Cluck's appearance, along with Moro's speculation about her abilities, inevitably stirred a sense of hostility in Kurapika—and also a tinge of anxiety.
Even though he had listened to Moro's advice, Kurapika's attitude toward Cluck's abilities hadn't changed. At this point, it wasn't just about comparing strength or ability types anymore.
Rather, it was the awakening of Kurapika's hidden possessiveness.
The real trigger, however, was a single phrase Moro once said: "Your ability is precious."
Perhaps Kurapika hadn't even realized it himself, but the long-suppressed admiration and possessiveness he once had for Killua had, little by little, shifted toward Moro.
Moro, on the other hand, just thought Kurapika had fallen into his usual bad habit of comparing powers. He didn't overthink it.
After boarding the airship, Moro had the kitchen prepare a batch of variously flavored sugar cakes and personally delivered them to Kurapika's room.
The moment Kurapika saw the treats Moro brought over, his eyes lit up.
Two days later.
The airship departing from Yorknew landed in an eastern coastal city of the Yorubian Continent called Cheslone.
Heading south from this city would lead to the Barusa Archipelago, a cluster of islands. Heading east would take one to the Begrose United Nations, one of the V5 nations.
However, en route to the Begrose continent, one would pass three islands—one of which was the location of the Greed Island game.
Coastal cities typically thrive on trade and fishing, and Cheslone was no exception. These industries had made it a flourishing and well-known city.
But Moro, knowing this world all too well, understood: any outwardly prosperous region was often hiding a multitude of gray areas beneath the surface.
And those gray areas? Almost always tied to the Ten Dons.
After leaving Cheslone Airport, Moro rented a car as usual and drove into the city center.
Following Kurapika's "Life Paper Doll" ability, the target—Bazell Hernandez—was indeed located in the heart of the city.
"Carrying a sky-high bounty and still daring to hang around a crowded downtown? Definitely arrogant."
Inside the car, Moro gripped the steering wheel.
Bazell's behavior reminded him of the Phantom Troupe.
Lawless. Unrestrained.
But such behavior wasn't exclusive to the Phantom Troupe.
Many infamous criminals who never even appeared in the "main story" were just as reckless around the world.
Bazell roaming so openly through the city center was likely a mix of personality and a "live while you can" attitude.
After all, not every criminal is as lucky as Rai Za—who survived a run-in with someone like Ging Freecss.
In the minds of many criminals, if they were to fall into death's door at the hands of a superior opponent, there wouldn't be much fear.
Might as well live it up.
That's pretty much the outlaw's mindset.
"If Bazell's in a crowded area, won't it be hard to make a move?" Kurapika asked quietly while watching his paper doll.
Moro glanced at him quickly from the driver's seat and answered with a question, "What do you think?"
"If we attack him in a crowded place, not only will innocent people be harmed, but it'll also give Bazell's ability an advantage."
Kurapika laid out his thoughts.
Moro smiled at that.
Kurapika noticed the smile and asked in confusion, "Did I say something wrong?"
"No," Moro said, keeping his eyes on the road and shaking his head. "I'm just a little surprised."
"Surprised about what?"
"That you would bring up 'collateral damage.'"
"Why is that so strange?" Kurapika asked, puzzled. "My father taught us that from the start."
"Your dad's got a point."
Moro suddenly realized he'd been projecting his views on Illumi onto Kurapika.
People like Zeno and Silva weren't sadistic killers—they deliberately avoided harming non-targets during missions.
That principle had been passed from Zeno to Silva, then from Silva to Illumi.
Though Illumi clearly didn't value that teaching much—and Milluki even less so, willing to trade a passenger's life for a computer.
In contrast, the youngest, Kurapika, had genuinely inherited that ethic.
Well, it made sense.
Kurapika was always the obedient one.
Night fell.
Cheslone lit up like daylight, outlining the city in a dazzling glow. The streets bustled with traffic—a testament to its prosperity.
Moro and Kurapika stuck to the shadows, gradually closing in on their target.
"Inside there?"
Leaning against the dim corner of a building, Moro looked at a nearby nightclub flashing rainbow lights.
"Yeah," Kurapika confirmed.
"Then we wait," Moro said calmly.
A nightclub wasn't the place for a clean takedown.
So they waited.
