As they ate, the sounds of Kansai culture surrounded them: the chatter of pedestrians, the wail of train sirens, and the occasional _ shamisen_ (traditional Japanese instrument) performance by street musicians.
After school, the ritual began. Chiharu would collapse onto her futon, still in her uniform skirt, and open TikTok. The “For You” page was a kaleidoscope of escapes. There were the Juku girls in Tokyo doing synchronized dances to J-pop hits by Official Hige Dandism. There were ASMR videos of sizzling okonomiyaki on a griddle in Hiroshima. But her favorites were the “#KansaiLocal” creators—kids her age from Kobe, Kyoto, and Osaka who spoke with the same flat, humorous Kansai-ben dialect she used with her family.
However, a search for this specific string yields .
“Can you believe Gojo-sensei?” Yuna typed in the chat. “He’s so OP,” Chiharu typed back, giggling. Then they’d switch to Discord voice chat to gossip about the new Fruits Basket reboot until her mother called her for dinner.
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