While Itachi, Beto, and Ji-won fought for their lives in La Vendetta's auction building, Marvel faced his own crisis in a different part of the city.
He'd been waiting with Stephanie in their hotel room, monitoring the signal device that should have alerted him when the heist was complete. The plan was simple—Itachi would press the button, Marvel would teleport to their location, and they'd extract cleanly.
Then Mohammad arrived.
The second strongest Hunter in the association—ranked just below Marvel himself—appeared in their hotel room through his signature technique: position swapping.
"Hello, Marvel," Mohammad said, a knife already in his hand. "The Chairman sends his regards."
Before Marvel could respond, Mohammad threw the knife at Stephanie.
Marvel teleported her out of harm's way, but Mohammad had anticipated this. The moment the knife passed where Stephanie had been, Mohammad swapped positions with it, appearing directly where his weapon had been.
The battle was joined.
Mohammad's technique was elegant in its simplicity. He would throw his knife like a boomerang—curved trajectory, perfect aerodynamics—and then swap positions with it mid-flight. This gave him mobility that looked like teleportation but was actually instantaneous position exchange.
Marvel's Projection-stage technique was more versatile but required shadows or darkness to move through. In the brightly lit hotel room, his options were limited.
They fought through the room, then the hallway, then out onto the streets of La Vendetta. Mohammad threw his knife, swapped, struck at Stephanie. Marvel shadow-traveled, intercepted, countered.
The entire fight, Marvel was protecting his sister while battling one of the world's most skilled Hunters.
And that's why he never responded to Itachi's signal. His phone was ringing, but answering it would mean taking his attention off Mohammad for even a second—and that second could mean Stephanie's death.
The battle raged for twenty minutes before Marvel gained the upper hand. His teleportation range was longer than Mohammad's swap distance. He could move to shadows fifty meters away; Mohammad could only swap with his knife's throwing distance.
Marvel used this advantage, drawing Mohammad away from Stephanie, forcing him to chase, exhausting him with constant repositioning.
When Mohammad finally collapsed from vital energy depletion, Marvel knocked him unconscious and returned to find Stephanie safe but terrified.
By then, the signal from Itachi had long since stopped, and Marvel could only hope his allies had found another way out.
Meanwhile back at September 2026.
Unlike the others who fled to lawless cities or hidden bases, Laurel and Lily made a different choice. They went to Cedaridge—a normal town in a normal part of the country, where they hoped to hide in plain sight among ordinary people.
It was a mistake.
For the first month, they were attacked by Hunters almost daily. Their faces were on every wanted poster, their bounties attractive enough to draw ambitious rookies and experienced veterans alike.
October passed in a blur of running, fighting, and barely surviving.
By October 19th, they faced their most dangerous opponent yet—the fifth strongest Hunter in the association, a man whose speed and technique far exceeded Laurel's current abilities.
The fight was brutal and one-sided. Laurel tried everything—his enhanced fists, his knife creation, even his predictive eye—but the Hunter was simply better. Faster. More experienced.
Laurel was beaten down, bloodied, ready for the killing blow.
Then someone else entered the fight.
A short figure—around Ji-won's height—with bright pink hair and an outfit that looked more fashionable than practical: blue baggy jeans, a white long-sleeve shirt almost completely covered by a pink sweater.
The newcomer moved with casual confidence, producing a pole-like weapon with a sharp point at one end. One strike—clean, precise, devastating—caught the Hunter across the chest.
The fifth strongest Hunter in the world collapsed, defeated in seconds.
"You two look like you could use some help," the pink-haired fighter said, extending a hand to Laurel. "I'm George."
George led them through an underground tunnel system that connected to a hidden portal. On the other side was a private island—remote, isolated, completely off any official map.
The island featured a massive mansion, sprawling grounds, and every luxury a billionaire could dream of. Private beaches, training facilities, libraries, entertainment systems. It was a paradise hidden from the world.
