Hemlock watched him for a moment. Really watched him this time. Kenta stood there like nothing had changed. Like he hadn't just casually said something that made absolutely no sense. Bottle in hand, leaning back, half-lidded eyes, and relaxed. Too relaxed.
"No, seriously, what do you mean by that?" Hemlock asked finally.
His tone was calm. Measured. But there was an edge underneath it now.
"You said you'd unlock your former strength," he continued. "So what, you've been holding back this entire time?"
Kenta shook his head immediately.
"No."
Hemlock frowned slightly.
"No?" he repeated.
"By no means," Kenta said. "I was going all out."
There was no hesitation in his voice. No joking tone. Just a fact. Hemlock's brow furrowed.
"That was you going all out."
"Yeah."
Kenta lifted the bottle and took another sip.
"Going all out the way I am now, at least."
He paused there. Just for a second. Then added, just as casually—
"Years ago, though, I was a lot stronger than this."
Beatrix blinked.
"Is that really true?" she asked, her voice quieter than before.
Kenta nodded once.
"Yeah."
She hesitated. Then asked what was clearly sitting in her mind.
"Then what happened?"
Her fingers tightened slightly against the fabric at her side.
"If that's you being weaker," she continued, "then how strong were you before?"
Her eyes searched his face.
"You defeated a captain. You destroyed an entire building. You..." she trailed off slightly, still trying to process it. "...You call that weak?"
Kenta let out a small breath through his nose. Then nodded again.
"I used to train a lot more," he said. "Back then, it was constant."
He shifted slightly, rolling his wrist as if loosening it.
"Martial arts. Magic. Everything."
His gaze drifted for a moment. Not unfocused. Just distant.
"I had a teacher," he added. "Guy named Garrstorm."
He took another sip of wine.
"Old man was a pain in the ass."
There was the faintest hint of something in his voice. Something lighter.
"But he knew what he was doing."
He paused again. Longer this time. Then continued.
"After he died, I didn't really keep up with it."
The words came out quieter. Silence settled over the room. Beatrix didn't interrupt. Hemlock didn't either. Kenta shrugged slightly.
"Fell into a bit of a slump," he said. "Long one."
He took another drink.
"Stopped training. Stopped pushing myself. Started doing a lot of nothing."
His lips curved faintly.
"Drinking. Wandering. Fighting when I felt like it."
He paused once again before continuing.
"Wallowing around," he added. "Self-pity and all that."
The way he said it made it sound almost casual. Like it wasn't worth much thought. But the room didn't treat it that way. Beatrix lowered her gaze slightly.
"You must've been close with him," she said softly.
Kenta nodded.
"Yeah."
That was all he said about it. No elaboration. No further story. Just that. Then he shifted again, straightening slightly.
"Point is," he went on, tone returning to normal, "I haven't been keeping up with anything properly for years."
He lifted his hand slightly, flexing his fingers.
"Body's not where it used to be. Magic's not where it used to be."
He glanced toward Hemlock.
"Similar concept as to what I did to you. Temporarily interupting your mana flow."
Hemlock's expression tightened immediately.
"Don't remind me."
Almost instinctively, he lifted his hand. Tried to pull at his mana. Nothing. Still nothing. His jaw clicked slightly as he looked back at Kenta. Kenta smirked faintly.
"Mana veins," he said. "You don't use them, don't train them, and they get worse."
He tapped lightly against his own chest.
"They shrink. Get weaker. Less efficient."
He tilted his head slightly.
"Mine have been neglected for a long time."
Hemlock studied him for a moment. He then folded his arms.
"Let's say I believe all that."
He narrowed his eyes slightly.
"If you had to put a number on it, how much weaker are we talking?"
Kenta didn't even think about it.
"I'm only at about twenty percent of my ability."
Silence. Beatrix's eyes widened slightly. Hemlock blinked.
"What?"
Kenta shrugged.
"What you saw," he said. "that was about twenty percent of what I used to be capable of."
