Sosltafir sliced his way toward me with cruel intent, and a curious look in his eyes. As he played out in slow motion, the way he danced inspired me to give him my all. As he came toward me, he shouted that he wanted some of my sake. The bastard won't have my sake, but there might have been another bottle in there somewhere.

He inched his way closer to my body as I ducked back down to my case and swung my stick behind me, the brunt of it aimed for his crotch by coincidence. I pulled out a second bottle and threw it at him. Yet another belch escaped my lips as my fingertips grabbed my prized polearm with the katana hidden inside. My cheeks remained flushed, but my mind was clear enough to know what was going on. My body persisted in being drunk.

As my back was to his face, I twirled my body around, and spun the polearm between my fingers. The weapon slipped from my grip yet again, but I caught it and swiped it down toward his shoulder blades. This battle was no time to use weapons and styles I hadn't ever used before. Rachelle was right after all, though perhaps the drunken state could put his guard down. As my body returned from the slicing movement, I picked up the briefcase and glided over him to the other side of the arena. I pulled out a bottle of Molotov Cocktail and lit it on fire. I flew toward him in a flash and threw it at him.

“Tamaya~” the phrase left my lips as a half-intoxicated grin formed around my lips. As a final move in my drunken combination, I hovered in the air and twirled the polearm in my fingers and dove down toward his head. In the instant that I reached his body, I gripped the hilt of the katana and sliced into the air and aimed directly for his neck.

I could feel myself sober up through all of the activity. From what Rachelle advised, that is probably for the best.