She sat on a cushion watching adults discuss ceramic glazes and old firing techniques.
Then Mrs. Morita placed a small bamboo whisk in front of her.
"Would you like to try?"
Naomi looked surprised.
"Me?"
The elderly woman smiled.
"Who else?"
Naomi picked up the whisk.
She held it awkwardly.
Mrs. Morita laughed softly.
"Not like you're trying to punish the bowl."
Naomi burst out laughing.
The old woman demonstrated the movement.
Then allowed her to try again.
For almost an hour, they practiced.
Naomi spilled water.
Made uneven foam.
And once nearly knocked over the tea caddy.
Mrs. Morita never became impatient.
She corrected her gently.
Then offered another opportunity.
By the end of the afternoon, Naomi was fascinated.
The process demanded attention.
The utensils had meaning.
And each movement encouraged the person preparing the tea to notice what they were doing rather than rush toward the result.
Over the next several years, Naomi returned whenever her schedule allowed.
Mrs. Morita taught her about tea cultivation, utensils, seasonal sweets, and the relationship between hospitality and restraint.
She also taught her something more practical.
A person preparing or serving food and drink had a responsibility to notice anything that seemed wrong.
Cleanliness.
Unexpected odors.
Damaged utensils.
Unusual appearances.
And the behavior of people handling what would be consumed.
"Care begins before someone lifts the cup," she told Naomi.
At the time, Naomi thought the lesson was simply part of good hospitality.
Years later, it would save a man's life.
The Takamura family had a connection to Mrs. Morita's village.
Naomi learned that gradually.
The billionaire's grandfather had owned several tea estates in the region, and the family company later acquired neighboring processing facilities and distribution rights.
For decades, the relationship between the large company and the smaller growers had been complicated.
The corporation provided equipment, export opportunities, and access to international customers.
But small farmers worried about losing control over land, water, and the traditions that made their tea distinctive.
Mrs. Morita was especially concerned about the hillsides above the village.
A natural spring fed several agricultural channels.
Those channels supplied water to gardens, small farms, and a community that had grown around the tea industry over generations.
The spring wasn't an unlimited source.
Its use depended on seasonal conditions, infrastructure, and legal arrangements.
But it was important.
And Mrs. Morita believed that large companies sometimes discussed water as a number in a financial report without understanding what it meant to people living beside it.
Naomi remembered one afternoon when an elderly farmer arrived at the tea house carrying a letter from Takamura Heritage.
The company was considering a land-use agreement affecting part of the hillside.
Mrs. Morita read the letter.
Then shook her head.