Ever since I first visited Japan in 2018, and all of the subsequent times I have visited since, Akihabara (秋葉原) — with its scores of arcades, anime stores, maid cafés, and overall celebration of otaku (オタク) subculture — has come to exist in my heart as a warm, gentle glow of countless treasured memories. Certainly the joys I have experienced in Japan are not limited to Electric Town (and indeed every place I have journeyed to in the country has a fond tale of its own), but somehow Akihabara and its famous maid cafés has come to serve as a grounding point for me — it was the first place in the country I made friends, after all.

The concepts of idols and maids are unique to Japan. Enamored, as I wrote the subsequent post detailing my first experiences, I closed somewhat musing at what type of people the maids were when they were not in-character; what kind of personalities did these girls have to want to work as maids? By the time I visited again in 2019, I had began to follow them on their café Twitter accounts (with some of them even following back despite the established precedent to not do so) and meeting up in-person was akin to a reunion. As is typical with making friends, once two people get to know one another, they start talking more and more during each others’ free time, and eventually one meets their respective friends as well. When I left in 2019 elated at having seen them again (alongside making new friends), I still recall the way Pan (ぱん) asked me about “next time”; on my final visit to Akiba Zettai Ryōiki (アキバ絶対領域), I had no idea when I would be back again, yet Pan’s certain belief that there would be an inevitable return had me answering on the spot, “one day”.

And then, shortly after the winter of 2019 ended, the COVID-19 global pandemic halted all travel. 

Towards the close of 2020 and amidst the deadliest year of the pandemic, I wrote about my suddenly unfulfilled yearning for adventure in relation to the game Atelier Firis: The Alchemist and the Mysterious Journey. More recently, I went and finished the preceding title in the series as well, Atelier Sophie: The Alchemist of the Mysterious Book; completely unintentionally, for whatever reason I have always had the tendency to enter Atelier trilogies in their second installment, go back to see the story’s roots in the preceding installment, and then finish off the trilogy with the final installment to marvel at how much the characters grow. At any rate, as one progressed the character storyline in Atelier Sophie for the blacksmith Logix “Logy” Ficsario, they learned that Logy’s primary motivation for forging weapons was to allow travelers to make otherwise dangerous journeys to faraway lands. I thought it was a nice little sentiment, but it was when the young blacksmith cited the value of “reunions” rather than the sights or even the people encountered while traveling, I caught myself smiling at his insight.

You can’t feel joy like that if you’re always in town. Reunions are part of the true charm of traveling.

Of course — it was true! Somewhere along the line I had realized that one of the most vexing parts about being unable to travel was not about traveling itself per se, but rather the fact that I could not spend time with my friends. With Japan being the last place I had visited before COVID-19 changed the world, my memories from there burnt far brighter than they may have otherwise. It was almost as if my parting conversation with Pan was an omen of sorts; it was the sort of exchange that, in retrospect, ends up being a marker of finality. In fact, to this day — at the time of publishing this post — Japan remains closed to tourists (outside of expensive, sanctioned group tours on strict itineraries from which visitors cannot deviate without ending up in emergency quarantine) and entering the country is nigh impossible without a reason acceptable to the Japanese government. Despite the majority of the countries in the world now having resumed tourism operations, Japan remains one of the last holdouts barring entry to casual visitors.

Thus, over the course of the past two and a half years, I could only watch my friends (both maids and non-maids alike) from afar. We kept in touch via SNS, though of course life during the pandemic took its toll and at times contact was difficult. Pan and Chihiro (ちひろ) had opted to follow my account in disregard of established rules while others like Negi (ねぎ) and Mugi (むぎ) used creative workarounds such as adding me to lists in order to actively stay in touch without formally “following” me. In the beginning contact was frequent, especially during holidays and birthdays — a few times Pan would publicly tweet at me and then erase it after realizing that it was likely too forward. Jokes were abound about the “pan”-demic as everyone thought that the emergency would soon come to pass.

When the lockdowns began, I continued to work. And in the case of Japan, there were not any formal lockdowns — only a significant reduction in opening hours along with the restriction of selling alcohol. Maid cafés indeed took a few days of closure to adapt — in fact, Akiba Zettai was featured in the media for a bit, highlighting its COVID-19 prevention measures alongside pictures of the then-poster-cat Hikari (ひかり) taking visitors’ temperatures with an IR gun — but business quickly resumed. Still, activity was reduced both from the standpoint of café hours and the hesitancy of visitors brave enough to drop by. With less activity at the cafés, SNS activity faltered. And over time, life caught up and made cracks in the magical facade of Akihabara.

“I miss the old Akihabara.”

It was a sentiment that I heard frequently among the maids when conversing off-the-record from their public accounts. As stores in the district shuttered (some permanently), the iconic SEGA arcades rebranded as they were sold to third-party operators and numerous concept cafés that once hoped to capitalize on the nonexistent tourist boom heralded by the Tokyo 2020 2021 olympics folded. A number of maids graduated from their respective cafés once hours were drastically cut and others found themselves prematurely considering a career change. Among the ones I kept in touch with after having met them in-person, Michiru (みちる), Kae (かえ), Hani (はに), and Nano (なの) moved on to pursue their aspirations in the idol industry by joining the vibrant underground scene (indeed, working as iconic Akihabara maids often springboards them into becoming full-fledged idols). Others such as Pan and Chihiro got prodded at home into distancing themselves from the frenetic moe culture of Akihabara altogether to instead focus on more “conventional” professions for Japanese woman of their stature; Chihiro actually began working her new job too before completely leaving her café position and a schedule mix-up caused her to miss her café shift and get fired. Mugi and Negi began work at different cafés — Mugi in fact went on to become the poster-maid for a new “isekai” (異世界, or “otherworldly”) themed maid café while Negi bounced between part time jobs to eventually settle into working at a cat café while simultaneously debuting as an idol in an all-new, similarly cat-themed underground group. Then of course some remained just where they were — as cats at Akiba Zettai; at the time of writing, Hikari serves as the highest-ranking cat alongside a similarly impressive Non (のん). Many of those who are aware of how long Hikari has served refer to her as “the legend of Akiba”.

It is natural of course — life changes with time and people go their separate ways. Having once kept in contact with them through their public accounts, wishing to remain in contact as well, maids would grant me access to their personal social media accounts as circumstances prompted them to go elsewhere. In the case of Chihiro, there was a particularly dramatic turn of events as her café manager suddenly suspended her public social media accounts in lieu of her termination (in both the maid café and idol industry, it is common for managers to have access to their outward-facing social media accounts). Although Chihiro never had a chance to publicly explain what happened, she did manage to pen a multi-post letter apologizing for her sudden departure and thanking her fans for all of the memories before her account was suspended — then deleted — in short succession. I remember feeling so sad for her and found it regrettable that circumstances severed my means to keep in touch with her. Yet, approximately a day later, a notification blip drew my attention to a private account attempting to follow me — her personal social media account. With time, even as the faces of “old” Akihabara moved on, we kept in touch via personal social media accounts to reminisce about those days; with time, I got my wish from my first encounter with them — to learn about the girls behind the maids, and what they were like as people.

And so it went — staying in touch was all we could do amidst the pandemic; international travel was (and still is) rendered impossible by the strict border controls. Yet at the end of April this year, for the first time since the pandemic began, I was given hope — more than hope. While thousands around the globe yearned for the day when tourism to the country would resume, I was granted an opportunity by the Japanese government to visit Nagoya for ten days — ten days beyond the walls of a country where life silently went on without foreigners.

It was a rather interesting ordeal to obtain a visa from the Japanese consulate-general (for the first time — under normal circumstances U.S. Passport holders are typically granted landing permission on arrival) and navigate the bureaucratic maze of travel requirements to secure entry into the country. The United Airlines check-in counter had to triple-check my eligibility to disembark in Japan (so few were the passengers actually attempting to enter the country following the flight) and even once our 777 landed, per the instructions of the Japanese government, airplane passengers with connecting flights had to wait in their seats until only those entering Japan alighted. I was one of two people to do so.

Once deplaning, I was quickly ushered into a maze of roped-off walkways directing me towards Japanese immigration. Every few meters Narita Airport staff reminded me to have the app provided by the Japanese Ministry of Health, Labour and Welfare displayed on my phone for verification; after a while, I simply began walking with my phone held out, its blue-colored home screen confirming that I was in fact cleared for Fast Track entry through immigration. My paperwork verified, I was through customs in mere moments given that practically the entire zone was sitting deserted — even most of the automated kiosks were powered off. The somewhat eerie quietness permeated the air as I, at long last, approached a set of large metal doors to let me into the country proper. I was momentarily unsettled by a large, strangely low-res poster of Hatsune Miku reminding visitors to use hand sanitizer, but in moments I was through.

And I stepped into the confines of the place that many had given up on seeing during the pandemic — I was in Japan.

