Resurgence: From the ashes we shall arise!

In an apartment, in the remote section of the ghetto, the air was thick with the scent of old wood, dust, and something faintly metallic. The dim lighting barely illuminated the cramped space—walls covered in peeling paint, a single flickering bulb overhead casting jagged shadows along the floor. It wasn't a home. It was a hideout, the kind of place people used when they didn't want to be found.

The vigilante stood near the window, watching the streets below. From up here, the city looked different—distant. Behind him, Eichi moved through the room with an ease that was almost unsettling, as if he had already claimed the space as his own.

"You didn't answer my question," the vigilante muttered without turning around.

Eichi glanced up from where he was rummaging through a bag on the worn-out table. "Which one?"

"What do you want from me?" He shot him a glance from the side.

"Well, for starters," Eichi said, pulling out three empty vials from his bag and setting them down. "If you want me to help you with disposal seals, I need your ink. A lot of it."

The vigilante's eyes narrowed. "Explain."

Eichi leaned against the table, twirling one of the vials between his fingers. "Let's just say it's part of my quirk. Using my own blood to create them is... less than ideal. A long-term hindrance, to be exact."

"You could just use commercialized ink. Wouldn't that work?"

"Yeah, no." Eichi let out a sigh. "The seals don't just need ink; they need something that conducts energy. A thick liquid that can carry and activate the program within the seal. Your ink happens to be perfect for that." His lips curled slightly. "So, think of it as payment for my services—tracking, disposal tags. Fair deal, right?"

This time, the vigilante fully turned to face him, taking in every detail—the way Eichi spoke, the confidence, the ease in his stance. He was young, too young for this kind of game, yet he played it like a veteran.

"You were looking for me specifically," the vigilante stated. "Who told you where to find me?"

Eichi's smirk deepened, a playful glint in his eyes. "I could tell you. Right here, right now." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knee. "But that'd be giving away my usefulness too soon, wouldn't it?"

At that, Kraken's tentacles stirred, slow and menacing, a silent warning slithering through the air.

"You think I can't kill you, kid?"

The smirk vanished. In an instant, Eichi's entire demeanor shifted. The warmth drained from his face. The air around them grew heavy, tense, as if the temperature had dropped.

"I came here as a contractor," Eichi said, his voice now eerily calm. "Not to dispose of you."

"Oh? You think you can take me on now?"

Eichi didn't respond. He moved.

One second, he was sitting on the table. The next, Kraken felt the cold touch of a blade against his jugular. No sound, no warning. Just there.

It was almost fascinating, really. Even in this precarious position, even with a child barely the age of his daughter holding a knife to his throat—Kraken wasn't scared. He was impressed.

Now, he understood why the kid was so confident.

A slow, amused breath escaped from him. 

"I admit, I need you," Eichi said. "But talk to me like that again, and I won't waste time and look for someone else. Understood?"