Once, thirty flames burned in this land. Now, only one remains.
In Hishida, Osaki, an 80-meter layer of white Shirasu (volcanic ash) covers the earth. It is a colossal sieve woven over millennia. Rain takes decades to filter through this white maze, stripping away scent, color, and memory until it becomes water as pure as prayer. Tensei Shuzo is the sole survivor turning this prayer into spirit.
Here, distillation is an act of refusal. They discard half the liquid—the volatile “heads” and heavy “tails”—without hesitation. Like a sculptor facing a block of stone, they reveal the form by carving away the excess. Only the core remains, a texture like melted silk.
At 42%, this spirit speaks without water as an interpreter. Sip at room temperature. No burn pierces the tongue. Instead, a vacuum of silence opens, like a forest on a snowy morning. In that stillness, a faint sweetness echoes like a distant bell.
This distillery mirrors the plateau itself. Just as the land strips water to its essence, time has stripped this place to its resolve. What remains is the gold of resilience.
Each year, the master distiller faces a blank sheet of music. The label “Shin Kozono” never plays the same melody twice. It is a once-in-a-lifetime sound, ringing within the glass.
Purity is not found in addition. It is the light that remains after you have the courage to let go.