The rooftop door closed behind Ren with a metallic clang that echoed across the empty space.
Four figures stood silhouetted against the city lights. Hasegawa at the center, Yuto to his right, and two others Ren didn't recognize.
The taller one looked stoic, arms crossed watching with the stillness of someone who'd seen too many fights. The shorter figure, feminine in build, tracked Ren's every movement with sharp, calculating eyes.
Hasegawa didn't turn around, he simply said. "You're late. I said 8:00 sharp."
Ren checked his phone. It was 8:03 PM.
His hands were shaking so badly he could barely keep his grip. He hadn't slept since the hospital. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw blood. Bikers. The motorcycle bearing down.
"I'm here now," Ren managed.
"Three minutes." Hasegawa's voice carried no warmth.
"In a real fight, three minutes is the difference between saving someone and burying them. You should know that better than most by now."
