"Truck? Who's that?"
Oster frowned, clearly confused. He didn't recognize the name at all.
"You really don't remember?" Ron's voice dropped colder, hardening with every word.
He had already felt that Tucker's death was undeserved—now it cut deeper.
"Then what about the village? The one completely wiped out because of your experiments. Do you remember that?"
Oster's pupils narrowed slightly. "You're a survivor from that village?"
"No," Ron said quietly. "The only survivor of that village was a little girl."
Suddenly, a flicker of realization crossed Oster's face. "You're the one who took her. The man who carried her away… Who are you?"
Ron didn't answer. Instead, he drew a blade—and drove it straight into Oster's side.
Squelch.
The stab didn't hit a vital organ.
"Tuck was a kind person. He had talent too. If he had chosen to live for himself, he could've had a good life. Better than most people in this world." Ron's tone remained flat, but beneath it was rage. "He could've easily reached A-rank. He could've moved freely through the world. But instead, he gave all of that up—for the United States of Saherta."
Ron twisted the blade as he continued, voice cold and deliberate.
"He poured everything he had into trying to change that place. He tried to purge the rot, the darkness, the corruption… the things people like you created."
"You and your kind turned Tuck into a joke."
He pulled the blade out.
Then stabbed again.
Pulled out.
And stabbed again.
Each strike was deliberate—painful, but not fatal. Just enough to make Oster feel it.
Oster's face twisted in pain, but then he laughed bitterly. "Ah… I remember now. That guy who joined Nightfall halfway through. Came to my estate and tried to assassinate me.
That was your friend?"
"So you're here for revenge?" Oster sneered. "That's funny."
He looked up, eyes narrowed.
"What does his death have to do with me? Saherta's darkness didn't start with me. It won't end with me either. You've chosen the wrong person to take revenge on."
"If you've got the guts, go after the royal family. But no… instead, you picked someone weaker. Me."
"Still, I'll admit one thing—you were right about your friend. Tuck really was a joke. A pathetic one."
Before he could say more, Ron stabbed downward, the blade driving into Oster's wrist. He twisted sharply.
Crack.
With a flick, Ron tore through the tendons. Oster's hand went limp, fingers dangling uselessly.
"The real joke isn't Tuck," Ron said, voice quiet but final. "It's all of you."
"The stabs just now were for Tuck." He raised the blade again. "The ones coming next… are for the village you destroyed."
"A whole village. Countless lives. All wiped out for your experiments."
"Your life matters, but theirs didn't?"
"This one's for Nightfall."
"And this one's for the civilians you tortured."
Slash by slash, Ron drove the blade into Oster's body.
Blood pooled at their feet, spreading into a dark red stain across the rooftop. If Oster hadn't been a Nen user, his resilience and strength holding his body together, he'd have died long ago.
Ron avoided the vitals—intentionally.
"This one's for Ponzu," he said.
That name stopped Oster cold.
His eyes widened. "Ponzu? How do you know that name?"
"Where is she?" he demanded, his voice tight.
Ron met his stare. "Not only do I know her name—I know exactly where she is. And I also know how important she is to you. So, Oster… interested in making a deal?"
Oster's breathing hitched. He stared hard at Ron. "So that's your real motive?"
"All this talk about Tucker, the village, the people who died because of me—was that all a lie?"
Ron shook his head. "No. It's all true. But that's only part of it." His expression didn't change. "The truth is, I'm also very interested in your experiments. If you give me all your research data—everything—I'll let you live. And I'll tell you where Ponzu is."
Oster's eyes flickered. "You're serious?"
"I'm serious."
"Fine. I'll agree to hand over the data. But I have no guarantee you'll let me live after that. What's stopping you from killing me once I give it to you?"
"Then what do you want as assurance?" Ron asked.
"A Nen contract," Oster said. "We create a binding agreement. If I give you the data, you're forbidden from harming me. You're a Nen user—you know how this works."
Ron nodded. "Fine. But here's how it's going to work. You don't just hand over 'the data.' You give me all of it. Everything. The complete record of your experiments. If there's even one falsehood or omission, the contract will kill you."
Oster fell silent, thinking. Then, slowly, he said, "Deal."
Ron took out a piece of parchment—aged, yellowed, with a single, bold character glowing at the center: ⨀
"Contract."
They each held one end of the parchment. Nen flowed from both of them into the paper.
The seal glowed. The contract took hold.
Ron loosened some of the chains binding Oster.
Not long after, the agreement was fully established.
"Begin," Ron said.
With a single thought, he summoned Chii. She materialized beside him, ready to record everything Oster said.
Now that the contract was sealed, Oster could no longer lie. But for Ron, the contract still left room for maneuvering.
Ron had no intention of letting Oster live. Not after what he'd done to Tucker. Not after what he'd done to Ponzu.
And not after he had personally sent assassins after Ron: the Four Beasts, the Three Hounds, the Six Herds.
Ron couldn't kill him himself—but someone else could.
Oster started speaking. Slowly, carefully. From the earliest design of his experiments, his theories, his methodology, all the way to where the data was stored—accounts, passwords, everything.
He even described what his next phase of research would've been.
The contract Ron had crafted was tight. There wasn't room for a single omission.
And Oster… genuinely thought he might live through this.
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