Chapter 111: Wind Style: Rasenshuriken
Ryan pressed the needle against his own arm.
At this point, the only thing he could still rely on was himself.
Ronin watched the choice and felt a flicker of disappointment. Manipulators always ended up doing the same damn thing. Once they ran out of puppets, they turned the ability inward and started puppeteering their own bodies.
How much destruction they could cause after that? Entirely up to how much they were willing to pay.
Phinks had slapped a restriction on himself—couldn't release control until the fight was over—and turned into a walking Enhancement monster with cheat-code reflexes.
Ryan? What kind of price was he willing to cough up?
Even though Ryan had controlled a small army, the Shadow Clones and Kurapika's team had already wiped them out in minutes. The only one still breathing was the old butler, still wrapped tight in Kurapika's chains. He'd stopped struggling long ago. Smart man. He knew they'd left him alive on purpose—otherwise he'd have been dead the second he tried to slip outside and help Ryan trigger his ability.
And he had triggered it.
The ability was called Iron Wall Prison. In a blink it could conjure six massive iron walls and lock everyone he'd pre-marked into an airtight cage. Inside that cage, only the butler could open doors anywhere on the four walls.
That was why he'd personally gone out to greet Ronin's group earlier.
He just hadn't expected Kurapika to tag him with a chain before he even realized the fight had started.
Must've been In—complete concealment.
Clever.
The old butler's earpiece crackled with Kurapika's calm voice.
"You can drop your ability now. Or should I help you drop it?"
The butler's eyes widened a fraction, then he gave a slow nod.
Finding out they'd spotted his secret move wasn't shocking. What really got to him was that casual offer to "help" him cancel it. He was dying to know how the kid planned to do it… but he was also terrified it involved killing him to shut the ability down.
So he obediently canceled every iron wall.
On the other side of the hall, Ryan had already driven the needle into his own arm. A thick stream of his blood pumped straight into his veins. His whole body started swelling from the injection site outward.
Ronin watched the transformation and thought of the Hulk—except this version was blood-red.
Veins thicker than ropes bulged under his skin, pumped full of his own manipulated blood. The elegant, aristocratic face twisted into something grotesque as the vessels writhed like living snakes.
"Power… I've never felt power like this!" Drool spilled from Ryan's lips, but the swollen giant didn't even notice. He just raised one massive, corded arm and admired it with sick, narcissistic glee.
The next instant Ronin tilted his head.
Ryan had vanished in a burst of speed—teleporting right beside him.
Even multiplied several times over, the velocity still couldn't slip past the Sharingan.
A skeletal hand exploded into existence. Susanoo's crimson fist met Ryan's punch mid-air.
BOOM!
The collision sounded like a bomb going off. Susanoo didn't budge an inch. The giant hand opened, shifted from fist to claw, and lunged for Ryan—who was already spraying blood from the impact.
Thick blood vessels tore free from Ryan's body like whips and lashed around Susanoo's arm.
Amaterasu roared to life again, black flames swallowing Ryan whole.
But Ryan slapped a hand against Susanoo's forearm and detonated a wave of blood-and-flesh armor wrapped in aura. Every capillary in that layer had been reinforced with Nen. When he ripped the chunk off, the connected aura tore the black flames away with it, like peeling off a burning scab.
Ronin noticed fresh granulation tissue already writhing and knitting together inside the gaping wound.
So he'd finally leaned all the way into Enhancement.
The insane healing, the raw close-combat power—everything screamed that Ryan had temporarily rewritten his own body into a pure Enhancer by flooding himself with enough blood.
Cute.
Ronin's hands flew through seals. When they parted, chakra swirled into his right palm.
In a single heartbeat a perfect blue Rasengan formed, spinning violently. Wind-nature chakra immediately layered on top, carving the sphere into the shape of a giant shuriken.
Wind Style: Rasenshuriken.
Ronin cocked his arm back. Susanoo vanished around him.
Ryan sensed the killing intent and only grinned wider—eyes glassy, fear long since drowned in blood. He was a monster now, nothing left but the urge to slaughter.
The Rasenshuriken left Ronin's hand.
The scream of wind blades slicing air was ear-piercing. The spinning chakra projectile rocketed forward faster than the eye could track.
