Löyly avenue. It’s a busy street compared to the last time we came. Before coming up on the street, the only source of light is the occasional street lamp, the car’s lights, and the dim blanketing lights on the opposite Side surface. But Löyly sports as much green scenery as it does a plethora of signposts and billboards advertising local businesses.

The flurrying lights are overpowering; like stepping directly back into daylight. Under the vibrant environment is a bustling stream of window shoppers, intoxicated patrons stumbling through, and outdoor salesmen aggressively soliciting potential customers. A trickle of Mafia cronies stumbles along the way. Simon leads us along hugging the buildings, further into the thick of the avenue. We pass the sauna building situated across the street—I inhale deeply as we do so.

And for a split second, I lose sight of where I’m walking—and I crash into an individual staggering about. I regain my footing and take hold of the person I bumped into. “My apologies,” I say warmly, “I wasn’t paying attention—“

“Get your goddamn hands off me, you bitch!” The man bellows, shoving me off. The others stop in their tracks and gaze back at this confrontation. “You… you got some nerves to think you can simply just mess with wherever you want?! Who the hell do you think you are —“ he blinks owlishly at me without finishing, his eyes and mouth widen with horror.

He takes a step back, his eyes darting around. But before either of us can react, Olga steps forward and decks him with her prosthetic arm. The man crashes to the floor, a hand clasped over his bloodied face; a howling cry. In the span of a second, this rowdy alley falls silent.

Brutus is the first to react, and he rushes to grab the man by the collar. “You looking for a death wish, punk?!” Brutus shouts, ripping the man’s hand from his face, “you dare lay your hands on the Madame!?”

“I—I,” the man cries, coughing and gagging on the fluids, “I… I didn’t…” Brutus forces him to his feet, hands wrapped around his neck.

“Brutus, put him down,” I say, my heart racing. Brutus, undeterred, and with his chest rising rapidly, tightens his choke-hold grip. “Brutus, put the man down,” I raise my voice more sternly, rubbing my agitated scar. Brutus relents, dropping the man to his feet: who promptly collapses to his face. I glare at Olga, who takes the cue and takes a few steps back. No one comes forward to help the man, who whimpers and with one hand tries to regain his balance.

With a sigh, I kneel in front of the man who tries to scurry away—but he backs up against the wall. Bouts of blood steep through his cupped hand onto his clothes. Mafia clothes. But it’s not just any Mafia clothes—it’s clothes affiliated with Kamon’s agency.

I smile as earnestly as I can, bearing immense pain for his sake. I extend a hand out—but the man doesn’t take it. “What’s your name?” I ask warmly, to no reply, “again… and sincerely this time, I apologize for my subordinates, they’re a little…” I tilt my head, smiling some more with sharper pain this time, “overprotective of me sometimes. It’d cause me immense trouble if they were simply barbaric all the time.

“And I truly am sorry that I bumped into you—it was careless of me to let my mind wander in this crowd for even a second,” I gaze at the bloodied man curiously, “your nose, is it broken? I can help—“ the man shakes his head and a fresh stream of tears race down his bloodied cheeks. I reach inside my poncho for something to clean his face with, but the man coughs up blood and begins to speak.

“Keanu,” the man mutters, trying to keep his throat cleared of fluids, “my name is Keanu. I…” Keanu grunts, wobbling a bit on his knees. His gaze shifts between Simon and me, before he shuts them tight.

“Please be careful,” I say hurriedly, producing a white cloth from a pouch. I hand it to him, but Keanu only pushes it aside. Keanu sniffs and grunts from the agonizing pain.

“This pain is nothing to what I’ve done,” Keanu gasps, his voice slurred and nasally, “this drunken stupor is simply karma, isn’t it?” Brutus and Rami breathe in and out heavily. Did they realize he is a Kamon affiliate by now? Was Keanu here responsible for their holdup in Löyly back then?

“By whatever do you mean?” I ask warmly. Keanu rubs his neck and only shakes his head, “whatever it is, don’t let it weigh you down—”

“No!” Keanu retorts, making me flinch back, “no, I can’t… it’s not a sin I can simply walk away from!” Keanu says—he pleads. Keanu tries getting to his feet but fails, slumping back on his knees. Keanu buries his head in his hands and stifles his weeping.

