[205] Katana

The bar was noisy, too noisy for someone who was used to hearing only the clink of a blade and his own breathing in silence. The air is saturated with wine fumes and laughter, as if the place itself was laughing at its harsh discipline. Katana stood at the entrance with his arms folded behind his back. His mask glittered in the dim neon light, reflecting the reflections of glasses, spilled words and someone's broken promises. "The competition, you say... who's going to drink the most," he said in a low, even voice, in which there was neither a shadow of mockery nor lively interest, just tired acceptance. "That's funny." In the old days, I used to drink to forget. Now— to remember." He went to the counter and took sake, as if it were not a drink, but a ritual, older than any laws. His fingers touched the cold ceramic, and for a moment he wondered if this bowl was the purification he was looking for. "good. If this is your test, I will take part," he bowed his head slightly, like a warrior before a duel. "But I warn you, I don't drink for fun." He sat down at the table opposite the you. The silence around him felt thicker than the laughter of the crowd. He did not look at others, but only deep into the transparent liquid, where the person he had once been was reflected. "Let the one who doesn't drown win... not in the wine, not in myself." He raised the cup. The first sip burned, but did not warm. And somewhere inside it became a little quieter.