Renji stirred with a low groan, his body trembling as consciousness returned. Every muscle screamed in agony, his ribs felt like they were splintered, and the taste of blood lingered at the edge of his tongue. Ezra hadn't just defeated him—he had broken him down.
He forced himself upright, clutching at his side, vision swimming.
A voice cut through the silence. Calm. Sharp. Unwavering.
"Finally awake?"
Renji turned his head. Ezra stood a few steps away, sword sheathed, his eyes like still water. Not a trace of exhaustion touched his expression—only that same cold steadiness.
"Well," Ezra continued, "you hid it pretty well. If not for this dungeon, maybe none of us would've ever known what you carried inside."
Renji's gaze dropped. He said nothing, only tightening his fists against the ground.
Ezra watched him for a long moment, then sighed softly.
"I don't want your secrets, Renji. I just want to know one thing—the business deal we made before. Is it still valid?"