“Keanu—“ before I get the chance to continue, Keanu abruptly prostrates himself before me, his head reacing down and fully touching the tarmac.

“I’ve…” Keanu stammers, his lips sputtering out all the blood, “I’m responsible for pulling Jung Lee out of retirement… I never in a million years thought…” Keanu gasps to clear his mouth of blood, “I’ve killed a legend… a living legend… why?” Keanu lifts his head, “I’ve gone and brought a family man back to the Mafia—only for him to be killed!” Keanu gasps again, wiping his broken, bloodied nose with his sleeve, “and now I’ve come and confronted you—is this my fate to die like a dog?! To pay for what I’ve done?!

“I’ve done nothing but drink my sorrow the last few days—I couldn’t bring myself to confront the Lee family… I couldn’t bring myself to look Cap’n Jean or Jargon in the eyes… how could I?! I’ve taken their livelihood from them! I’ve taken away a father…” Keanu’s fingers curl up—and then he slams a fist against the tarmac, “I’ve ruined a whole family! How can I simply not let it weigh me down?! I deserve to die! ”

A blur zips past me—a gust of wind—and I realize it’s Simon grabbing Keanu by the mantle and slamming him against the wall. Keanu lets out a pained wail, only for Simon to slam him against the wall again. “I’d be more than happy to send you straight to hell,” Simon says coldly, tightening his grip on Keanu’s mantle. Keanu sputters blood in an attempt to say something, but it’s difficult to make it so. I only witness in time Simon flipping his coat flap to brandish his pistol.

Instinctively, I jump forward my feet and reach in time to wrap my hands around the pistol, just as it is slammed under Keanu’s jaw. Simon strongly resists at first, our glares interlocking. His finger is lightly on the trigger. His chest rises up and down heavily and slowly. A single bead of sweat rolls down his face.

“Simon,” I begin warmly, “Keanu… the one who holds the responsibility for Jung’s demise is me alone. If there’s someone who should answer the tolling bell, it should be me, Simon,” I say, looking deeply into his eyes, “executing him won’t bring back Jung, and neither will it bring you any further to closure.” There is only a steel resolve at first—but the determination in his eyes falters. I tug on his sleeve, gesturing for him to let Keanu down. Simon’s brow softens first—then his steely arm. With grave reluctance, Simon lets Keanu fall to his knees. Simon shifts around, and with one last look at Keanu storms off into the crowd.

I scan the stunned gathering—by now there are a few Mafia associates among them—before observing Kean again. He struggles to get up against the wall, to which I offer him my hand—and cloth. Keanu refuses at first but finally accepts my help and I pull my weight to get him up. Keanu dabs his face with the cloth and props his head against the wall. “Why?” Keanu utters, “why did you stop him despite all the pain I’ve caused? To deny me an end to my pain and suffering?”

I only give a quiet scoff. Why, indeed? I can understand Simon’s anger. I’ve been so absorbed in what was unfolding in front of me that I never realized my scar has been boiling this entire time—and even just trying to soothe it is mostly fruitless. Killing should not be our answer to everything. It might be in our nature to resort to violence—but it’s a solution we can strive to avoid.

I smile bleakly. “If I didn’t stop Simon from splattering your brain across the wall, it would be an unpleasant evening for not only us but the businesses as well,” my gaze shifts to the floor, “who knows what cycle of vengeance that would be invoked with your death? I’ve done what I can to establish peace… would I want that freedom I’ve earned to simply go to waste?

“Mr. Keanu, I want you to live. Yes, you have done an unspeakable act of dragging Jung from a well-deserved life of retirement, but at the same time, without Jung to back my plans, none of us would stand here today, we live because of his sacrifice,” I look the dumbfounded Keanu in his eyes, “even if you have to live a long, arduous life of regret—live it regardless. A few bad days do not entail having a terrible life.

“Make the most of it—don’t let his and our comrades’ deaths be in vain,” I turn halfway, narrowing my eyes at Keanu, “this is not an act of mercy, Keanu; this is a punishment in its own way. Let us hope we never meet again—I may not feel as inclined to spare you a fate befitting of a drunkard coward,” I say coldly. I then turn my back to Keanu, letting his associates pass by to carry the man away, and gesture for my group to follow after Simon, with Mark and Rami leading the way. The disruptive spell cast over Löyly seemingly dissipates in a matter of seconds.

