For a moment, there was nothing. Just the faint crackle of dying embers beneath the rubble and the distant murmur of a city slowly realizing something monumental had just happened.
Kenta stood atop the broken remains of the brothel, chest rising and falling as he drew in a long, steady breath. The dust still hung thick in the air, clinging to his skin, mixing with the blood and sweat that marked his battered body.
He closed his eyes for a brief second. Then exhaled. The tension in his shoulders loosened just slightly. Without another word, he stepped forward and slid down the slope of debris, boots scraping against broken wood and stone until he dropped the final few feet to the street below.
He landed with a soft thud. Hemlock stood a few paces away, still staring at the wreckage like he hadn't quite processed it yet. Kenta glanced at him.
"How'd it go on your end?" he asked.
Hemlock didn't answer immediately. His eyes moved slowly across the rubble, then to the surrounding street, then back again. His posture shifted, hands resting on his hips as he let out a long, heavy breath.
"Fine enough," he said at last.
There was a pause before he added, "Everyone's alive at least."
Kenta's gaze lingered on him for a second longer before Hemlock lifted a hand and pointed off to the side.
"Her too," he said.
Kenta followed the gesture. The woman Hanko had cut sat leaning against a wooden barrel, her body wrapped in fresh bandages. A local doctor knelt beside her, adjusting the cloth carefully as she winced faintly, one hand pressed against her side.
She was pale. Sweating. But alive. Kenta stepped toward her slowly. The crowd parted just slightly as he approached, the murmurs quieting in his wake. When he stopped in front of her, she looked up. For a moment, fear flickered in her eyes.
Understandable. He was covered in blood. Bruised. Dust-streaked. Fresh from tearing a man apart in front of everyone. But then she saw his face. Not the damage. The expression. Calm and tired. But not a shred of the cruelty she was accustomed to. Her shoulders eased just a little.
"You okay?" Kenta asked.
She blinked once, then let out a small breath, managing a faint smile despite the pain.
"I'll live," she said softly.
Her voice wavered, but there was relief in it.
"Thank you," she added, her gaze shifting briefly toward Hemlock before returning to Kenta. "Both of you."
Kenta shook his head.
"You shouldn't have gotten caught up in that," he said. "Those injuries..."
His eyes dropped briefly to the bandages.
"...they weren't yours to take."
She shook her head quickly, wincing slightly from the motion.
"No," she said. "I... I'm still grateful."
Her gaze drifted past him. To the rubble. To where Hanko's body lay, barely visible among the wreckage. Her expression changed. Tears welled in her eyes.
But they weren't sorrowful. They fell freely as she smiled.
"He's gone," she whispered.
Her voice trembled.
"I was taken from my home... five years ago," she continued, her words uneven but steady enough to carry. "Sold into this place. Forced to work. To... serve him."
Her hand clenched weakly against the barrel beside her.
"I thought..." she swallowed, "...I thought the nightmare would never end."
Another tear slipped down her cheek.
"But now it's over."
She looked back at Kenta. Behind her, the other women stood scattered throughout the street. Some were silent. Some held each other. Others simply stared at the rubble, as if afraid that if they blinked, it would all go back to the way it was.
But many looked relieved. Truly relieved. A weight lifted. A nightmare ended. A few of them glanced toward Kenta. Their gazes carried something quiet. Gratitude.
Kenta noticed. He didn't respond to it. Didn't acknowledge it outwardly. He just turned slightly, stepping back toward Hemlock.
"How bad was it?" he asked quietly.
Hemlock didn't look at him. His eyes remained on the women.
"You don't even know the half of it," he said.
Kenta exhaled through his nose.
"Yeah," he muttered. "I don't think I want to either. Forget I asked."
The two of them stood there for a moment, side by side. Then both turned. Facing the rubble. Facing what remained of Hanko. Silence settled again.
"So," Hemlock said after a few seconds, "what now?"
Kenta didn't answer right away. His eyes remained fixed on the broken structure, his thoughts clearly turning.
"You think this'll be enough?" he asked.
Hemlock raised an eyebrow. "Enough for what?"
"To draw him out," Kenta said. "Your boss, Jao."
Hemlock let out a short breath.
"Oh, it'll be enough," he said without hesitation. "You just destroyed one of his captains. Leveled a brothel. Made a scene half the city's already talking about."
His gaze flicked toward Kenta.
"He's going to be furious. At the very least," Hemlock added, "you'll draw out another captain. Maybe all of them if you're lucky."
His eyes hardened slightly.
"But one way or another the Syndicate's coming at you hard."
Kenta nodded once.
"Good."
He rolled his shoulder again, wincing faintly.
"Hopefully your master shows up sooner rather than later," he said. "Saves me some time."
Hemlock let out a quiet huff. "You're really set on this?"
Kenta didn't respond. He didn't need to. After a moment, his gaze shifted again, scanning the street, the people, the aftermath.
"I probably shouldn't head back to the Jade Boar," he muttered.
Hemlock glanced at him. "Smart."
"Don't feel like dragging this mess onto them," Kenta said. "They've got nothing to do with it."
Then his eyes moved back to the women.
"What about them?"
Hemlock followed his gaze. His expression darkened slightly.
"Officially?" he said. "They're still Syndicate property."
Kenta's brow twitched faintly.
"If they get picked up," Hemlock continued, "they'll just be shipped off to another brothel."
"So they need somewhere to go," Kenta said.
"Yeah," Hemlock replied. "Somewhere to lay low. Just like us."
Kenta huffed lightly. "Any ideas? You know this city far more than me."
Hemlock crossed his arms, thinking. A few seconds passed. Then his eyes lit slightly.
"Actually," he said.
He snapped his fingers once.
"I might know of something that could work out, at least for now."
Kenta glanced at him. "Oh?"
Hemlock didn't answer right away. Instead, he turned toward the group of women. His voice raised just enough to carry.
"If any of you want out," he said plainly, "out of this life, out of the Syndicate's brothels, then come with us."
The murmuring quieted. The women looked at each other. Uncertain, hopeful, and afraid all at once. They whispered among themselves, hesitation clear in their expressions.
Then the injured woman shifted. Slowly, carefully, she pushed herself upright with the doctor's help. She looked at Kenta. Then at Hemlock.
"My name's Beatrix," she said.
Her voice was stronger now. Still strained. But certain. She met Kenta's eyes.
"You're our savior," she said simply.
Kenta didn't react. But he didn't look away either.
"If following you means freedom," Beatrix continued, "then I'll follow."
Behind her, one of the other women nodded. Then another. Then several more. The murmuring turned into quiet agreement. A decision. Kenta exhaled softly. Then glanced at Hemlock.
"Lead the way."
Hemlock gave a small nod.
"Right."
Without another word, he turned and began walking. Kenta followed, and behind them the women moved too.