The festival felt a little empty at first. “Welcome, welcome! Come on in! ”
The crowd was thin, scattered.
I spotted Jeonkuk Jang from yesterday and acknowledged the shout-out with a nod. Someone had handed him something called a “Deo Hunter C,” whatever that was. I didn’t ask. A kid nearby was eyeing the food stalls with a hungry look.
One of the vendors had a spicy batch going, and some strong-willed soul was handing it out for free. Everyone just grabbed it and walked off. “Can’t help it,” I muttered with a laugh. But this was Tanggu Festival.
What exactly was it supposed to be? There had to be more than this. Flyers, maps, something. I started scanning the area, looking for a pamphlet or a board.
The weather was nice, but I was running on no sleep. Yesterday had been a marathon, and now my body was paying for it. “So where’s the Tanggu place? ”
There was a bar festival happening next week in Shimokitazawa, and yeah, that looked fun.
Cheese and spicy food, the really spicy kind that makes you sweat. You’d hop from bar to bar, tasting each one. I loved that stuff. Maybe I’d come back.
But right now, I needed the Tanggu Festival handout. The guys shouting ahead were comedians. Little theaters everywhere, like a Korean version of Daehangno. Street performers, small stages, people trying to pull in audiences for live shows.
That part was familiar. “Where’s the Tanggu flyer, though? ”
I kept walking. Someone’s chat mentioned “Sense Zero” came through.
Nice. But I was still lost. Then I saw a person handing out flyers. “There it is.
”
I grabbed one and scanned it fast. The festival was happening in Shin-Kitazawa. Events started at 2:00 PM. There was a bean-throwing event—Setsubun, the traditional one where you throw roasted soybeans at demons to drive away bad luck and welcome good fortune.
“If you get here around 2:40, you can catch the next one. ”
Ichibangai. I needed to be at Ichibangai. “Alright, moving.
”
The streets were packed. People everywhere. Strollers, families, kids running around. I had to push through the crowd, trying to get in the right direction.
The event was happening soon, and if I missed it, I’d have to wait for the next round. “Where’s the right street? ”
There was a Starbucks on my left. That didn’t look right.
Flamingo over there. Mos Burger ahead. Still not finding it. This wasn’t right, and I couldn’t check my phone properly either.
No signal, or too slow to be useful. I just kept moving, following my gut. “Maybe it’s this way. ”
Then I heard it.
A faint sound in the distance, like a crowd cheering. I stopped. “That. ”
Closer now.
Voices. Rhythm. “Found it. ”
The crowd was thick, pushing in.
I wedged through shoulders and elbows. And then—
Oh. There he was. A figure in a massive red demon mask, towering over everyone.
The head was huge, painted fierce, with long dark hair flowing down his back. He was wearing massive traditional garments, walking slowly, deliberately. The costume was insane. “That’s the Oni.
”
The demon. The bad luck. The embodiment of everything the festival was supposed to chase away. Kids were throwing beans at him.
Small hands, cupped, then thrown with all the force a five-year-old can muster. “Oni wa soto! Fuku wa uchi! ”
The chant rang out through the street.
“Out with the demons! In with fortune! ”
It wasn’t literal, obviously. Not some religious thing.
Just tradition. A family-friendly way to start the season, to symbolically throw the bad stuff out and let the good stuff in. “Come on, come on, keep moving. ”
The main demon had a whole procession behind him.
Guys in matching costumes, small ones carrying their own—probably kids dressed up smaller versions of the same mask. And then there was the giant one at the back. “Wow, that guy’s huge. ”
His shoes were something else.
Platform sandals, thick wooden soles, like he was walking on stilts. Looked exhausting. “How does he even walk in those? ”
He was on a mission, moving toward the center of the festival.
The crowd parted for him. Some people took pictures. Some got out of the way. I just followed.
“Should I follow him? ”
Why not? “Here we go. ”
The demon moved past the food stalls, around the small shops, deeper into the festival ground.
The crowd kept pace, kids laughing, parents grabbing their hands. “You’ll get lost,” a mother warned. I pushed forward. “This is the real deal.
”
The energy was contagious. I hadn’t expected this. Maybe the festival was quiet at first, but the core of it—right here, this moment—this was alive. “Come on, come on, let’s go!
”
People were more relaxed now. There was no tension, no rush, just the shared rhythm of the march. The loudspeaker was blaring the chant over and over, and the crowd was answering. It wasn’t a performance.
It was participation. Everyone was in it together. “Here, come here, let’s get some beans. ”
Someone handed me a small bag of roasted soybeans.
I took it. “Thanks! ”
Now I had ammo. The big demon was getting closer to his destination.
A stage, maybe. Some kind of ceremonial area. The kids lined up, clutching their beans, wide-eyed and serious. They were ready.
I loaded a handful into my palm. “I’ll throw them from here. ”
The rhythm picked up. “Oni wa soto!
”
A small girl threw hers. The demon made a show of flinching. “Fuku wa uchi! ”
Another handful flew through the air.
He moved right, then left, dodging the beans like they actually hurt. The kids screamed. Laughter everywhere. “Get him!
Get him! ”
The festival had started slow, lukewarm even. But this, right here, this was the soul of it. I threw mine, and it vanished into the air with all the others.
Lost in the chanting, the laughter, the beating rhythm of the festival. The Oni took one last dramatic step, turned, and gave the crowd a final nod before disappearing behind the stage. The beans scattered across the ground. Fortune was in, evil was out.
Just like the tradition said. “Alright. ”
I walked away from the stage, riding the buzz of the crowd. The sun was out, and the streets were warm with bodies and energy.
“That was worth the run. ”
I spotted a small stall and headed toward it, adjusting the mask I’d bought hours earlier. I’d clean it up later. Right now, I just wanted to walk, breathe in the crowd, and enjoy the last stretch of the festival before the sun went down.
The streets of Shin-Kitazawa had turned into something loud and alive. For a place that felt empty at the start, it had transformed into a proper celebration. Every street had a sound. Every corner had a family.
I checked the flyer again. Maybe I’d catch the last event, or just grab something to eat. There was a nod on at the food stand, a big pot of something steaming. The smell hit me—soy sauce, garlic, maybe soup.
“Should I try that? ”
I walked toward it. The festival hummed behind me, steady and warm, the last of the bean dust still floating in the air.