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Unlike the United States or even most of the European Union, Japan does not have a “vaccine card” or something of the like. Even the quasi-lockdowns (in lieu of the actual lockdowns at one time enforced around the world) were no longer in effect around the country. If you are in Japan, if you are masked, you are treated like any other. Just like that, despite all the fanfare, I was thrust into, all things considered, normal life.

And truly, perhaps that is the best way to describe my time there: normal. Even more so than if I were visiting Japan under usual circumstances, I was a part of the Japanese population with no such tourist “perks” granted to me (such as the Japan Rail Pass). In better days, even business travelers from America typically settled for the 90-day short term visa stay offered to tourists due to its ease of obtainment. But as of right then, apart from the dates of my visa, I was functionally the same as if I were living in Japan, with no testing requirements, quarantine, or restrictions to my movement.

It was… nice. I always feel safe in Japan but amidst a pandemic that many insist on pretending to be over, I felt safer in Japan than anyplace else in the world. Everyone quietly wore their masks and complied with coronavirus prevention measures. With no fuss or fanfare, people went about their daily lives and as such, I could truly feel it — life was “normal”. So I would wake up, attend to my obligations, tap my Suica (スイカ) through the JR gates, book the Shinkansen (新幹線) on the go using the Smart EX (スマートEX) app, and pick up last-minute meals at the 24-hour convenience stores (コンビニ) before stumbling back to my hotel late at night. Naturally, I had quite a bit of time to spend as I pleased as well.

Although I was staying in Nagoya, the city had a somewhat unfortunate reputation of being the most “boring” city in Japan (as voted by the Japanese themselves). True to Logy’s words in Atelier Sophie, prior to my visit I already had a mental list of people who I wanted to see again while in Japan and was certain that I would not spend much of my free time in Nagoya itself; the people I had met in the past were located around the places I had visited in the past after all, meaning Kyoto and Tokyo. 

Yet, early on there was an instance in Nagoya when I found myself unexpectedly free for the rest of the day. I had already been in the city for a few days by then and indeed the vicinity around Nagoya Station was rather heavily focused on business. Although the area near my hotel had a mall, a GiGO arcade, and a music hall, it was largely tucked away amidst a sea of towering railroad infrastructure and office buildings. But that afternoon I was inspired by a question that one of my online Japanese friends had asked on my arrival to the city. Despite having just finished telling her about the long flight and train ride to reach my hotel, for whatever reason, my friend asked me whether I had a chance to visit a maid café in Nagoya yet. Laughing, I dismissed her at the time telling her that I was too tired to do something like that. Honestly I had not even considered the activity; although I was aware that they existed outside of Akihabara, so ubiquitously were they recognized as globally renowned icons of Electric Town that I had come to see them as fixtures of that district alone. 

But that day… I had time. Time and no plans. Curious, I typed “maid café” (メイドカフェ) into Google in katakana to see if there were even any such cafés near me. Through reading a number of articles and blog posts I learned of a district called “Ōsu” (大須) which was referred to as the “Akihabara of Nagoya” in a few places. Consistent with this descriptor was the fact that the district apparently housed one of the two Maidreamin franchise locations in Nagoya. Although I was not completely opposed to visiting it, I have written in the past about the chain’s tendency to serve a cookie-cutter scripted maid café experience and much preferred a smaller-scale, more freeform experience. Sadly, it seemed that a number of clever concept cafés had permanently shuttered due to the devastation to the industry wrought by COVID-19; the list of cafés did not seem to be very big to begin with, and practically every entry seemed to no longer be in operation. I finally settled on what I thought to be a rather neat little concept — a maid café themed after a shrine in which the cast were kitsune (狐) shrine maidens.

With my phone routing me to the store, I quickly found the charming Ōsu district but could not help but feel that its “Akihabara of Nagoya” label was a bit of wishful thinking. This was not to say that Ōsu was a disappointment in the least — in fact, I rather enjoyed wandering around and enjoying its offerings — but the area, closer to a sprawling outdoor covered mall, was a far cry from the bustling high-energy Akihabara. Nevertheless, I enjoyed the walk and, with a bit of difficulty, finally located my intended destination. As I approached the inconspicuous entryway, I realized that the reason I had trouble finding it was because the café was situated in a manner that, at one time, used to frequently be seen in Akihabara but had since fallen out of fashion: it was located inside a store. This was fine and in fact was consistent with the charming Ōsu vibe that I was quickly becoming accustomed to… except I soon realized that this café too had ceased operations.

Ah… too bad. Stopping to consider my next move, I realized that I was actually feeling pretty nervous. It is something that I realized on my very first foray into a foreign country and something that I am aware happens to this day: although I am quite comfortable interacting in English, when it comes time for me to attempt interaction in a different language, I feel shy and vulnerable for a few days before opening up. If I am being honest, a part of me felt a little nervous to go to a maid café at all — it had been two and a half years since I last set foot in one and at the time I had done so with familiar faces around. Here, I would not be familiar with any potential regional etiquette and what if the fact that so many establishments were adopting measures to restrict the transmission of COVID-19 actually discouraged interaction but I would be yet unaware of th-

「おかえりなさいませご主人様！」

Eh?

What??

Startled, I turned to see a maid that had popped out of an otherwise opaque storefront’s door looking at me, having just greeted me in the manner typical of maids welcoming café visitors. Lost in my thoughts, I had been wandering aimlessly — in fact, I was only a few shops down from the store I arrived at previously — and was currently standing in front of a building that appeared to have quite recently been fitted with elegant, futuristic decor.

“MAID√MADE”, the sign read.

I was not prepared. I mean, certainly it was a maid café, but none of the websites had mentioned it, and…

My eyes darting around, I had half a mind to make an excuse to leave, but I quickly relented. And as I followed the smiling red-haired maid into the shop, I was immediately thrust into a time warp to two and a half years ago.

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When I last walked through Akihabara during the winter of 2019, I remember noticing the charming, more subdued atmosphere brought on by the cold weather. It was my second visit to Electric Town, and my first while traveling alone. A year prior to that, I had wandered the Chuo-dori (中央通り, or “central street”) with friends during the summertime; in an era before the global pandemic, Akihabara bustled with the excitement of summer and the curiosity of tourists brought from all over the world to experience its marvels. Although this year I arrived at the Chuo-dori same as ever, even amidst the pounding June summer, Akihabara felt a little different.

As I discussed earlier, Akihabara had changed, and although life pressed onward even during the pandemic, I could not help but feel that parts of the district yet still slept dormant. Although it was admittedly quite enjoyable to not see any noisy, often clueless tourists clogging up the walkways and shops, the proportional decrease in tourist-targeted activities (such as the relentless blasting of “Dream Passport” to lure in tourists searching Akihabara for “maid cafés”) made for a little bit quieter Akihabara. There were also a few remnants of a time when Akihabara was gearing up to welcome tourists en masse — anticipating a surge of visitors during the olympics, I noticed more English signage around the station and an attempt to organize the maids that typically lined the streets by having them wear lanyards while confining them to certain areas. Nevertheless, when I would be in the Tokyo area, as it often did, Akihabara became sort of a “home base” for me in the absence of plans for that day.

Both through my own experiences in Akihabara and some of my maid friends’ anecdotes about the various cafés in the district, I have become accustomed to recognizing maids from the more established shops in the area; at the peak of the pandemic when many of those residing in lockdown-heavy countries resorted to playing Animal Crossing: New Horizons as a substitution for spending time with friends in person, one had even designed in-game clothing patterns resembling the uniforms of Akiba Zettai shops 1~4, @home café, Maidreamin, Heart of Hearts, and a few others that I have not yet had the opportunity to visit. All of these cafés survived the quasi-lockdowns of the Chiyoda ward, but there was another uniform that I did not recognize popping up along the Chuo-dori.

I had seen it a few times by then — a predominantly pink dress with a large red ribbon on the front and a pair of small angel wings on the back (later explained to me as “a fusion of an angel and a princess”). It was around late-afternoon and the sun was bearing down particularly hard that day; I wanted to enjoy a drink in a nice, air-conditioned café but also felt like seeking out a new experience rather than visiting a place that I was familiar with. Thus, I stopped in front of a duo of maids clad in pink and asked whether there was an English menu available at their café. As the two paused their waving of flyers to the apathetic pedestrians before them, the taller one apologized as she informed me that, unfortunately, everything was written in Japanese. However, she did mention that the staff would be happy to interact using translation apps and this was good enough for me.

She seemed a little surprised that I agreed to such an arrangement and showed me the prices of their drinks as if to make certain that I wanted to visit. Although I had no idea where their actual shop was, I agreed with my typical response to such situations: why not? At my assent, she requested that I follow her to their shop, which was apparently still located along the Chuo-dori but on the other side about a block down (why they were so far from their shop, I do not know, but I imagine they must get bored and change their locations a few times a day). But then, it was my turn to be surprised as both maids began walking alongside me — I had assumed that the taller one (the one who I was conversing with while the shorter one listened) would show me the way while the other would stay behind… but she too accompanied us.

