He was the 14th or 16th generation (I forget) oldest son of the local Buddhist priestly line - his father’s only son - the only heir to a long heritage. After he met the missionaries, gained a testimony, then joined the Church, his father ceremonially acknowledged his dishonorable death, he was expelled from school and fired from his job, and he had to reconstruct an entirely new life from scratch. He worked and saved for years in order to pay for his own mission, then lived on 2/3 of the recommended minimum cost - because that's all he had been able to save.
I heard someone ask him, given what had happened to him, how he could be so happy all of the time. His response: “I have found the Gospel of Jesus Christ. How could I not be happy?” He said he wanted to be for someone else what those missionaries had been for him.
My mission ended in October, so I gave him my winter coat and boots (he had no boots of his own on the island of Hokkaido) a couple of months before I left. I found out a few days before I left that he had given the coat and boots to an investigator who “needed them more”. That was over 20 years ago, but I will never forget him - never.