Chado — the Way of Tea — is less a recipe than a discipline of attention. A guest kneels on rush-straw tatami, light falls soft through a shoji panel, and a single raku bowl of whisked matcha becomes the whole world for one hour. This system carries that ethic into the screen: muted earth greens, woven straw grounds, generous emptiness, and serif type that reads like an inked brushstroke. Nothing is loud, nothing is symmetrical, nothing is finished to a gloss.