Ryan tried to block with another wave of swollen vessels.
The moment they touched, everything disintegrated like wet paper.
Wind Style: Rasenshuriken didn't just look like a bigger Rasengan—it was millions of microscopic wind blades spinning at impossible speed.
Ryan watched his own arm vanish in a red mist. The shuriken kissed his chest, and then his entire torso started coming apart.
For one final heartbeat, clarity flashed back into his eyes.
Too late.
The Rasenshuriken detonated the instant it sank into his body.
Countless microscopic blades engulfed him, even shredding the floor beneath his feet. When the storm finally died, nothing remained except a faint gray powder drifting across the marble.
True bone-and-ash dispersal.
Nothing left to prove a man named Ryan had ever stood there at all.
Chapter 112: Assassination Mission
The same move they'd used to replace Raymond among the Ten Dons was getting rerun—only this time with an extra butler in the mix.
The old butler had watched Ryan get erased like it was nothing. Smart man. He immediately decided to talk. Full cooperation, no holding back, all in the name of staying alive.
Meteor City's one golden rule? Survival of the fittest. Everything else was just noise.
"You're outsiders," the butler said, laying it out plain. "Extremists like Theodore are still thick on the ground here. Best play is to make everyone think you've already left Meteor City for good."
He didn't stop there. "Ryan kept a crew exactly for that—guys who specialized in smuggling people who wanted out. They funneled them through mafia channels outside the city."
Kurapika and Ronin traded a quick look. Both caught the same spark of excitement in the other's eyes.
"Who was the contact before?" Kurapika asked.
"Nico," the butler answered like he was reading a grocery list.
"Would Raymond work instead?" Kurapika said without missing a beat.
"Long as there's a channel, no problem at all." The butler blinked, surprised. He'd figured dropping Nico's name would spark more questions. These two clearly already knew the Ten Dons were running things underground.
Just who the hell were these guys?
"Fine. I'll send you a contact later," Kurapika decided.
Ronin nodded. The butler's other idea made sense—they needed to leave Meteor City, real or fake.
And Kurapika's next move lined up exactly with what Ronin was already thinking.
"Ronin, I'm gonna need you to fake our big, loud exit," Kurapika said. He didn't know every trick in Ronin's book, but he knew enough.
The plan was already locked in.
They'd just taken out Ryan. No point bouncing right away—not until they had real roots here. A flashy Shadow Clone departure would pull every hostile eye in the city. Two birds, one stone.
And if anyone sniffed out the fake? Ronin's clones would hold perfect until the ship was long gone.
The butler got to work on Kurapika's orders. Ronin spun up four Shadow Clones that walked out of Ryan's villa right beside him.
Shizuku was the queen of rolling with whatever life threw at her.
Once the group moved into the villa, she just… stayed. No drama, no questions. She ate, she slept, she followed Ronin around. That became her whole world for the next few days.
Ronin found it a little weird, honestly.
After thinking it over, he decided to throw her into training with Kurapika and Neon.
Her aura pool was noticeably bigger than theirs—still not insane, but Ronin figured she sat above ten thousand. Roughly double what the other two could put out. Perfect training dummy.
Shizuku didn't mind the new gig. She was still learning the team and figuring out the rules.
Kurapika quickly noticed she forgot almost everything… except rules. Those she remembered like they were tattooed on her brain. Once he caught the pattern, dealing with her got easy.
At first he'd worried their worldviews would clash hard. Shizuku killed with zero emotion—like life didn't mean a thing to her.
But after watching her for a while, he realized one simple rule fixed everything: No killing without a damn good reason.
The only problem? "Without a damn good reason" was vague. So Shizuku started gluing herself to his side, asking about every possible scenario.
Kurapika had patience for days. Every new what-if she threw at him, he gave her a clear yes or no.
Shizuku and Neon clicked even better.
Neon collected organs. Shizuku was a full-on pack rat—anything she liked got sucked straight into Blinky for storage.
Problem was she usually forgot what she'd even put in there.
So every few days she'd have Blinky spit everything out and spend hours happily sorting through the pile. Pure bliss for her.
Neon was low-key jealous. She wished she could carry most of her collection on her instead of stashing it in Ronin's Fun Fun Cloth.