“Madame…” Olga sighs heavily. “Was that the right thing to do? Simply let him walk away as a free man?”

“We will not speak of this matter anymore,” I reply coolly, “you and Brutus acting so barbaric has likely caused me enough trouble already. I can only hope that Kamon will see it in her heart to let this incident slide… and even so, what part of letting things be and enjoying ourselves do the two of you not comprehend?”

“Sincere apologies, Madame,” Olga murmurs, her gaze averted.

“I only wanted to—“ Brutus starts, but I cut him off.

“Enough with the lip service,” I remark, “and show me you mean it. Come; knowing Simon, he’s sulking in there by himself.”

We stand in front of a two-story establishment. Unlike others on the street, it’s traditional in contrast—dark, faded wooden paneling with a single sliding door. Covering the exterior itself is a beaded curtain that’s a lighter shade of caramel. “Is this where Simon wandered off to?” I ask Mark. He turns to us and nods, but before Mark can say anything, Brutus speaks in his stead.

“Yokohama Mori,” Brutus murmurs, as he slides the wooden door open.

“You’ve familiar with this place?” Olga asks. Brutus breathes heavily through his nose, and the five of us step inside to a moderately-sized interior that’s atmospherically cardinal, but also humble with its design and furnishing. Even so, it’s oddly nostalgic. It fondly reminds me of meeting with Miss Victoria in her commander’s captain’s quarters.

“Yeah,” Brutus answers, a brief pause. The big oaf glances at me as if hesitating to continue. “Julius and I used to visit here from time to time,” I follow his glance at Simon, who indeed sits alone at the counter. Though a stoic spectacled man—likely the bartender judging from his KASHIWAGI name tag—keeps the codger company. Kashiwagi watches us closely as we enter the lofty bar. Across the room are about a dozen lieutenants being overwhelmingly unruly over drinks—some of them I recognize from my fleet. They are all standing—arms over each other as they loudly sing a drunken chorus of Toscana’s anthem.

“Some fresh faces, and Mister Brutus!” Kashiwagi says cordially, “it’s been a while, hasn’t it?” He asks as we take seats at the counter, “I was just now catching up with Mister Oliver on how rare it is to him stop by and without Mister Lee as well, though I find it regrettable that Sir Lee passed away only recently—rather unfortunate, mm,” Kashiwagi nods to himself, “it brought me great joy knowing he loved the Yokohama Mori’s fine selection of beverages, it pains me deeply could not experience more of what I had to offer,” through his rimmed glasses, Kashiwagi’s gaze shifts between his patrons, “no good Sir Julius today? That chap always did love barging in all gung-ho.”

The air is stiff as none of us can bring ourselves to answer. Brutus cups his chin and glances partway at the merry cronies losing themselves in laughter. Kashiwagi leans on his side of the counter, following Brutus’s gaze before we meet eyes. “Unfortunately,” I begin, Brutus shuts his eyes, resting his hands on his forehead, “Julius… will not be coming by anymore,” Kashiwagi’s eyes flicker in realization. The bartender suddenly looks tired; a little older than what I perceive. Without another word, Kashiwagi takes an empty glass and absentmindedly rubs it with a dry cloth.

“I see,” Kashiwagi says. He takes a deep breath, turning to glance at the other customers. “I was happy to receive such guests in great spirits—and contemplated celebrating your victories against the Feds once Sir Brutus and Sir Julius arrived…” Kashiwagi huffs through his nose, setting down the cup he was cleaning, “but I suppose beneath a hearty celebration lies an even greater tragedy of the Yokohama Mori losing two of its most valuable patrons in such a concise notice,” Kashiwagi finishes, his head hangs low.

"My time with Julius was far too brief," I remark "I've only gotten to know Julius for less than a day, yet he was endearing to me not as a subordinate, but as a friend. Even so, I made a promise with him, a promise that when this is all over he would take me to enjoy the finest champagne that Toscana has to offer," a glance at the lively patrons, then I smile warmly. "I do wonder if Julius intended to share this moment with me. Would you happen to have some of this exquisite drink that Julius would've wanted to relish this moment with?”

Kashiwagi ponders the question, then a soft scoff; a wry smile. "That sly rogue," Kashiwagi says "even after his passing, he still makes grandeur requests." Kashiwagi pushes away from the table and turns to face his row of drinks lining the wall. A few moments of deliberations pass, before Kashiwagi steps forward, kneels, and produces a tall, imposing bottle with murky green contents.

