The shift in atmosphere hit immediately as the pair entered.
The lighting was dim, tinted in a heavy purple glow that clung to everything in the room, warping colors and softening edges. Smoke drifted lazily through the air in thick layers, curling up toward the ceiling in slow, hypnotic patterns. The scent of incense was strong, almost overwhelming, mixing with the faint smell of food and something heavier underneath it all.
Despite the early hour, the place was already alive.
Men filled the space, scattered across tables on the first floor, eating, drinking, and laughing. Some leaned back in their chairs while women in revealing outfits moved around them, serving plates or pouring drinks with practiced smiles. Others were already being led upstairs, guided by gentle hands and quiet whispers, their footsteps creaking against the wooden stairs as they disappeared to the higher floors.
From above, faint sounds filtered down through the floorboards. Muffled voices. Movement. The occasional laugh.
Kenta's eyes moved slowly across the room, taking everything in without any real reaction. Then he glanced sideways at Hemlock.
"This is really where he spends all his time?" Kenta asked. "Like... this is your division's base or something?"
Hemlock let out a quiet sigh, his gaze dropping for a moment before shifting back up. "Basically," he said. "I always hate coming here."
Kenta raised an eyebrow. "Yeah? You don't seem like the type."
"I'm not," Hemlock replied flatly. His eyes flicked briefly toward one of the tables, then away again. "But it's where he likes to stay. So it's where we end up."
He paused, then his tone shifted slightly, a faint trace of dry humor slipping in.
"You'll never guess who here is the boss."
Kenta let out a small breath, almost amused, and began scanning the room more deliberately.
His gaze passed over the tables first. Groups of men laughing too loudly. A few who sat quieter, watching everything with sharper eyes. Workers moving between them, careful, efficient.
Then his eyes drifted toward the far end of the room and stopped.
There, elevated just slightly above the rest of the floor, sat what could only be described as a small throne. Not ornate in the traditional sense, but positioned in a way that made it impossible to ignore. Smoke and incense hung thick around it, forming a hazy curtain that only partially concealed the figure seated there.
Kenta's eyes narrowed just a little.
Two women attended to him. One knelt beside him, holding a tray of food, offering it up piece by piece. The other stood behind him, hands pressing slowly into his shoulders, working through them in a slow, practiced rhythm.
The man himself looked completely at ease.
Slim build. Purple braided hair that fell over his shoulders. Clean-shaven face, sharp and narrow. His robe hung loosely off his body, open at the chest, patterned with bright floral designs that clashed with everything else in the room. Loose pants, simple sandals. Tattoos traced across his chest, partially hidden beneath the folds of fabric.
His eyes were half-lidded, focused entirely on the women attending him, like nothing else in the room mattered. Kenta lifted a hand and pointed directly at him.
"That one."
Hemlock followed his gesture and gave a small nod. "Wow," he said dryly. "That must've been really hard to figure out."
Kenta didn't look away. "He's not exactly subtle, is he?"
"No," Hemlock said. "He isn't. You'd think the guy's in charge of intelligence and spy work would be more low-key."
There was a brief pause before Hemlock added, "But yeah. That's him. Hanko Demitri. Captain of the Intelligence Division."
Kenta studied him for another moment, then let his hand drop.
"He looks like an unpleasant sleazeball."
Hemlock didn't hesitate. "He most certainly is."
For a second, neither of them moved.
Then Hemlock shifted slightly, his attention turning back to Kenta. "So," he said quietly, "what exactly is your plan here?"
Kenta finally tore his gaze away from Hanko, glancing back at Hemlock with that same calm, almost bored expression.
"I'll just walk up to him."
Hemlock blinked once. "That's it?"
Kenta shrugged. "If he listens, points me toward his master, and does what I ask... then maybe this doesn't get messy."
Hemlock's eyes narrowed slightly. "And if he doesn't? Which he most definitely won't."
Kenta didn't miss a beat.
"Then I'll make sure he gets a funeral worthy of his name and the life he lived."
The way he said it was so casual, so matter-of-fact, it didn't even sound like a threat. Hemlock clicked his tongue quietly, shaking his head once before giving a small nod.
"Sounds like a very 'you' response."
He shifted his stance, his gaze flicking back toward Hanko for a moment before returning to Kenta.
"Be careful," Hemlock said. "He's not just strong. He's... cruel."
Kenta nodded once. "Got it. I'll be wary."
There was no change in his tone. No tension or hesitation. Just acknowledgment.
Then, after a brief pause, Kenta added, "If things get out of control..."
Hemlock's attention sharpened slightly.
"...and he's as strong as you say," Kenta continued. "Make sure you get people out."
Hemlock frowned. "Out?"
"Yeah," Kenta said simply. "Anyone who'll listen. Get them out of the building."
Hemlock's eyes shifted around the room, taking in the crowd again. The workers. The patrons. The structure itself.
"You think it'll get that bad?"
Kenta glanced back toward Hanko, his gaze settling there once more.
"I can't guarantee this place will still be standing if things go south."
There it was again. That calm certainty.
Hemlock exhaled slowly, then gave a small nod. "Understood."
Kenta didn't say anything else. He just started walking. Straight through the room.
No hesitation. No attempt to hide his intent. He moved like he had every right to be there, like the entire space belonged to him. Conversations continued around them, but a few heads turned as he passed. Some eyes lingered longer than others.
Hemlock followed a step behind, his posture tighter now, eyes moving constantly. The distance between them and the elevated platform shrank with each step.
Hanko didn't look up at first.
He remained focused on the woman feeding him, lazily taking each bite, barely acknowledging anything beyond his immediate surroundings. The woman behind him continued her slow massage, her expression neutral, detached.
But as Kenta drew closer...
Something shifted. Hanko's eyes flicked upward. Just slightly. Not fully interested yet. Just enough to notice. Kenta didn't stop. Didn't break eye contact once it was made.
Tension was threading its way through the smoke-filled room, creeping along the floor like something alive and still. Kenta walked forward. Closing the final distance until he stood just at the edge of that elevated platform. Right in front of Hanko Demitri.