In recent months, whispers of a catastrophic event foretold to occur in July 2025 have spread across Japan and parts of Asia. From viral social media posts to discussions on forums, a mixture of curiosity, anxiety, and fascination surrounds these so-called "predictions." But why are so many people drawn to such forecasts? And is there any reason to believe them?

 

You talk to Japanese, did you not have any experience that they want to ask your blood type? or even read your palm? Surprisingly so many people believe in that blood type has a lot to do with persons character and if matching with others such that type A goes along well with type O etc. ; the wrinkles on palms show the future of the person...

 

If you are visiting Japan and happen to rent a car or park in a rural area, if you are "so lucky", you might come across something curious: parking lot numbers that skip from 3 to 5, or from 8 to 10. Where did 4 and 9 go? It is the history from the old Japan.

 

This isn’t a mistake—it’s a reflection of deep-rooted Japanese superstitions that once heavily influenced even the most practical aspects of everyday life. The number 4 (shi) sounds like the word for “death” (死), and 9 (ku) sounds like “pain” or “suffering” (苦). These negative associations made both numbers highly avoided in contexts where discomfort or risk was implied—like hospitals, hotels, and yes, even parking lots.

 

Roughly 30 to 40 years ago, it was not uncommon to see parking lot spaces numbered 1, 2, 3, 5, 6, 7… skipping over 4 and sometimes 9 entirely. In those days, especially outside major cities, this wasn’t seen as strange at all—it was a kind of cultural courtesy, meant to avoid bringing bad luck to anyone who parked there.

 

While this practice has mostly disappeared in modern urban Japan—especially in cities like Tokyo, Osaka, and Nagoya—visitors might still spot it in older or more rural areas. Some traditional facilities or long-standing family-run businesses may still honor these customs out of habit or respect for local beliefs.

 

Today, the newer generations in Japan are generally more pragmatic, and superstition has less influence on infrastructure design. But these small quirks remain as cultural fossils—subtle reminders of how deeply superstition was once cemented into society, business practices, and everyday thinking.

 

So if you find yourself in an old countryside parking lot and wonder why you can not find Spot No. 4 or 9—now you know. You’ve stepped into a place where tradition still quietly lingers, even in the most unexpected corners.

 

The Allure of Prophecy: Deep Roots in Culture

Throughout Asia, the tradition of prophecy and fortune-telling runs deep. In many households, especially in Japan, China (incl. Taiwan area), and Southeast Asia, consulting a fortune-teller is not just common—it is customary. Business owners, politicians, and celebrities have been known to spend large sums seeking predictions for success or guidance. The belief often passes down generationally, creating a psychological environment where many feel comforted—even compelled—by the idea that the future can be known.

The fascination with fortune-telling is not limited to simple curiosity; it often ties into a desire for control in uncertain times. When people feel powerless in the face of potential disasters—such as earthquakes, pandemics, or economic collapse—prophecies offer a sense of order.

 

A Surge of Predictions—and Profits

The internet has only accelerated the spread of predictions. With platforms able to instantly amplify mysterious dreams, vague symbols, or old texts, many “prophets” gain attention—and sometimes profit—by feeding the collective unease. Entire industries have formed around selling emergency kits, land in “safe zones,” spiritual protection items, and subscriptions to exclusive “insider forecasts.”

This phenomenon is particularly noticeable in Japan, where earthquakes are a daily occurrence. Natural disaster predictions—whether scientific or spiritual—can easily blur in the public mind. Since disaster preparedness is encouraged in general, even dramatic prophecies are often tolerated, going unchallenged under the rationale that “it is better to be safe.”

 

July 2025 Prediction: Origins in a Dream?

Much of the current anxiety stems from a widely circulated prediction by Japanese manga artist Ryo Tatsuki (たつき諒). Known for her 1999 work The Future I Saw, Tatsuki claimed she began recording dreams in the 1980s, some of which appeared to eerily align with later events. Most famously, she noted a dream about a “great disaster in March 2011”—years before the devastating Great East Japan Earthquake.

One particular dream, described in her Complete Edition released in 2021, has stirred unease: a vision of a massive undersea eruption occurring on July 5, 2025, between Japan and the Philippines. This rupture, she wrote, unleashes a tsunami three times larger than the one in 2011, submerging cities and causing widespread panic.

Despite Tatsuki’s insistence that she is “not a prophet” and only documenting personal dreams, some have interpreted her work as a dire warning. Blogs, YouTube videos, and news articles speculate on seismic activity, plate tectonics, and past coincidences. The date—July 5, 2025, at 4:18 a.m.—is even cited by believers with unnerving precision.

 

Our observation/just guess is Ms. Ryo Tatsuki is somehow "used" and put in a very difficult situation by the publishers to make money. Ms. Tatsuki herself has no really "super hit" and her life, like many manga creators in Japan, may be in a financial hardship. Publishing industry is under extreme pressure to survive in the past 20 years or so as all of its market taken over by the internet. They would do anything to earn some bucks sadly.