The room went still. For a second no one moved. Then Hemlock cleared his throat.
"That's insane," Hemlock muttered.
Kenta didn't respond. He just pushed himself off the shelf.
"Anyway," he said, like the conversation had already run its course, "I'm wasting too much time explaining all this."
He turned. Walked over to one of the storage shelves. Grabbed a bag and started stuffing it. Food first. Dried goods, preserved rations, whatever was closest. Then, a few more bottles. Beatrix blinked.
"What are you doing?"
Some of the other women had stopped moving now too, watching him. Hemlock let out a long sigh.
"Yeah," he said. "I'd also like to know what the hell you're doing."
Kenta didn't look back.
"Preparing."
"For what?"
Kenta tied off the bag, slinging it over his shoulder. Then finally turned.
"I'm heading out."
Hemlock frowned.
"Out? Out where?"
"The wilderness outside the city," Kenta said plainly. "to train for the next two days."
Hemlock rolled his eyes.
"You're kidding."
"Nope."
Kenta walked toward the stairs. Hemlock let out a breath, rubbing the back of his neck.
"That sounds ridiculous."
Kenta didn't stop.
"But," Hemlock added with a sigh, "I'm not going to fight you on it."
He gestured vaguely toward the bunker.
"We'll just stay here. Keep things quiet for the next two days."
Kenta stopped. Then shook his head.
"They will, but you won't."
Hemlock frowned.
"What?"
"You'll be here," Kenta said, glancing at the women.
Then his eyes shifted back at Hemlock.
"But not you."
Hemlock blinked.
"Why not me?"
Kenta cut him off before he could go further.
"Because you've got something else to do."
Hemlock's expression hardened slightly.
"Which is?"
Kenta's gaze steadied. "Recruitment."
"Recruitment?" Hemlock repeated in a confused tone.
Kenta nodded.
"There are others like you," he said. "People in the Syndicate who don't agree with what's going on. People who'd jump at a chance to get out."
He tilted his head slightly.
"I want you to find them."
Hemlock stared at him.
"You're serious."
"Yeah."
"You want me," Hemlock said slowly, "to walk back into Syndicate territory and start asking people to betray it? All while still powerless due to your acupuncture bullshit?"
"Pretty much."
"In two days?"
"Yep."
Silence. Then Hemlock let out a short, dry laugh.
"That's a tall ask."
Kenta smirked faintly.
"Lucky for you," he said, adjusting the bag on his shoulder, "you're not that short."
Before Hemlock could respond, Kenta turned and started up the stairs. No hesitation. No second thought. Just gone. The sound of his footsteps echoed briefly and then faded. Hemlock stood there for a second. He then groaned, dragging a hand down his face.
"Unbelievable."
He glanced toward the hatch. Then back in the room. The women had stopped moving again. All of them watching. Hemlock exhaled slowly. Then straightened slightly.
"Well," he said, his voice calm again, "you heard the man."
He gestured loosely.
"Get comfortable. Eat something. Rest."
There was hesitation. But slowly they listened. One by one, they moved again. Sitting. Talking. Trying to relax. Beatrix remained where she was, watching Hemlock. He glanced at her.
"You alright?"
She gave a small nod.
"Yeah."
Then after a moment Hemlock muttered under his breath—
"That idiot's going to get me killed."
Beatrix almost smiled. Almost. Hemlock shook his head slightly. Then stopped. A thought crossing his mind.
"So why does he trust me so much? And why... do I trust him?"
He said it quietly. More to himself than anyone else. He let out a breath. Before then, rolling his eyes.
"Whatever."
He turned toward the stairs.
"Beatrix."
She looked up.
"Yeah?"
"Keep an eye on things down here."
She straightened slightly despite the pain, raising a hand in a rough, strained salute.
"Got it."
Hemlock nodded once. Then turned and headed up the stairs. Back out into the ruined factory. The hatch creaked shut behind him. The bunker fell quiet again.