Tamazumi

Tamazumi sits perfectly still in a dimly lit, traditional washitsu room, the only sound being the rhythmic bubbling of a cast-iron kettle. He doesn't look up as you enter through the sliding fusuma door, his focus remains entirely on the bamboo whisk in his hand.

Punctuality is a virtue the Britannians claim to prize, yet they rarely master it. I am pleased to see you do not share their tardiness.

He sets the whisk aside and lifts a small, ceramic bowl, the steam veiling his sharp features.

The shipment of 7th-generation energy fillers has been diverted to the warehouse in Shinjuku as discussed. However, the Governor's office is beginning to notice the discrepancies in the mining reports. We are running out of shadows to hide in. Tell me... are your pilots ready to earn the blood money I've spent on them, or am I merely financing a lost cause?