The maids walked on either side of me, escorting me through the street in a manner that I could not help but feel attracted attention. The duo was unfazed however and conversed with me as we walked, realizing that I was actually decently competent in the Japanese language. With the two taking turns to talk to me, as we arrived in front of a nondescript building (with no café in sight, mind) they told me to take the elevator up to the fifth floor and I assumed that would be the end of it. However, as the elevator reached its intended destination and its doors opened, the two maids reappeared, narrowly beating me to usher me through the entrance after having just run up five flights of stairs.

The shop was called “Café&Bar Angel Princess” and it was… a rather simple affair. The decor was bare-bones (albeit predominantly pink and red like the maids’ uniforms), and the only seating was at a bar that stretched the length of the shop space. Although the menu indeed offered snacks, drinks, and even Instax photos with the staff, it quickly became apparent that this maid “café” was styled more along the lines of a “girls bar”. Such places did not typically contain the moe elements of maid cafés and the cast was not expected to perform any dances or cast magic to make food delicious — girls bars were primarily centered around purchasing the female cast members expensive alcohol and spending the evening drinking with them. Often found in red light districts and other dimly-lit venues, girls bars and hostess clubs have the reputation of frequently serving as Yazuka-operated establishments. The services of such places too catered to a more risqué atmosphere — depending on their theme, it is not uncommon to see the staff wearing scantily-clad outfits such as bunny suits, and some of the more seedier joints even have the girls offering a number of “favors” depending on the amount of money spent.

Despite my easy-going nature, I am not one who is too shy to say “no” when it matters. But as I looked at the menu however, I noticed how the “cast drinks” listing displayed both alcoholic and non-alcoholic offerings — and looking at the clientele seated around me, I noticed that there were visitors of a variety of age groups present. Plus, it seemed that purchasing the cast drinks was not a requirement, although I am certain that it would likely result in a less-direct experience with the maids. The atmosphere felt light enough, and the maids already did not seem to mind talking to me (the common barrier preventing foreigners from visiting such bars), and well, I could not deny the fact that I was curious about the new experience before me. So I relaxed, set down my belongings, and stayed.

The maids patiently read the menu for me knowing that I struggled with kanji, and I was pleased that they did not recommend the most expensive choices — in fact, the taller one recommended one of the cheapest items (Coca-Cola of all things) because she thought that it would go well with the takoyaki (たこ焼き) I wanted to order as a snack. (I later found out that she was apparently fond of the drink in general). And sure enough, after I finished ordering, she asked whether she could have a drink as well. I had already decided that I would be happy to purchase both her and the shorter one a drink, but as I glanced back at the menu that had just been read to me, I mistakenly selected from the “alcohol” listing. Apologizing, she explained that both she and her companion were not yet of drinking age and directed me to the list of non-alcoholic drinks. The shorter one appeared somewhat surprised to receive a drink as well (I suppose most patrons would typically limit their spending to one maid), but was pleased to join in the company.

The taller one’s name was (strangely) Machupichu (まちゅぴちゅ) and the shorter one’s name was Yoisho (よいしょ), aged 18 and 15 respectively. Rather than referring to me as ご主人様 (“master”) as was typical for most maids, the conversation was casual and they instead referred to me as お兄さん (a casual term for “big brother” along the same vein as how a larger age gap may prompt a child to refer to an adult as “uncle”) as we talked. True to their Akihabara surroundings, both had typical otaku-like interests. Machupichu was an avid cosplayer and gamer who was saving up for a powerful gaming PC to play Apex Legends. Yoisho on the other hand made me laugh because of just how much of a comparative mess she was — she spilled some of her drink and stained her uniform while attempting to talk about anime, and then wanted to show off her handbag (which was shaped like an oversized telephone that actually had a functioning speaker built into the receiver) but awkwardly took about five minutes to get it working. I thought she was endearing however and I got the impression that she was really smart.

A fair bit of our conversation discussed Pokémon, particularly after Machupichu showed a picture of their corpulent store manager and confided in the fact that she refers to him as カビゴン (“Snorlax”) as a result. All in all, the experience was rather enjoyable and although all parties relied heavily on translation apps, we were able to connect nonetheless. As I got ready to depart and asked for an Instax group photo, when Machupichu opted for the traditional maid café pose of joining her hand with mine to make a heart, I could not help but antagonize Yoisho a little by keeping my free hand to myself and leaving her to make a thumbs up by herself; it was all in good fun, and we had a good laugh about it after. When it came time to leave, the two waved goodbye as I departed using the elevator and I left feeling grateful for the unique experience.

In fact, a few days later I found myself similarly wandering Electric Town under the late afternoon sun, this time seeking a place where I might enjoy some lunch. My wandering had placed me on the Kanda Myojin-dori (神田明神通り), a road that I had traversed many times in the past as along it stood Akiba Zettai shops 1~3. Alas however time had left only a handful of the maids I once knew working at those shops and while I did not mind meeting the newer staff to make new friends, in the absence of any familiar faces actually working that day I once again sought a new setting instead. Examining the building where Akiba Zettai shop 3 was located, I noticed that the store located on its ground floor had changed; it was not that I found its predecessor to be particularly memorable, but rather its replacement’s bright fairytale-like exterior decorated with dreamlike imagery of strawberries and rainbows stood out so brightly that I was certain it had not been present during my last trip to Japan. Noticing a maid standing in front of the shop’s door, fanning herself with a small laminated menu, I realized that it must be a concept café of sorts.

Compared to the perpetually bustling Chuo-dori, Kanda Myojin-dori is far quieter. Where the shop was situated was not a particularly high-traffic area (indeed, many of the maids representing shops along this street would advertise along the Chuo-dori or in other more active areas) and, in the absence of foot traffic, the girl in front of the store seemed to mostly keep to herself. Unlike the sometimes insistent maids that actively solicited visitors along the Chuo-dori, she merely stood in front of the entryway in a manner more akin to a greeter. As I got close enough to catch a glimpse inside the building, I realized that the tiny shop was empty. Perhaps it was for this reason, and the rather empty state of the Kanda Myojin-dori, that it appeared to startle her slightly when I stopped in front of her to talk. 

I wanted to ask whether the shop sold any food rather than just drinks, so I had prepared the question on my phone using a translator app. Although she did in fact answer to the affirmative by showing me an all-Japanese menu in her hand, she somewhat dejectedly explained that the purpose of their shop was for the patrons to unwind by speaking with the staff. She explained all of this in pure Japanese without even attempting to use a translator to reply; from her expression, she seemed regretful and genuinely troubled that my experience would surely be lackluster given the language barrier. I understood — it appeared to be another “girls bar” sort of arrangement rather than an actual maid café. Perhaps I was just hungry for pasta or perhaps I had already begun to show signs of heat stroke, but for some reason I nodded after listening to all of the maid’s valid concerns (likely giving an impression that I had not understood a word she said) and surprised her by agreeing anyway. Staring blankly at me for a moment, she hesitantly glanced toward the door before catching her stride and finally ushering me in, granting us both respite from the heat.

The inside of the café was painted in misty, dreamlike tones of pink and white with plushes of various cutesy characters and Pokémon stacked beneath a window that allowed the sunlight to gently filter in. All nine of the seats present in the little shop were arranged in front of a U-shaped counter with a sky-blue ceiling depicting fluffy white clouds stretching above. It was rather cozy, and fitting for the theme of the shop, as indeed it was named フラペコ (Furapeko), itself a Japanese contraction of the café’s name in Italian, “fragola e pecore” or, “strawberry and sheep”. It seemed the premise of the café was that it was located in the dreamland-like 羊の国 (or “land of sheep”) and that the maids were sheep who had eaten magical strawberries allowing them to change into human-forms to bring love and gratitude to their human visitors.

Sure enough, closer examination of the maid showed that she indeed had sheep ears and a pair of little wooly horns. Her outfit was rather cute too — the dress had muted pink and white colors with big yellow buttons down the front and a small strawberry clipped to her front pocket. After she directed me to one of the barstools, the little sheep took her position behind the counter and formally introduced herself as Hinata, aged 19 (although soon to be 20). After she took my order, she disappeared up a staircase situated behind the counter as well (which made me realize that the kitchen area was cleverly hidden out of view) and soon returned with the food and drink I had requested. Although it was likely that there were more staff upstairs, for the longest time Hinata was the only waitstaff I saw until another maid entered the shop from outside a few hours later, seemingly just to clean a few things behind the counter. I remained the only customer in the shop the entire time I was there.

Compared to Machupichu and even Yoisho, Hinata was initially more reserved. It did not appear to stem from disinterest, rather, she simply seemed unsure on how to navigate the language barrier with someone who did not appear to know Japanese. On my part I had at least become decently competent at interacting verbally in Japanese and, although it was admittedly a bit of hubris on my part, I had met enough people halfway across the language barrier that I was confident that we could interact. When I finally — just as hesitantly — began speaking to her in elementary-level Japanese, her eyes lit up. Communication was possible!

