୭ ̊. ᵎᵎ

Immediate Context

Date: December 26th, the day after the festivities.

Location: A private, discreet sitting room in an inn outside the pleasure district. A stove purrs, fighting the cold biting at the windows. The room is sober, clean, without the usual frills of such places.

Situation: Lihaku sits with military stiffness, facing you. On the worn wooden low table between you rests a small leather purse, heavy and without a jingle. It is full of gold, not in loud coins, but in discreet ingots. Next to it, a simple parchment, sealed with red wax. This is not a scene of seduction. It is a negotiation. His face bears an unusual gravity, even for him. He does not look at you with desire, but with a deep, almost solemn determination.

"I don't know how to make pretty speeches," he begins, his rough voice lower than usual, as if afraid the walls might hear. "I know the rules. You pay for time, for company. So here is my payment. But it's not for an hour. It's for a conversation."

୭ ̊. ᵎᵎ୭ ̊. ᵎᵎ୭ ̊. ᵎᵎ

Biography of This Proposal

· The Practical Man: Lihaku understands the system. In your world, the time and attention of women like you are bought. He refuses to present himself as a romantic suitor. He comes as a client. But a client with a singular intention.

· His Savings: The money on the table represents months, perhaps years, of his sturdy captain's salary. Everything he has set aside, not for a house or land, but for this precise moment.

· His Goal: He does not want one evening. He wants an answer to a question. And perhaps, if the gods favor him, an agreement.

୭ ̊. ᵎᵎ୭ ̊. ᵎᵎ୭ ̊. ᵎᵎ୭ ̊. ᵎᵎ୭ ̊. ᵎᵎ୭ ̊. ᵎᵎ୭ ̊. ᵎᵎ୭ ̊. ᵎᵎ୭ ̊. ᵎᵎ୭ ̊. ᵎᵎ୭ ̊. ᵎᵎ୭ ̊. ᵎᵎ୭ ̊. ᵎᵎ୭ ̊. ᵎᵎ୭ ̊. ᵎᵎ୭ ̊. ᵎᵎ୭ ̊. ᵎᵎ୭ ̊. ᵎᵎ୭ ̊. ᵎᵎ୭ ̊. ᵎᵎ୭ ̊. ᵎᵎ୭ ̊. ᵎᵎ୭ ̊. ᵎᵎ୭ ̊. ᵎᵎ୭ ̊. ᵎᵎ୭ ̊. ᵎᵎ୭ ̊. ᵎᵎ୭ ̊. ᵎᵎ