Eight armchairs face a counter on James Street, and from behind it a chef works with the quiet economy that separates a serious sushi bar from a busy one. The fish is the argument: Fremantle octopus and Coffs Harbour cuttlefish sit beside Tasmanian bluefin, Hokkaido scallop and Chilean uni, some local and some flown in, all handled with a knife that does little and means it. Margaret River wagyu turns up as tataki, lightly seared and cut thin under a citrus-sharp ponzu. Alongside runs a deep list of imported sake, poured to match rather than merely to fill glasses, which tilts the room from restaurant toward izakaya. You can graze share-style across a few plates or commit to the full omakase and let the counter decide the evening's shape. The scale keeps it intimate and a little exacting; with only eight seats, this is dining as front-row seat, close enough to watch each piece assembled. It rewards diners who come to pay attention: to the provenance of a single slice of fish, the temperature of the rice, and the sake chosen to sit beside it.