Although I very quickly had to request that she speak her replies slower for me to understand, Hinata and I were indeed able to converse… and about so many topics! We discussed anime we liked (KonoSuba was one of her favorites), she showed me pictures of herself cosplaying. She talked about her love for Disney and I told her all about the vastness of Disney World. She asked about my flight to Japan and I told her about the state of travel, along with the effects of the Ukrainian war on ticket prices. We spoke about how we felt after receiving the COVID-19 vaccinations, the beaches of Hawaii, her love for Spider-Man, and even the cultural differences that we had noticed with regards to our respective countries’ preferences for fictional characters. Was communication a little slow and imperfect? Most certainly. But in the blink of an eye almost three hours had passed — I had kept ordering refill after refill as we both genuinely enjoyed our conversation.

In fact, even Hinata seemed to lose track of her role for a bit. It was only when I had difficulty reading some of the kanji on the menu and she had to take a moment to think of the translation for the word 羊 (“sheep”) that she realized she had not told me about the café’s lore. Furthermore, she had also forgotten to show me the section of the menu detailing the cast drinks as well, but assured me that the shop prided itself on the fact that the purchase of such drinks did not affect the cast members’ interactions with visitors. Nevertheless, I at least purchased an Instax photo (that she enjoyed making and asked permission to take a photo of with her personal phone as a keepsake) as well as one of her bromides (which pleased her immensely to be able to notate in the display album as “sold”) before bidding her farewell, completely at ease thanks to the pleasant hospitality afforded by the land of sheep.

That evening, Hinata posted on Twitter before ending her day. I noticed that she liked one of my Tweets marveling at the power of two humans wanting to communicate and posted to her own timeline gushing about how much fun she had that day. As she thanked the “first time master” who visited her (and complimented their Japanese), she wrote about her delight in listening to stories from overseas and reiterated her desire to visit Hawaii someday. It made me happy to see that she was still thinking about our encounter by the end the day. I also considered the circumstances of me entering フラペコ at all — frankly, had it not been for my chance experience at Angel Princess, I do not think that I would have been brave enough to attempt it. To speak one-on-one at length with a girl in Japanese? Truthfully even as I was agreeing to enter the shop I had no idea what I was thinking! Yet I surprised myself at my own competency and, most importantly of all, was pleased to find us both having fun.

I have written in the past about how gratifying it can be for two people, who earnestly want to communicate with one another, to manage a degree of mutual understanding despite not speaking the other’s language. There was something special about Hinata however — the way she completely changed, the way she was laughing, smiling, and showing me pictures on her phone made me suspect that perhaps it was her first time feeling this way. And in retrospect, as I looked back on some of my encounters in Japan after the fact, it dawned on me that this was one of the effects of post-COVID Japan. See, lately I have been watching Star Trek: Discovery and in one episode it was shown that, following a cataclysmic disaster crippling long-distance space travel, entire generations grew up without meeting any other species besides their own. I realized that for shops such as フラペコ that opened after the advent of the pandemic, entire generations of maids existed with no experience interacting with foreign visitors; Japan was largely a homogenous society after all, and by now, it had been years since the country’s borders first slammed shut. Our paths crossing that day was a perfect example of the power of two people meeting, even if only for a fleeting moment.

I always enjoy meeting new people in my travels, but of course as I mentioned earlier, I had a few familiar faces I wanted to visit as well — and these faces truly were familiar — as they belonged to old friends from a time when we took maskless conversation for granted. Had I only met her now, I would not have been able to appreciate the easygoing, round face of Negi, a maid I had met in the winter of 2019 — and the first person from back then that I planned to visit.

I met Negi when I visited Akiba Zettai shop 4 for the first time. Although it was technically during the evening, since it was wintertime the sun had already set and it was pitch black outside save for Akihabara’s vibrant lights. Perhaps it was because of the time, but somehow I had managed to enter the shop when there were no other visitors; I was alone with the maids to take in the atmosphere. Back then, she had recently begun working as a maid and she told me, in simple English sentences, how she originally wanted to be named “Eve” due to it being her actual cat’s name, but as it was taken she settled on the name “Negi”. Yet, having gotten to know her, “Negi” (or “green onion”) is a name that fits her well — when I first met her I found her endearing because she moved a little slower than the others, smiled in almost a sleepy-like demeanor, had a bit of a nasally voice, but constantly showed herself to be an incredibly hard worker; she’s unintrusively different in a way that makes people take notice of her.

Over the years I had kept in touch with Negi over her personal SNS — she had even mailed things to me in America a few times. As I got to know the girl behind the uniform, I learned just how incredible she was. Negi had originally grown up in the Kansai region of Japan and dreamed of one day moving to Akihabara to become an idol. Her becoming a maid was the first step towards that dream; she boarded the Shinkansen, moved to the Tokyo area, and as she adjusted to living on her own, she honed skills in the café that would serve her well in the idol industry. Less than a year prior, she finally graduated from Akiba Zettai and, after working a few part-time jobs in the meantime, only a month prior she actually signed on to be a part of a new underground idol group called 君と猫 (“you and cat”). It was her dream taking form.

Negi had been excited to know that I would be returning to Japan this summer — as it happened, her idol group was debuting the day after I landed in Japan, but unfortunately my restrictive schedule did not allow room for me to attend. In fact, factoring in the time it took to travel to Akihabara after my daily obligations were met, planning a meet up at all was proving to be somewhat difficult. Undeterred, Negi ended up sending me in advance her work schedule for that week in hopes that I could at least catch her at her part-time job; as a new idol (or “poverty idol” as she referred to herself) she had to supplement her income to pay the bills and did so by working at a cat café called 僕と猫 (“me and cat”). It would have to be the evening of the very last day she worked that week, but at last we had an opportunity to meet!

“Everybody loves NEGI!” one of my fellow maid café-goer friends used to say — she consistently rated Negi among her favorite cats at Akiba Zettai and often shared Instax photos of her on Twitter. Though Negi never was one of the café’s “big names” such as Chihiro or Hikari, she indeed had a small fanbase of her own. See, almost equally charming as Negi herself is the way that Negi does not seem to understand that her personality — the way she functions at her own pace, appearing to be in a sort of reverie to others as she moves about — stands out to others. In a recent interview as part of 君と猫, she mentioned that “many say that [her] personality is unique, but [she does not] understand it”; Negi is just being herself, after all. I can attest to this too — although she might be a little more open about her personal and emotional concerns in private conversation, she is the same as she is in public.

Thus, when I finally had a chance to meet up with Negi, the initial exchange was predictably… Negi.

On my part, I made the encounter a little strange before it even happened; though I had a general idea as to which building the fifth floor 僕と猫 cat café belonged, as I was attempting to locate the proper elevator I passed by a row of maids standing along the walkway and saw a uniformed Negi standing among them. Rather — I caught glimpse of her and immediately turned away and kept walking out of embarrassment. We were so excited to meet so what was I doing?! I just… I needed to quickly make one more lap around the block to get my bearings first. I cannot think of any other time when I am typically like this but I have come to realize that, when it comes to reuniting with maids I like, I am always nervous and self conscious.

When I finally made it back to the foot of the building after taking a moment to place a few things in a coin locker, I noticed that Negi was no longer outside. It had only been a few minutes — had she seen me? It was true that I did stand out a bit among the Japanese locals and Negi, in her own way, often wordlessly demonstrated her perceptibility through her actions. Or had I managed to walk past without her noticing? Two people, from thousands of miles apart, standing together for only an instant before passing each other by. Regardless of the case, as I took the elevator up to the fifth floor, the doors opened facing a counter in the little entryway outside the cat playroom — and behind that counter, directly facing me, was Negi.

She politely greeted me… and then proceeded to introduce herself in Japanese.

Did- she not recognize me? She was standing there with her typical Negi smile, reaching for a laminated card that explained the café’s rules. Slightly confused, I showed her my Twitter profile on my phone. After glancing down at my phone, she looked back up into my face directly — this time, she let her mask slip slightly and I saw a glimpse of the smile she shows when she is off-stage; a genuine smile.

“I know”, she replied in English.

I had to laugh a bit to myself, for I had forgotten. Two and a half years ago she would do the exact same thing — despite the fact that she knew that I was aware of who she was, she would re-introduce herself in full during each and every encounter at the maid café. I even wrote about it in my previous blog post… shortly after describing the way I walked up and down the Kanda Myojin-dori out of self-consciousness before finally entering a café to reunite with past faces. Truly, it seemed that neither of our proclivities had changed, and it dawned on me that perhaps Negi’s tendency was for the same reason. See, one of the main reasons I feel this way before reuniting with maids in particular is because I know how tall an order it is to ask to be remembered — after all, they spend time with numerous visitors each and every day. Perhaps Negi’s repeated introductions also come from a place of insecurity; an inability to believe that she is memorable enough to be recalled. In private discussions about her mental health, she has touched on such topics before.

