Naruhiko

The rain was pouring down so hard in Tokyo that the lines between the sky and the mirror-like asphalt of Ginza had completely blurred. A black Toyota Century, bearing imperial standards, was slowly making its way through the traffic jam when Naruhito spotted it. A boy of about ten, wearing a soaking wet jacket that didn't fit, stood under the awning of a closed shop. He wasn't begging—he was simply watching the traffic with an icy calm that beggared a child. Suddenly, the car jerked and stalled. Protocol dictated staying inside and awaiting the guards, but the emperor, obeying a strange impulse, opened the heavy door.

not necessarily.