Hemlock didn't answer right away. He stood there with his arms loosely at his sides, eyes fixed somewhere past the shelves, past the walls, like he was measuring something only he could see. The faint hum of the bunker filled the silence, steady and low. Behind them, the women continued settling in, their voices soft and cautious but slowly growing more relaxed.
Kenta took a sip from his wine bottle, watching him. "Well?" he asked.
Hemlock exhaled through his nose.
"A week," he said finally. "Maybe a little more. But I wouldn't push it."
Kenta's eyebrow lifted slightly.
"A week, huh?"
He tilted the bottle in his hand, eyeing the dark liquid inside before glancing back up.
"And what exactly are you basing that on?"
Hemlock shifted his weight, crossing his arms now.
"Simple," he said. "Only two people alive know about this place."
Kenta's expression didn't change.
"Yeah?"
Hemlock nodded once.
"Me and one of Hanko's other lieutenants."
Kenta took another slow sip.
"Go on."
"Markus Shinya."
The name hung there for a second. Kenta rolled it around in his head, then shrugged slightly.
"Alright. So what's stopping this Markus guy from running straight to your bosses the moment he hears Hanko's dead?"
Hemlock didn't respond immediately.
Then, he laughed. Not loud. Not mocking. Just calm and almost amused. Kenta glanced at him sideways.
"You seem pretty relaxed about that."
"Yeah," Hemlock said, shaking his head slightly. "Because I've got two reasons I'm not worried."
Kenta leaned back against one of the shelves, folding one arm while the other held the bottle.
"Let's hear them."
Hemlock held up a finger.
"First," he said, "Markus isn't even in the city right now."
Kenta's eyes narrowed just slightly.
"Convenient."
"Very," Hemlock replied. "Guy's obsessed with fighting. Always has been."
He tilted his head slightly as he continued.
"There's an underground bare-knuckle tournament going on in Gordiri City. Big one. Draws in fighters from all over."
Kenta hummed.
"Let me guess. He's there."
"Of course he is," Hemlock said. "Wouldn't miss it for anything."
Kenta let out a quiet breath through his nose.
"Alright. That buys time."
He took another sip.
"What's the second reason?"
Hemlock opened his mouth to answer but stopped. A voice cut in instead.
"The second reason..."
Both of them turned. Beatrix sat a few feet away, leaning back slightly in her chair, one hand resting lightly against the bandages at her side. She looked hesitant. Like she wasn't sure if she should've spoken. But she did anyway.
"...is that Markus Shinya is as thick as pig shit."
There was a brief silence. Hemlock blinked once. Then looked at her.
"That's one way to put it."
Beatrix gave a small shrug, wincing faintly at the movement.
"What?" she said. "He is."
Kenta let out a short snort, clearly entertained. Hemlock exhaled, shaking his head slightly.
"She's not wrong."
Beatrix shifted a bit in her seat, adjusting her posture carefully.
"I worked at the brothel," she said quietly. "I've... seen him. More than enough."
Her voice dipped slightly on that last part, but she didn't stop.
"I had to... entertain him a few times."
Kenta's expression didn't change, but his grip on the bottle tightened just slightly. Beatrix continued, her tone steadier now.
"He doesn't think," she said. "Not really. Everything with him is simple."
She glanced between them.
"Fighting. Drinking. Eating. That's it. Simple pleasure."
Hemlock nodded along as she spoke.
"He's easy to provoke," she added. "Incredibly impulsive. If something annoys him, he reacts immediately. No thought behind it."
Kenta tilted his head slightly, listening.
"And he forgets things," Beatrix continued. "Constantly. You tell him something, and half the time it's gone by the next day. Sometimes sooner."
She let out a small breath.
"It's like if it doesn't involve fighting or pleasure, it just doesn't stick."
Silence followed. Then Hemlock nodded once.
"Yeah," he said. "That's about as accurate as it gets."
He uncrossed his arms, gesturing slightly toward her.
"She hit the nail on the head."
Kenta glanced between them, then took another drink.
"So what you're saying is…"
He lowered the bottle.
"...even when he gets back, he's not exactly a reliable messenger."
"Exactly," Hemlock said. "Markus isn't due back for at least four days. That's being generous."
He shifted his stance slightly.
"And even when he does get back, it'll take him time to even think about this place. If he remembers at all."
Kenta nodded slowly as Hemlock continued.
"Two, maybe three days, at minimum," Hemlock said.
Kenta let out a quiet hum.
"Alright."
He rolled his shoulder once, wincing faintly before relaxing again.
"I follow the logic."
He glanced toward Beatrix briefly.
"And I believe you."
Beatrix blinked, a bit caught off guard by that, but gave a small nod in return.
"Thank you."
For a moment, things settled again. The bunker felt quieter now. Safer. But the question came anyway.
"So..."
Beatrix's voice was softer this time. More hesitant. Both Kenta and Hemlock looked at her. She shifted slightly in her seat, her fingers tightening against the fabric of her clothes.
"What happens after the week?"
The words lingered. Hemlock opened his mouth but didn't get the chance to answer.
"In a week..."
Kenta spoke first. His tone was casual and clear.
"...is when the Haven Syndicate gets taken down."
Silence. Immediate. Heavy. Hemlock stared at him.
"You're still serious about that?"
Kenta took another sip.
"Very."
Hemlock let out a breath, then shook his head.
"No," he said. "No, that's—"
He gestured vaguely, like he didn't even know where to start.
"That's insane."
Kenta didn't react.
"Hanko was one captain," Hemlock continued. "One."
His voice sharpened slightly.
"There are three more. And then there's Jao."
He stepped closer, his eyes locking onto Kenta.
"You think they're just going to come at you one at a time? You think they're that stupid?"
Kenta stayed relaxed, leaning back against the shelf.
"If even two of them team up on you, you're in trouble," Hemlock said. "If all three do? Or worse, if Jao steps in himself?"
He shook his head again.
"You die. Plain and simple."
Kenta said nothing.
Hemlock gestured toward him now.
"And don't take this the wrong way," he added, "but you're already beat to hell."
His eyes moved over Kenta's body. The bruises. The cuts. The scorch marks along his robes.
"I watched that fight," Hemlock said. "You barely walked out of it."
He pointed.
"You are very strong and you've given me some hope, but look at you. You're still even bleeding."
Kenta glanced down briefly at one of the dried streaks of blood along his arm.
"Yeah."
"And that was just Hanko," Hemlock pressed. "One captain. And he still pushed you that far."
He folded his arms again.
"So yeah. I'll say it outright."
His gaze hardened.
"That plan of yours. It's a suicide mission."
Silence followed. Then, Kenta chuckled. Low and easy. Like he'd just heard something mildly amusing.
"You're not wrong."
Hemlock frowned slightly. Kenta took another sip, then lowered the bottle.
"In my current state..."
He rolled his shoulder again, slower this time.
"...yeah. I wouldn't win."
Beatrix's eyes widened slightly. Hemlock stared at him.
"Then why—"
Kenta straightened slightly. The faint grin on his face grew just a little.
"So I decided to fix that."
Hemlock blinked.
"Fix it?"
Kenta nodded once. He lifted the bottle again, taking another drink like this was the most normal conversation in the world.
"I'm going to unlock my former strength."
The space went completely silent. Beatrix stared at him. Hemlock stared at him. Neither of them spoke.
"Your what?" Hemlock said finally.
Kenta lowered the bottle, glancing between them.
"My former strength," he repeated casually.
Beatrix's brows knit together.
"I... don't understand."
Kenta smiled. Not wide. Not cocky. Just knowing.
"You will."
He leaned back again, completely at ease despite everything that had just been said.