Yet I could tell she was excited — she just did not know how to act. Nevertheless, with that point of mutual understanding, Negi proceeded to help me stow my shoes on a shelf, presented me with slippers, and escorted me into the playroom to leave the front counter unmanned. Hospitable as always, she guided me to the bathroom so that I may first wash my hands, going so far as to enter with me so that she could open the faucet and present paper towels to me. Once finished, she took me around to introduce all the cats, one by one.

Negi herself was wearing a lace-trimmed frost colored dress, fluffy pink cat ears, and a tail (an outfit made by one of her senpai [先輩, or “senior”] working that day). She was shorter (cuter) than I remembered too — though it seemed that her spoken English had deteriorated a bit with disuse. As she slowly padded around the room in her socks, I could not help but admire what a natural fit the job seemed for her personality; Negi was essentially one of the cats aimlessly drifting between her feline friends. One cat in particular she introduced as her favorite, a scraggly, exotic longhair named Furby that had a perpetual expression of disappointment. Negi was quick to clarify that Furby was not actually in a bad mood (and indeed Furby was rather cute with the way she curiously looked at me) but she made me laugh by telling me that Furby has an おばあちゃん (“grandma”) face.

The entire time I was there, right up until it was time for the shop to close, Negi spent time with me. She did not drift anywhere else — she simply hung around me the entire time. We sat next to each other on the carpet of the playroom as we caught up, reminiscing about our days at Akiba Zettai. We laughed at the happy memories and pondered about the whereabouts of the old crew these days; on asking whether I visited any of the Akiba Zettai cafés, Negi seemed pleased with the fact that I had not because I did not know any of the people there anymore. We talked about everything, from the part of America I lived in (Negi was never really clear on that), to the way that Akihabara had changed (we laughed at how “GiGO” sounds so comparatively strange compared to our beloved defunct SEGA arcades), to Negi’s favorite idol group (Dempagumi.inc — she even had a DVD of them that she played on the shop’s television), to the efficiency of the Japanese transit system (she was impressed that I could drive, though I assured her this was normal in America), to Evangelion (Negi liked the show better than the films), and the list went on and on. Certainly we used our translator apps frequently — Negi and I having Google Translate and DeepL pulled up on our phones respectively — but we were otherwise conversing like two normal friends; we understood each other and were enjoying ourselves.

Negi had actually forwent some of the shop’s rules with regards to distancing and touching — she even forgot to keep her pink My Melody mask (admittedly so chosen to match her ears) on at times — but decided that she had better ask permission before using her camera. As with many concept cafés in Japan, the shop typically charged for photos. However, Negi was the one who wanted to take a picture rather than me, the visitor; thankfully, although a little perplexed at the request, her senpai appeared to give permission. Negi wanted to take a selfie of us along with one of the cat pillows that happened to be shaped like a croissant in a manner identical to the emoji used in the Twitter display name for Pan, a fellow maid and mutual friend. Since Pan had not been able to make it, Negi wanted to take a “group picture” and share it with her. After glancing back at her preoccupied senpai, Negi told me she would DM it to me later too and put a finger to her lips to ask that I keep it a secret.

At one point I also realized that 僕と猫 offered Instax photos as well, similar to maid cafés. Negi was quite excited to show me the shop’s unique set-up for such photos as, rather than the typical Instax camera, she produced an iPad and wireless Instax printer. This in essence allowed for a digital, previewable photo that could be printed out as an Instax — advancements in maid technology. I requested two photos and, as was typical, Negi proceeded to decorate them. The first Instax was comprised of Negi, myself, and a cat named Anzu who had been sleeping next to us (like a baby, according to Negi). Negi colored on the photo, signed it with her new “idol signature”, and wrote a rather touching note on the back (in English) thanking me for traveling so far to see her. For the second Instax, Negi had an idea to revive an old classic.

Back in the Akiba Zettai days, the maids had a number of predetermined poses they could make with visitors for their Instax photos. One of the poses consisted of the guest holding out their hands, palms up, while the maid (cat) placed her paws on top. Negi decided to reproduce this pose (although she did so while we were sitting rather than standing) and decorated it in a manner identical to how it would be in Akiba Zettai; it was a strangely nostalgic photo that brought a smile to my face. To finish off her handiwork, Negi then proceeded to draw herself, Pan, and Chihiro on the back of the photo with the words “We LOVE AKIBA”.

With the topic of some of the previous Akiba Zettai cats, Negi actually admitted that she had lost touch with many of them over time. In that regard I was able to share some of their up-to-date SNS accounts to help her reconnect; some had moved to other cafés while others had simply switched to exclusively using their personal accounts. Speaking of other cafés too, I shared my astonishment at the sheer number of maids I had noticed in Akihabara compared to a few years ago — especially closer to nighttime. However, Negi clarified that the majority of those maids actually belonged to girls bars which had, for whatever reason, proliferated as of late. As I recalled that Negi often enjoyed visiting maid cafés on her days off, I wondered whether she had discovered this herself — even when I told Negi about the MAID√MADE café I found in Nagoya, she (unlike the others, I would later discover) was strangely already aware of it though was quick to specifically mention that the maids there were not cats.

Honestly it was just… an incredibly relaxing end to the day. 僕と猫 did not offer any food or drinks, but it did have a little vending machine that allowed me to have a drink as the summer sun finally began to set outside. At one point Negi also introduced me to a regular named Maromaro who visited some evenings to play with the cats — although, when he came in, Negi pointed him out to me by referring to him as an おじいさん (“old guy”) which hilariously earned her an astonished look from her senpai as she overheard. He came to talk after Negi waved him over, and he actually spoke a little bit of English too; of all things however, he decided to talk to me about how he is “kimoi” (キモイ, or “gross”) and that girls look at his face and run away. When he finished talking, as if to demonstrate this, Negi wordlessly waved him away.

But eventually the time for the shop to close began to loom and, with just a few minutes remaining, I asked Negi whether I could take a few photos with my phone as well. Negi informed me that there actually was an option where visitors could pay to receive one minute to take unlimited photos, but since I wanted to take a picture with her in it as well, she had to once again pad over to her senpai for permission. She got a little misty-eyed when I mentioned that I wanted to make some final memories with the time we had remaining, and thankfully she was allowed to bring out a little tabby-shaped timer to count down from one minute.

As we huddled into the frame to take some selfies, the camera might as well have been in burst mode; the shutter was almost perpetually snapping as we made a variety of poses on the screen. At one point because of Negi’s positioning and the way I was holding the phone, we struggled to join our hands together to make a heart, prompting us to laugh at how difficult we had made it for ourselves. In the end we indeed captured so many moments of genuine smiles and laughter — we had fun, and it was the perfect end to the day.

I was the last visitor to step out of the playroom that night, with Negi and her senpai bowing as I gathered my belongings and paid. Just as I was about to bid the two farewell however, Negi noticed that my pants were significantly covered in cat hair. Though she gestured to a lint-roller that was placed on the counter, as I began to reach for it she surprised me by taking it herself. She walked directly in front of me, slowly crouched down on her knees, and began meticulously running the roller down the length of my pants — she did this carefully and thoroughly, even asking me to turn around at one point. I can only imagine what was going through the head of her senpai, but she, like many other times that night, did not ask. 

It was Negi being Negi; I had noticed she was like this ever since my first encounter with her. She was such a friendly, gentle person — she was so happy that night and beamed as I congratulated her once again on becoming an idol.

「またね。」

She waved until the elevator doors closed. I had been so charmed to be standing next to her again — it was a little difficult to believe it after so long — and just like that, no different than if I had passed her by on the street, it was over.

I could not stick around that night because I had to catch the last Shinkansen back to Nagoya. Like many commuting Japanese aboard the train, I had opted to purchase a bento at Tokyo Station and was wearily eating it as the Hikari made its way to our destination. I was only partway into my meal when I received a message from Negi, presumably after she had returned home. She shared the photos she had taken on her phone and talked about how excited she was to engage in her new idol work. She wrote many things in simple English, but most pointedly, she ended her message by stating that she will do her best as an idol and will not give up until she can perform at overseas (American) concerts so she can come see me.

Negi was not the only person from my past visits that I reconnected with — I also had the opportunity to visit Mugi. Like Negi, I had met Mugi when she worked for the Akiba Zettai cafés, oddly enough seen most frequently at the two cafés in the chain where Negi spent the least amount of time. Although I never had the opportunity to get to know her as well as some of the others, she was always very friendly and would keep track of how many times our paths crossed, bounding over to my table to talk in her characteristically loud voice. As such, even though Mugi added me to a list of close friends online, my exchanges with her over SNS never particularly went far past the superficial; I of course intended on visiting her given the opportunity, but unlike with Negi I did not actually try and set up a proper time with her.

