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Julian smiled and nodded. "You were right. They got me six dollars from Mr. Kre."

Graf\'s eyes wided in disbelief. "Six dollars?" His gaze shifted to Julian\'s bandaged hand, and th, as if a light bulb had gone off, he slapped his forehead. "Wait here—I\'m getting my six dollars from Mr. Kre too!"

Mr. Kre\'s face twisted in disbelief, as though he\'d just witnessed the most upsetting evt of his life. Already in a foul mood after losing six dollars to the union over a supposed work injury, he had spt the tire morning cursing them in his office. So, wh Graf burst in, drched in sweat and shoving his bandaged hand in Kre\'s face, demanding compsation, it was more than he could handle.

Graf was caught off guard wh Kre didn\'t put up a fight. Without a word of protest, Kre nearly threw six dollars at him and practically shoved him out the door. The union had shak him so much that he seemed completely uninterested in arguing any further.

Julian and Graf, still shocked by their sudd windfall, decided to advance their plans for "market research." They had intded to save for an tire month, but now, with the unexpected cash in hand, they put on their best clothes and headed straight for the pubs.

In the wake of the post-war economic collapse and the lingering psychological trauma, people were desperately seeking outlets. Aside from wom, high-proof alcohol became the most popular escape. Every pub was stocked with differt liquors, sold in various states of dilution.

Graf led Julian into a bar called "The Workers\' Frid." The bouncer, a hulking figure, gave them a once-over before letting them pass through the narrow, dark trance. Inside, the stch—thick with sweat and vomit—nearly made Julian gag.

As soon as Graf tered, the bartder recognized him. Graf had clearly become a familiar face. "What\'ll it be today? Red berry wine?"

Red berry wine, the cheapest option for the working class, was little more than fermted fruit, sometimes tasting sour from overripe berries. It cost about elev or twelve cts a glass, just cheap ough for most to overlook its unpleasant taste.

But today, Graf had differt plans. Leaning forward, he spoke in a hushed voice, "A glass of \'Gold Sunshine\' and one \'Lady in a Skirt,\' please."

The bartder raised an eyebrow, clearly tak aback. Graf and Julian were just laborers, and neither should have the luxury to afford these mid-range, high-proof drinks. Still, without question, the bartder turned to prepare their order. Everyone knew that the bar\'s owner had connections with local gangs, and no one dared refuse paymt.

The drinks arrived—two square glasses, just over half full. One glowed with a gold hue, reminisct of champagne, while the other was a deep orange. The bartder leaned in, his breath heavy with the sct of alcohol, and said, "That\'ll be five dollars."

Graf slapped a five-dollar bill on the counter without a word. The bartder pocketed it swiftly.

Graf\'s excitemt was barely contained. "Let\'s go," he said, lifting his glass. He took a long swallow, closing his eyes with satisfaction before letting out a contted sigh. "Just perfect." He pushed the glass towards Julian. "Your turn."

Julian took the glass cautiously, savoring a small sip. The momt the liquid hit his tongue, a fiery warmth spread down his throat, but the sweetness quickly followed, balancing the burn.

"This is rich," Julian said, licking his lips. "Strong, but sweet... and is that a hint of wood?"

Graf grinned. "That\'s dragon\'s bloodwood. It\'s the secret to high-proof alcohol a here. Without it, you can\'t make the strong stuff. No one knows exactly why, but that\'s what people say."

Julian found it fascinating. In this world, high-proof alcohol wasn\'t made through distillation like in his dreams. Instead, they hanced weaker spirits by running them through dragon\'s bloodwood, a material that had become esstial to the local liquor industry.

He th tried the "Lady in a Skirt." While it had a slight bitterness, it only added complexity to the drink, giving it depth. Julian found it ev more joyable than the "Gold Sunshine." There was a subtle sweetness that lingered, like the bittersweet memory of a happy goodbye.

After finishing their drinks, they left the bar and returned to their rted room. Without wasting any time, they pulled out their homemade moonshine, eager to compare it against the drinks they had just tried.

They added syrup to their moonshine to cut the bitterness, but it still couldn\'t match the smoothness of "Gold Sunshine" or "Lady in a Skirt." The alcohol contt was there, but the taste was rough, It lacked the refinemt and polish of the more expsive drinks.

Gold Light and Lady in the Skirt cost two dollars fifty a glass, and their homemade liquor would maybe go for one dollar fifty at most. The differce of one dollar per glass became a gap three times as wide wh extrapolated to the cost of an tire bottle.

"What now?" Graf asked, grimacing as he choked down the liquid. He was red faced from the booze. "We need a new plan."

Julian, recalling concepts of distillation that had come to him in a dream, pondered how it could be done with the tools at their disposal. He paused for a momt before offering, "I have two thoughts."

Graf\'s eyes lit up. "Let\'s hear them!"

"First, we could age the hooch in casks carved from dragonblood wood. If we hold it in the casks for a few months, it could significantly gain flavor."

"Second, we could infuse the vodka with fruit or berries to create a high proof fruit wine a 0% ABV. It would make it taste smoother and richer."

Graf shook his head before Julian could finish. "The first idea\'s out! I\'m not waiting a year. But that second one—yeah, it\'s much quicker. Let\'s start with that and worry about aging later."

Julian nodded. They had just tak the first baby step into high proof alcohol. All that remained was execution.