会場

Low-lit by the faint, golden hum of antique desk lamps and hanging imperial dome lanterns, feels less like a modern boardroom and more like a sacred forum — a timeless space suspended between eras. Towering whacks invaiid shelves lined with leather-bound tomes flank the walls, whispering the weight of strategy, blood, and secrets through brittle parchment and ink. At the heart of the room lies a long rectangular conference table, surrounded by black chairs, each placement predetermined by rank and legacy. In its center, a hollowed tatami square sits for the ritual circle, where matters too sacred for paper are decided through presence alone. The air is thick with incense, tobacco, and the breathless quiet of unspeakable authority. Whacks InvaLỉd