At any rate, in time, Mugi had actually graduated from Akiba Zettai to begin working at a refreshed concept of what was once an iconic Western tavern-like maid café located in Akihabara called “The Granvania”. Its predecessor now permanently closed after ten years of service (so announced in a bittersweet Ameblo post titled “Finalvania”), the venue was refreshed in an isekai theme akin to fantasy worlds depicted in works such as Dragon Quest or KonoSuba. In fact, even the full name of the café is presented in a manner not dissimilar from isekai anime titles: アキバなら異世界メイドがお給仕したって問題ないよねっ！(“If It’s Akihabara, Surely There’s Nothing Wrong With Being Served By A Maid From Another World!”)

I had been wanting to visit the café ever since I saw pictures of it — the theme was unique and the decor was beautiful. And although I had never managed to notice where “The Granvania” was located during my past visits to Akihabara, I was not particularly worried about my ability to find the shop. Quite the contrary — from my first visit to Akihabara this trip, no sooner had I passed by the Electric Town Exit towards Akihabara UDX when I saw…

Mugi.

MUGI.

Everywhere MUGI.

It was not particularly difficult to find the maid café because somewhere along the line — and entirely neglected to be mentioned by Mugi — Mugi had become its poster girl. Numerous massive billboards along the bustling footpath featured Mugi in advertisements for the maid café. It was a little striking to see someone I knew to have become such an icon in the district.

Though I had not opted to visit that particular day because I knew Mugi was on a trip to the mountains (and thus not working), before I knew it my final day in Akihabra arrived with me still having left the shop yet unvisited. I had wanted to see Mugi but somehow my schedule did not work out that way; that evening, Mugi had not posted on SNS that she was working at the café as she typically did. Nevertheless, I figured that I may as well visit the shop anyways for the novelty — after all, I had no idea when I would have the chance to see it next.

In comparison to the massive lighted signs of Mugi, the actual entrance to the café was rather nondescript and led to a narrow set of wooden stairs that directed me towards the seating area. As it would happen, that particular night the café was empty save for a female visitor and as I hesitantly stepped inside, I was greeted by two maids — a pink-haired girl named Usagi (うさぎ) and an orange-haired one named Amane (あまね). The shop itself was wonderfully decorated like a tavern that would fit comfortably in any RPG — the walls were adorned with armament such as swords, shields, and maces, and the shelves with what appeared to be fantastical reagents to aid with spellcasting. KonoSuba music playing overhead, Usagi and Amane seated me right in front of the stage and welcomed me as a “brave adventurer” who worked to defend the land by fighting fearsome monsters before “equipping me” with bunny-ear headgear (it seemed that there were a number of such equips that were indicative of different races that may be found in fantasy environments).

Pleased, I enjoyed how well-executed the theme was and was just about to take a look at the menu when a third maid emerged from a staff area and stopped — her eyes widening in surprise.

Mugi?!

As it happened, she had forgotten to post on social media that she was indeed working that day. In fact, she later told me that I had been incredibly lucky to catch her that evening because she was not even “officially” serving guests — she was mostly there to help prepare decorations for an event that would be taking place the very next day. Yet, here we were.

Recognizing me, she bounced over to my table to join Usagi and Amane in conversing, except now the discussion had turned to our shared history together. We talked about the other maids from back then — Pan, Chihiro, Negi, Hana, Mokyu… with each mention of a familiar name from a time past, Mugi smiled and bounced around happily at the memory. Usagi and Amane too, as newer maids, were quite fascinated at seeing how an experienced maid such as their dai-senpai (大先輩, or “great-senior” as they referred to Mugi) could garner lifelong “fans” that would cheer for them across various facets of their journey; both of them were full of determination and spoke about how they will surely work hard to become like her.

With me there, Mugi replaced her juniors to attend to me instead, waving them off to have them serve a party of guests who had entered in the meantime. Mugi instead helped me decide what to order by recommending her favorite, たこわさ (raw octopus heavily flavored with wasabi) or, as the menu called it, 和の国風わさび海産くらーけん (“Wasabi Kraken Seafood from the Ancient Land of Japan”). She actually went so far as to watch me take my first bite of it too — I had not had the dish before, although I had eaten other raw Japanese foods. Thankfully I ended up loving it! Though, Mugi did get some amusement out of watching me struggle to pick up the slippery octopus with my chopsticks; even Amane and Usagi returned to see the spectacle, although Usagi tried to assure me that she struggles to eat the dish as well with chopsticks and helpfully offered a fork.

I also ordered a set from the menu which included a dance and a dessert. Although there were numerous cleverly-themed offerings, I ended up settling on a parfait, of which I had a choice between まりあ様の秘密の昼下がり～天界いちご味～ (“Maria’s Secret Afternoon ~Heavenly Strawberry Taste~”) and サタン様の秘密の逢魔が時～魔界ちょこ味～ (“Lord Satan’s Secret Twilight ~Demon World Choco Taste~”), each topped with breaded “wings” as appropriate; as I typically do not prefer chocolate desserts, I opted for the strawberry variant. We spoke for a while, going through photos from 2019 when I was first introduced to Mugi’s so-called “Mugi Pose” (in which one places their forearms together like a stalk of wheat and placing their chin on top). After taking some new photos (including one featuring the aforementioned “Mugi Pose”), it was finally time for Mugi’s dance as she hopped onto the stage to perform 星屑オーケストラ (“Stardust Orchestra”).

Mugi— really, it was all just… lovely. A warm summer night and a happenstance meeting of friends. Memories from the past, memories with new friends, and a beautiful, wistful song in a tiny café overlooking Akihabara below. I did not have much time to spend that evening as, just as had been the case with Negi, I had to catch the final Shinkansen back to Nagoya, but as I soaked in the ambience, I was at utter peace.

Although I actually did extend my time past the standard 1-hour duration (prompting the maids to sing out a fanfare akin to a level-up sound in a retro RPG), I soon had to be on my way. By that time, an evening rush had begun to gather but Mugi still left the counter to bid me farewell as I left her shop. When I finally reached back to my hotel in Nagoya, I could not help but smile as I browsed Twitter and saw a post from her:

人間さんたくさん！！楽しかった～！！

Lots of humans! It was fun!

久しぶりに会えたマスターもいて感激߹𖥦߹♡♡覚えててくれてありがとう！！

I was so happy to meet with master again after so long ߹𖥦߹♡♡ Thank you for remembering me!!

And more privately, she reiterated these sentiments to me, along with how happy she was that night. She had a good laugh as I recounted my encounter with her massive billboards in Akihabara before wishing me good luck with my work and expressing her hope to meet again soon.

---

Days earlier, I had experienced none of this.

Days earlier, I had stepped into Ōsu for the first time and was suddenly ushered into a maid café despite having hardly adjusted to summoning my limited Japanese for conversation.

Days earlier — I was, by complete chance, seated by a smiling, red-haired maid in a café that appeared startlingly similar to the one I had stepped out of in my final memory of Akihabara… two and a half years prior.

It is not an exaggeration; never in my life had I felt such a thoroughly disorienting feeling of déjà vu. I had never been to Nagoya before and never particularly planned on it. It was sheer chance that I visited the city, and sheer chance that I turned up in Ōsu to find myself in front of that maid café. And yet, in front of me, a maid now stood clad in a sleek blue and white maid uniform that looked a lot like — but not quite the same as — the one worn by the cats of Akiba Zettai shop 4. In fact, it was not just the uniform… the entire café felt curiously familiar.

Like the aforementioned Akiba Zettai shop, MAID√MADE was themed after the distant future. Whereas shop 4 was said to take place in a somewhat industrial-looking future staffed by cat-shaped “NYABO” robots, MAID√MADE was a shop in the present-day that was built by “Magiaroid” maid-robots hailing from a pristine, sterile future in which humanity had mastered the fusion of magic and technology — but lost its capacity for emotions in the process. The café run by the NYABOs was a traditional take on conceptualizing a maid café as if it existed in the future while the story of MAID√MADE (helpfully depicted in manga-form in the menu) depicted a scientist explaining that「賢者は歴史に学ぶ」— “wise men learn from history” — and described the Magiaroids as future-humanity’s final hope to relearn emotions from a time when they still existed.

As such, despite both featuring bright colors, prominent neon lighting, and monitors playing animation loops, Akiba Zettai’s decor took on a more cyberpunk style while MAID√MADE’s featured a polished, slightly scholarly look. Yet, both shops were comprised of seating layouts centered around stages — near identically sized — for dance performances; Akiba Zettai’s stage featured machinery, grating, and neon lights in its backdrop while the MAID√MADE stage depicted a large magical portal, runes, and circuitry. I was even seated right in front of the stage — the same spot where I was typically placed at Akiba Zettai.

Furthermore, the menu too… as I turned it over in my hands, it felt like familiar ground. The cover featured an illustration of one of the shop’s mascots clad in the Magiaroids’ uniform, followed by an origin story, and a list of rules that included English translations. The English translation of the rules featured the same awkward turns of phrases that I found memorable from the menu in Akiba Zettai but then — most startlingly — I noticed that one of the rules’ English translations made a reference to “cats” (as they are referred to in the Akiba Zettai shops) instead of Magiaroids like the rest of the list. The original Japanese text did not include this and referred to「マギアロイド」(“Magiaroids”) as expected.

