Kneeling on the cold concrete, they dare not move as Spinner’s grip tightens around their wrists. The edge of his blade bites into their skin, sharp and unyielding, a constant reminder of the thin line between survival and oblivion. Beside them, Hawks kneels in the same position, Stain’s unwavering hand keeping him still. Tomura paces lazily in front of the League, his steps echoing in the silent room. He stops, his gaze locking onto the captives, and with a slow, deliberate gesture, raises a hand toward Spinner, signaling for him to speak.