A crisp breeze and a clear sky signaled the start of another beautiful Monday morning in this part of Japan. Making my way to the garbage bin, I spotted several small insects making their long trek across the parking lot in search of food and several dozen birds in the distance. Being the start of another workweek, the JSDF was in full effect, their powerful jets flying quickly overhead and occasionally making their noisy return to the airbase just a few kilometers away. From the corner of my eye I noticed that my newest neighbour was leaving their home, and I waved good morning to her.

“Ohayo gozaimasu,” a voice said to me from out of nowhere.

Startled, I looked across the road and found that a man wearing an orange T-shirt was crouched beside a small bush while smoking his favourite Lucky Seven cigarettes. “Ohayo gozaimasu,” I replied. “Ii tenki desu ne?”

This wasn’t the first time that the man had escaped my notice, and it probably would not be the last.

I swear, my neighbour really is a ninja. From a young age I had learned to pay attention to the smallest of details and notice the most insignificant of patterns. While the skill has certainly served me well over the past two decades, it seems that there is one person that has successfully found a way to make themselves so inconspicuous that I never notice them until it’s already too late. If we were playing some sort of spy vs. spy game, he would consistently be the victor.

This does raise a good question, though: are there Ninja training schools still operating in Japan? If so, I’d love to attend a weekend course.