The time a guy over sixty snuck into a breakdance lesson

RAB’s Muratomi-sensei’s on-site lesson, I decided to go during my lunch break the day before it was held.

As far as fan activities go, this is quite an unusual category.

Normally, you’d go to a live concert, an event, or at most, line up for merchandise.

But this time, it was a breakdance lesson.

I’m crazy, I know.

I had been curious about it for a long time.

However, an on-site lesson isn’t a place where a beginner like me can just jump in easily.

It’s attended by so-called “number students,” people who dance in showcases.

A world of young people who are seriously learning breakdancing and polishing their skills.

And I, an old guy, was going there.

Thinking about it normally, it’s quite out of place.

But this time, the circumstances were different.

Muratomi-sensei’s online and on-site lessons were ending in two sessions.

For that final period only, they were specially allowing anyone to participate on-site.


For about the past year, I’ve been taking his breakdance lessons online.

I rented a shared room and, through the screen, managed to keep going, including the things I could do and the things I couldn’t.

Before I knew it, moving my own body was gradually becoming fun.

If so, I wanted to see it in person at least once before the end.

How does he teach in an actual lesson?

The online lessons are mostly filled with Muratomi-san’s fans, known as “Murakura.”

He talks to us from inside the screen, and it’s a funky, fun time as a fan activity.

However, the content he teaches is authentic.

From steps to footwork and chairs, it’s difficult enough for a beginner.

So, what is it like in the actual on-site lesson?

What kind of face does he make when facing young dancers?

I wanted to see that.

No, maybe more than wanting to see it, I wanted to know.

Of course, I was also scared.

Would an old guy like me be a nuisance if I went?

Wouldn’t I just be disrupting the space while young people are working seriously?

To the me who thought that, another part of me was telling me otherwise.

This is reporting.

It’s for writing a note.

It’s an infiltration report.

Half is true, and half is an excuse.

On the day, I finished my errands at the last minute and headed near the venue.

There was no way I would make it if I took the online lesson from home.

So, I decided to observe the online lesson at a nearby coffee shop.

It was the second-to-last online lesson.

True to the teacher, the content was quite packed.

Moreover, he said he would use what he did online that day for the on-site lesson too.

Since I was in a coffee shop, I couldn’t move my body.

But I was desperately following the footwork and body orientation in my head.

I would probably be doing the same thing on-site later.

Once I started thinking that, I suddenly became restless.

Even though I had been watching as a regular online student until just a moment ago, today I was going to join in there myself.

Even though I was just drinking warm rooibos tea, there was a strange sense of tension.

As the meeting time approached, I left the online lesson midway and headed to the venue.

Looking at the exterior, you can’t really tell what kind of place it is.

I went down the stairs, and in the hallway, a poster for Real Akiba Boyz (RAB)’s Tokyo Gymnasium performance was posted.

When I proceeded to the area with the reception, there was also a poster right next to the red studio door.

Ah, the atmosphere of RAB was properly flowing here.

I felt a little relieved, but I couldn’t settle down while waiting in the small lobby.

Where do I change my shoes?

What do I do about changing clothes?

I didn’t know the ropes.

Fortunately, there was someone I knew.

At a first-time venue, just having someone you know is a huge relief.

The time came, and I headed to the studio in the back.

As I had expected, everyone was young.

Maybe in their 20s to 30s.

Their bodies were flexible, too.

At the preparation stage, they already looked like people from a different world.

When the warm-up exercises started, the teacher called the arched back pose with both hands on the floor “Ottosei-san” (Mr. Seal).

Calling this and the movement of bowing with both hands and head on the floor “Dogeza” is the same as in the online lessons.

I chuckled a little.

Inside the studio, breakbeat-like music was playing the whole time.

The atmosphere itself was different from the online lessons.

In that environment, the teacher raised his voice, indicated the order, and led everyone.

What was there wasn’t my favorite Muratomi-san, but a full-fledged breakdance teacher.


First was footwork.

Since the content was the same as what I had seen online, I managed to keep up.

Of course, it was difficult.

While stealing glances at the person next to me, I moved by trial and error, thinking, “Is it like this? Is it like this?”

If it was short parts, I could manage.

Maybe I could think that because I had been doing it online for a year.

I couldn’t say I was doing it well.

But they weren’t completely unknown movements.

The problem was what came after that.

A while after the lesson started, the content suddenly progressed to handstands and headspin-related moves.

From here on, it was a different world.

I, who couldn’t do a handstand, and a few others ended up practicing by putting our feet up on the wall and supporting ourselves with our arms.

At first, I tried hard.

In my own estimation, I felt like I lasted about 3 minutes.

However, my arms were killing me.

It was incredibly tough.

When I was resting a little, the teacher said to me,

“Don’t rest, keep doing it.”

He’s basically kind.

But he doesn’t coddle you.

But it’s a voice meant to make you able to do it.

After that, I continued this wall-handstand-like movement.

Facing my butt to the wall, putting both hands on the floor, and raising my feet up.

As I made the angle steeper, I certainly had a feeling close to a handstand.

But my arms were screaming.

At this point, my arms were already close to their limit.

But the real challenge was from here.

Next was the tripod headstand.

