He bit me, and I bit him. Intent and bloodletting gets you pretty far here with stuff like that, turns out. He has a matching mark on his dead wrist.

[ Plating, plating. Soup should be done in a moment. ]

What's so strange about it? Shouldn't it make sense?

[ He's his right-hand man, after all.

Atsuhide puts the salmon down, soup ladled out into a bowl shortly thereafter. He leans against the counter between the sink and stove, a few paces away from Takakage. Sips at the miso, warming him from the inside out. Keeps a careful, watchful eye on Takakage. ]