Order the beer. Toro's listening.

Every session ends with words you can say. Conversations check that you can use them. Tonight Toro is the izakaya server; tomorrow, the konbini clerk; later, the station attendant pointing you to the right platform. The people your trip actually puts in front of you, with endless patience.

He only uses words you know

Toro sticks to the vocabulary you've already earned in your sessions, plus a handful of props from the scene. The point is simple: you understand every line he says, and every reply he invites is one you can actually build. As your vocabulary grows, the conversations grow with it: first a scripted order, then real back-and-forth about the menu, then wherever you take it.

Stuck? English is fine

Say the part you can't say in English: "can I have… water?" Toro understands, answers in Japanese, and hands you the line you were reaching for. It appears under your words too, ready for next time. No conversation dies because one word was missing.

No red ink

Toro never corrects you mid-conversation. No grades, no sighs, no "actually, the particle is…" A mixed-up verb ending is completely fine as long as he understood you, which is exactly how it works at a real counter. You talk, he answers, the evening continues.

Cue cards while you find your feet

Your first conversations come with quiet suggestions: two or three things you could say next, each one tappable to hear aloud in Toro's voice before you try it yourself. They're stepping stones, not a script, and they retire once you don't need them.

Tonight's conversation is tomorrow's review

The words you use with Toro count as real practice. Each one feeds the same memory schedule as your reviews, so a word you successfully ordered a drink with won't nag you tomorrow. Words you reached for and missed come back gently, sometimes in the next conversation, where Toro leaves you a natural opening to try again.

What leaves your phone