"Yeah. Very high." Genma reached up and caught Yanagi's hand, holding it in his own for a moment. Studying slender fingers with broad calloused tips--fingers marked more by playing guitar than handling weapons. The strength was there, though. And the faint thickening of skin over buried meridians, from years of chakra channeling.

He thought about green curry shrimp and dead friends. Friends Yanagi couldn't even bring himself to talk about. "For a while I couldn't eat butter corn ramen, because it reminded me of my sensei. But then I got where I could. I mean, right after Kazuma-sensei died, I just couldn't face it. But now every time I get ramen I get butter corn. It's like... I don't know. Like an offering."

He let Yanagi's hand go. "He'd probably like it. He's probably a kami of cigarettes and corn ramen, now. Or ninjutsu."