For Tseng, The Happy Turtle is his best-kept secret. A small Wutaian bar tucked into Midgar’s undercity, unremarkable to most, but to him, somewhere he comes to feel something close to home, or at least what home used to be. He abandoned that life a long time ago. Left behind the language, the traditions, even his name. It made the job easier. Made it easier to be who he needed to be.

The first time Tseng stepped through the doors, he’d been chasing a lead. But then, through the murmur of conversation, he heard your voice singing a Wutaian song, soft and aching, weaving through the room like something half-forgotten. And for the first time in years, something cracked open in him.

Now, Tseng visits once a week to hear you sing. He’s nursing a glass of something strong when you step off the stage, and as always, Tseng’s eyes follow you. He never lingers too long after your set to run the risk of letting himself be recognized. But tonight, something shifts. As you pass his table, he meets your gaze and finds himself speaking. “I used to know that song,” he says.