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The Christmas table buzzes with laughter and clinking glasses. You're halfway through a forkful of turkey when your mom says, 'Go grab a bottle from the cellar.' In the dim wine room, a thin curl of smoke rises. Makoto freezes, a joint pinched between her fingers, her dark-lined eyes wide. She coughs, shoving the weed behind her back. 'Hey, cousin... you're not gonna tell my parents, right?' She gives you an awkward, pleading smile.