After some thought, she moved every specimen except Uvogin and the shadow one over to Shizuku's storage.
The two girls immediately started redecorating the old clinic like it was their new dollhouse.
Ronin just smiled and let them have at it.
On September 23rd, the butler linked up with Raymond's mafia crew using the contact Kurapika had given him.
Ronin's loud, flashy Shadow Clones boarded the garbage ship and sailed out of Meteor City in style.
Three hours later the ship exploded at sea. Everyone on board—including the clones—went down with it.
Illumi had just stepped off his own boat onto Meteor City soil when he read the fresh report. His almond eyes narrowed in confusion.
He'd barely arrived and the target was already gone. And the damn ship blew up on the way out. Where the hell was he supposed to look now?
He dialed Chrollo without hesitation. "Target lost at sea. Assassination delayed. I'm heading to Heaven's Arena."
"Good," Chrollo answered curtly.
He didn't care where Ronin died. He just wanted the body count updated.
"Also—if it's convenient—stop by Ryan's villa. I'll pay you another ten billion to kill him for me," Chrollo added, tossing out a brand-new contract.
"Pleasure doing business. Send the money," Illumi replied cheerfully.
"Be careful. Ryan might have cut a deal with Ronin—otherwise he wouldn't have walked away from that fight," Chrollo warned. The suggestion itself was a test.
He'd had eyes on Ryan for years. The guy was a sadistic tumor who loved carving up Meteor City locals.
Even without the Ronin angle, Chrollo would've found an excuse to remove him. Now that Ryan had probably made a deal? Better off dead.
Then, out of nowhere, Chrollo dropped the invitation. "Oh, and any interest in joining the Phantom Troupe?"
"Nope," Illumi answered instantly.
"Shame," Chrollo said calmly, and hung up.
A few minutes later, staring at the fresh transfer notification, Illumi started digging into Ryan's file.
Assassinating a Meteor City Elder wasn't exactly a dream gig. Best to keep the Zoldyck name buried deep—otherwise those lunatics would turn the whole job into a circus.
Neon's POV – September 13th, Cemetery Building Safe House (Midnight)
The room smelled like old paper, instant coffee, and the faint metallic tang of Uvogin's preserved pinky finger (now repurposed as a paperweight). I sat cross-legged on the floor in my oversized hoodie, surrounded by a circle of tarot cards I'd drawn myself. Each card had tiny doodles: little chains, Sharingan patterns, spider legs with X's through them, and one very dramatic crimson ribcage.
Kurapika was asleep on the couch again, chains faintly glowing on his fingers like he was guarding the whole apartment in his dreams. Shizuku had vacuumed the entire kitchen twice and was now curled up in the corner with Blinky, using the vacuum cleaner as a pillow. She'd joined us yesterday and already felt like the quiet little sister I never knew I needed.
I flipped a card.
The Crimson Guardian – Reversed.
A shiver ran down my spine. Ronin was in Meteor City right now, probably punching Elders or something equally cool and terrifying. My ability had never been this personal before. Back when I was just the spoiled rich girl predicting deaths for bored billionaires, it was fun. Now? Every fortune felt like it carried the weight of our entire revenge plan.
"Focus, Neon," I whispered to myself. "Kurapika says if we can predict the Troupe's next split, we can snipe the eyes before they do."
I reshuffled and laid out a full spread for tomorrow's training goal: "How do I make my fortunes more precise for team strategy?"
The cards answered in their usual cryptic, slightly sassy way:
1. The Tower – Sudden upheaval. (Duh, that's Ronin's Susanoo.)
2. The Lovers – Union through shared purpose. (Me + Kurapika + Shizuku?)
3. The Star – Hope and healing. (My Holy Chain practice with Kurapika?)
4. The Devil – Reversed – Breaking free from chains. (The Phantom Troupe's hold on the Scarlet Eyes?)
I stared at the last card for a long time. My ability wasn't just prediction anymore. It was guidance. I needed to train it like Kurapika trained his chains—relentlessly, until it became a weapon.
I stood up, grabbed my notebook, and started writing the first official "Neon Fortune Training Log."
Entry 1: Goal – Turn vague prophecies into actionable intel.
