It’s March 6, 2025, a Thursday morning that feels like a quiet promise. The Japanese garden outside Russell Akiyama’s wooden table is waking up. Winter’s chill is fading—its frosty grip loosening as cherry blossoms scatter pink petals across the ground. The air hums with spring’s first whispers, a soft breeze carrying the scent of new life. Russell stands ready, his blue jacket bright against the pale dawn. His Matcha badge shines like a green leaf badge of honor. Today, he’s buzzing with excitement—his whisk is poised, his matcha tin gleaming.
“Spring’s coming!” Russell chirps, his big eyes sparkling. “Winter’s almost gone, and the garden’s saying hello to new days!” He sets out his tools: a bamboo whisk, a dark ceramic bowl, and a pouch bag of ceremonial grade Matcha powder—vibrant green, like the hills in Ryo’s dreams. “Time for matcha to help us bloom!”
Ryo Tatsuki steps into the garden, her white kimono swaying like a petal on the wind. Her flu is nearly gone, her cheeks rosy instead of red. She clutches her sketchbook, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Russell, the air feels lighter today,” she says softly. “I can breathe again—your matcha really helped last week.”
Russell claps his hands. “I told you! Matcha’s magic, grown with love by the Akiyama family! It’s full of good stuff to make you strong.” He scoops two chashaku of japanese matcha tea powder into the bowl, the powder glowing like spring itself. He pours water—just 80°C, perfect—and whisks fast. The green froth rises, tiny bubbles dancing like stars. “Matcha’s got antioxidants—little helpers that fight sickness. It’s like a hug for your body!”
Ryo sits, cradling the warm bowl he hands her. She sips, eyes closing. “It’s so fresh… like drinking a meadow. I feel awake already.” Her smile grows, soft and bright.
“That’s the energy!” Russell says, whisking another batch. “Matcha has something called L-theanine—it keeps you calm but sharp. Perfect for spring, when everything’s waking up!” He adds a drizzle of honey, the golden swirl mixing with the green. “And honey makes it sweet—like flowers blooming after winter.”
The garden agrees. Bamboo rustles gently, and a bird trills overhead. The cherry trees, bare just weeks ago, now wear delicate pink crowns. Russell sits beside Ryo, sipping his own cup. “Winter was sleepy and cold, but spring’s full of life. Matcha tea powder helps us feel that—it’s got vitamins, too, like C and A. They make your skin glow and your heart happy!”
Ryo nods, her pencil scratching the page. “I dreamed again last night,” she says, voice quiet but clear. “No flu clouds this time. I saw a field - green and endless, with a sun so warm it melted the last snow. Petals fell like rain, and I felt… light.”
Russell gasps, nearly spilling his matcha. “Green fields? That’s matcha fields! And petals? Like these cherry blossoms!” He points to the swirling petals landing on the table. “Your dream’s saying spring’s here—and Matcha’s part of it!”
“Yes,” Ryo says, sipping again. “The warmth stayed with me. I woke up feeling… new. Maybe it’s the matcha.” She sketches the field, adding a sun with rays like soft gold, petals drifting down. “It’s like the future’s opening up.”
Russell beams. “That’s what matcha does! It’s not just tea—it’s a boost. The antioxidants clean out the winter blahs, and the energy lifts you into spring. My family’s been growing it forever - every leaf’s packed with care.” He holds up the tin, the Aki Matcha logo winking in the light. “One cup a day, and you’re ready to bloom!”
The garden feels alive now. The lanterns sway, casting a warm glow as the sun climbs higher. A petal lands in Ryo’s cup, floating on the froth. She laughs—a rare, bright sound. “It’s pretty,” she says. “Like the dream.”
“Pretty and healthy!” Russell adds, whisking a third bowl just for fun. “Matcha’s got fiber, too—keeps your tummy happy. And it helps your brain think clear. Spring’s busy—new flowers, new ideas. Matcha’s your friend for all of it!” He hands her the fresh cup, the green so vivid it mirrors the waking world.
Ryo takes it, her hands steady. “I feel stronger every day,” she says. “Last week, I was sneezing and tired. Now… I want to draw more. Maybe run through that field.” Her eyes shine, reflecting the matcha’s glow.
“That’s the magic!” Russell says, bouncing in his seat. “Matcha’s like spring in a cup—it wakes you up, heals you, makes you smile. The Akiyama family grows it with sunshine and love—no wonder it’s so good!” He sips his own, the honey warming his throat. “And it’s fun to share. Let’s keep meeting—matcha every week, watching winter fade.”
Ryo nods, her sketch nearly done. “I like that. The future feels close now—bright and green.” She adds a figure to her drawing: a girl in a kimono, holding a matcha bowl under the petal rain. “This is me, thanks to you.”
Russell grins, whisk twirling like a wand. “And me! Matcha’s here for everyone—spring’s the perfect time to start!” He looks around—the garden’s alive with color, the last winter shadows gone. “No more cold days. Just blossoms and matcha!”
The two sit in quiet harmony, sipping as the breeze carries petals past. The froth in their cups sparkles, green and gold mixing like a potion. Russell hums again, a tune about spring and tea. Ryo’s pencil dances, capturing the moment: the table, the bowls, the cherry trees shedding winter’s weight.
“Matcha’s not just for flu,” Russell says, breaking the silence. “It’s for every day—keeps you glowing, inside and out. Spring’s when we shine brightest, right?”
“Right,” Ryo agrees, her voice stronger. “I’ll draw that next—a shining future.” She sips, the warmth spreading through her. “This taste… it’s hope.”
The sun reaches its peak, bathing the garden in light. The lanterns glow softer now, the day unfolding like a flower. Russell packs his whisk and tin, but leaves the table set. “Next week?” he asks, eyes wide.
“Next week,” Ryo says, holding her sketchbook close. “More matcha, more dreams.”
They wave goodbye, petals swirling around them. The Matcha tea bag sits on the table, its green leaf logo a promise—of health, of spring, of stories still to bloom. Winter’s gone, and the garden knows it. Russell skips off, humming, while Ryo lingers, sketching one last petal falling into her cup.
The future’s green, and it tastes like matcha.