Iwagakure, the conference hall of the Tsuchikage Building.
This room usually hosted meetings of only a few dozen people, but today it was packed like a marketplace.
The several-meter-long mahogany round table in the center of the hall had been moved aside.
In its place were several mismatched chairs of varying heights.
Raikage A was too large for the narrow stool. His arm in a cast jutted out like dead weight, and there was no comfortable way to place it.
The stubble on his face was stiff as a brush, and he still reeked of blood and mud that had not fully dried.
The moment he entered, his dirt-streaked face stretched into a long scowl, as though someone owed him billions and had refused to pay.
Mei Terumi sat opposite him.
She had not been in the mood to touch up her makeup today. The smudged black eyeliner at the corner of her eyes had not been cleaned off, making her look slightly ridiculous.
Her legs beneath her long dress rubbed anxiously against the carpet under the table.
The carpet still bore the damp tea stains Ōnoki had left during the previous meeting. Stepping on them felt awful.
Rasa had been carried in on a stretcher by Baki.
The man had not even been discharged from the hospital. A breathing tube was stuck in his nose, producing ragged wheezing sounds. Every breath sounded like he was tugging at a broken bellows.
His bloodshot eyes were fixed on the seat of honor, filled with the awe and terror of someone who had been utterly crushed.
"Everyone here?"
Yoru entered last, his leather shoes making dull sounds against the slightly damp floor.
His coat collar still carried the lingering smell of gunpowder and scorching, as if he had just crawled out of