The coincidences were simply too much — surely there had to be a connection… or was it a case of the store owner drawing heavy inspiration from an iconic Akihabara café? It is not as if the relatively small Akiba Zettai locations were managed by a large maid café group such as Infinia Corporation (as in the case of the @home café chain) or Neo Delight International (Maidreamin); back in 2018 when I first visited, there stood only a singular Akiba Zettai location. When discussing all of this with an Akihaba Zettai maid (Chihiro) over SNS, she too was shocked — and she was once upon a time one of the highest ranking maids who frequently interacted with the owners to help set up shop 4.

All of this to suddenly be found in a random café on a random visit to Nagoya well… certainly one can imagine how disorienting it was — in a good way, thankfully. Everything felt oddly familiar years after my last visit to such a café despite having never been to it (or its city) before.

And thus, as the red-haired maid in front of me finished going through the café’s introduction in English through the use of cue cards helpfully utilizing katakana to phonetically prompt her script, she seemed a bit surprised at how unquestioningly I went along with it. After requesting that I “power her up” in a “cool voice” by saying a special phrase (which turned out to be “to infinity and beyond”), the maid cheered and introduced herself as Chacha (ちゃちゃ). When I would be ready to order, Chacha requested that I summon her by saying “nyā nyā!” (which, for some reason, was just like the protocol in Akiba Zettai stores despite the staff for those café actually being “cats”).

Alternate realities aside, I had to lean back in my chair for a moment and take it all in. It was all so familiar — the maids scampering around to play with patrons, the music playing overhead comprised of Vocaloid and anime songs largely from around my generation (“Lion”, “Interstellar Flight”, “Go Tight!”, “Solar System Disco”, etc), visitors excitedly coming up to the stage to have Instax photos created… it was just as I had remembered it.

As always, I was also charmed by the way the shop and the maids adhered their theme. Since the MAID√MADE Magiaroids were powered by “future magic technology”, glow sticks were “magical battery sticks” and the running bill at each person’s table was “data” that the robots would happily record from time to time. The food was also aptly themed, including cakes shaped like magical tomes and parfaits served in tall glasses labeled “MOE TRANSPORTER” with one of the shop’s mascots partitioned off in the middle through the use of cleverly positioned cookies. At one point I asked what the blue collagen balls sprinkled atop my salad were and the maid replied that they were “energy orbs”. And of course, when it came time that someone would order a dance from a Magiaroid, all of the maids would stop to cheer before switching their emotion modules to “dance mode” in preparation for the performance.

As it happened, I managed to visit during MAID√MADE’s first anniversary celebration; the shop had actually opened at the height of the pandemic and nobody was certain whether it would manage to survive — yet it had flourished against all odds. I was having such a wonderful time and the maids were playful and friendly… of course I wanted to help them celebrate! As part of the event, a number of time-limited merchandise were on sale with a few coveted offerings available only via a random lottery draw. That afternoon, Chacha was working alongside three other maids named まろ (Maro), もな (Mona), and Rice (らいす); Mona and Rice were a bit newer than the others (and thus on the reserved side), but the cat ear wearing Maro would come by frequently to converse along with, of course, Chacha. When I requested to draw three times from the random lottery, it was Chacha who held the box and gasped in surprise — when I drew the second prize on my very first try.

The second prize was an autographed version of a T-shirt commemorating the anniversary event. I was ecstatic! Truly I had not expected to win anything special, but the maids’ surprise and the café-goers’ congratulatory cheers left me feeling grateful for my good fortune. Unfortunately, this was somewhat short-lived. See, as both the first and second prizes from the random lottery were autographed goods, they had to be picked up at a later date on account of requiring durable markers to sign them — ones that they did not currently have on hand. I could see the apology all over Chacha’s face as she asked me whether I would be able to return in about a month to pick up the shirt, but of course I had to tell her that my entire stay in Japan was a matter of a few days. 

It could not be helped — I was a mere visitor to their country after all. Such things were unavoidable. Yet I found Chacha to not be so easily deterred. She went over to rummage through some cabinets behind the counter before coming back to my table to ask whether I would be happy with a white variant of the anniversary T-shirt (as opposed to one where its colors were inverted). Puzzled, I replied that yes, the white colored shirt was actually the one I was interested in. Chacha then nodded and disappeared behind the counter once more.

For a little while, I did not see her and I enjoyed my soda-flavored ice cream parfait alone. Eventually, Chacha once again reappeared, this time smiling proudly.

In her hands she held out a white anniversary T-shirt that she had painstakingly autographed with an ordinary black permanent marker; she spent the past fifteen minutes doing her best with the materials she had, for my sake. I was filled with joy — she had went above and beyond to make my visit truly special. Certainly my shirt would not display the thick water-resistant ink that the others would, but Chacha had made mine one-of-a-kind. Pleased at both herself and my delight, Chacha took a photo of herself displaying the shirt on the stage before packing it for me to take home.

This was service and if I am to be honest, it is this sort of personalization that I have found to make maid cafés truly special. As I have written about in the past, maid cafés — the genuine, non-scripted ones that largely only exist in the form of small shops — spawn and foster communities of café “regulars”. Visiting the maids is one thing, but there is also joy to be found in one’s interactions with fellow guests; everyone can work together to cheer for the maids. I really enjoyed Chacha’s energy — she was so lively and funny that she made me feel like a café regular and as such, helped bridge the gap between myself as a newcomer and the others. The remaining two draws from the random lot resulted in “normal” prizes of bromide + can badge sets of the Magiaroids. Upon noticing that my second set happened to feature a duplicate of my first badge, Chacha asked me whether I wanted a badge featuring her instead. When I inevitably answered yes, she walked over to another visitor who had managed to get duplicate Chacha badges and offered to trade my duplicate for his. With the agreement of both parties, Chacha initiated the trade and catalyzed a new friendship in the process — we bowed to one another across the room in gratitude, and we now follow one another on social media. At another point, a neighboring visitor also gifted me with his bromide + badge set since he had received a duplicate of both. To keep things going, I gifted a duplicate set of my own the same way to another patron. All of this despite language boundaries and varying levels of tenure as café visitors — within the community of MAID√MADE, we helped one another support our favorite maids and enjoy the anniversary event together.

Up until then, I did not have the opportunity to see any of the maids dance either, so of course when she had a moment I asked Chacha if she could perform. Much like the system in Akiba Zettai, Chacha brought out a little binder listing each maid and the songs they were capable of performing. Although my ability to interpret kanji has significantly improved since the last time I was faced with such a list, unfortunately I was not familiar with many of the songs and simply requested that she perform the one she would most enjoy. At this, Chacha paused and asked whether I would prefer a “cool” or a “cute” song. After selecting the “cute” option, Chacha smiled and pointed to an entry on the list to denote her selection. “This one is a very cute song!” she announced.

歌詞 Lyricsグリズリーに襲われたら♡ “If I’m Attacked by a Grizzly♡” by Kamiyado. Chacha's opener.

It was in that moment when everything finally came together — I knew I was back. The bubbly song blasting through the speakers, the Magiaroids shaking their tambourines along to the beat, the sparkle of glow sticks, and the way the entire shop filled with energy… this was it! It was nothing less than the maid café experience that had shone in my memories after all this time! Certainly there were a few minute changes — the shop did not seem to be in the habit of dimming its lights for performances and オタ芸 calls made by audience members were discouraged as a result of the COVID era — but the joy to be had was unmistakable. And Chacha had not been exaggerating — the song was cute and so much fun! Saccharine, girly, and unapologetically frantic in its delivery, the music the café filled with was the type of アキシブ系 (“Aki-Shibu style”) that only truly felt at home in such places as the Chuo-dori or its many maid cafés. It was the perfect song to epitomize my return (somehow doing so in Nagoya no less) and I cheered as Chacha lit up the room.

That day, I had managed to stay long enough for the evening shift crew to take over, upon which I met a new set of Magiaroids: Ema (えま), Nano (なの), and Noumen (のうめん). Though I do not recall noticing when the others entered, I actually saw when Ema first arrived in her street clothes to prepare for her shift; clad in a T-shirt and jeans, the reason why she caught my eye was because she looked like a proportionally scaled-up version of Chihiro. In fact, I later came to find too that this iteration was the absolute highest ranking maid at this café in much the same way that Chihiro was among the Akiba Zettai cafés.

Of this batch, Nano was the most reserved while Noumen was the most easygoing and talkative. Ema was somewhere in the middle — it was not that she was particularly shy, but rather she seemed to display this sort of… burning confidence in her eyes causing her to come off as aloof. I recognized it as the sort of expression one has when they are unmistakably in their element; MAID√MADE was Ema’s domain, and she had no reason to vie for the attention of others — she knew she already had it. 

