At two in the afternoon, sunlight slanted through the window, cutting a bright diagonal across the table.
The empty plates in the private room had already been cleared three times. When the proprietress took away the first batch, she had cautiously asked, "Is everything to your taste?" By the third batch, she had gone numb. She simply stacked up the empty plates, brought fresh ones, then closed the door and stood in the corridor taking deep breaths for ten seconds-what kind of stomachs did these three have?
Aramaki finished chugging a bottle of beer, burped, and tossed the empty bottle behind him in satisfaction.
The bottle landed with a crisp clink, striking the stack of beer crates behind him that was almost shoulder-high and setting off a clatter.
A crate's worth of empty liquor bottles lay scattered at Sakazuki's feet, all high-proof varieties. Scorch marks still ringed their mouths-left by the heat of his fingertips as he "sterilized" them every time he poured a drink. His face had reddened a little, but that was all. His eyes remained as clear as a lake in the depths of winter.
Only a pot of rice wine sat on the table before Boer, along with a small, shallow porcelain cup. Each cup held a mouthful, which he sipped slowly. He lifted the cup, held it beneath his nose for a sniff, then took a small sip, letting the wine linger on his tongue before swallowing.
"The fresh sweetness of rice, a soft, smooth mouthfeel, delicate and mellow, with pear blossoms in the sweet finish." He sighed appreciatively and poured himself another cup. "Rice wine is the best."
Sakazuki bit open a fresh bottle, tipped his head back, and took a great swig. His Adam's apple bobbed as the fiery liquor slid down his