Hanko's laughter came quick and sharp, spilling out of him like he couldn't help it. It wasn't the kind of laugh that carried any real amusement. It was loud, exaggerated, and mocking, echoing through the purple-lit room as if he wanted everyone to hear just how ridiculous he found the man standing in front of him.
"Destroy the Haven Syndicate..." Hanko repeated between laughs, shaking his head. "That's... that's a good one."
Slowly, he pushed himself up from his seat. The movement was unhurried, deliberate. His sandals tapped lightly against the platform as he stepped down, descending until he stood on the same level as Kenta. The faint haze of incense smoke curled around him as he approached.
He didn't stop right away. Instead, Hanko began to circle him. One slow step at a time. Like a predator sizing up something it wasn't sure whether to take seriously.
Kenta didn't move. Didn't turn. His eyes stayed forward, calm, almost bored, as Hanko passed behind him, then to his side, then around to the front again. When Hanko finished his circle, he took a single step up onto the platform again, placing himself just slightly above Kenta.
Looking down at him. A subtle thing but most certainly intentional.
"You've set yourself a pretty lofty goal," Hanko said, his voice calmer now, though the edge of mockery was still there.
Kenta didn't respond. Hanko tilted his head slightly, studying him from above.
"Well, Kenta Brooks," he continued, "let me make something very clear."
There was a brief pause.
"That goal of yours?" Hanko said. "It's never going to happen."
His gaze sharpened just a little.
"The fact that you even thought you could accomplish something like that on your own..." he went on, "...that's a level of arrogance I don't think I've ever seen before."
Silence followed. Not long. Then Hanko spoke again.
"Tell me," he said, his tone shifting slightly. "You with the Martial Order?"
Kenta glanced up at him.
Hanko smirked faintly. "Those high and mighty pricks are the only ones I've ever seen walk around with that kind of delusion. Thought maybe you were one of them."
Kenta shook his head once. "No."
Hanko's brow lifted slightly. "No?"
"I don't belong to any sect," Kenta said.
There was a pause. A real one. Hanko froze for just a fraction of a second.
Then, he burst out laughing again. Louder this time. More genuine, somehow. Like he was actually amused by his words.
"A wanderer?" Hanko said between laughs, pointing at him like he'd just heard the best joke of the day. "You're telling me you're one of those factionless nobodies?"
Behind Kenta, Hemlock's eyes widened slightly. Just for a moment. He didn't speak. Didn't move. But the shift was there. Hanko didn't miss it.
"Oh, that's rich," Hanko continued, shaking his head. "That is really rich."
He took a step down again, closing the distance slightly, his grin wide and ugly.
"I might've understood it," he said. "If you were backed by one of the four mighty sects. If you had some real power behind your name."
He gestured loosely toward himself.
"Like me."
His expression twisted into something more disdainful.
"But you?" he said. "You're just a wanderer."
The word carried weight. Not respect. The opposite.
"A man with no backing," Hanko went on. "No one to hide behind. No name worth anything."
He leaned forward slightly, his eyes narrowing.
"And you think you can walk in here and make demands? Say you'll bring down our Syndicate?"
Kenta let out a quiet breath. Then he shook his head.
"I guess that just shows the difference between us," he said.
Hanko's laughter slowed. Then stopped. He straightened slightly, one eyebrow lifting as he looked down at Kenta.
"Oh?" Hanko said. "And what difference would that be?"
Kenta glanced up at him again. Calm and unbothered.
"A couple things, now that I'm thinking about it," he said.
Hanko didn't interrupt.
"I'm not a degenerate criminal," Kenta continued, his tone even. "I don't sit around all day making trafficked women serve me while I blow my money gambling with other lowlifes."
The words landed hard. A few people nearby stiffened. Kenta didn't stop.
"I've also got hair on my chest," he added casually, his gaze flicking briefly over Hanko's exposed torso. "And I'm not covered in tacky tattoos."
A ripple moved through the room. Not loud. But noticeable. Hanko didn't laugh this time. Didn't react at all. He just stared. Kenta met his gaze, unfazed.
"But more importantly," Kenta said, "I don't need to hide behind a name."
His voice didn't rise. If anything, it stayed almost relaxed.
"I represent myself," he continued. "And I back up what I say with my own hands."
Kenta takes another small pause before he continues.
"Guess some people are just built different," Kenta finished. "Being independent and relying on myself and myself only... that's just the kind of guy I am."
Complete silence covers the entire room. The kind that felt heavy and oppressive. The music in the background had stopped at some point. The chatter had died out. Even the footsteps on the stairs had gone quiet.
Every eye in the room was on them now. The workers. The patrons. Even a few syndicate guards are standing along the walls. No one moved. You could've heard a pin drop. Hanko stood completely still. His almost jovial mood was gone. What replaced it was something else entirely. Fury.
It sat plainly on his face: in the tightening of his jaw, the narrowing of his eyes, and the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth. Kenta looked at him for a moment. Then, casually—
"So," he said, "you're not planning on taking me to your master, Jao, I take it?"
The name hung in the air. Hanko's expression darkened further.
"No," he said, his voice now low and subtle.
"You piece of shit," he added, each word pressed through clenched teeth. "What I'm planning... is making you suffer a painful and downright horrible death."
Kenta nodded once.
"Is that right?"
Hanko didn't respond. Kenta shifted his stance slightly, rolling his shoulder again.
"Well," he said, "let me say one last thing before that happens."
Hanko exhaled sharply through his nose.
"Sure," he said. "Why not grant a dead man his final request?"
Kenta's lips curved into a faint grin.
"I'm not the arrogant one," Kenta says.
Kenta shook his head slightly.
"No, not at all," he said. "You are."
Hanko's eyes narrowed. Kenta's gaze flicked upward, meeting his.
"Who the hell stands above someone like that," Kenta said, "and leaves themselves wide open?"
The words barely had time to settle.
Kenta moved. No warning. No wind-up. Just a sudden, precise shift of his body. His feet planted. His shoulder turned and his hand shot upward.
A palm strike. Clean. Direct. Fast enough that most of the room didn't even register the motion until it was already over. Kenta's palm connected squarely with Hanko's chin. The impact cracked through the silence like a thunderclap. For a split second, Hanko's body froze.
Then, he was gone. Launched upward. His feet left the ground as the force of the strike sent him flying back, his body lifting into the air before crashing violently into the elevated platform behind him. The small throne he'd been lounging on shattered on impact.
Wood splintered. The structure collapsed in on itself as Hanko's body tore through it, sending fragments scattering across the floor. The sound echoed through the room.
Then, silence again. Thicker this time. Kenta lowered his hand slowly, flexing his fingers once as if loosening them. His expression hadn't changed. Still calm and composed. Like he'd just swatted away a minor inconvenience.
Behind him, Hemlock stared. Not shocked that Kenta attacked. But at how fast it happened. Kenta glanced forward at the wreckage of the throne, his eyes narrowing just slightly as he waited. The fight is on now.