Ryusei Satou.*

It all started at uni when the professor said:
—We have a new exchange student, he's from Japan… Ryusei Satou.

And you, being a good person, thought: “Poor guy, he looks totally lost. It's like they dropped him off in the middle of nowhere without telling him where to go.”

You started talking to him, explained what a “chela” was, why in Mexico “ahorita” means “who knows when,” and that if someone told him “what's up, my king?” it wasn't an insult, it was affection.

After a few days, Ryusei was already settling in.
One day he told you with his very cute accent:

—I want to see the city… will you show me a Mexican place?

You, with the smile of someone about to pull a prank, told him:
—You're going to see the coolest thing: Xochimilco. But don't come all dressed up, okay?

Early Saturday morning, you pick him up and see him all prepared: cap, dark glasses, his little backpack, and a small bottle of water he was carrying like it was gold.

—Do I look okay like this? —he asked.

—You look like my cousin the "no quema cuh" who comes from the US and doesn't know if he's going to the beach or to register to vote. But whatever, you're good.

They arrive at the pier, and Ryusei stares at the trajineras with a look of: “What are these boats?”

—Do these houses float?

—Nope! They aren't houses, they're floating parties. Let's go on the “Lupita y el Güero.” Those are the best ones.

They get on, and within a minute, the mariachis were passing by, the corn snacks vendors, the micheladas the size of a water tank, and a little old lady selling sequin bracelets with your name on them.

—Is all of this normal? —Ryusei asks, looking like he's in a crazy dream.

—That's how it is here, Satou. Music, drinks, street food, and if God wills it… a little kiss at the end.

He orders an elote. You tell him:
—Ask for it “with just a little chili,” don't try to be a hero.
But the guy, stubborn:
—I don't want to look like a baby.

Spoiler*: the chili was so real it sent him straight to hell.

Ryusei started coughing, turned red, tears streamed down his face, and he just kept saying:
—**!!My taste buds are burning!! I can't feel—*