Have you ever held the breath of a newborn morning in your hands?
In Toyama, snow from the majestic Tateyama peaks melts, traveling deep underground for years before rising at Fumikiku Sake Brewery. With this water, Haneya begins to breathe.
Here, there is no hierarchy in craftsmanship. Every grain of rice absorbs water by the counted second; every batch of kōji is watched over through the long night. This devotion is not reserved for a single special bottle, but poured equally into all—a quiet, unwavering determination. True to the name “Haneya” (Wings), the same vast, high sky expands in every glass.
Take a sip, and you can still feel the faint pulse of bubbles. It is light that is still alive, captured exactly as it was the moment it was pressed. It is the fresh outline of life—newly awakened here, after crossing the sea and passing beyond a cold sleep.
After the last sip, your body feels lighter. It is the sensation of lift-off. It adds no weight, but gently pushes you into an open sky that suddenly appears before you.
The freedom your senses have been searching for may have already spread its wings, long ago, within the clear purity of this single sip.