Simon shifts in his seat, sitting up straight. However, Brutus comments first. "I'll be damned, Kashiwagi! A forty-year-old Hikari Mars!" His burly hands timidly hover over the bottle. I've never seen Brutus this flabbergasted before. "How the hell did you—when did you—"

"It was given as a gift by former governor Otto Bohlmann to the Yokohama Mori's original proprietor many years ago," Kashiwagi interrupts. A welcoming grin as he adjusts his spectacles. "One of thirty bottles brewed by Toscana's very own Sunny Smiles back in the day," his smirk fades, "and one of four bottles known to still exist."

The other side of the bar calms down, and curious eyes gather around us. Simon reaches for the Hikari Mars and casually turns it over in his hands. His stern hazel eyes examine it from top to bottom before setting it down. Brutus looks as though Simon has violated the most sacred instrument known to man.

"If Jun were here," Simon remarks quietly, "he'd rebuke that the Hikari Mars is overrated as hell," a slight, sad smirk. "Had I known you possessed this, I would've dragged Jun here for one last drink," his fingers curl on into a fist, "one last toast to his well-being, and for his safe return." His eyes squint. A long, unwinding sigh.

"There’s no such thing as a toast too late," Kashiwagi says. The bartender takes the latte-brown cork off the Hikari Mars and pours one out. He sets the acidic green glass down on the center of the table. "Even without Sir Julius and Sir Lee, I'd like for everyone to experience the elixir that is the Hikari Mars."

A baffled Olga asks, "Are you sure? This bottle… this brand and its age, it's priceless, isn't it?" She glances at me, "shouldn’t we pay for this, at least?” Kashiwagi only shakes his head. His smile returns; an adjustment of his spectacles.

“Priceless, yes, that’s one way of putting it, and one that the previous owner clung to stubbornly,” Kashiwagi states “but contrary to my predecessor, I am little interest in holding onto a bottle that’ll one day lose the very flavor that makes it so exquisite,” Kashiwagi leans on the table, sliding the glass to Simon. “So, from the bottom of my heart, I believe it would serve more purpose being drunk rather than sit and collect dust, what say you, Mister Oliver?”

Simon doesn't respond. He breathes heavily through his nostrils—a glance at me—before the codger picks the glass by the rim and gets to his feet. Simon glances around us and raises the glass—which others emulate. His eyes dart around, and with one deep inhale sets the glass down. Simon’s eyes drift to me—and to my surprise, he extends the glass to me.

“Li,” Simon says, “I think it would be more fitting for you to give the toast instead—and a few words or two. What right do I have to give any honors to your hard-fought victories? What have I done this entire time, other than sitting here and twiddling my thumbs not knowing if it will be a Federation armada pulling into the harbor or not?” The lieutenants around us only offer murmurs and averted gazes, “well, I don’t mean to put a damper on Kashiwagi’s generosity, I simply think it would have more weight if you were the one to give a toast on this special accession.”

“A surprising provision from Simon… what says you, Madame Li?” Kashiwagi asks, gleaming a grin. Do I deserve the honor of giving the toast? To whom should I dedicate it? The Mafia? The Don? To our success—to me?

What would Julius and Jung want out of this? Swallowing the bout of reluctance, I receive the glass from Simon and hold it by the base. “Very well,” I answer, scanning the wall of eyes around me, “I suppose… I will oblige your desire to get some use out of the Hikari Mars. And if you truly wish, you could pour all my men some of it, as well.”

Kashiwagi’s grin widens as he takes out a plethora of glasses. “I couldn’t be happier with accepting such a proposition,” he says happily. He proceeds with pouring out the massive Hikari Mars bottle into each one and scoots them one by one across the table to Brutus, Olga, and all the others.

The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

Soon enough, a glass of the acclaimed Hikari Mars finds its way into each patron’s hands. I stare into mine—a murky reflection of a smirking raven with a disfigured scar. I look up at Simon and the others, and with a deep breath raise my glass. “Now, then, without further ado,” I clear my throat—the last bastion of reluctance dissipates.

