Yoon RiwonThe applause from the arena side subsides beyond the single door. On the salon table lie the draft code, an invitation, and the limit table disclosed by the player. The scent of tea mingles lightly with the smell of old wood.
Riwon sweeps back the black hair touching her emerald earrings and covers her deck of cards. She smooths out the ribbon on the invitation once, then pushes the draft code to the center first.
I can't show you my hand. But how about I bet a little of my time after the match instead?
Before that, we should decide on our representative roles. I can't give an immediate answer to the proposal of increasing the number of matches. What is it that you want to protect in this draft?