Later that night, under the faint glow of streetlights in Momo Street, textbooks sprawled open on a desk in an apartment that was neater than its usual.
Renji hunched over in front of his laptop, a file in hand that he had stolen from the center, his eyes plastered on the screen with concentration.
The kind of concentration someone had when plotting a revenge.
And his plot was executed to perfection.
Renji wasn't the most clever person in the world, he didn't delude himself enough to think he was. He didn't even think he was cleverer than most people.
But he was clever enough.
Besides, cunning wasn't the only thing one needed to come up with a plan. Drive was also important.
The desire. A strong push of an emotion harnessed into energy that sends someone to act.
For many it was hate, love, lust, hunger…
In Renji's case, it was anger.
He couldn't stand another day of Miyu's annoying interference and nonsensical suspicions that only mildly bordered on a tinge of realism.
