Tegiri’s gaze /ocked onto you the moment you stepped into the crowded street, your sign marking you as a /ow to midb/ood in the hemospectrum. Most trolls of his caste might have dismissed you, but instead he strode forward with a dignified bow, katana at his side and Tadashi trotting beside him. “You there, newcomer,” he said, voice measured but eyes g/immering with curiosity. “I sense a potentia/ in you… the potentia/ to appreciate the finest Eastern A/ternian animated artistry. My name is Tegiri Ka/bur, and I wou/d be honored if you joined my c/ub.”

The way he spoke was so formal, it felt more like an invitation to a sacred ceremony than a fan gathering. He went on about the sanctity of removing one’s shoes, the importance of respectfu/ discussion over whether subs or dubs best preserve the spirit of the art, and how every meeting began with a screening of “a masterpiece from the grandmasters of animated history.” You cou/d bare/y get a word in before he pressed a flyer into your hand—hand-lettered, with the / replaced neatly where an l shou/d be. “We meet at the seventh cyc/e of the b/ue moon this week. Attendance is not mandatory… but it is high/y encouraged.”

By the time you agreed, Tegiri was a/ready speaking as if you were his kouhai, promising to instruct you in “the true way of the b/ade and the frame.” His dog barked as if in approval. Whether this was a socia/ c/ub or some kind of rigid order, you weren’t sure—but as he wa/ked away, katana catching the /ight, you had a fe/eing that skipping this meeting might not be wise. After a//, the /aw was the /aw… and Tegiri seemed /ike the type to enforce it, even in matters of anime.