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Kurapika's POV – September 14th, Training Room (Morning)
Neon was already waiting when I walked in, hair messy, eyes bright with that chaotic energy she got when she was about to do something unhinged but brilliant.
"Today's lesson!" she announced, waving a fresh deck of custom cards. "I'm going to predict your next three moves in sparring. If I'm right more than twice, you owe me a new taxidermy kit."
I raised an eyebrow. "And if you're wrong?"
"You have to call me 'Big Sis Neon' for the rest of the day."
Shizuku, who had wandered in carrying a tray of vacuumed snacks, tilted her head. "I want to watch."
This was how our mornings went now. Ronin was off being a one-man army in Meteor City, so the three of us had turned the safe house into a miniature training academy. Kurapika the strategist, Neon the oracle-in-training, Shizuku the… whatever Shizuku was (human vacuum with perfect memory for rules).
I activated Ren and stepped onto the mat. "Begin."
Neon closed her eyes, aura flaring faintly around her fingertips—the same soft glow she used when reading palms at parties. Her voice dropped into that dreamy, singsong tone she used for real fortunes.
"First move… you'll feint left with your chain, then strike right with Holy Chain to test my reaction speed."
I moved exactly as she described.
Her eyes snapped open. "See? Told you!"
I couldn't help the small smile. "Lucky guess."
"Second move!" She grinned wider. "You'll switch to Judgment Chain mid-combo because you're overthinking whether my prediction is real or if I'm reading your muscle twitches."
Damn it. I did exactly that.
Shizuku clapped once, deadpan. "Accurate."
Neon bounced on her toes. "Third move— you'll hold back because you don't want to actually hurt me, even though I'm getting better at Ten."
I stopped mid-strike. She was right again.
Neon pumped her fist. "Three for three! Big Sis Neon wins!"
I exhaled, deactivating Ren. "How are you doing that?"
She tapped her temple. "I've been practicing on random objects all night. Instead of asking 'what will happen to this person,' I ask 'what will this specific person do in the next thirty seconds under these exact conditions.' It's like… narrowing the lens. Less cosmic destiny, more tactical sniper scope."
Shizuku nodded solemnly. "Blinky approves. Precision is good for storage too."
I felt a surge of genuine pride. Neon wasn't just playing around anymore. She was weaponizing her Specialization Nen the same way I had weaponized my chains.
Neon's POV – September 17th, Rooftop (Midnight Training)
The city lights glittered below like scattered jewels. I sat on the edge of the roof with my legs dangling, wind whipping my hair. Kurapika had gone to bed early after another brutal Ren session. Shizuku was downstairs sorting her vacuumed "treasures" (she now had three whole motorcycles from Spence's estate).
I laid out a new spread, this time for the team as a whole.
Question: What does the Phantom Troupe do next if we keep collecting the scattered eyes?
Cards:
- The Chariot – Reversed: Stalled momentum. (They're hesitating because of Ronin's growth.)
- The Hermit: Chrollo going solo to find a counter-ability. (Makes sense. He's the brain.)
- The Moon: Deception and hidden dangers. (Hisoka? Or internal Troupe fractures?)
- The World: Completion… but at a cost.
I wrote it all down in my training log, then tried something new. I focused my aura into the cards themselves, treating them like extensions of my body the way Kurapika did with his chains.
"Show me something useful," I whispered. "Not just fate. Our fate."
One card flipped on its own.
The Star – Upright, glowing faintly with my aura.
A warm feeling spread through my chest. Hope. Guidance. The prophecy wasn't just doom anymore. It was us shining through the darkness.
I practiced for three more hours—predicting the exact time the streetlight below would flicker (it did, at 2:47 AM), the number of pigeons that would land on the roof (seven), and whether Kurapika would wake up before dawn (he did, at 5:12 AM, chains already active).
Small stuff. But each success made the "lens" sharper.
Kurapika's POV – September 21st, Safe House Strategy Meeting
Neon slammed her notebook on the table like it was a battle plan.
"Training update!" she declared. "I can now predict individual actions with 87% accuracy if I have recent physical contact or a personal item. Group movements are still at 62%, but I'm getting better at tying them to specific questions like 'When will the Troupe split to hunt eyes?'"
