I don’t understand much about crypto, but I do know this—when a former student of mine, now working at a bank in Namba, told me his mother lost her life savings to a "stablecoin," I didn’t need graphs or whitepapers to feel the harm.
These young men writing online about decentralisation and freedom remind me of the boys in my class who always raised their hands first but never listened to the answer.
If something cannot pay for a bowl of ramen today, why should I believe it will change society tomorrow?
I saw the 1990s vanish quietly, fortunes blinking out like lights in a failing elevator. Crypto feels like that moment again—excited voices, same silence at the end.
The only blockchain I trust is the row of cherry trees near the station, blooming every spring for sixty years, no ledger needed.