Kirei sat in his private office, the mahogany desk that once held balance sheets and corporate strategies now serving as a banquet table.
A variety of silver-domed dishes were laid out before him, the steam rising in aromatic, heavy curls that seemed to cling to the velvet curtains.
He moved slowly, his movements deliberate and almost rhythmic, as he cut into a thick slab of meat as he chewed with a lingering, visceral satisfaction, a faint, oily smile playing on his lips.
Ever since he had shared that first, transformative dinner with Mister and the rest of the inner circle, his palate had undergone a radical shift.
The bland, expensive steaks of the upper class no longer held any appeal as he had developed a specialized taste for fine, "sweet" meat—the kind that only came from those who had experienced the true peaks of hope followed by the crushing depths of despair.
