The Kakin Empire's capital gleamed under the blanket of night, a dazzling sprawl of neon and revelry that stretched toward the horizon. Every time Kevin witnessed such a scene—so reminiscent of the world he'd left behind—a flicker of dissonance stirred within him. This world had clearly embraced modernity, yet it stubbornly clung to medieval elements in the most unexpected places. It was, frankly, baffling.
Dressed in sharp formal attire, Kevin stood alongside Menchi and Buhara before a towering skyscraper that pierced the night sky. As they'd discussed during a lull in their duties, word of a large-scale auction had reached them, and curiosity had won out. Truth be told, the expedition was mostly Menchi's doing—she couldn't sit still when idle. But Kevin was genuinely intrigued; in his previous life, he'd never attended such an event, let alone participated properly. It promised to be an experience worth having.
"Shouldn't an auction like this require an invitation?" Kevin asked, glancing around. He hadn't seen Menchi prepare anything of the sort. "We're just walking in. How exactly will we get past security?"
Typically, high-end auctions vetted bidders thoroughly—verifying assets was the simplest method. Allowing open entry invited chaos and diminished prestige. For the wealthy and influential in attendance, prestige was paramount.
Menchi turned to him, a triumphant smile curving her lips. "You've only just become a Hunter, so you probably don't fully grasp the privileges that come with this license yet." She produced her hunter license, holding it between two fingers with a flourish. "This is all we need. Remember? A hunter license grants access to most areas—barring a few special exceptions. That includes auctions like this. Besides, a significant portion of the wealthy elite are Hunters themselves. Under these circumstances, a genuine hunter license is the best invitation imaginable."
Understanding dawned on Kevin. Of course. Still new to his status, he hadn't yet internalized the weight this small card carried. It was the ultimate passkey.
Buhara clapped a reassuring hand on Kevin's shoulder, producing his own license. "Everyone needs time to adjust. I was the same at first. But you'll find it makes many things considerably easier."
Menchi had already strode into the building. The security personnel, upon seeing her license, straightened immediately. They produced a scanning device—resembling a credit card swiper—and verified its authenticity. Their attitude shifted to one of deep respect, and an attendant was summoned to escort her inside. Ordinary businessmen clutching invitations received no such treatment.
Menchi glanced back, catching Kevin's eye, and winked. Follow me.
Kevin and Buhara presented their licenses in turn, earning the same deference. It was, Kevin admitted, rather impressive. The auction was merely a quarterly mid-sized event, yet attracting multiple Hunters was noteworthy—they were always prized buyers.
They were ushered directly to a private viewing room overlooking the auction floor, where meticulous service awaited.
Menchi sank into a plush sofa that seemed designed to swallow its occupants whole. "Well? Not bad, right?"
Kevin nodded, conceding the point. The privileges were indeed substantial.
As guests continued filing in below, an attendant presented them with glossy brochures detailing the evening's lots. Menchi accepted hers, flipping through pages while reaching for a glass of red wine from the nearby table.
"Moonlit Manor, 1877?" she murmured, sampling the vintage with a practiced sip.
"You have a refined palate," the attendant remarked, a hint of genuine surprise coloring his professional tone.
Kevin sampled his own glass but detected nothing extraordinary. It tasted no different from any ordinary wine.
Menchi rolled her eyes at him. "I'm a Gourmet Hunter. Basic wine tasting is a given."
He didn't bother responding, instead focusing on the auction catalog. Page after page of lots—art, artifacts, curiosities—passed beneath his gaze.
Then, abruptly, his hand stilled.
Across from him, Buhara noticed the shift immediately. "What's wrong?" he asked, concern threading his voice.
Menchi leaned over curiously, her shoulder brushing against Kevin's as she peered at the catalog page he'd frozen on. The image displayed a storage jar containing what appeared to be human eyeballs, preserved in a state of unsettling perfection.
"One of the World's Seven Great Beauties—Scarlet Eyes?" Menchi read aloud, her voice laced with confusion. The items depicted looked disturbingly real, like eyes plucked from living sockets. It was far removed from her usual interests.
