Hemlock didn't rush in. He simply lifted his hand and pointed forward. That was enough for his men to get the message as they moved instantly.
Boots scraped against stone as they surged ahead, spreading out in a practiced motion. They didn't charge in a straight line. They fanned outward, circling, cutting off angles, boxing Kenta into the center of the street with deliberate intent. Hemlock's voice followed, calm but carrying.
"Finish this quick, boys."
His eyes stayed locked on Kenta.
"Show him why the Haven Syndicate is the most feared organization in this city."
Steel slid free. Six blades gleamed under the fading light as they closed in. Kenta didn't move right away. He just stood there, hands still in his pockets, watching them tighten the circle.
"Alright, let's do this," he muttered.
The first one struck. A quick slash aimed at his side.
Kenta shifted just enough for the blade to pass, the edge cutting through air where he'd been a fraction of a second before. He stepped in, brushing past the attacker's shoulder without even looking at him.
Another came from the opposite side. Kenta bent his knees and leapt, clearing the swing entirely as it sliced beneath him. He twisted midair, landing lightly behind them.
They didn't hesitate. A third man lunged forward, taller than the others, his frame lanky but his reach long. His blade came down in a sharp, descending cut.
Kenta stepped forward into it. His hand came up, grabbing the man by the shoulder before the strike could complete. Using that momentum, he vaulted over him, flipping cleanly across the man's back and landing on the other side.
The tall man stumbled, thrown off balance. Two more rushed in. Kenta didn't retreat, but he stepped forward instead. Both palms shot out. Two strikes hit their mark clean. They landed square in the two assailants' stomachs.
The impact folded them instantly. Their bodies lifted off the ground, sent flying backward like they'd been hit by a battering ram. They crashed into a stack of trash cans in a nearby alley, metal clattering loudly as they disappeared into the mess.
The tall one recovered just enough to turn. He swung again, anger replacing whatever caution he had left. Kenta sidestepped.
Then his leg came up. A sharp and fast roundhouse kick goes flying. It connected with the side of the man's head. The sound was dull and heavy.
The man's body spun sideways, lifted completely off his feet before crashing into the same alleyway as the others, vanishing into the growing pile of unconscious bodies.
The street went quiet for half a second. Three remained. They hesitated. Just for a moment. Then their footing shifted slightly. Backwards.
Behind them, the thief who had run earlier saw enough of the scene and bolted.
"Nope," he muttered, already turning. "Not getting my ass kicked tonight."
He ran. Fast. Hemlock didn't even look surprised.
"A coward is a coward," he said flatly.
He stepped forward. Then vanished from where he stood. Leaping up into the air in a blur of motion. He crosses the space quickly and lands right in front of the deserter.
The thief barely had time to react. Hemlock's knee drove upward. It connected square to his jaw. The impact snapped his head back violently, dropping him to the ground in a heap, completely unconscious before he even hit. Hemlock lowered his leg, adjusting his stance slightly.
"Pathetic," he muttered.
Kenta watched the whole thing. He then tilted his head slightly.
"You just took out your own guy?"
Hemlock glanced at him.
"We defend our own," he said. "That doesn't mean we tolerate weakness."
His tone didn't change.
"If they run like cowards, they get treated like cowards. I consider it a form of tough love."
Kenta let out a small breath.
"Right."
Behind him, one of the remaining men saw his opening. Kenta's attention was on Hemlock. He rushed forward, blade raised, aiming to catch him off guard. The strike came down but...
Kenta's hand shot out without him even turning. He caught the man's wrist mid-swing. Stopped it cold. The attacker froze as Kenta's grip tightened.
Kenta then twisted. The man cried out as the pressure forced his arm to bend at an unnatural angle. The sword slipped from his grasp, clattering to the ground.
Kenta turned slightly. His palm drove forward. It struck the man's face cleanly.
The force launched him backward, his body flying through the air before crashing into the same alleyway as the others, disappearing into the growing heap.
Only two remained. They looked at each other. Then at Kenta. Then back at each other. Whatever hesitation they had left burned away.
With a shout, they charged. Reckless. Desperate. Kenta watched them come. Then jumped.
He flipped backward, clearing both of them as they rushed beneath him. His body twisted midair, positioning perfectly as they passed.
His hands shot out. He grabbed both of their heads and slammed them together. The crack echoed through the street. Both went limp instantly.
Kenta didn't stop. He landed smoothly, already shifting his weight as he hoisted one over each shoulder like they weighed nothing.
He turned. Then walked a few steps toward the alley. With a simple motion, he tossed them.
Their bodies sailed through the air before landing atop the pile of their already unconscious allies, adding to the heap. Kenta dusted his hands off lightly.
"That should be all the small fry."
Silence settled over the street. The small crowd that had gathered stood frozen, eyes wide, whispers spreading quietly between them.
At the center of it all, Hemlock clapped. A very slow and deliberate clap.
"Impressive," he said.
There was no mockery in it. Just acknowledgment of the strength Kenta had displayed in his showing.
"You had every right to act arrogant," he continued. "My men aren't pushovers."
He tilted his head slightly.
"They've all had a little bit of training. Real training."
His gaze sharpened.
"And you handled them like they were nothing."
Kenta shrugged lightly.
"They rushed me."
He glanced toward Hemlock. His tone stayed casual.
"Guess that just leaves the fearless leader. Kind of pathetic, though."
A faint smirk tugged at his lips.
"Hiding behind guys weaker than you."
The crowd shifted slightly at that. Hemlock didn't react immediately. He just looked at Kenta. Eyes narrowed slightly. Then he spoke up.
"My men," he said, "are always looking for opportunities."
His voice was calm again.
"They want to prove themselves. Move up."
He glanced briefly toward the alley, where the pile of unconscious bodies lay.
"I wasn't going to stand in the way of that. Besides, I didn't feel any real malice from you."
His eyes narrowed slightly.
"No true killing intent. No real anger. More just an annoyance I'd describe it as."
He stepped forward.
"So I didn't think their lives were in immediate danger."
Another step.
"But now they're all down. And it would seem this falls to me."
Kenta smiled faintly as he responded back to Hemlock.
"You're going to lose," he said in a simple matter-of-fact. "And it's going to hurt."
The crowd stirred again, tension tightening. Kenta rolled his shoulders once as his gaze was locked onto Hemlock's.
"I figured I'd give you a heads-up. Because that's the kind of guy I am."