[ He thinks he's fucking seeing things at first, when he spots that familiar face across the central chamber. Assumes it's some trick that this place is playing on him, like the way he keeps seeing phantoms back home from out of the corner of his eyes, ghosts of his hometown lurking at the periphery of his field of vision.

It's the only reason he ignores Makoto at first, pretending he simply doesn't exist. But after he's reached a certain tipping point and gained a new clarity of mind, those hallucinations of his hometown growing fewer and further between ... when he still sees that face present, it grates at his nerves. Of course he lashes out with a haphazard kick when he literally stumbles on the fucker while heading down one of the offshoot tunnels for a quiet place to rest.

And when his foot makes contact with solid flesh instead of just whiffing through empty hair like when he'd tried to bat away those other hallucinations, it finally clicks. ]

-- you're actually here, huh. [ It's said low in disbelief at first, but followed promptly by a sharp back of laughter. And this time, it's aimed more pointedly at Makoto's ribcage when he deals out another kick, bearing his entire weight forth into the blow. ] When did you get here, huh? Been sneaking around like the little rat you are?

[ It's not that he's any better physical condition than Makoto, really. Just those two kicks have him feeling ragged, his breaths coming hoarse, but anger and hatred have always been his prime motivators. They give him the strength to grab up Makoto's shirtfront in both hands and shove him into the nearest wall, teeth bared as he leans in with a wolfish smirk. ]

I'd say it's sad you wouldn't even come say hi to me, if I didn't already know that kind of underhanded bullshit is all you're capable of.