I raise the glass high. I close my eyes—the images of Julius, of Jung and all the other unfortunate souls lost to the distant binary star. One that when seen afar is deceptively beautiful but upon entering are swallowed whole, leaving behind only candlelights of sorrow and brokenhearted loved ones.

“Oh, one last thing, Mister Kashiwagi,” I state, “if you could pour me three glasses and leave them there on the table… I think I would appreciate that very much.” Kashiwagi looks at me with surprise at first—but he gives a silent nod and complies with my request. It’s the most I can do for them, I believe. I raise my glass high, eyes trained on the glass as light pierces through its clear contents.

“Twice we have won. Twice we have gone to bloody brawls with the Federation and her auxiliaries. Twice we have killed, suffered, and watched before our very eyes our loved ones and comrades perish in the brink of an eye—comradeship that was forged through fire and sword for many years. Twice I have asked every one of you to follow me into the deeper parts of Hell itself—and expect of you to return with me in one piece.

“The fact that many stand with me here today is testament to that. Twice we have won, and twice we have emerged victorious. And yet, there remains many unaccounted for—hundreds of thousands that will never see the light over the horizon. We have achieved peace at an unspeakable cost of manpower and material, and yet it is fragile at best. But rather than look outward, expecting a terrible doom one day, or reflect grievously on the past, I ask all of you to look forward to the now. To live for the ones who gave their lives to allow for us to experience this very moment. I believe that is the most we can do for those who suffered a terrible fate.”

When I finish, I raise the glass higher. The crowd gets tighter as they all raise their glasses to mine.

“To the trials we have overcome… not only at Valspon and Velksland but at Abassi as well. To both you who stand by my side, and those only with us in spirit, to the cosmic heroes that I pale to…” my bottom lip trembles for a brief moment, the nervousness in my throat bottles up again, “to Jung Lee, to Emmanuel, and to all those like Julius who perished in the face of overwhelming, horrible odds…

“Prosit!”

“Prosit!” The crowd cries amid the clattering of glasses bunched together. Throwing my head back, I wash the Hikari Mars down in one go. A savory mix of caramel honey, nuts, and what seems like juicy citrus overwhelms my taste buds. Though I would say there is a strong focus on the caramel and nuttiness compared to the limey flavor; the aftertaste, in contrast to the slimy yet tasteless vodka that Olga and I tried, and the drink that Brutus and I shared on the Castelforte holds nothing to the Hikari Mars.

It’s almost entirely in a league of its own.

I almost fumble back. This is beyond what Kashiwagi describes as an elixir, it is remarkably exquisite. Although it is purportedly a drink that Brutus describes as a forty-year-old vintage, it’s as this fine bottle of Hikari Mars stopped its aging process at just the perfect time. And what a time it is.

I stroke my disfigured cheek while twirling the empty glass in my hands, the few ice cubes still inside slosh around lightly. My, the crowd has gotten quite rowdy roaring their prosits and cries of joy. It’s rather difficult to think to myself. And as I watch the others lose themselves in drink and happiness. A strange feeling nags at my stomach. For some reason, it doesn’t feel right. I look down at the empty glass again and only then does the sinking feeling of unworthiness sink in. If only Julius and Jung were here. If only all of us could enjoy this moment together…

A warm pressure on my shoulder. It’s Simon, smiling as he takes the empty glass and hands me one of the three reserved ones. The other patrons are already shuffling to the other side of the bar—others are wobbling upstairs. “You could join them if you want,” Simon says, “they’re going to play a few hands of Mahjong. I wouldn’t mind if you went and joined them… I need some more time to think by myself.”

“Mahjong?” I muse, stroking my scars, “it’s been so long such I’ve touched the game. As tempting as it sounds right now, I can only play it with them later,” I smile at Simon as I take my seat next to him, “for the time being I want to spend some time with you alone, Simon.” The man turns away. A surprised scoff. Though I can’t see his face, I can tell from his reddening ear that he’s flustered by the words. Kashiwagi, likewise, chuckles and shifts away from our part of the bar to tend to his other guests.

“Well, suit yourself,” Simon glances at the two remaining glasses off to the side, “say, what do you plan to do with those?”

“I’m not sure what you mean,” I respond, “they’re there to be consumed.”

Simon remarks, “I was under the impression that you were symbolically saving them for Jung, Emmanuel, and that other fellow you were acquainted with.”

