The teahouse was a forgotten place, tucked away on a muddy lane behind the tournament grounds, a world away from the roar of the cheated crowd. The air inside was thick with the smell of cheap tea, wet wood, and something vaguely like cabbage. A leak in the roof was dripping into a bucket with a rhythmic, maddening *plink... plink... plink...*
We sat at a small, wobbly table, sharing a jug of lukewarm sake that tasted faintly of the bucket.
The distant sound of the crowd was a constant, grumbling presence, like a stomach digesting a bad meal. They wanted blood. They had wanted a victor to elevate and a loser to scorn. They had gotten a draw and a philosophical conversation. They felt cheated.
"Let them roar," Yukiko said, swirling the sake in her cup with a look of profound indifference. "They're just angry because they didn't get to see a man die for their entertainment. It ruins the whole experience for them."
