After the strange calendar incident and the growing “Gyu” responses in my everyday life, I decided I needed answers.
If this stomach-tightening signal truly meant something, then I had to test it.
So one morning in New York, I quietly said inside my mind:
“Gyu… today, I’m going out with you.”
I didn’t tell my family where I was going.
The secrecy gave me an unreasonable amount of guilt, as if I were sneaking out for something forbidden.
But I knew I needed to understand this phenomenon—whatever it was.
Following the Gyu
I left the house and slowly turned my head left, then right.
A strong Gyu pulled me toward the left.
My heart jumped.
It reacted. It really reacted.
Excitement and fear mixed in my mind as I followed the direction of every sign.
At every intersection, I paused and looked in each direction.
Whichever side gave me the tightening sensation, that’s where I walked.
Right—Gyu.
Left—nothing.
Straight—Gyu.
Signal after signal.
Eventually I reached the station and boarded the train, letting the Gyu guide me.
I had no idea where I’d end up.
Stop after stop passed.
Each time, I waited:
“Is this the one? Will the Gyu hit here?”
Nothing.
Then suddenly—Gyu. Strong.
My stomach tightened sharply.
A clear “THIS ONE.”
I stepped off at a station I’d never seen before.
Where is this place…?
New York is large, and unfamiliar neighborhoods can feel intimidating.
I didn’t know if the area was safe.
I didn’t know why I was here.
But I kept going.
I walked toward the exit, checking directions again.
Left—nothing.
Right—Gyu.
I followed.
The Forest of Cherry Blossoms
A few turns later, the path opened.
And suddenly, I was standing among a wide grove of cherry blossoms in full bloom.
Not a giant forest—nothing overwhelming.
But more cherry trees together than I had seen anywhere in America.
A soft breeze moved through branches heavy with pink petals.
The sunlight passed through the blossoms in gentle waves.
For a moment, the entire area glowed.
My breath caught in my throat.
In all my years living in America, I had never seen cherry trees like this—not this many, not this perfect, not this luminous.
It felt like home.
Like the springs of my childhood in Japan.
Something deep in my chest loosened, and emotion rose up before I could stop it.
I stood there for a long time, letting the Gyu guide me slowly from tree to tree, as if I were being invited to appreciate each one individually.
After the Blossoms
When the cherry blossom area came to an end, the Gyu nudged me onward.
Through the park, past winding paths, until eventually I reached the main entrance—full of people and noise.
From there, the Gyu guided me into the city streets again.
I was starving by then.
But the Gyu had one more stop for me.
A small sushi restaurant.
Not fancy.
Just an ordinary neighborhood spot.
But when I entered and took the first bite, I almost cried again.
It was unbelievably delicious—better than many famous places I’d tried.
“Gyu… thank you.”
I actually said it inside my mind.
After eating, the Gyu guided me back to the station, then let me return home on my own.
Only when I sat on the train, finally relaxing, did the realization hit me:
What on earth was I doing today?
Following my stomach around like it was a GPS?
Crying under cherry blossoms?
Thanking a mysterious internal signal for sushi?
Suddenly I felt ridiculous.
Embarrassed.
Suspicious again.
Maybe I was being fooled.
Maybe I was imagining everything.
But one thing was undeniable:
I would never have found that place on my own.
Not the blossoms.
Not the timing.
Not the perfect sushi.
Not any of it.
And so, despite my doubts…
I knew the experiments had only just begun.