Until just past 1 a.m., when the life paper suddenly reacted—stronger than before—pointing to a tall man wearing a hat and sunglasses walking out the nightclub doors.
"That's him," Kurapika said immediately.
Moro nodded and watched Bazell approach a sports car, then silently retreated into the darkness, no longer looking at him.
Once the engine roared and the car drove off—
Moro and Kurapika hopped into their rental and began to follow, heading toward the coast.
The farther they got from the city center, the more the bright lights faded.
Screech—
Moro braked near the port, looking toward the docks.
The port lay quiet in the night, lit only by scattered lamps. Towering cranes stood still, containers were stacked neatly, warehouses lined up in rows, and freight ships loomed in the dark distance.
Only the sound of waves and wind filled the air.
Guided by the paper doll, they soon located the right warehouse—its doors sealed, but light leaked from the ventilation above.
Inside the warehouse.
Two groups of men dressed like gangsters faced each other.
One side, over a hundred strong, clearly owned the place. Their leader lounged in a chair casually—it was Joseph.
The other group had only about twenty men. A bald middle-aged man led them, smiling, with several subordinates holding cases full of cash.
Bazell stood among them like a background bodyguard, completely unremarkable.
But only the bald man knew Bazell's true worth.
"Mr. Joseph, the 'goods' you promised haven't arrived yet?"
The bald man smiled politely.
Joseph toyed with a knife and glanced up coldly. "What's the rush? Got the money? Then you'll get your goods."
The bald man kept smiling and said nothing.
Bazell, bored stiff, yawned.
This kind of routine deal did nothing for him.
"Hmm?"
Bazell suddenly stopped yawning, pulling out a small phone and reading a short message from a "partner."
"Two."
A short message that said a lot.
They'd been targeted. By two Nen users.
Bazell pocketed the phone, the drowsiness draining from his face, replaced by a cold smile.
His confidence had reason: he had a brother.
That brother kept watch from afar, always monitoring Bazell's surroundings from a "higher angle."
Thanks to this kind of surveillance, they could quickly spot bounty hunters and other threats.
And if his brother messaged him, it meant those two were dangerous.
"Time to change venues again."
Bazell whispered, and his Nen surged quietly.
The bald man noticed, asking curiously, "What did you say?"
Bazell just grinned—cold and dangerous.
At that moment, the bald man felt something terrible.
Before he could react, Bazell raised his hands—red threads shot from between his fingers like spiderwebs.
Blood. It was blood.
Bazell's fingers oozed red.
"You—!?"
The bald man looked on in terror as Bazell's threads pierced the bodies of everyone in the room.
"Blood Pact Control."
That was Bazell's ability.
Using his own blood as a medium, he could gain total control over others.
The more blood used, the more people he could control, and the stronger that control became.
"Even if they're just cannon fodder, controlling a hundred at once is still a bit of a strain…"
Bazell's face went pale—he looked like a vampire.
Then he turned to the bald man with a grin.
"We've worked well together. Leave the money—you can go."
"O-of course! Keep it all!" the bald man stammered, stumbling toward the exit in relief.
He thought he'd live.
But just as he dared to believe—
Agonizing pain bloomed in his back and chest.
He fell, clutching his blood-soaked chest.
He tricked me?
Bazell crouched beside the dying man.
"That expression… yes. That's the one I like."
Meanwhile, outside, Moro and Kurapika, crouched behind a container, felt the powerful Nen surge from inside the warehouse.
They exchanged glances—ready for anything.
BANG!
The warehouse doors burst open. Dozens of armed men flooded out, moving like zombies under control.
Without hesitation, Moro summoned a bright green Nen star, throwing a glass jar full of mosquitoes.
The star split into fragments and rained down like bullets.
Blood splattered.
In seconds, over 50 bodies lay dead.
Despite their weak Nen shielding, Moro's enhanced stars had more than enough power to take them down.
"We've been discovered," Moro said calmly.
He glanced at the red threads snapping back into the warehouse.
"Kurapika, stay alert."
He prepared for another round.
In the shadows above the warehouse, one pair of eyes watched from above—Bazell's brother.
But even higher, a second pair of eyes observed him.
The second observer wore a black-and-white cow-patterned outfit, complete with tiny horns on the hat.
This man—
Was Miester the Ox, one of the Hunter Association's Zodiac Twelve.
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