The space between them stayed quiet after Avant finished. Not empty. Not hollow. Just still. The kind of silence that didn't need filling right away, like the weight of what had been said, needed a moment to settle properly before anything else could be added to it.
Kenta didn't move at first.
He remained leaned back against the crate, the empty bottle hanging loosely in his hand, his gaze fixed on Avant with a calm, unreadable look. The faint sway from earlier had mostly faded now, replaced with something steadier, more grounded, like the alcohol had dulled off just enough to let his focus sit where it needed to.
A long moment passed. Then Kenta cleared his throat. The sound was quiet, but it cut through the stillness just enough to shift things forward again.
"Yeah," he said simply. "That's a pretty valid reason to hold a grudge."
There wasn't any exaggeration in it. No dramatic sympathy. Just a straightforward acknowledgment, delivered in the same tone he used for everything else.
Hemlock nodded slowly beside him, arms still loosely at his sides, his gaze drifting toward Avant for a second before settling forward again.
"That explains it," Hemlock said. "I always wondered why you held onto that grudge so tightly. You never really talked about it. Now it makes sense."
Avant didn't look at him right away. He remained where he was for a second longer, then gave a small nod, his expression steady, though something in it had quieted after speaking it all aloud.
"Yeah," he said.
The word came simply. He shifted his weight slightly, rolling one shoulder back as if easing some of the tension that had settled there.
"I'm hoping this training does something," Avant continued, his tone leveling out again, though the edge hadn't completely disappeared. "Hoping it's enough to make a difference."
A brief pause followed, his gaze lowering slightly before lifting again.
"I know it probably won't be. No matter how much stronger I get in a few days, it's not going to suddenly put me on his level."
The admission came without hesitation.
"But that's fine. I don't need to win."
Kenta's eyes stayed on him. Avant's gaze sharpened slightly now, something firmer settling behind it.
"I just need one shot," he said. "One clean hit. Enough to draw blood. Enough to feel my fist smash that bastard's face into the dirt at least once."
The words didn't rise in volume, but they carried anyway.
"That's enough for me."
Silence followed that. Kenta watched him for a second longer, then gave a small nod, pushing himself off the crate and leaning forward slightly, his posture shifting just enough to show he was engaged now rather than just listening.
"Alright," Kenta said. "I'll help you with that."
No hesitation. No conditions layered on top.
"Whatever I can do to make that happen, I will."
Avant didn't respond verbally, but his posture eased just a fraction, the tension in his shoulders settling into something more focused than strained. Kenta let that sit for a moment. Then his gaze shifted. He turned slightly, looking over toward Hemlock now, his head tilting just a bit as he studied him in the same quiet, observant way.
"And you?" Kenta asked. "What's your story?"
Hemlock blinked once, caught slightly off guard by the shift in attention, before letting out a small breath through his nose.
"Not much of one," he said.
He shook his head lightly.
"I don't have anything like that. No single person. No defining moment."
A brief pause followed as his gaze drifted off to the side for a second, then back.
"Nothing like what he's got."
Kenta didn't interrupt. Hemlock continued.
"I just..." he started, then paused briefly, like he was sorting the words before saying them. "I grew up here. That's it."
His tone stayed even, but there was something more grounded in it now.
"This city's all I've known," he went on. "Every street, every corner. I've seen what it's become, and I hate what it's turned into."
The words came out firm, but not heated.
"I don't want revenge," Hemlock said, shaking his head slightly. "That's not it."
He glanced briefly at Avant, then back to Kenta.
"I just want it gone. I want the Syndicate gone."
The words settled heavier than their volume suggested.
"They're poison," Hemlock continued. "They've rooted themselves into everything here. Every part of this city, every life in it, and as long as they're here, nothing changes."
His jaw tightened slightly. Silence lingered for a moment.
"I could've left," Hemlock added. "I've had chances. More than once."
He looked off slightly, like the thought had crossed his mind more times than he cared to admit.
"I could've walked away from all of this. Left the city behind. Started somewhere else."
A faint exhale left him.
"But I didn't."
He shook his head again, slower this time.
"... I couldn't."
His gaze steadied forward.
"My heart wouldn't let me. Not while things are still like this. I can't just walk away and pretend it's not happening," Hemlock said. "Not when I know what this place could be without them."
The words came more quietly now but firmer. A small pause followed.
"So if you're asking why I'm pushing this hard..." he continued, his tone leveling out again, "it's not revenge."
He met Kenta's gaze directly.
"It's freedom."
The word sat there, simple but heavy.
"I want this city free from them," Hemlock said. "And once they're gone, maybe I can finally have some peace. Maybe that weight goes away."
Silence followed again, but it felt different now. Less heavy. More settled. Kenta nodded once.
"Not a bad reason either," he said.
There was no judgment in it. Just acknowledgment. He shifted his stance slightly, rolling his shoulders back as his gaze flicked briefly between the two of them.
"I'll do what I can," Kenta added. "I'll get you both, and the rest of them, as strong as possible before this starts, but there's a limit to what we can do here."
He gestured vaguely around them, taking in the abandoned factory, the worn structure, the confined space.
"This place is fine for breaking you down," he said. "Not so great for building you up the rest of the way."
His eyes moved toward the exit. Then his arm lifted, pointing.
"Tomorrow," Kenta said, "early. We're leaving the city."
That caught their attention.
"Quietly," he added. "No noise, no attention. We slip out before anyone notices."
His gaze shifted back to them.
"We'll head into the forest. Time for some practical training."
The words sat there, carrying more weight than his tone suggested. Kenta didn't elaborate. He didn't need to. Instead, he turned, already moving back toward the bunker entrance, his posture loosening again like the conversation had already ended in his mind.
"Get some rest," he called over his shoulder. "Or at least try. You're going to need it."
And just like that, he stepped down through the hatch, disappearing into the dim light below without another word. The space above grew quiet again. Hemlock and Avant remained where they were, the night air settling around them as the weight of everything lingered, not just what had been said but what was coming next.
Neither of them spoke. Not yet. But the thought was there. Tomorrow.