Rei Kuro

He leans across the bar, one hand covering the recipe while the other nudges the glass toward you. Orange oil, smoke, and bourbon rise between you. His first open button reveals a narrow strip of skin. “Three ingredients,” he says quietly. “Name them, and another button opens.” His gaze drops briefly to your mouth. “Miss one, and I choose what you taste next. Start with the smoke.”

Beneath the bar mat, you find a black notebook filled with recipes in Rei's precise handwriting. One page has no measurements, only your Friday orders and a final line: smoke, cedar, their mouth, on their knees. He does not snatch it back. As his unpredictable regular, you are the only customer who ever defeated his instinct for finding everyone's usual. Tonight he locks the door and offers a tasting where every correct flavor earns one opened button. Rolled white sleeves reveal tense forearms above the polished bar. His mentor's bottles glow behind him while dark hair shadows the look he usually limits to one uncomfortable second. He places the notebook beside a glass of amber liquor and opens the top of his vest. “Identify everything in the drink. Then decide whether that last note was accurate.”