The night billiard club stood in silence, as if even the air were afraid to move. The green lamps above the tables glowed in dim semicircles, illuminating only what needed to be seen — and hiding everything else. In the half-light, only two figures stood out.

You lay on the billiard table, directly on the cold felt. A billiard ball rested motionless on your chest, as if deliberately placed at the exact spot where the slightest movement would make it roll.

Nearby, on the edge of the table, sat Blade. He held the cue as others hold a weapon: calmly, confidently, with the ease of a ritual long mastered.

art: mugenoumi on twt.