 

Prediction or Projection?

Skeptics, however, point to an obvious truth: natural disasters occur frequently so frequent as everyday, especially in Japan. If someone makes a large number of vague predictions, it is statistically likely that one will eventually appear accurate. In hindsight, any major event can be tied back to some prior warning—real or imagined—with the convenient phrase, “I knew it.”

In fact, many supposed predictions turn out to be either exaggerated interpretations or outright fabrications. Even in Tatsuki’s case, some claims made in her name—such as a predicted eruption of Mount Fuji—were never explicitly stated by her. These were either misreadings or inventions by others online.

Meanwhile, history reminds us that many of the most tragic or transformative events in the world—from pandemics to wars—came without forewarning, dream or otherwise.

 

The Real Danger: Fear as a Business

A troubling aspect of the prophecy phenomenon is how fear is monetized. Unverified claims of impending disaster become tools for companies to sell survival gear, spiritual services, or real estate in “safe zones.” Some exploit this fear under the pretext of “raising awareness” or “encouraging preparedness,” but often with little concern for emotional consequences.

The result is a cycle of anxiety and consumption. The public is scared into buying, while those profiting remain shielded from accountability. And because Japan is genuinely at risk for real natural disasters, these predictions are hard to legally challenge—after all, everyone agrees it is wise to prepare.

 

Our Position: No Belief in Predictions, Only in Readiness

We do not subscribe to any prophecy, no matter how popular or dramatic. If something does happen in July 2025, it will not be because someone saw it coming in a dream. It will be part of the natural unpredictability of our world.

What matters more is this: preparation, education, and calm thinking. Building a resilient society depends not on mystical forecasts, but on knowledge, infrastructure, and community support.

 

The Future Is Not for Sale

There will always be predictions. Some will be eerily accurate, others laughably wrong. But it is important to remember that believing is not the same as knowing. Our minds crave patterns, but the world is often random.

 

So if July 2025 comes and goes like any other month, we will still face future challenges—perhaps sudden, perhaps slow-moving—but not ones that dreams can predict. And if, by chance, a disaster does occur, our survival will depend not on who foresaw it, but on how well we prepared—together.

 

Time and again, we witness a familiar pattern in the world of “prophecies” and “apocalyptic predictions.” Predictions circulate, spark anxiety, and then—when nothing happens—fade into obscurity. But while the claims vanish, the publishers and so-called experts behind them walk away clean, having already profited off the attention. This cycle isn’t just coincidental; it's part of a business model that thrives on plausible deniability and the safety of association with people who are no longer around to be questioned. Let us examine the typical process: an old notebook, diary, or writing by a long-deceased “seer” is “discovered” or reinterpreted. Publishers or media outlets step in, not as the claimants, but merely as the messengers. They profit from books, online views, appearances, or content subscriptions while conveniently hiding behind the notion: "We’re just sharing this person's vision, not endorsing it." The actual predictor is dead—impossible to question or criticize—creating a perfect shield for publishers. Even when the predictions are wrong (and they almost always are), no one is held responsible. And if someone dares to question the logic, the response is already baked into the narrative: "We never said it was true. We’re just offering it for your consideration." Take the case of the July 2025 prediction that’s currently trending in certain parts of Asia. The "creator" behind the resurfaced idea—originally framed around vague spiritual impressions—is already being careful to distance herself from any accountability. Her language is filled with classic deflection tactics: "I am not an expert. It’s up to you if you believe it or not." This is not accidental. Such disclaimers are most likely added or encouraged by publishers to preempt backlash when nothing happens. Moreover, the individual does not make public appearances, a convenient choice that minimizes the risk of post-July scrutiny. If the month ends peacefully (as it most likely will), she can retreat into anonymity, shielded by the very ambiguity she created. Meanwhile, the publishers and intermediaries have already cashed in on clicks, shares, and engagement.

 

We must be transparent: by writing about this topic, we are conscious of the paradox. Discussing it may inadvertently contribute to the spread of the idea, potentially feeding the very machine we criticize.

But our position is clear—you must not give even the slightest attention to such predictions. These forecasts are not cultural insights. They are manufactured trends meant to exploit cultural vulnerabilities—particularly in Japan and parts of Asia, where superstition tends to carry more social weight. This is not a global concern. Outside of Japan and a handful of Asian communities, no one is discussing this prediction. International travelers continue to book flights to Japan without a second thought.

The world moves on, grounded in rationality. We urge you to treat these apocalyptic narratives not as spiritual truths or warning signs, but as case studies in how fear can be commodified. The next time someone mentions a prediction from a long-dead figure or a reclusive “non-expert,” take a step back and ask: Who benefits from your belief?

 

We even believe in the need to prosecution for those who spread these predictions including the publishing house and the person involved. Also we must educate young generations about these types of "innocent" scams.