The nearby attendant, seizing the opportunity to demonstrate his expertise, offered a polished explanation. "These are the eyes of the Kurta clan. It is said that when members of this minority ethnic group experience intense emotion—anger or agitation—their eyes transform into a pure, vivid scarlet. If the eyes are removed and properly preserved at that moment, they retain that color permanently. Hence, they are celebrated as one of the Seven Great Beauties of the world."
He lowered his voice conspiratorially, as if sharing privileged intelligence. "Word has it that the reclusive Kurta clan was tragically annihilated two months ago. This means the supply of Scarlet Eyes on the market is now finite—and highly coveted."
The lot's placement late in the auction schedule underscored its perceived value.
Kevin studied the photograph, his expression unreadable. "Have these Scarlet Eyes been appearing frequently at auction recently?"
The attendant nodded eagerly. "Approximately five days ago, a pair appeared at the Brukata Auction House. The starting bid was 1.5 billion jenny; the final sale price reached 15 billion. Collectors of human curiosities are intensely eager for such items. It's reasonable to expect transaction values to climb higher with each appearance. Bidding early demonstrates both foresight and commitment."
Kevin acknowledged the information with a slight nod, ignoring the attendant's transparent attempt to stoke interest.
Menchi exchanged a glance with Buhara. Both recognized the shift in Kevin's demeanor—these eyes held significance for him.
"Do you want to bid?" Menchi asked directly.
Kevin didn't answer immediately. After a thoughtful pause, he said, "I'm not sure yet. I'll decide based on how things unfold."
The auction commenced. Lot after lot crossed the block—calligraphy scrolls, renowned paintings, antique sculptures, and, displayed without pretense, preserved human body parts. The latter were presented on stage as openly as any artwork, attracting fervent bidding from collectors in the audience.
Finally, the lot Kevin awaited arrived.
The auctioneer first displayed the Scarlet Eyes on the massive screen, then made a point of mentioning the Kurta clan's annihilation. Menchi's expression soured.
"Monstrous," she muttered with disgust. "To exterminate an entire people for something like this."
Buhara shook his head heavily. "The depths of human greed know no bounds."
Kevin remained silent, watching from their private room's vantage point as the pair of eyes was displayed on the platform below. The lighting caught the preserved scarlet, making them gleam like jewels.
"Starting bid—1.9 billion jenny."
As expected, the price had already risen from the previous auction. The room buzzed with anticipation; serious collectors had clearly come prepared. Bidding opened aggressively, and the price climbed steadily—past 15 billion, then 18 billion, exceeding the last auction's final sale.
Kevin observed without moving. He simply didn't possess that level of liquid capital. Even if he diverted funds from the Nostra Family now, it was impractical—nearly all available resources were committed to the new company's operations.
Menchi leaned toward him. "If you need the money urgently, we can lend it to you."
Buhara nodded in agreement. Both had established themselves as Hunters—Buhara for three years, Menchi for two. Their financial reserves were substantial, and supporting a trusted partner came naturally.
Kevin considered the offer, genuinely touched. Then, slowly, he shook his head.
Below, bidding approached twenty billion. The auctioneer's voice grew more animated with each increment. Finally, the gavel fell—twenty billion jenny.
Kevin felt no regret. It wasn't that he didn't want the eyes; he simply recognized the price had become exorbitant beyond reason. More fundamentally, he had no deep personal connection to the Kurta clan. His interest stemmed entirely from his bond with Mito and the friendship he'd developed with Kurapika, Pairo, and Rosana.
This isn't my battle to fight, he reflected. The Scarlet Eyes held profound meaning for the surviving Kurtas—they were symbols of loss, memory, and identity. For an outsider to intervene, to claim those relics, felt wrong. The three young Kurtas deserved the right to reclaim their heritage themselves.
And in any case, the eyes were now in someone's private collection, guarded carefully. They weren't disappearing; they were merely waiting. Waiting for the right hands to claim them.
Kevin leaned back in his seat as the next lot was announced. When the time comes, Kurapika and the others will have their chance. And when they do, I'll be there to support them—not as a substitute, but as an ally.
