The motorcycle engine cooled in the mountain air like a breathing animal.
The young salesman removed his helmet and looked up.
The Steller’s sea eagle was still there — circling wide, patient circles above the ridge, as if it had been watching this meeting long before either man arrived.
Inside the hut, the old man poured coffee.
“Have you heard anything about me?” the old man asked.
“My senior said there was a legendary salesman living up here,” the young man said. “He told me to learn your secrets.”
The old man laughed.
“The secret? It’s simple.”
He raised one finger.
“First — be weird.”
The young man nodded slowly.
“Not fake-weird. Not marketing-weird. Real weird. Something people remember.”
He gestured toward the window.
“You rode a motorcycle up a mountain to talk to a retired stranger. Good start.”
⸻
The old man raised a second finger.
“Second — don’t change your appearance.”
The young man blinked.
“That still works?” he asked.
The old man smiled.
“More than ever. The world is turning into data. When humans see something consistent, they relax. When everything else changes — apps, interfaces, policies, prices — they trust the thing that stays the same.”
He sipped his coffee.
“In the old days it was memory. Now it’s algorithmic identity.”
The young man frowned slightly.
⸻
Outside, wind brushed through horse grass fields.
“Insurance isn’t dying,” the old man continued. “It’s mutating.”
He pointed to the young man’s tablet bag.
“Right now, AI can answer most customer questions instantly. Some companies are automating claims, underwriting, even policy recommendations.”
He tapped the table.
“Some systems resolve most simple customer requests without a human at all.”
He looked directly at him.
“That means humans have to become something else.”
(In 2026, AI, IoT data, and predictive analytics are reshaping insurance into proactive, personalized ecosystems, with automation resolving many routine customer interactions and improving efficiency and settlement speed.)
(Japanese insurers are already integrating AI for underwriting, fraud detection, and customer service while moving customers toward mobile and digital platforms.)
⸻
The young man swallowed.
“I was worried… face-to-face sales might disappear.”
The old man shook his head.
“No. Transactions disappear. Trust doesn’t.”
He leaned forward.
“Agents aren’t disappearing. They’re turning into advisors.”
(Industry analysis shows agents shifting from transaction brokers toward strategic advisors as automation takes over routine processing.)
⸻
The old man raised a third finger.
“Third — be in the photo.”
The young man laughed nervously.
“That sounds like social media advice.”
“Not social media,” the old man said. “Proof of existence.”
He stood and pulled a dusty album from a shelf.
Photos.
Clients. Flood recovery. Weddings. Hospital rooms. Retirement parties.
“AI can recommend policies. It can predict disease risk. It can price accidents from driving data.”
He tapped a photo where he stood between two crying farmers after a typhoon.
“But it cannot be remembered.”
⸻
The wind outside shifted. A horse snorted softly.
The old man sat again.
“In Japan, insurance is already moving into apps. People buy accident coverage inside ride-share apps or online shopping flows.”
The young man nodded. He knew.
(More than half of some new policy types in Japan already originate inside non-insurance apps, where customer acquisition is far cheaper than traditional agency sales.)
“Good for business,” the old man said.
“Hard for identity.”
⸻
The young man hesitated.
“What if… AI replaces us?”
The old man smiled, but it wasn’t nostalgic. It was calm.
“Some jobs will go,” he said simply.
(Some insurers have already begun reducing roles tied to manual customer handling as AI systems automate processes.)
“But every time tools get stronger, humans move up a level.”
He tapped the table again.
“Risk translation. Ethical explanation. When the AI says ‘Your premium increases because your glucose trend changed,’ — someone has to look the customer in the eye and explain what that means for their life.”
⸻
Silence settled between them.
The eagle cried once, far above.
⸻
“Do you still sell insurance?” the young man asked quietly.
The old man shook his head.
“I raise eleven horses now.”
He looked toward the hills.
“My wife is gone. My daughter lives in Sapporo. Friends come help sometimes.”
He smiled faintly.
“I water grass. Feed horses. Watch eagles.”
⸻
The young man stared into his coffee.
“I just became independent,” he said.
“I’m scared I’m entering the industry at the end of something.”
The old man laughed — loud, warm, mountain-echo loud.
“Every generation thinks that.”
He stood and opened the hut door. Cold air rushed in.
“Listen carefully.”
He pointed to the sky.
“Opportunity is just fear wearing future clothes.”
⸻
Then, softer:
“If you ever get tired of selling dreams…
If you feel like you’re lying…
If you forget who you are…”
He tapped the young man’s glasses frame.
“Change these.”
The young man froze.
“The photos will stay,” the old man said.
“But that man won’t be you anymore.”
⸻
The motorcycle started again at sunset.
Halfway down the mountain, the young man stopped and took a photo:
Mountain hut.
Horse fence.
Golden sky.
And, in the corner of the frame —
The old man.
Standing there.
Unchanging.
Memorable.
Real.
All names of people and organizations appearing in this story are pseudonyms
The Epstein files are rocking Britain from the palace to parliament
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