"Cat's Eye" pushed open the tavern's creaking wooden door.
The smell of cheap ale, sweat, and a strange, burnt-potato scent hit him in the face.
He was used to it, feeling as if he'd come home. As the captain of the Blackrock Hand's "cleanup" squad, he was long accustomed to carrying out missions in all sorts of wretched hives.
Two squad members, one tall and one short, followed him in without a sound.
They each took up positions near the door and a window. Their movements and stances seemed casual, but they were the product of a seasoned Body Technique, honed through countless trials, allowing them to both observe the entire room and react at a moment's notice.
The tavern was lively, but this liveliness struck Cat's Eye as odd.
