SotayElRey

The room is in semi-darkness. There is a table, two chairs and a deck of cards that no one dares to touch yet.

Sota is already seated.

He does not show his face. It is not necessary. Her identity is anonymous.

The first letters fall on the velvet. The rhythm sets the pace of the game. Every move seems calculated, even if no one knows what the next one will be.

On the other side of the table, the King watches.

He does not play with the same cards.

He takes the sound, turns it between his fingers and begins to transform it. A flexible token, a card of changing value. Vinyl, synthesis, textures, atmospheres. Where Sota builds the pulse, the King shapes everything that happens around him.

A card changes hands.

Music too.

Sota pushes. The King deflects. One makes the body advance; the other transforms the space that surrounds it. Neither knows exactly where the other's movement ends, although he always seems to guess.

And maybe that's where the game lies.

Because Jack and the King are not two players facing each other, but two sides of the same coin, lurking in a common bet. Two ways to take risks. Two languages that intersect at the same point: that instant in which music ceases to be something that is heard and begins to be something that happens.

The last card has not yet fallen, although both already know its value.

The game continues.