During their tragic moments before, Kevin had learned that beyond seeking vengeance, Kurapika and the others carried another solemn mission: to retrieve the Scarlet Eyes of their fallen tribesmen, one by one, reclaiming what had been stolen from the dead. Those eyes were more than relics—they were motivations to keep moving forward, tangible connections to everyone they'd lost.
Kevin watched the auction floor as the next lot was announced, but his mind lingered on the pair of eyes that had just been sold. Twenty billion jenny, he mused. A fortune. But money isn't the only obstacle.
He turned to Menchi. "After the auction, how difficult would it be to investigate the buyer's information using a hunter license?"
Menchi considered the question, her expression thoughtful. "It depends entirely on who bought them. Some collectors go to great lengths to protect their privacy—encrypted accounts, shell companies, anonymous representatives. Even accessing the hunter license's internal intelligence network won't guarantee results in those cases." She paused, swirling her wine glass. "However, there are Information Hunters who specialize in precisely this kind of work. They can be hired, but it's expensive. The more sensitive the information, the higher the price. And if the buyer has serious resources backing them..." She shrugged meaningfully. "There's effectively no upper limit."
Kevin absorbed this, filing it away. He'd been a Hunter only briefly, but he was learning quickly. The license was a key that opened many doors—but some doors required additional payment, and some required knowing the right people.
Two years as a Hunter had given Menchi practical knowledge, and she shared it freely. Kevin appreciated that. As long as money can solve it, it's solvable, he thought. And if the Nostra Family's resources grow as planned, money will become less of an obstacle over time.
The auction continued, and soon a new item captured Kevin's attention—something he'd overlooked earlier while focused on the Scarlet Eyes.
"Next," the auctioneer announced with theatrical flair, "we present a legendary item: the phantom video game Greed Island. Only one hundred copies were ever produced, making it exceptionally rare. This is a special game designed exclusively for Hunters."
Kevin blinked. "A game console?" He exchanged puzzled glances with Menchi and Buhara. It seemed incongruous—a video game appearing at a high-end auction alongside preserved body parts and priceless art.
"A game made specifically for Hunters?" Menchi echoed, skepticism evident. "Only a hundred copies exist? What's so special about it?"
The large screen behind the auctioneer illuminated, displaying detailed information about Greed Island. As the three read, understanding dawned.
"It's a Nen ability product," Buhara murmured, realization coloring his voice. "That explains why it's marketed specifically to Hunters. Only Nen users could fully appreciate—or survive—such a creation."
Kevin studied the description intently. The concept was fascinating: a video game that existed both as a physical cartridge and as a Nen-constructed reality. Players could enter the game world physically, experiencing adventures that blurred the line between simulation and actuality. The urban legends surrounding it spoke of impossible challenges, legendary treasures, and dangers that followed players back to the real world.
In my previous world, I was something of a gaming enthusiast, Kevin reflected. But this... this is something else entirely. A game you can physically enter? That's the stuff of fantasy.
The bidding for Greed Island was intense, reflecting both its rarity and its mystique. When the gavel finally fell, the winning bid stood at 11.3 billion jenny—a staggering sum for what appeared to be an ordinary game console.
The auction concluded shortly after. Menchi had successfully acquired a chef's knife of legendary provenance—a blade once wielded by a master chef of the Kakin Empire. She cradled it like a treasure as they left.
Back at the hotel, Kevin retreated to his room. Settling before an archaic computer—its bulky monitor and boxy case reminiscent of his former world's early machines—he retrieved his hunter license and accessed the specialized intelligence network Menchi had mentioned.
The website loaded: [Hunter Bar]. Despite the outdated hardware, the interface was surprisingly sophisticated. A pixelated but clear screen displayed a virtual bar scene, complete with detailed counter and background. It was, Kevin admitted, creatively done.
A speech bubble appeared above the bartender's pixelated head.
[What information do you want to know?]
Kevin clicked, and a dense menu expanded—categories and subcategories organizing what appeared to be an immense repository of Hunter-gathered intelligence.
Creative and apparently comprehensive, he thought. I hope the service quality matches the presentation.
The hardware might resemble relics from his previous world, but the software capabilities far exceeded that era's limitations. Kevin didn't pretend to understand the technological discrepancy; he simply accepted it as another quirk of this strange world.
Navigation proved intuitive enough. Soon he located the information categories he needed.
