The blue-haired man stopped just short of Kenta's table. Up close, his presence carried weight. Not the loud, overbearing kind like Drago had, but something more controlled. Measured. His posture was straight, his shoulders relaxed, yet there was a quiet tension beneath it all, like a blade sheathed but ready.
His eyes settled on Kenta, sharp and unblinking. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then after the moment passed the blue-haired man broke the silence.
"My name is Hemlock," he said, his voice calm but firm. "A lieutenant of the Haven Syndicate."
A few of the patrons shifted uncomfortably, some lowering their heads, others subtly moving their chairs back just a little further. Hemlock continued, his gaze never leaving Kenta.
"Word's been going around," he said, "that someone decided to rough up a few of our associates."
He tilted his head slightly, gesturing behind him. The man who had run from the alley shrank further behind the others, avoiding eye contact entirely.
"That someone being you."
Kenta didn't respond right away. He leaned back in his chair, one arm draped lazily over the side, his expression more tired than concerned. Hemlock let out a quiet sigh.
"I'll be honest," he said, rubbing lightly at his temple. "I hate this part of the job."
His tone carried a faint irritation, like this was more of an inconvenience than anything else.
"Defending cowardly weaklings like them," he added, glancing briefly back at the trembling man. "It's not exactly fulfilling work."
A faint murmur passed through the room, though no one dared speak loudly. Hemlock's gaze returned to Kenta.
"But," he continued, "the Syndicate has rules, and one of those rules is that we defend our own."
A small pause followed. Then Hemlock spoke again in a hushed tone.
"Reparations are due."
His eyes narrowed just a fraction.
"And it's time for you to pay."
Kenta exhaled slowly. Then let out an audible sigh. He shifted slightly in his seat, tilting his head back as if this were all just a mild inconvenience.
"I don't plan on paying for jack shit," he said plainly.
The room went still. Kenta tilted his head slightly, his gaze still meeting Hemlock's without any hint of hesitation.
"You've got two options," he continued calmly. "Walk away and forget about this, or you and your boys get dropped. You choose."
Silence. A few of the men by the door shifted, hands tightening around their weapons. Hemlock didn't react immediately. He just stood there, staring at Kenta.
Then after a few moments of silence, he broke into laughter. It started low, almost under his breath, before growing into something more audible. He lifted a hand, covering his eyes for a moment as his shoulders shook slightly.
"Wow," he muttered.
He tilted his head back, letting out a breath. His hand then dropped, revealing a faint grin.
"I've gotta say I admire the balls on you, fella."
The words carried genuine amusement. His eyes sharpened again.
"What's your name?"
Kenta pushed his chair back slightly as he stood.
"Kenta," he said simply.
Hemlock nodded slowly, as if committing it to memory.
"Kenta," he repeated.
He took a step closer, just enough to close the gap between them.
"You know," he went on, "I've seen a handful of men over the years who tried to stand their ground against the Haven Syndicate."
His tone shifted slightly. Less amused and more reflective. Then his expression hardened.
"No fear. No hesitation. Just like you. But in the end," he continued, "they weren't proven to be brave. They were proven to be nothing but fools."
The air grew heavier. Hemlock's gaze totally locked onto Kenta's.
"It always ends the same way," Hemlock said, his voice steady. "Six feet in the groundand by the looks of it..."
A faint, cold edge crept into his voice.
"...we're about to add another body to that pile."
Kenta stared at him for a second. Then chuckled. It was quiet at first, like he was trying not to laugh too loudly.
"That's funny," he said.
He rubbed lightly at his face, stifling the rest of it.
"I've heard that speech before."
He lowered his hand, expression settling back into something calm.
"Doesn't usually end the way you think it will."
A brief pause. Kenta glanced toward the door. Then back at Hemlock.
"Looks like this is gonna get physical," he said.
He rolled his shoulders slightly.
"Let's take it outside."
The room stayed silent. Everyone was watching now. Hemlock didn't answer immediately. He looked at Kenta for a long moment, studying him. Then Hemlock gives a small nod.
"Alright, I can do that, I suppose. It's been a while since I've had a good laugh, so I'll repay such a deed with at least listening to your last request."
He turned slightly, lifting a hand toward his men.
"Outside."
They moved immediately, stepping away from the entrance to clear a path before heading out into the street. Hemlock turned back toward Kenta.
"Lead the way," he said.
Kenta didn't argue. He walked toward the door, Hemlock falling into step beside him. For a moment, the two moved side by side in silence. As they passed through the inn, Kenta glanced to the side.
Marie stood near the bar, her earlier composure gone. Her hands were clasped tightly together, her expression tense as she watched them move. Their eyes met briefly. She didn't say anything.
Kenta gave a small shrug accompanied by a quick wink. Very casual and almost unbothered. Then he turned and stepped outside. The evening air hit immediately.
The street wasn't empty. People had already started gathering, drawn by the presence of the Syndicate. Some stood at a distance, whispering quietly. Others kept their heads down, watching from the edges.
No one intervened. No one ever did. Kenta stepped into the open space, stopping a few paces out from the entrance. Hemlock followed, his men spreading out behind him, forming a loose line.
For a moment, no one moved. Then Hemlock spoke.
"They may have been weaklings, but to beat three of them the way you did," he said, "and stand here in the face of these odds and remain this confident..."
He tilted his head slightly.
"You've had training."
His eyes narrowed.
"What sect are you from?"
Kenta shook his head.
"Beat me down enough," he said, "and maybe I'll tell you."
A faint grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. Hemlock's expression didn't change.
"Very well," he replied. "I'll hold you to that."
The air grew still. The crowd leaned in slightly, tension building. Two sides stood facing each other. Kenta on one side. Hemlock and the men of the Haven Syndicate on the other. Eyes locked. No more words. No more chuckling from the two men. Just the quiet understanding of what came next was no laughing matter.