"You can stay here," George offered. "No one knows about this place except me. The Hunters won't find you."
Laurel and Lily accepted gratefully, too exhausted and injured to question their sudden good fortune.
They settled into the mansion, and days turned into weeks as they recovered from their constant running.
George proved to be an excellent host. He provided food, medical supplies, and most importantly—training.
"You've got raw talent," George told Laurel during their first sparring session. "But your technique is inefficient. Let me show you something better."
George's weapon of choice was the pole-rod he'd used to defeat the Hunter—a creation technique that produced a shaft with a sharp point.
"The key is in the shape," George explained, manifesting his weapon. "See how it narrows as it approaches the sharp edge? That concentrates force at the point of impact. More penetration power with less vital energy spent."
Over the next month, Laurel learned to create his own version. His rod maintained the same diameter along most of its length, only tapering near the top where it became sharp—with just one side slanted rather than a symmetrical point.
"Different from mine," George observed, "but it suits your fighting style. You prefer slashing motions over stabbing."
By November, Laurel had mastered the rod creation technique.
"Now for something more advanced," George said.
"You can use stage four of Vitra—Projection," George began. "That means you can separate your vital energy from your body. Most people use that for simple teleportation or clones, but there's a more sophisticated technique I can teach you."
He paused. "I should mention—I can't actually do stage four myself. But I understand the theory well enough to teach it."
George explained the process in detail:
"Creating body parts isn't actually that difficult. Beto creates cells. Itachi created a brain for his puppet. Vitra can be used to form any body part that's identical to the creator's own body—since you intimately understand your own structure but not others'. Of course, if you studied someone else's biology extensively, you could theoretically create their parts too."
"But here's the catch," George continued. "A created body needs vital energy to be alive. When someone's vital energy runs out completely, they die. If another person pours their vital energy into a dying body before it's too late, they can keep that person alive—but it requires constant donation, putting the donor at risk."
"Cloning," he concluded, "is creating real body parts identical to your own and then donating vital energy into the clone to make it come alive before it dies. Now there are two of you—but one is supplying the other with life force."
Laurel absorbed this information carefully. "So the clone is dependent on the original?"
"Not quite," George said. "The source of vital energy is actually the Holy Spirit."
George's voice took on a more philosophical tone.
"God created the Earth and everything in it. To make living things come alive, He gave them a very tiny part of Himself. He separated into three parts: God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Ghost. They are all Him, yet they are all separate—because He is vital energy itself."
"He created the Son from a drop of Himself, and used an even smaller drop—one that made the first look like an ocean by comparison—to create the Holy Ghost. That Holy Ghost then multiplied into every living thing, giving them life as vital energy. This Holy Spirit also gives advice, which we call consciousness."
Laurel wasn't sure he believed the theological explanation, but the practical application was clear enough.
"So in cloning," George continued, "the one with the Holy Spirit is the original. The other obeys whatever the donor wants. They both think together and separately, allowing communication without conversation."
"After the clone has been used, it turns back to Vitra. Simple enough."
"Now, teleportation," George said. "It's an extension of cloning. You create a clone somewhere else, then you swap—changing the clone to the original and the original to the clone. How? By transferring the vital energy source—the Holy Spirit—from the original into the clone's body."
"After the transfer, what was the original becomes just a construct. You turn it back to vital energy, and you've effectively teleported."
It sounded simple in theory. In practice, it was incredibly complex.
Laurel spent months learning to clone consistently. Creating a body was one thing. Maintaining it, donating vital energy to keep it alive, establishing the mental connection—all of that required intense concentration and precise control.
It took until February 2027 before he could reliably create clones that lasted more than a few seconds.
Then came the harder part: transferring the Holy Spirit. Learning to move that essential spark of life from one body to another. It felt wrong on a fundamental level, like he was playing with forces he didn't fully understand.
By May, he could teleport. Not smoothly, not efficiently, but he could do it.