The inquiry prices, however, gave him pause: between 10 million and 100 million jenny, payable via online bank transfer. Kevin reviewed his remaining funds carefully.
After consideration, he initiated inquiries for two specific pieces of information: [Scarlet Eye Sales] and [The buyer of the Scarlet Eyes at tonight's auction in the Kakin Empire capital].
A notification appeared: the system recognized overlap between the requests. Purchasing both qualified for a modest discount.
Kevin confirmed the transaction. Kurapika, Pairo, Rosana—when you're ready to pursue this path, I'll have answers waiting.
The reply arrived promptly, delivered through the same game-styled interface. A notification pinged, and the bartender's speech bubble expanded with new text.
[Information request processed. Results below.]
Kevin read carefully.
Before the Kurta clan's annihilation, records of Scarlet Eye sales were relatively sparse but traceable. Every few years, a pair would surface at auction, sometimes resold by previous collectors who had grown tired of them. The market was quiet but persistent.
After the annihilation news spread, everything changed. The value of Scarlet Eyes skyrocketed. Approximately six weeks following the massacre, the eyes began appearing at major auctions with increasing frequency. To date, six pairs had been sold—each with detailed records of date and location.
The sale dates showed no pattern, and the auction houses were scattered across continents. Kevin noted the lack of consistency; whoever was supplying these items—almost certainly the Genei Ryodan—was deliberately avoiding predictable channels. Tracing them through auction records alone would be nearly impossible.
Thirteen members, Kevin mused. All dangerous. All operating from Meteor City's shadows. He set aside any thought of pursuing them directly. That was a battle for another day, another level of strength. Strength in numbers, he reminded himself. But if I ever catch one alone...
The second piece of information arrived with impressive speed—less than two hours after the auction concluded. Hunter intelligence networks were indeed formidable.
[Buyer identity: Confidential. Strongly suspected to be a prince of the Kakin Empire. Cross-referenced records indicate this individual has previously acquired two pairs of Scarlet Eyes through intermediaries. Probability of match: 87%.]
[Identified as: Fourth Prince Tserriednich Hui Guo Rou.]
Kevin blinked at the surname. Hui Guo Rou? He suppressed the urge to comment. This world's naming conventions continued to surprise him.
For a modest additional fee, he purchased supplementary intelligence. The results painted an unsettling picture.
Prince Tserriednich presented a carefully cultivated public image of refinement and royal dignity. Behind the scenes, intelligence suggested darker inclinations. Multiple disappearances had been linked—tentatively—to individuals connected to his household. Evidence remained circumstantial, but patterns emerged. His collection of human body parts was confirmed through multiple sources; the Scarlet Eyes were merely his latest acquisitions.
Kevin closed the website, satisfied with the information gathered. He would compile everything and pass it to Kurapika, Pairo, and Rosana when the time was right. This was their path to walk—revenge, recovery, and the long journey toward peace. He would support them, but he would not steal their purpose.
"Collecting human organs," Kevin muttered, disgust coloring his voice. "What kind of person finds beauty in that?" He shook his head, then paused as a thought surfaced. A cold smile curved his lips.
"You who covet Scarlet Eyes," he said quietly, "I hope you all remain healthy under the weight of those eyes' resentment."
He had seen it clearly from the private room—a faint black haze clinging to the preserved eyes on stage. The auction's bright lighting had masked it from ordinary viewers, but Kevin's perception, sharpened by his encounters with Mito's lingering presence, recognized it immediately.
Post-mortem Nen.
Every pair of Scarlet Eyes now carried it. The Kurta clan's suffering—generations of discrimination, hiding, and finally massacre—had infused their remains with something dark and watchful. The exact nature of the curse remained unknown. Would it bring bad luck? Physical deterioration? Psychological torment? Perhaps all three.
What was certain: these eyes were not passive collectibles. They were witnesses. They were accusations. And they would not rest quietly in the hands of those who profited from genocide.
A fitting punishment, Kevin thought. For their perverse hobbies. For their willingness to purchase death disguised as art.
One sentence captured it perfectly, an echo of his former world's wisdom applied to this one's horrors:
No buying, no selling, no killing.