On the sidelines, Japan No. 8 Amato Fakatava is bouncing on his heels as the crowd count down from 10 in Japanese. For all the talk of Kitakyushu being Wales' home away from home, the sight of Mt. Kimonji is hardly providing a welcome in the hillside right now. As the sun-seared pitch slowly creeps into the shade, 17 isn't about to reset to zero. Instead, in soul-destroying fashion, it's slowly, but surely, becoming 18. Those in all red plough heads into rucks in vain, while those on the sidelines watch on, almost in disbelief. "San... ni... ichi," chant the crowd in unison, counting down to just a second-ever victory over the Welsh. As the ball is hoofed into the stands, Wales' captain Dewi Lake stares straight ahead, hand over his mouth. Eventually, he wanders over to the dugout, where the likes of Johnny Williams and Taulupe Faletau are slumped in their seats. Amid the wild Japanese celebrations, Tom Rogers takes off his scrum-cap and finds solace in a quieter part of the pitch. Tommy Reffell leans on an open cooler box, contemplating how Wales have once again tasted defeat. As Lake is ushered to do post-match media, all he can do is shake his head. The body language broken, while those down on the touchline note the captain is close to tears. Debutant Liam Belcher walks around with Alex Mann, deep in conversation. All of Wales' team are splintered into little groups, going over the moments again with words and gestures, perhaps in the vain hope that it'll somehow change things. One man stand alone. Rogers, again, stands stationary, seemingly staring into the abyss. Minutes go by. Lake stares at the ground. Still, Rogers stares ahead. Teddy Williams shrugs his shoulders as he tries to work things out. Still, Rogers stares ahead. Gareth Thomas shakes his head, frustrated by it all. Still, Rogers stares ahead. Not until Adam Jones breaks his gaze and offers him a handshake does he snap out of carrying the world on his shoulders. By now, at least five minutes have surely passed of Rogers stood motionless. It feels like an eternity of reflection. "It's always a pleasure to play for your country and every time you play in that shirt, you want to win," he tells me later. "I'm just gutted, mate. "Really gutted," he adds, trailing off before really finishing his final word, exhausted of post-match platitudes in defeat. This is what 18 defeats in a row looks like. What it does to those involved. Victims of the burning mess that is Welsh rugby. One more week of the season remains, before the circus starts up again with some other dead cat chucked on the table. But, for all the uncertainty and the pain, Kitakyushu - Wales' home from home - was at least where they could bury this losing run and, even in the smallest way possible, move on. In that sense, it wasn't meant to go like this. Even with the heat of Kitakyushu, prompting supporters and journalists to flutter fans almost in unison for large periods, this wasn't just the chance to end the losing run. This was, with all due respect, the day it would be ended. Someone with a decent knowledge of the Japan camp had remarked this morning that such an inexperienced Japan team wouldn't win - unless the conditions played their part and Wales collapsed. Certainly, the first part was evident from the off. Wales were out to warm-up first, presumably to allow their bodies more time to cool down before kick-off. As they made their way back inside, Matt Sherratt - having been watching Japan's warm-up - wiped the sweat off his brow as he applauded his side back into the sheds for some brief respite. From the off, shade was sought with every break. After Japan's scrum-half Shinobu Fujiwara spotted an injured Welshman on the floor 24 seconds in, alerting the officials to stop the game, Wales' players retreated to the shade of the one stand. As Ben Carter was treated on the field, towels were passed around as Ben Thomas addressed the group. On his left wing, Josh Adams enjoyed the perks of hugging the touchline, remaining out of the sun's glare. At times, he'd go further - almost within touching distance of the dugout to pick up the messages from the coaching box via Leigh Halfpenny. As breaks came and went, Welsh players wore soaked red hats and towels to cool themselves down. As the TMO looked over replays to give Wales a penalty try, Keiron Assiratti was rubbing an icepack on his head. In the stands, Welsh players not involved sat there with towels on their necks. Again, these weren't normal conditions. With each break, the officials would hurry Wales up. Hanging around in the shadows, taking on fluids, assistant referee Luke Pearce ushered them back into the sun. But, for a while, Wales seemed solid enough in it. Not fluid or confident, but in control. The scrum, for a while, was on top - until, suddenly, it wasn't. Having shoved back the Japan pack time and time again, Wales had a taste of their own medicine midway through the first half. Pushed back on their own feed, Japan sensed a win against the head and chased hard around the scrum. Faletau did what Faletau does and, seconds later, Rogers was scoring out wide. Those in Welsh jerseys celebrated, other than Nicky Smith. Instead, the loosehead was shaking his head - raising his arm in protest, rather than jubilation. Despite Wales' score, it proved the turning point. The next scrum saw Wales pinged. That was largely the story from then on. No more points followed. Wales didn't wilt in the searing heat. Instead, they froze as defeat reared its ugly head again. "What are you thinking, mate?" shouted Eddie Jones from the coaching box down to the referee, audible over the 13,000-crowd, as one scrum ended in a reset and not a penalty to the home side. With the crowd chanting Michael Leitch's name every time he carried, the momentum shifted. Wales, scarred from defeat after defeat, exposed their wounds and Japan pounced. As Japan crossed for a second, Rhodri Williams could only grimace as he watched on. When the hosts got their third, Faletau was pacing around the sidelines full of angst. Like so many other, helpless to do anything as the day that was meant to be the end of something only served as a continuation. The seeming inevitability of how it came about only serving to harden the blow. As Japan's No. 8 bounced on his heels as the countdown to a famous victory, Wales' talismanic No. 8 had his hands on his thighs, consigned to 17 becoming 18. This is what 18 defeats in a row looks like. It's abject stares. It's unanswerable questions. It's tears. It's men left to carry the can in the inescapable heat, far away from those who have let them down through years of neglect and poor decisions.