I take a slow sip from my drink, staring at them before giving my answer, “of course, I am going to drink them myself.” Simon looks back at me with concern, “is there a problem with that?”

[https://i.imgur.com/BfXynzI.png]

“Well, Li, there are a few. First, I don’t need you passing out on me tonight. And second, I’m not quitting smoking just so you can develop a horrible habit by becoming an alcoholic before my very eyes.”

“My, are you accusing me of being a lightweight?” I say with a crooked smirk. Simon sighs, stroking his brow.

“Li, I can tell one when I see one. You’re completely red in the face already. If I let you have even more drinks, you’ll be indistinguishable from the rest of the room’s paneling.”

I take a more elaborate drink from the glass and set the near-empty glass down on the table. After having drinks as plain as the vodka and as horrible as the drink Brutus offered, I ’m not sure I would want to drink anymore. Savoring this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to consume a well-conserved Hikari Mars vintage is all I need. If I’ve experienced one of the best there is, I would only be letting myself down, wouldn’t I?

A giggle escapes my lips. “My, if you’re that worried about me drowning my life in alcohol then it’s all the more reason for you to keep pampering me,” I express with a radiating smile. I don’t even feel the usual aching anymore—only slight numbness. “Besides, it never hurts to let loose like this after everything is said and done, does it?” Simon sighs. He cups his hands together and glances at the two murky glasses. Simon takes one for himself, slowly draining the glass of its contents.

“Everything said and done,” Simon repeats those words quietly. It’s not long before he eyes the bottoms of the glass, setting it down quietly. “Li—I’ll be blunt with you… is everything said and done?” Simon looks behind him at the crowd enjoying themselves.

“Did Sergy not inform you of the Metropolitans withdrawal?” I ask, my finger circling the glass’s rim.

“That he did,” Simon answers “but that’s just what he thinks. And I’m asking not just about them, but Zhui’s mistress as well. What do you think, Li? ” I stop twirling the rim to clasp my hands together. My thoughts swirl around formulating for an answer that I’m not positively certain is possible in answering reliably. My face does burn a little, so perhaps Simon is right about me drinking past what I’m capable of. The Hikari Mars ’s nuttiness flavor is so focused on the sweetness that it’s easy to forget that it’s an alcoholic beverage. Or maybe I’m just irritated by everyone else’s worries?

Leaning back on the barstool I stare at the bright lamp overhead, and I blow some air. “I believe with every fiber of my being… that we are no longer at any actual risk of any Metropol incursions. Much less the wife of a certain Don bothering us anymore, Simon. The fact that we can sit here, in peace, without so much as being collectively poisoned or gunned down without mercy is fundamental proof of that. Will you take that as an answer, Simon? ”

Simon cuts a humorous scoff, reaching to rub his neck. “Right, I’ll take your word for it, so please cut it out with the scary face now.”

“Good, I’m relieved we have that out of the way now,” I say, gesturing for Simon to hand me the next glass of Hikari Mars. Simon does so (with grave hesitance) and he takes the remaining one for himself. “That aside, I’d like to hear how your visit to Lübeck went. Jung’s wife…” I squint into my glass, “Frau? Was it? She’s about due for her delivery, correct? How is the baby?” I squeeze the glass, a horrid flashback to when Jean attacked me, “how is… Jean and Jargon doing? I hope they have not given you much trouble.”

Simon remains silent for a long time. His hands remain clasped over his chin as he stares at the bottle of Hikari Mars. Simon gazes at me, those weary amber eyes leave me disheartened. “Richter, me, Che, several lieutenants laid to rest and paid our respects to Jung and the others. Afterward, I gave my goodbye to Richter as he departed for Ides. Che, too, parted ways with me for Valspon. And Frau Lee,” Simon mutters, “Frau Lee…” his fingers curl into a fist on the table, as Simon pinches his nose ridge.

“Simon?” I ask, nervousness in my tone.

Simon lifts his head. A heavy sigh like none other. “Frau Lee had a difficult delivery,” Simon begins, “despite our efforts, she died in childbirth. The news of Jung’s passing was simply too much to bear for her.”

It’s news that’s hard to swallow. I’m lightheaded before I knew it. My vision becomes blurry from spinning. I set my glass down—but down the glass before slamming it down. There’s a brief pause in the bar’s noisiness but it resumes before long. I caress my scar from the chin to my brow, but there is no pain, of course, only numbness. “How horrible,” is the only thing I can muster to say. Simon remains silent, only giving a nod before downing his drink as well. “How absolutely horrible… and the baby?”

