On a summer night in 2004, I was standing on the roadside in Tokyo to hitch.

In hindsight, I think I was too naïve to believe a woman in her early 20s can hitch to travel more than 500 kilometres (300 miles). But back then I really wanted to try something out of ordinary, to get a different perspective on life.

It was a clear and warm evening in late June. I stood on a sidewalk close to the entrance of a highway, holding a hand-written signboard reads “Bound for Osaka”.
No car stopped for me. Some cars slowed down, but as soon as they read my signboard, they drove away. I stood there like a block of wood for about an hour or so. The clock was approaching 11 pm.
“If I can’t get a ride by midnight, I would go back home and give up a trip.” I thought.

After another half an hour or so, an old sedan stopped a few meters away. Being unsure whether it stopped for me or not, I ran to that car. A man in his late 40s opened a window, looked at me and asked bluntly.
“Are you really going to Osaka?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Hop on.” He unlocked the door.

I slipped into the navigation seat and thanked him. He once again perused me and then cracked up.
“I can’t believe this. Are you doing this for a reality TV or something? I saw some documentaries about people do this, but…seriously, hitchhiking?”
“I wanted to see if it really works or not.” I smiled.
“Well, that’s brave of you, I like that.” He seemed to be amused. “But you have to be cautious. You are lucky that I picked you up. Guys are dangerous. You should know that.”
“Well, I’m strong. And I don’t think I’m so attractive.”
“Doesn’t matter, young lady. Anyways, I cannot give you a lift all the way to Osaka actually. I just go to Numazu. So when I get to Numazu, I will get you somebody else who can send you to Osaka. You will pretend to be my relative. Is that all right?”
“Yes. Thank you very much for your kindness, sir.” I said.

“So, what do you do?” He asked me.
“I’m a student,” I said. “I’m a senior, and I’m too stressed out for job-hunting and stuff.”
“I see. So you needed an escape.” He laughed.
“Kind of. I need time for myself to think about my career and my future. What do you do for a living, sir?” I asked.
“Me? Well, you guess.” He teased me.
I examined him and his car. His shirt was out of its shape and didn’t look too neat. The interior of the car was a bit dirty, and the ashtray was filled with cigarette butts. I remembered I saw a huge dent on the front door of his car.
“You don’t look like a company man,” I carefully inspected. “Maybe a freelancer or a small business owner?”
He giggled.
“Well, I’m a yakuza.”

I was stunned. My brain was frozen. Not knowing what to say, I responded awkwardly.
“Oh, uh… very nice to meet you. It is the first time for me to talk with a yakuza.”
“Don’t worry, I wouldn’t harm you.” He assured me. “We don’t harm ordinary people. It is our principle.”
“Uh, it’s good to know.” I was still shocked.
“But you have to be careful,” He made a straight face. “Not all people are as nice as me. Most of the guys will try to take advantage of women when you ask them something. So promise me that you’ll never do this again.”
“I won’t,” I swore to him in the most obedient manner I have shown in my entire life.