.

However, I don't rush to throw out words.
If she seems like she wants to talk, I talk.

Otherwise, I quietly drink my own drink.
After a while, she started the conversation.

It was only a brief exchange.
Yet, strangely, I felt that the 'distance between our hearts' had closed just a little.

Perhaps this is what people of the past called 'a meeting of minds.'

There is no need to distance yourself from people out of fear of harassment.

And then I thought.
Is there really any need to be more intimidated than necessary by younger people or women?

Complimenting a younger person.
Inviting them to a meal.
Talking about one's own experiences.
Offering advice when asked.
These things in themselves are not harassment.

What is important is
whether there is room for the other person to refuse,
whether you are treating the other person as an equal human being,
and
whether you are repeating behavior that the other person dislikes.
Perhaps that is it.

The boundary line for what is 'rude' is different for my generation, which has reached seventy, than it is for those in their twenties and thirties.
That is precisely why I do not force the common sense of my era onto others.
At the same time, there is no need to be afraid and close off relationships with people.

Intimacy is something that grows between two people.

Having turned seventy, I finally arrived at one answer.

Intimacy is not something I decide.
It is something that grows little by little between two people.

A tiny toast exchanged in the corner of a bar.
The glasses didn't touch.
We barely exchanged any words.
Even so, something can be born between people.

Perhaps an adult's sense of distance is not a technique for getting closer, but

leaving enough space for the other person to approach you.I learned that at seventy.
I feel like it might be a little too late—

well, that's fine.
Even rock music has rests.

Because there is time when no sound is played,


the next note resonates in the heart.
[Recorded August 17, 2026]