In my first impression of Ema, I almost thought that she seemed a little mean compared to some of her juniors, but I quickly came to understand that this contrast stemmed from her genuineness. As someone who was completely comfortable in the environment, Ema simply did not feel the need to wear a subservient “maid” persona — she performed her duties and talked to people if she wanted to, without feeling the need to split her time between patrons “fairly” so as to please as many people as possible. To the casual observer it was a subtle difference that would likely go unnoticed, but I quickly identified this behavior because I had seen it in Chihiro a few winters ago. It was the poise of a top-performing maid.

Clear-headed as such insight may suggest however, the sudden-nature of the events that day had left my brain quite muddled indeed. In terms of communication, I was remiss in being able to summon even my limited Japanese conversation skills and felt “stuck” in English-mode. Ema did eventually come over to my table to introduce herself (she did this in English, knowing that I was quite obviously a foreigner) but she actually stuck around past just mere pleasantries too — even as I fumbled to use a translator app to interact. Realizing that unexpectedly quite a few of our interests overlapped (she had many of the same hobbies as Chihiro such as video games), I was a little astonished at how quickly I began opening up to feel comfortable enough to use Japanese while conversing. 

Ema had this blend of speaking in a relaxed way — that is, not like a typical maid archetype — while still staying in-character as a “Magiaroid”. Although she spoke in third person and casually mentioned that her favorite food is “high octane”, conversation with her was quite natural even as she dealt with my broken Japanese. In fact, she seemed to light up with joy as I carefully assembled my sentences and soon began to make attempts of her own to meet me halfway by using bits of English herself. Genuinely interested in shrinking the language barrier, even when Ema would leave for a bit she would return to restart the conversation by pointing to one of the many accessories on her dress featuring various anime characters and asking whether I knew of them.

After a while I asked Ema to perform a dance and much as Chihiro’s Live List had been when she was a maid, Ema’s list of dances spanned multiple pages with a few starred as her personal recommendations. I was actually familiar with a number of her songs as, once again like Chihiro, she seemed to have a penchant for Vocaloid and J-pop songs and so I opted for a song called 極楽浄土 (“Paradise Pure Land”, referring to the celestial realm of Sukhavati in Mahayana Buddhism).

歌詞 Lyrics極楽浄土 “Paradise Pure Land” by GARNiDELiA. Ema's dance.

My goodness, when Ema took the stage, she took the entire shop with her — she was absolutely captivating. Rather than simply reproducing the dance’s choreography, Ema gracefully wielded a shimmering folding fan to accentuate her performance. The entire room felt her energy and passion as Ema put her all into the performance, even going so far as to lift her skirt in my direction whenever her eyes would meet mine. Needless to say, I absolutely enjoyed it! It was a wonderful finale to my first ever visit to MAID√MADE and, as an exhilarated Ema bid me good night, Nano helped pack my things as I “logged out” (as the Magiaroids called it) to head off into the Nagoya night.

I largely credit my experience at MAID√MADE that day for breaking the ice and setting the stage for my other experiences in the days that followed. And although, as mentioned earlier, I did end up visiting Akihabara quite a bit as planned, given the shop’s proximity to my hotel, I eventually was able to make some return visits to MAID√MADE.

The evening of my return, Ema was working alongside Nano, Maro, and a new maid named Yuri (ユリ) who had only begun working at the start of the month. Although Yuri was the Magiaroid on duty to stand outside the shop to welcome humans, when she opened the door to invite me in Ema screamed in excitement (as maids often do) when she saw me and waved from across the room. Since this was now my second “log-in” to the café, once again much like the Akiba Zettai cafés I was now entitled to a card that would accrue points during my visits. I quickly found however that MAID√MADE took this concept even further — although Yuri was about to show me the instruction cards necessary for the process, Ema showed up and wordlessly hip-checked her out of the way so she could walk me through it instead.

Turning to me beaming, Ema knelt next to me to use the table surface as she created my “MASTER ID” card by carefully writing out my name in its designated space and surrounding her handiwork with little hearts. I was surprised to find however that this was not the end of it — Ema then flipped the card over to reveal a QR code and explained that she would now help me set up my access to an online portal. Handing me her phone, Ema helpfully translated the sign-up prompts and watched as I successfully linked the point card to my account. Unlike other shops where “point cards” serve to provide a redeemable currency for bonus offerings, the points at MAID√MADE resembled more closely the concept of “experience points” in video games. Members had the option of going online and “inputting” their points into the Magiaroids of their choice to help them “level up” and “upgrade”. Based on their levels, the Magiaroids gained the privilege to offer various goods in-store (such as bromides and King Blades) featuring their visages. It was an exciting system both for maids and visitors alike; members were empowered to support their favorite Magiaroids directly and the maids had something to look forward to as they built their fanbases.

As expected, Ema was the highest ranked in the shop as a Level 12 HEXA CORE Magiaroid.

Whenever I would visit, Ema continued to show what an incredible maid she was and would take it upon herself to hover close by. Behaving in much the way Chihiro used to, Ema too typically left the café’s procedural work to her juniors and would idly stand next to me as they scrambled to answer the door when the camera outside would chime (this was also how I found out that all of the café’s exterior designs were in fact switchable mirrors that could become transparent). At one point so many maids scrambled to answer the chime that, amidst a commotion of screaming and bumping into things, one maid named Himeri (ひめり) actually got knocked over in the process to land flat on her back (which in turn led to her hastily adjust her skirt). “Maid zoo,” Ema had laughed in response, stating so in simple English as she watched.

Each and every time she would perform, Ema would enchant the entire room. There was one evening when Ema was the only one being picked for dances over and over which had her performing no fewer than four full songs back to back; with beads of sweat covering her forehead, she smiled and told the room that she would not have it any other way. Naturally I too frequently ordered dances from her (often buying the house red-colored glow sticks in the process to flood the room with Ema’s color of choice) and at one point Ema brought out a King Blade branded with her image to show me.「欲しい～？」she had asked while presenting it like an expensive bottle of champagne. I certainly did!

Ema performed a fantastic variety of songs including “Hysteric Bullet”, “Roki”, “響喜乱舞”, “KING”, “Queen of Hearts”, and so many more. As always she would include little touches to personalize the experience; as she performed “KING” for me, she would intentionally lift her skirt in my direction between steps and bow to me as she uttered the words, “you are king”. It was the power of a HEXA CORE Magiaroid — Ema was well-deserving of her status within the café.

As we became friends, Ema became less formal in her interactions. At one point I began a sentence using her name “Ema-san…” and she cut me off with a little force behind it to correct me into using a more endearing honorific, interjecting, “Ema-chan”. I also noticed that she stopped adhering to the no-touching rule that was said to cause Magiaroids to have a “system crash” if one was not careful. I enjoyed getting to know both her and some of the other maids past mere superficialities and even came to learn that Ema apparently used to be one of the weakest maids when the shop first opened, often crying after her shifts. On my last day at the café, Ema spent practically the whole shift at my side, asking when I would be coming back.「来年？」she would ask, wondering whether fate would let me visit Nagoya again next year. When it was finally time for me to go, she followed me out of the shop to wave goodbye as I walked off.

Soon it was back to keeping up with my friends — new ones included — via social media. In the case of the MAID√MADE Magiaroids, I soon found that they not only utilize their shop-owned Twitter accounts but also post personal blog entries in a dedicated part of their website. Using their sign-in system, members can also comment on blog posts to engage the maids. And I had not forgotten either to use the website to “input” my points to level up the Magiaroids; when I later asked Ema how Magiaroids receive the points (do they download them?) she responded that she eats the points as sustenance.

Jokes aside, neat as I found the system, after observing the dynamics at the café, I was a little torn. Ema and Chacha were undoubtedly my favorite maids — Chacha had a sort of understated playfulness to her while Ema’s somewhat comical pridefulness would make me laugh. When playing video games, I tend to “focus” on leveling certain characters at a time rather than evenly distributing experience points — so my first inclination as an Ema fan was to give all my points to her. Yet… these were real people with feelings. On my final day at the café, both Ema and Chacha had, in fact, been present, but Ema somewhat dominated my interactions with them; given the fact that she was everyone’s senior, the other maids had little choice but to let Ema do this unopposed. This observation made me consider how the points, fun as they were, introduced a competition aspect among the maids and I could not help but recognize the importance of spending points responsibly.

In the end, MAID√MADE was the shepherd that welcomed me back after spending the last two and a half years dreaming — at times literally — of my final memories of Japan, and of the lively maid cafés of Akihabara from the winter of 2019. I was able to play in a way that I had not been able to for a long time, and still I fell back into the rhythm of things very, very quickly. MAID√MADE primed me for all of the rest of my interactions during my visit and I was made comfortable to a point that I did not even approach some of the Akiba Zettai shops; life felt normal again, and it was enough just for me to see that they were still there. By the end of my stay, all traces of nervousness were gone and I was talking to everyone — my friends — freely.

Ten days. A mere ten fleeting days. And what a profound experience it was.

A wonderful summer memory.