The one where you support your body with your head and both hands.

At that time, the teacher asked me, “Do you have a knit cap?”

Actually, I have one at home.

I’ve even worn it in online lessons.

But I didn’t bring it.

The reason is simple.

I didn’t want to take off the hat I always wear.

I’m thinning on top.

That’s why I wore a hat from the start at fan activity venues.

Perhaps because of that, it had already become “the me at the venue.”

Even in front of RAB fan friends I’ve known for several years, I almost never take off my hat.

Only a limited number of people know what’s underneath.

Well, maybe everyone has a vague idea, though.

Changing to a knit cap was a pretty high hurdle for me.

It’s a pathetic story.

In the end, I decided to try my best with the hat and towel I was wearing.

The people around me were doing tripod headstands one after another.

The ones who couldn’t were me and, as I heard later, a 5-year-old girl.

A 64-year-old guy and a 5-year-old child.

It’s quite a flavorful combination.

Those who couldn’t do it ended up practicing a movement called “frog.”

It’s a movement where you put both hands on the floor, place your knees around the outside of your elbows, lean your head forward, and lift both feet.

It’s a movement that also appeared in online lessons.

But I had never been able to do it even once until now.

However, this day was different.

While watching the movements of the people around me, I tried putting my head on the ground just a little.

Then, for just about 2 seconds, both feet floated.

It was only 2 seconds.

At that moment, it seems the teacher happened to be watching.

“Nice.”

He said that to me.

I was happy.

But it’s a little different from being happy because my favorite person said it.

I was able to do something I couldn’t do before, even just a little.

That’s what made me happy.

Moreover, there was someone who was watching properly.

Not wanting to forget the feeling, I kept practicing the frog.

In the end, all I could do was lift both feet for just 2 seconds.

Even so, it was enough for me.

The lesson progressed further.

Others were taught from the tripod headstand to a movement called “conti” that uses the legs to gain momentum, and were almost at the point of headspins.

I practiced the frog only when I could, while watching my surroundings here and there.

On the way, perhaps because of the strain on my neck, my head started to feel dizzy and nauseous.

At such times, I would stay still while drinking water.

I was already close to my limit.

Even so, I didn’t want to go outside.

I wanted to taste this atmosphere in this place.

When it came to headspin practice, the teacher showed a demonstration.

I feel like he also said, “I’m doing it because I want to.”

And, just about 3 meters away, Muratomi-sensei was doing headspins.

As expected, it was beautiful.

I’ve seen it many times before.

At live concerts, and in video streams.

I thought I understood that it was amazing.

But the headspin I saw at this distance was something completely different.

When he was doing long drills, the position of his toes overlapped exactly with the boundary of the mirror behind him.

Even though he was spinning around, he didn’t deviate from that position at all.

His toes were always in the same position.

At that moment, I felt a chill down my spine.

Is Muratomi-san’s headspin such a precise technique?

It wasn’t about being fast or flashy.

His center of gravity didn’t shift.

His axis didn’t waver.

Even though he was spinning with his body supported only by his head, the position of his stretched-out toes didn’t change.

That was a god-like skill.

No, the teacher is doing this normally.

That is even more terrifying.

Until now, I thought my ability was about 1/10,000th of the teacher’s.

I was naive.

It wasn’t even that.

It was so far away I could only laugh.

However, strangely, I didn’t feel miserable.

I was just overwhelmed.

As I have written, I was able to have various experiences on this day.

When the lesson ended, I was completely exhausted.

That said, it was all first-time experiences, so it was worth sneaking in.

But at the same time, I also thought, “That’s enough.”

Didn’t I do well with this beat-up body?

Actually, I had also reserved the on-site lesson for the following week.

Moreover, that is the final session, including both online and on-site.

Thinking normally, maybe I should go because it’s the last one.

But I canceled it.

My muscles, knees, and shoulders seemed to be quite close to their limit.

Honestly, that’s a big factor.

But that’s not all.

I went to the venue once.

I saw the teacher’s original lesson.

I moved in my own way among the young dancers.

My feet floated for just 2 seconds.

I also saw the precise headspin 3 meters away.

That alone is enough.

So, I decided to welcome the end in my own way, online.

For me, the lessons of this past year started from online, after all.

It was a time of watching the teacher through the screen, sweating in my room, laughing at movements I couldn’t do, and yet continuing little by little.

If so, I felt it was like me to see it through there at the end.

When I heard that the online lessons were ending, I wrote my first song out of loneliness.

I created the lyrics with ChatGPT and made the song with Suno, but the song that was completed first has a stronger color of “sadness” than I thought.

Is it that my feelings are reflected after all?

But as I listened to it many times, my thinking changed a little.

The lessons aren’t ending because the teacher is stopping.

Surely, it’s to move further ahead.

If so, I should just keep following that back from now on.

As I thought that and changed the tune, things gradually started to settle in my own mind.

Before I knew it, the song had also changed to something positive.


That day, I felt like I had grasped a sensation I hadn’t understood until then, just a little bit.

And 3 meters away, there was a world I could never reach.

Maybe the opportunity to see him as a teacher will disappear.

Even so, I believe that he will continue to move toward a bright future as RAB.

※ I made the song in the text into a video with lyrics