“A healthy baby boy,” Simon answers—a relieving sigh escapes my lips.

“Are Jean and Jargon…” I caress my blemished cheek, “are they going to raise the child?”

“Yes, and Jean told me that she wants nothing more to do with the Mafia,” Simon says, again pinching his nose, “Jargon… is reluctant, to put it simply. The man wishes to honor Jung by serving as the Wulfhere captain, but in the meantime—until another crisis arises—he told me he will stay by Jean’s side and raise the boy with her,” Simon sighs once more, clasping his hands together. “But people change over time. There is no telling if he is willing to leave the Wulfhere behind him if it means a new life with Jean and their adopted child.

“Li… I’m sorry, I’ve done nothing but dampen the mood for you, haven’t I? You keep ragging on about letting our issues go to rest, but I simply cannot bring myself to do it. All I have left is you, Li… I’m sorry.”

I reach over and tug on his sleeve, a painless smile across my face. “I’ll never leave you, Simon, you’re special to me… I owe you a lot. And, well…” I drum on the table, unsure how to continue, “Simon, after the battle ended at Rouen, I made a decision to raise an orphanage, and as fate had it, a group of deprived children settled into the old cultist church in the mountainous estate… I’ve decided to adopt them as my own, Simon.”

Simon is simply taken back. His eyes dart around as if registering what he heard. A clear of his throat. his tired, golden eyes lock with mine. “Li, I… I don’t know what to say, I don’t know what to make of this.”

“You don’t have to say or make anything of it, Simon,” I say warmly, “but I want you to know you won’t be alone. You have me, and Olga and Brutey—and now an extended family of young ones to look after,” I get up from my seat and embrace Simon by the shoulders, his chest pressed to my chest, “you won’t wallow in loneliness anymore, I won’t let you. I have so many more things to learn from you. You raised me when I had nobody, and I want you to see me grow and raise these kids with me, Simon,” I stroke his neatly combed hair, “I want you to be happy for your’s and mine’s sake… Jung would want that, too.”

Simon inhales deep and deflates with a slow sigh. I slowly pull away, shifting on the edge of my seat. “Li… thank you… for staying with this old codger for so long, and…” Simon stammers the last words, “accepting me in your life.” His lips tremble—or maybe I’m imagining it.

“I can very much say the same of you, Simon,” I say. A grin. I reach out and caress his cheek—it’s hot to the touch. Simon averts his eyes. “So please, please continue to look over me just as you’ve always done, and become a guiding figure to the orphans I’ve taken in, too.”

Simon responds with a soft scoff, curling his hand over mine. Our eyes meet again; Simon tries to resist smiling but he simply can’t help it. “It’s a herculean task, but I can’t turn down such a humble request from you, Li,” Simon says. Before I can say anything, the two of us look up to hear a bumbling Brutus stumble down the flight of stairs, a crowd of boos from the upper floor. He seems rather groggy, and I can’t help but chuckle at his apparent misfortune of losing a game of Mahjong. With some redirecting from other patrons, he stumbles towards our part of the counter.

“You better go and take his place up there,” Simon says, “let me have some alone time with Brutus… help him sober up, I suppose.”

“Sounds reasonable to me,” I say warmly, I slide off my seat just as Brutus nearly crashes into the one next to Simon. Leaving the two behind, I head upstairs to find a lot more people than I expected. There are four tables, all full except for the one Brutus left from.

“Oi! Madame!” A drunkard shouts, waving at me to joining his table, “boutta join us for a game of some good ol’ Mahjong?!”

“Do you even know how to play?” A buff one asks, stroking his mighty red beard, “we will not go easy on you, you know?”

“My, bold of you to assume I am a novice at this game,” I remark, carefully folding my skirt underneath me as I sit at the still-warm seat cushion. I look down at the score to find that Brutus has precisely zero points. How typical, it seems, for subordinates to leave me in grave situations.

“Say, shouldn’t we reset the game?” Asks the third one across from me, he’s rather skinny compared to the other two, “it’s a bit unfair that the Madame has to play at such a sharp disadvantage. Plus, we just started the South round… we should just restart over in the East round, no?”

