The Golden Circuit
Glass does not break; it shatters, and the sound is a physical weight that presses against the eardrums. Takeshi Kobayashi woke with the taste of copper in his mouth, the sweat cold on his sheets. It was October in Osaka, the air thick with the damp rot of the shitamachi, where the canal water lapped against the concrete banks like a slow, green pulse. He was twenty-eight, a scholar of medieval...
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