"You fight like someone who's got nothing to lose," he said.
Muzi gave a small shrug. "Maybe I don't."
Banele smirked. "We've got space for that kind of energy. But around here, fists are just the beginning."
He stepped forward.
"If you want more than a sleeping mat and leftovers, show up tomorrow. We've got work. Real work."
"What kind?" Muzi asked.
Banele's eyes narrowed slightly, testing him. "Collection. Simple. Fast. No one gets hurt… if they cooperate."
Muzi nodded once. "I'm in."
Banele clapped him on the shoulder. "Then you'd better eat something. You're not training today. You're earning."
He turned to leave, then paused. "One last thing. We don't ask where you're from. And you don't ask about us—unless you're ready."
Muzi said nothing.
Banele smiled faintly. "Thought so."
---
Muzi watched him walk off. Sunlight broke through the clouds above Nhlangano, cutting through the haze like a warning.
He had no intention of laying low forever.
This place was just another alley—bigger, colder, more dangerous.
And he had work to do.
> "Soon," Maphanga's voice echoed. "Soon, they will know who walks with you."
Muzi pulled up his hoodie and headed back inside.
Not to rest.
To prepare.