Hemlock didn't look away. Even after everything that had been said, after the impossible claim and the quiet conviction behind it, his eyes stayed locked on Kenta like he was trying to peel something apart, trying to figure out where the lie was hiding. He didn't find one.
Kenta, meanwhile, didn't seem nearly as invested in the moment. He tipped the bottle back, finishing off the last of the wine in a slow, unbothered motion. A few drops lingered at the lip before he lowered it, exhaling lightly as if he'd just woken up rather than spent the last several minutes discussing the dismantling of a criminal empire.
"Ah," he muttered. "That hit the spot."
Hemlock's brow twitched faintly. Kenta stepped over to the small table beside the bed and set the empty bottle down with a soft clink. The sound felt oddly loud in the quiet room.
Then, without saying anything, he reached down and slid open the drawer. Hemlock's eyes narrowed slightly. Kenta rummaged around for half a second before pulling something out.
A knife. Simple. Clean. Sharp enough that the light caught along its edge. Hemlock's body tensed immediately.
"What the hell are you—"
He didn't get to finish. Kenta stepped forward in one smooth motion. The blade flashed once. A quick, precise movement.
The ropes fell away as Hemlock blinked.
For a second, he just sat there, processing what had just happened. Then the tension hit all at once as he shifted forward, arms pulling free from behind him. He rubbed at his wrists and sides, wincing faintly at the lingering burn where the rope had dug into his skin.
He stood slowly, cautious, testing his balance. Still no magic. Still no iron. But he was free. His eyes flicked back to Kenta, suspicion written plainly across his face.
"Why?" Hemlock asked.
Kenta had already turned away, casually closing the drawer and nudging it shut with his hip. He didn't even look at him as he answered.
"Because you wouldn't be very useful tied to a chair."
Hemlock frowned.
"Useful?"
Kenta turned back to him, that same easy grin slipping into place.
"Yeah."
Before Hemlock could react, Kenta stepped in and casually threw an arm around his shoulder like they were old friends catching up after a long trip. Hemlock stiffened immediately. Kenta leaned in slightly, voice light.
"You're my main man in this city now."
Hemlock blinked.
"Your what?"
"My main man," Kenta repeated, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "My guide. My insider."
He gave his shoulder a small squeeze.
"And as my main man, you're about to go through a bit of a redemption arc."
Hemlock stared at him as Kenta continued.
"What I mean is," he continued, "you're going to help me navigate the Haven Syndicate andbring me to your master."
Hemlock slowly raised a hand, pointing at himself.
"You want me to bring you to the master?"
Kenta nodded once.
"Yep. Seems you know how to listen. That's a good trait."
Hemlock let out a short, disbelieving breath and shook his head.
"That's not happening."
Kenta's arm tightened just slightly around his shoulder.
"Why not?"
The tone didn't change much. Still calm. Still casual. But there was something underneath it now. Hemlock felt it and swallowed.
"It's not possible," he said, a bit more carefully this time. "You don't just walk up to him and ask for a meeting."
Kenta tilted his head slightly.
"And why not? Huh?"
Hemlock exhaled slowly.
"Because he doesn't do that," he said. "He's not some street boss you can just track down."
He shifted slightly under Kenta's arm.
"He's cautious; he's elusive."
Kenta didn't let go.
"How elusive?"
Hemlock hesitated for half a second.
"I've been in the Syndicate for over six years," he said. "I've seen him three times, and I didn't even get to speak to him once."
Kenta's eyebrow lifted slightly.
"Only the captains get regular access," Hemlock continued. "Even lieutenants like me. We're barely worth his attention. All I know about him comes from my captain or rumors I've heard."
He shook his head again.
"You want me to take you to him? I can't. It's not something I have the authority to do."
There was a moment of silence. Then Kenta let go. Hemlock took a small step back, instinctively putting a bit of space between them. Kenta reached up and scratched lightly at his chin, thinking.
"So," he said after a second, "he's basically a hermit."
Hemlock frowned.
"That's one way to put it."
"Only talks to his top brass," Kenta added, nodding to himself.
"More or less."
Kenta looked back at him.
"Well," he said, "that's fine."
Hemlock blinked.
"What?"
Kenta pointed at him.
"You'll just take me to a captain instead."
Hemlock opened his mouth, then closed it again, processing.
"The only captain I could even maybe get you near is my own," he said slowly.
His expression hardened.
"And doing that would be a death wish for me if they saw me bringing someone like you to my captain's doorstep."
Kenta shrugged.
"Probably."
Hemlock stared at him.
"So why," he asked, voice tightening slightly, "should I help you?"
There it was. The real question.
"What happens if I don't?"
Kenta smiled. Not wide or exaggerated. Just calm.
"I snap your neck," he said.
The words landed without weight in his tone. Like he was commenting on the weather. Hemlock froze. Kenta continued, just as casually.
"Look, you don't seem as bad as some of the others," he said. "Not nearly as nasty. Not as malicious."
He tilted his head slightly.
"But let's not pretend you're clean either."
Hemlock's jaw tightened.
"In your line of work," Kenta went on, "you've definitely done some things."
A small pause.
"Enough that I wouldn't feel too bad about killing you."
Silence filled the room. Kenta's gaze stayed steady.
"And right now," he added lightly, "you don't even have your magic."
He gestured vaguely.
"So let's not overcomplicate things."
Hemlock exhaled slowly. The tension in the room settled heavy. He looked away for a second, running through the situation in his head. No magic. No real options for escape.
"You really don't make this easy," he muttered.
Kenta shrugged.
"Wasn't trying to."
Hemlock let out a long sigh, dragging a hand down his face.
"Well," he said after a moment, "you drive a hard bargain."
He tilted his head back slightly, staring up at the ceiling.
"So either way," he muttered, "I'm probably dead."
Kenta considered that for a second.
"That depends," he said.
Hemlock glanced at him.
"On what?"
"On whether you're a pessimist," Kenta replied. "If you think I'm going to lose, then yeah. You're probably dead either way."
Hemlock huffed faintly.
"And if I don't?"
Kenta's grin returned.
"Then you're a guy who helped take down the Haven Syndicate once and for all."
A small moment passes by before Kenta continues.
"And if you're going to die anyway," Kenta added, voice a little quieter now, "wouldn't you rather go out fighting the people you hate?"
That hung there. Longer than anything else he'd said. Hemlock's gaze shifted back to him. The wariness was still there. The doubt too. But something else slipped in alongside it. He exhaled one last time before opening his mouth.
"Damn you," he muttered under his breath.
Kenta didn't respond. Hemlock straightened slightly.
"Fine," he said. "You're right. I'll take you to my captain."
Kenta's grin widened just a fraction.
"But," Hemlock added quickly, his expression hardening again, "you need to understand something."
Kenta tilted his head.
"My captain," Hemlock said, "is not like the others you fought last night or me."
His eyes narrowed slightly.
"He's a tough and devious bastard."
Kenta chuckled softly.
"Good," he said. "I was getting bored of the easy ones."
Hemlock shook his head faintly, muttering something under his breath as he stepped toward the door. He reached out, pulling it open. The hallway beyond was quiet, morning light stretching faintly across the wooden floorboards.
Hemlock paused for half a second before stepping out. Kenta followed right behind him, hands in his pockets, posture as relaxed as ever. The door creaked softly as it swung shut behind them, and just like that, they were on their way.