After leaving that cryptic message, Old P stopped talking to Ronnel and hurriedly refocused on the game operation.
Looking at the Nen coating the phone, Ronnel once again marveled at how powerful and unique Nen techniques could be. With a small sigh, he pocketed the phone and left the virtual space.
Upon returning to Emuksu's house, Ronnel headed straight to the treatment room where Ging was being attended to. He arrived just as Emuksu activated the healing device.
A mist, reminiscent of dry ice, billowed into the air as Ging's figure gradually became visible.
"Looks like the recovery went well," Ronnel remarked, noting Ging's clear eyes and refreshed demeanor.
"Not just recovery—cleansing, too," Emuksu added, glancing at Ging's now clean clothes, hat, and stubble-free face. His smile widened as he rubbed his hands together, pleased with the results.
Ging, however, seemed uncomfortable. Tugging at his freshly laundered collar, he sighed and blinked a few times before a faint grin crept onto his lips.
But when he noticed Emuksu's overly kind expression, his smile faded just as quickly. Scratching the back of his neck, he muttered, "Fine, fine. I'll make sure you get something valuable from my collection. Just tell me what you want."
"Haha! Easy to say, easy to say," Emuksu chuckled, his round face lighting up.
With a shake of his head, Ging turned his attention to Ronnel. "What's your plan from here?"
Ronnel leaned casually against the doorframe. "I've been looking into the Sonata of Darkness lately. There's someone I plan to track down—she might have more information about it."
As he spoke, Ronnel opened his palm, revealing a roll of parchment.
"This is the violin segment of the Sonata of Darkness that we recovered in the Braga Grand Canyon. I've annotated it with the ability effects and restriction costs. Take it to your friend, but remind him... if he plays it recklessly, the consequences might not be to his liking."
Ging chuckled, accepting the scroll. "I'll warn him. By the way, are you sure you don't want to come along? I could introduce you. He's... eccentric, but he's a decent guy."
Ronnel shrugged. "I'd rather avoid that crowd for now. Once you're done, you can introduce me to others—like your friends who worked on Greed Island. I think we'd get along."
"Fair enough," Ging replied. "When the time comes, I'll set it up. But don't forget—you owe me an introduction to your circle, too."
Ronnel smirked, his mind briefly wandering to familiar faces. His circle did overlap with Gon's quite a bit... and Bisky had mentioned meeting Gon again on Greed Island. He wondered how they were faring.
After only three days in the Kakin Empire, Ronnel found himself boarding an airship bound for his next destination.
"That was a short trip," he mused, watching the landscape recede through the window. From the bustling streets of Yorknew City to the wild expanse of the Braga Grand Canyon, he hadn't stopped moving in weeks.
"Bisky and Shizuku are still in Greed Island. If things go as expected, they won't finish until at least March. Maybe I'll take a break after finding Melody. A visit to the Hunter Association and a chat with Chairman Netero might be refreshing."
His musings were cut short by a commotion spreading through the airship.
"Why's it so noisy?" he wondered aloud.
Suddenly, a sharp bang echoed through the cabin, followed by the high-pitched scream of a woman. Ronnel's eyes narrowed.
"A hijacking? Seriously?" He sighed, rubbing his temples. "Can't I get a moment's peace?"
Statistically, the chances of a hijacking were minuscule—far lower than a car accident. Yet here he was, caught in one. At least it wasn't a crash, he thought grimly, attempting to console himself.
Standing in the aisle was a man clad in black, his face obscured by a silk mask. One hand gripped a double-edged axe, while the other wielded an assault rifle. He fired two more shots into the ceiling, silencing the cabin.
"Alright, listen up!" the man barked. "Hand over anything valuable. Men to the left, women to the right, elderly to the back, and kids up front. Move it, and no funny business!"
Passengers froze, their faces pale with fear. Some wept silently, their trembling hands clutching loved ones. A baby's piercing cry broke the uneasy silence, drawing the hijacker's attention.
"You little—" he growled, aiming his rifle toward the noise.
Before he could fire, a hand shot out from the crowd—dry and steady, gripping the rifle barrel with a grip that made the hijacker freeze.
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