Dawn didn't reach the Underworks, but the pipes did change their hiss, like every beginning of a day sounded like.
Takeshi was already awake for some time, sleeves rolled, forearm laid open on the table. The prosthetic was quiet and obedient while he worked a tiny driver into its wrist.
A narrow cavity clicked free - clean, deliberate space where something very specific was supposed to fit.
He put the panel back, tested the fingers - whirr, lock, release - then stood and set a slip of paper under the knife on the counter.
--- A few hours later ---
Raizen pushed himself off the floor with one hand.
"One hundred and ninety-seven… One hundred and ninety-eight… One hundred ninety-nine… Two hundred!" his arm shook.
He switched hands without complaining and kept going.
Hikari padded over, hair sleep-messed, eyes soft. She crouched, watched two more reps, then set a palm lightly on his shoulder.
"You're improving, but... Actually, no. I'm not even going to say anything. You're going to do them anyway" she smiled.
"Not yet" he puffed, grinning sideways. "I still need to do more…"
"Yep... Same old declaration"
They glanced at the table.
The note was simple:
I have stuff to do. Back by nightfall. Good luck.
---
The Rust Room was the same as ever. Blinding lights, white walls, clean smell mixed with a faint blood scent.
Kori met them at the corridor, white bob sharp.
"Welcome, welcome! Come in!" she said, as if she never saw them every day. Her hand led them to a bare, bright bay.
Five steel poles circled each station. From every pole, three rods jutted - low, mid, high. No countdown. No warning. They swung when they wanted, hard and fast, then stopped dead, then hit again from a new angle.
"Test is simple." Kori said. "They swing. You parry, hit back, or get out of the way. Speed. Strength. Accuracy. Now go!"
"Not even warmup?"
"Raizen, darling... But this IS warmup!"
The first snap came out of nowhere.
Raizen didn't even flinch. Mid - he met it with a short, tight parry, sent it spinning back, and tapped the base as it passed to slow the next swing.
One high whistled in, he ducked clean. Low tried to clip his shins - he hopped and landed already hitting the next pole.
Hikari was quieter. The rod fired, she was gone. The follow-up swung, she already dodged it. A high rod grazed a strand of hair and hair only. She moved a half-beat early, reading the shadow on the floor like a map.
"Speed 20, increasing to 30" Mina called from the glass.
But the numbers didn't really matter. Rods hit without rhythm - double on one pole, nothing on the other, then a nasty triple in a row.
Raizen tightened everything - short steps, fast reads - parry - touch - slip, all muscle and timing.
Hikari began bullying the pattern: a crisp parry redirected one rod while already swinging for another, becoming more aggressive.
"40" Mina twisted a knob.
They got worse. The rods changed height mid-swing, stalling and re-firing like they had personal beef.
A mid snapped for Raizen's ribs - he shouldered it aside, the high came early and met nothing but his grin under a clean duck.
Hikari leaned past a high by a breath, let a low miss by inches.
"50" Kori exhaled, finger near the stop button. She didn't press it.
Now all of them were alive. Raizen started calling his own rythm - parry, dodge, parry, hit, duck - all in less than a second. Rods whistling past his ears and legs but never touching him.
A double-ambush tried to sandwich him. He stepped in between both blows and slid out the other side before they finished the thought.
"Miss rate: zero for the last sequence" Mina said, disbelieving. "Bump to 60."
The bay snapped. No pattern. No mercy.
Hikari threaded the storm - every strike met with the right answer: parry the middle, hit the base, lean the tip. Not flashy. Just perfect.
"Last ten secondsQ" Kori shouted. "Finish clean!"
They did. Zero contacts.
"New baseline!" Mina breathed. "Five poles, fifteen rods, sixty speed, no hits taken!"
Kori tossed them towels, pride plain. "Now that" she said, "is what progress looks like.
"We're done here for today. I have to check on the other two. Good work!"
The two walked out grinning the way people grin when a door they didn't know existed has just opened and the air on the other side smells like possibility.
By late afternoon, the Underworks slid from busy to watchful, yet quiet. Back at the room, the kettle hissed like a friend, a tea fragrance filling the room. Takeshi still wasn't back.
Raizen iced Hikari's ankle and wrapped it clean, and then sat down, staring at the clock as if it could speed up time.
Hikari looked up first. "We're doing it" she said, as if the decision had already been made and all that remained was the walking. His smile came crooked and bright.
A knock followed: two quick, one cocky. Obi leaned into the frame, curls tamed badly, winner's token clinking on his belt, brass knuckles on his hands, as if he couldn't take them off. His excitement never faded.
"So, are we goin'?" he grinned.
Outside, the Underworks muttered in its fake sleep. Above, the Tangle hummed and swayed, thick cables slightly moving.
The three started walking down the street. They took back lanes. Not out of fear, but out of caution.
No one spoke. Boots found the quiet parts of the stone. Lamps were dimmer and dimmer every step. Hikari skimmed the walls, counting corners and pebbles without looking like she did. Obi's belt clinked with every step. He quickly pinched it still.
An arcade of stone opened on an iron mouth bolted into a cave wall.
Inside, the ceiling was weirdly tall and the floor was made of darkened planks, with traces of spills.
The smell was a weird mix of cooked meat, alcohol, wet rope and coins.
Tables were bolted into the floor, not being able to move, for very obvious reasons. Men leaned there like coats on a rail and never ordered.
Cards murmured. Dice clicked. A tune tried to start and changed its mind.
Noise thinned near a corner.
That's where he sat: coat too new and expensive for this place - Marcus Valerius. To his right: a bodyguard with a square coat and a tired scar pulling one corner of the mouth. His eyes moved more than his head.
Marcus checked a pocket watch, and shut it with a soft click. A small case hung by two fingers.
He tapped it once. Twice. The sound carried farther than it should have.
Raizen felt Hikari's sleeve brush his hand. Obi's chin tilted the smallest nod.
There he was.
And under his hand - exactly what they'd come for.
The Luminite Case