Throughout all of this, he continued refining his other abilities—the predictive eye, the enhanced fists, the rod technique. George was a harsh but effective teacher.
As the months passed, Laurel and Lily grew closer.
They'd been through so much together—the escape from the white house, the examination, the tournament, the Dylan Foster assassination. Shared trauma had created a bond, and isolation on the private island deepened it.
Lily would watch Laurel train, offering encouragement when he failed and celebration when he succeeded. Laurel found himself looking forward to those moments more than the training itself.
They talked during meals, during walks on the beach, during quiet evenings in the mansion. Real conversations, not just strategic planning or survival discussions.
Fondness became something more, though neither of them said it aloud.
George noticed.
He'd developed his own feelings for Lily—the way she laughed, her kindness, her resilience despite everything she'd been through. But it was clear those feelings weren't reciprocated.
Lily's attention was always on Laurel.
In early June, as Laurel's training neared completion, he and Lily began preparing to leave the island.
"We should get back to Night Wolf," Laurel said. "Check in with X. See what the next mission is."
George's expression darkened. "Or you could stay. Both of you. It's safe here. No Hunters, no bounties, no war against impossible odds."
"We can't hide forever," Laurel replied.
"Lily could stay," George suggested, his tone carefully neutral. "You could go if you want, but she'd be safe here with me."
Lily shook her head immediately. "I'm going with Laurel."
"Are you sure?" George pressed. "You've been happy here. Safe. Why go back to running and fighting?"
"Because that's where I need to be," Lily said firmly. "With Laurel. With Night Wolf."
George's pleasant expression cracked slightly. "I see."
The next morning, Laurel woke up in darkness.
He was in some kind of cell—stone walls, no windows, a heavy door with no handle on the inside. His head pounded from whatever drug had been used to knock him unconscious.
The basement, he realized. George had drugged them and locked him in the mansion's basement.
He tried to create his rod, but something was interfering with his Vitra. Some kind of dampening field in the cell that made concentration nearly impossible.
Upstairs, Lily was having a similar realization.
She'd woken in a bedroom—comfortable but locked from the outside. George had been apologetic but firm.
"This is for your own good," he'd said through the door. "You'll understand eventually. Once Laurel is gone, once you see how good life can be here, you'll thank me."
"Let me go," Lily demanded. "Let both of us go."
"I can't do that. I won't lose you."
It took Laurel three days to figure out how to overcome the dampening field. The trick was using his enhanced body technique to improve his brain's function, allowing him to maintain concentration despite the interference.
Once he could use Vitra again, escaping was simple. He created his rod, broke through the door, and fought his way upstairs.
George tried to stop him, but Laurel had learned too much over the past months. The student had become skilled enough to match the teacher.
Their fight destroyed half the mansion before Laurel managed to grab Lily and carried them both off the island.
They materialized in Cedaridge, exhausted and furious at the betrayal.
George stood in the ruins of his mansion, breathing hard, his pleasant facade completely gone.
He pulled out a phone and made a call.
"Chairman," he said when the line connected. "It's me."
"Yes, sir," came the immediate response. The Chairman of the Hunter Association, one of the most powerful men in the world, spoke with the deference of a subordinate addressing his superior. "What do you need?"
"Laurel. The fugitive. I want his bounty increased. Make it 500 million Ecoins. Put him in the same category as the most despicable criminals in history."
"Consider it done, sir. Immediately."
"And Chairman? I want every available Hunter on this. I don't care what resources you have to commit. Find him. Bring him to me."
"Yes, sir. Right away, sir."
The Chairman ended the call and immediately began processing the bounty increase.
Why did he take orders from George like George was his boss? Why did one of the most powerful administrators in the world act like a subordinate to a pink-haired fighter living on a private island?
That was a mystery for another day.
But the consequences were immediate: Laurel's bounty jumped from 100 million to 500 million Ecoins, ranking him among the most wanted criminals in history.
And every Hunter in the world took notice.