“Nonsense,” I answer, “this is a fair and just handicap. After all, I think you should be asking me to take it easy on you.”

“Ho-oh!” The red-bearded one roars with laughter, “what a damning taunt! Very well! All bets are off, eh?!” With the approval of the other two, we play to our heart’s content, a game of Mahjong.

----------------------------------------

It’s been a struggle for the ages. I win some and I lose some, but eventually, I recover Brutus’s losses and restore his score to the default twenty-four thousand points, leaving our scores at mostly around the same range. After a series of doubts and worries, my vast energy of flow pulls through: From the red-haired opponent, I shout the one word that ends it all: RON. A gasp from the spectators: a defeating groan from the man I robbed of his worth. He slides the tile out as I lay my hand out flat for all to see.

[https://i.imgur.com/Aji8pzT.png]

I begin to speak, loud and crisp for all to hear, “Tanyao, Sanankou, Chinitsu, four dora…” the orange-haired fellow is dizzy, nearly pale in the face, “Kazoe yakuman!” The man facepalms and lets out an agonizing cry before fainting in his seat. In the blink of an eye the poor fellow who only had twenty-eight thousand points, has single-handedly lost forty-eight thousand points—leaving him with negative twenty-thousand points. And with his fall marks the end of the game.

Mahjong is a game of luck and skill. But it is also about flow, and with it, any player can recover from near defeat in almost any circumstance. A grin peeks; perhaps I overdid it a fair bit. Perhaps I used what little flow—what drips of luck I had—and went and offered more than I could offer.

I get up from my seat and proceed with heading downstairs. To my surprise, however, Olga, Brutus, and Simon are coming up the stairs. “Leaving so soon?” Olga asks, peering past me at the man foaming at the mouth, “seems to me you’re fleeing the crime scene.”

“I figured it was about time to go,” I answer. The three exchange glances. A frown. “No?” To my astonishment, Brutus holds the Hikari Mars up high.

“The night is still young!” Brutus declares with a sleazy smile, “and we still have to go through the rest of this damn bottle of Hikari Mars—“ a shake of the bottle “still enough to go around, you know, and nothing goes better with Mahjong than a good, cold drink.”

Simon swipes the bottle from him before turning his attention back to me, “wouldn’t hurt to stay a little longer, would it? Kashiwagi is generous enough to let us stay past closing time. I think it’d be safer if we stayed as a group—just to avoid any possible…”

“Okay, Simon,” I say warmly, “no need to act like such a papa.” Simon scoffs as Brutus and Olga giggle. “I suppose I have it in me to play a few more games or so. I’ve never been one to win a game and simply walk away… even if it is in my best interest to leave on a high note.”

“That’s the spirit,” Brutus says nonchalantly, he points at the people I played with, “you three there! Get that bozo out of the way… we’re going to play—if none of you object that is. Jesus, Madame, what exactly did you do to the poor guy?!” When Brutus peers at my hand, his jaw hits the floor, “y’know, whatever happened to showing even a little bit of mercy? You won’t be this unforgiving with us, will you?”

I take my seat where I sat before, being careful to fold parts of my skirt underneath me. “Perhaps,” I muse, “perhaps I won’t. Depends on how I feel.” With a displeasing sigh, Brutus busies himself with resetting the table, as do the others.

As I wait for the game to be readied, I look around the parlor at everyone enjoying themselves in peaceful bliss. Yes, a well-earned commodity. Not a single look of concern among this motley crew—only an abundance of sincerity in enjoying the now. No longer will any of us have to look over our shoulders. No longer will any of us have to dwell on the future or sulk on the past. Just people living in the moment.

Yes, we’ve earned this. We’ve all earned this right to relax—to let loose and be ourselves without insecurity. And frankly, I would have it no other way. I can only wish that this could last forever, and I can only wish that Jung and Julius could enjoy this moment with us. Perhaps the two of them are watching over us, happy that we no longer have to suffer for their sake.

With a tap on the shoulder, Olga hands me a glass and pours me a hefty amount of Hikari Mars. I give it a gentle shake—its contents splash and spill against the cold glass walls. I look to the others, and extend the glass up high—likewise, the others do the same.

“One last toast,” I declare, “to all our friends and loved ones, no matter where they are.”

A clang of glasses. A chorus of hearty prosit.