“I think we’ve seen more than enough,” a new voice boomed from somewhere overhead. It was rich and cultured, but carried a slight electronic distortion. Long rows of lights recessed in the ceiling burst to life, bringing the “warehouse” to noon-day brightness.

“That’s that then, huh, Eino?”

Einosuke’s eyes cracked open. Otomo stood over him. The anger and bloodlust that flowed from the older man only moments ago was gone, disappeared without a trace. In fact, he was almost smiling now. He extended a hand to help Einosuke up from where he still sat, half-slumped against the metal beam.

Einosuke waved Otomo off. His head hurt, his back hurt, his eyes were dry, something in his mouth tasted strangely metallic and he was utterly exhausted – but he still had his pride. He tried to stand on his own, pushing off against the support beam with one hand, but his legs buckled beneath him.

“C’mon, kid, don’t be like that.” Otomo swooped in, strong hands grabbing Einosuke under the arms just before his butt slammed back onto the hard floor. Otomo hoisted him to his feet with ease. “There ya go.”

Einosuke’s cheeks reddened and he looked away. He finally had to admit defeat. “Um, thanks, Otomo. And, um… I’m really sorry I hit you.”

“Ah, don’t mention it.” A wide grin spread across Otomo’s face, but it disappeared as he winced and raised a hand to the spot where Einosuke punched him. It was now an angry red and considerably swollen.

Einosuke winced sympathetically, but Otomo just laughed. “I’m sure there’s lots of people who’d like to take a swing at me. We’re good, kid. Don’t worry about it.”

Footsteps, sounding hollow in the huge space, reached their ears and both men turned. Four others, all men, entered the newly-widened space where Otomo and Einosuke’s final “battle” took place.

The man in the lead stepped gingerly over the remains of a broken crate. He was tall and spare, with a head of immaculately-groomed, salt and pepper hair, a patrician’s nose and strong jawline. Sharp eyes pierced Einosuke even at a distance of a dozen paces. He wore a business suit that probably cost the equivalent of three months’ rent on the apartment Einosuke shared with his sister and an expression that said he found this entire series of events distasteful, at best.

Flanking him was a smaller man, a little on the heavy side, with a tangle of black hair that had probably not been combed in days. He wore a white labcoat over a white, button-down shirt and a faintly amused expression. A lanyard with a plastic badge of some sort hung from his neck.

Behind each man stood another, the third and fourth members of the little entourage. These two wore professionally-impassive expressions and uniforms that looked vaguely military. Clearly bodyguards.

“Oops!” Otomo said. “There’s the high-hats.” He clapped a hand on Einosuke’s shoulder, giving it a friendly squeeze. “Gotta go, Eino. Take care, kid! I’ll see ya in six months!”

“Yeah, right,” Einosuke sighed.

Otomo nodded respectfully to the newcomers, then slipped around them and disappeared among the stacks of boxes.

The man in the suit stood before Einosuke, seeming cool and collected but more than a little haughty in the way he looked at the younger man. The contrast between the two of them was not lost on Eino. He was too tired and disappointed to care, though. He broke eye-contact and lowered his gaze. For the first time, he noticed that there was a rent in the new shitabaki pants Himari bought him for this assessment. The corners of his eyes began to burn with frustration and shame.