[No. 173] Kazuhiko Higashi

In 2009, I officially became a university student. My brother, six years my senior and a molecular biology researcher at Osaka University, gave me this piece of advice: "For science students, real university life begins in your fourth year when you join a lab." For some reason, in the Kansai region, they use "〇回生" (kaisai) instead of "〇年生" (nensei) to refer to the year of study. While pondering silly things like what year a senior who had repeated their second year three times would be, I followed his advice and enjoyed a very ordinary university life until my third year.

Then came the summer of 2011. With lab life finally on the horizon, my heart was filled with a mix of anticipation and anxiety. The source of my anticipation was having read "A Guide to Research Life for Science Students" (Kodansha), a masterpiece by Professor Tsubota of the Keio University School of Medicine, which introduced me to the romantic world of research. The cause of my anxiety was the worry that I, having lived a pastoral and ordinary university life, would be able to produce the results expected of me under professors who are at the forefront of their fields worldwide.

Amidst these feelings, I chose the Miki Laboratory in the Department of Mechanical Engineering. While most other applicants cited reasons like "it seems fun" or "it has a good atmosphere," I was captivated by the potential of MEMS (Micro-Electro-Mechanical Systems), the Miki Lab's area of expertise.

It is a hot field that uses semiconductor processing technology, now capable of fabrication on the 10 nm scale, to create new mechanisms and systems. As AI, IoT, and robotics become industrial mainstays, the market is expected to expand even further. The Miki Lab, being in such a popular field, had 12 applicants for its 8 available spots. After a group interview, I was successfully accepted into the Miki Lab. Without waiting for the official start of research in April, I began spending all my time in the lab from the spring break in February.

When I asked Professor Miki for a research theme, he said, "You know those microorganisms that swim through water? Wouldn't it be interesting if we could attach them to something tiny and make a little robot that moves around?"

And just like that, my research theme was decided.

For about six months, I continued a lifestyle of devouring papers, conducting experiments all night, and sleeping on chairs lined up in the lab because it felt like too much trouble to walk the 10 minutes home. That year, the abstract I submitted to the international conference MEMS, held in Taiwan, was accepted, and my participation was confirmed. What's more, it was an oral presentation. Despite having barely any experience presenting even in Japanese, I was to give a presentation in English in front of an audience of about 700 people, including the leading figures of the industry. What made me shrink even more was the size of the venue. I couldn't even make out who the people in the back were.

I was up all night redoing my presentation materials right up to the last minute, and in my hazy state of mind, the script wouldn't stick in my head at all. My last-minute practice was a mess, and I honestly thought, "It's over."

Five minutes until my presentation. I locked myself in a bathroom stall for no reason, trembling on top of the toilet. All the pores on my body opened up, and a cold sweat poured out.

But my turn came mercilessly, and the moment I resigned myself to my fate and stepped onto the stage, a miracle happened. I found myself speaking with word-for-word precision, as if I were reading directly from a script. I even had the composure to crack a lighthearted joke and enjoy the audience's reaction. My brain was spinning at what felt like 10 times its normal speed, and I finished the presentation with good intonation, adjusting my pace to fit perfectly within the 15-minute time slot. The judoka "Yawara-chan" once said that in a state of extreme concentration during a match, it feels like you're having an out-of-body experience, observing yourself from the outside. That's exactly what it felt like for me at that moment. When the presentation was over and I returned to my seat, a senior from my lab praised me, saying, "You were like Steve Jobs." However, I never wanted to go through that again, so from then on, I made sure to prepare thoroughly in advance. I haven't seen my inner Steve Jobs since.

After getting through my first international conference presentation, I interacted with various researchers and was exposed to cutting-edge knowledge, which made me feel even more drawn to the world of research and I became completely absorbed in it. By the time I finished my Doctoral Programs, I had published six academic papers, presented at five international conferences, and been selected as a Research Fellow (DC1) of the Japan Society for the Promotion of Science, a gateway for doctoral students. As I continued to produce results, the desire to make a more direct contribution gradually grew stronger.

So, I decided to start a business based on a project I had been quietly working on since my master's program. This is a technology that allows people to perceive a salty taste without consuming almost any salt, designed to help those who need to restrict their salt intake, such as patients with kidney disease, to reduce their sodium consumption with ease. Specifically, by attaching a "Salt Chip" to a tooth and licking it while eating, one can enjoy unsalted dishes as if they were well-seasoned with salt. In 2017, when the technology took a tangible form, I entered and won the Keio Healthcare Venture Contest, hosted by the Keio University School of Medicine. Beyond the one-million-yen prize, it was an unexpected joy to meet the renowned Professor Tsubota at the celebration party (and I even cheekily got his autograph in my book!).

Currently, I am the president of a company that Professor Miki and I established with that prize money. My research has become a product, and I now receive words of gratitude directly from people who suffer from salt restrictions. Professor Tsubota's words were right. Research is indeed full of romance.