When others waxed poetic about travel, they painted it in hues of grandeur and otherworldly beauty. They spoke of it like a treasure trove, likened it to the value of irreplaceable gems. They described the sensation of wind tousling through hair, and the vision of a low-hanging moon in a sky studded with twinkling jewels, as stars gazed benevolently from above. Rarely did they speak of the solitude, the stark realization that not even Michelin-starred delicacies could supplant bento-boxes prepared with love. No sumptuously soft bed could replace the warmth found on the other side, and not even a handshake from the most renowned could outshine the embrace of a familiar, affectionate hug awaiting at home. For how could they understand? They had never encountered a soul like Shin-Chan. Or: Kazama returns home after two weeks, enfolded in the loving embrace of Shin-Chan, where his heart blooms with the fragrance of belonging.