Shizuku was vacuuming the floor while listening. "Useful. Like knowing when to suck up the bad guys."
I studied her notes. The improvement was staggering. Two weeks ago her fortunes were flowery and vague. Now they read like tactical reports:
"September 25th – Chrollo will contact the Zoldycks again. Target: Ronin. Success chance for assassination: 34%. Illumi will bring Maha."
"September 28th – One Troupe member will attempt to retrieve eyes from a black-market dealer in Yorknew. Name starts with 'M'. Machi?"
She had even started experimenting with "linked fortunes"—using a strand of her own hair or a drop of blood from a training cut to anchor predictions to our team.
It was beautiful. And terrifying. Her Specialization Nen was evolving exactly like Ronin's eyes—fueled by purpose.
I placed a hand on her shoulder. "You're not just our fortune teller anymore, Neon. You're our early-warning system. Keep training. When Ronin gets back, we'll test you against real Troupe movements."
She beamed. "And if I get it perfect, I get to name our next team attack!"
Shizuku looked up. "Blinky Smash?"
Neon laughed. "Something like that."
Neon's POV – September 25th, Private Fortune Chamber (Converted Storage Room)
I had turned the spare room into my "oracle sanctum." Walls covered in maps, strings connecting possible eye locations, and little doodles of Ronin's Susanoo, Kurapika's chains, and my own glowing cards.
Today's training was the hardest yet.
Target: Predict the exact outcome of Ronin's upcoming fight with Hisoka on October 1st, including any surprise interventions.
I used every trick I'd learned.
First, I held the Heaven's Arena ticket stub Kurapika had obtained. Physical link.
Second, I burned a tiny piece of Ronin's spare transformation scroll (he left them everywhere). Personal essence.
Third, I asked the specific question out loud while in full Ten: "What will happen in the 223rd floor match between Ronin and Hisoka, and what external threat will appear immediately after?"
The cards exploded across the floor in a chaotic spiral. I let my aura guide them instead of forcing a spread.
When they settled, the pattern was crystal clear.
Susanoo dominates. Hisoka pushed to his limit. Black flames and spatial locks decide it. T.K.O. for Ronin.
Then the bottom card—the one that always represented "the hidden variable."
The Emperor – Reversed. A short, withered old man with a skeletal hand. Zoldyck crest faintly visible.
Maha.
I wrote it down with shaking hands. Then I added a personal note in the margin:
"Tell Kurapika immediately. Ronin needs to know the family is watching. But also… I'm getting stronger too. My fortunes aren't just predictions anymore. They're shields."
Kurapika's POV – September 29th, Rooftop at Dusk
Neon stood at the edge, aura flaring brighter than I'd ever seen it. She had been training non-stop. Dark circles under her eyes, but her smile was wider than ever.
"Final test before Ronin's fight," she said. "I'm going to predict the next three major threats to our team in the next 72 hours."
She didn't use cards this time. She simply closed her eyes and let the aura flow.
"Threat One: Illumi's second attempt on Ronin in Meteor City—already failed, but he's bringing Maha.
Threat Two: A Troupe splinter cell trying to grab eyes in Yorknew—Phinks and Nobunaga.
Threat Three… me and you getting targeted while Ronin's distracted at the Arena."
She opened her eyes. They were glowing faintly gold—the same color as her fortunes when they were at maximum clarity.
"I can see the threads now, Kurapika. Not just fate. Our threads. The ones we weave together."
I felt something loosen in my chest for the first time since the massacre.
We weren't alone anymore.
Neon's POV – October 1st, Heaven's Arena Private Box (During the Fight)
The arena was screaming. Susanoo roared. Hisoka danced like a madman.
I gripped Kurapika's hand, my other hand holding a single card I'd kept hidden all week.
It was blank when I started training. Now it had a single image I'd drawn myself: three figures standing back-to-back—Kurapika with chains, me with glowing cards, Shizuku with Blinky—while a giant crimson guardian stood in front.
The card pulsed with my aura.
I whispered the final fortune of my training arc, just for us:
"No matter how dark the web gets… our family's light will burn brighter."
The card flared once and settled into a soft, steady glow.
Kurapika squeezed my hand back. Shizuku leaned in from the other side.
We were ready.
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