Hello, this is Frank.

Let me tell you about a company trip during my trading firm days. It’s a short story, so bear with me.

On the first night at our lodging, after the main banquet wound down, my Latin America Division manager, seniors, and colleagues decided to keep drinking at a bar in a semi-after-party mood.

I felt drawn to chat with the bartender and took a seat at the counter. My senior sat to my left, while a man in his late twenties from another company occupied the seat to my right.

This guy kept chattering away in a high-pitched, almost feminine tone with his colleague beside him. At first, I ignored it, but the noise soon grated on me. My focus on the conversation with my senior faded, and I felt my patience wearing thin.

Then, out of nowhere, the man to my right sneered, “If I’m too loud, just say so,” spraying spit at me with a condescending glare.

In an instant, my right hand grabbed the glass in front of me and hurled its contents straight into his face.

“Hey! What the hell?!” he shouted in a thick regional accent.

“Shut the hell up!” I snapped back. Within seconds, he seized my collar. But drunk as I was, fear never kicked in.

Thankfully, it didn’t escalate into a brawl. Why? Because my senior to the left – a former university karate champion from Kyushu – growled in a voice thick with menace:

“Keep quiet unless you want your nose broken.”

That voice, low and laced with authority, could freeze blood. Ah, the Showa era – today, this’d be front-page news.

Fun fact: This same senior once knocked out a punk in Osaka with a single right hook. Less a colleague, more a corporate bodyguard.

Now, just a nostalgic memory.

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