"Didn't you say before that whenever we're hungry, we can come to you anytime, anywhere?"
Hmm, I did say that. But if I remember correctly, someone also declared that even if he starved to death outside, he would never come back to beg me, right?
Well… technically, they aren't begging right now~~~
"Of course, you also told us to think carefully about what we wanted to eat before coming."
While Moge was grumbling inwardly, Uvogin immediately puffed out his chest and spoke loudly:
"I've definitely thought about it!!"
He opened his wide mouth, almost sticking out his tongue to lick the corners of his lips.
"I want to eat meat this time!!"
"Big meat!!"
"Delicious, fragrant meat!!"
Uvogin shouted at the top of his lungs. As he yelled, it truly looked like drool might spill from the corners of his mouth at any moment. For a child who had grown up in Meteor City, meat wasn't just food—it was a luxury bordering on legend.
"I want to eat fried rice."
Machi remained concise as always.
But this was already rare for her. Normally, when she accompanied Uvogin, she would stay silent unless absolutely necessary.
"Delicious big meat and fried rice? I understand~~~"
Rice did exist in Meteor City, of course—but it was often yellowish, mold-tainted black rice or coarse brown grains mixed with sand and strange odors. Meat? That was even rarer. If food was warm and didn't immediately cause stomach pain, it was considered a feast.
After accepting the duo's "commission," Moge began sorting through ideas in his mind. Very quickly, he selected a suitable direction for his Nen.
"There's an item somewhat similar in concept to the 'Gourmet Cloth'… something that can produce various foods. It's not as convenient as the real Gourmet Cloth recorded in the Hunter archives, but it should suffice…"
He raised his head and glanced around.
"What are you looking for?"
Uvogin noticed his behavior and asked at once.
"I'm looking for a tree."
Moge withdrew his gaze slightly. "Or more precisely, plants."
Obviously, in this region buried under mountains of garbage, not even weeds could survive.
"A tree? There are absolutely none in this area."
Though he didn't understand what trees had to do with eating meat, Uvogin still answered honestly.
"Besides the church and the outer perimeter, forget trees—not even a blade of grass grows here."
The "outer perimeter" referred to the border area between Meteor City and the outside world.
And that forested zone carried dangerous memories.
It was near that wooded outer edge that Sarasa—Chrollo, Uvogin, and the others' companion—had once been captured by outsiders.
And then…
She was brutally murdered and dismembered.
Sarasa's tragic death was the turning point that hardened Chrollo and the others, eventually leading to the formation of the Genei Ryodan.
Before his strength fully matured, Moge had no intention of carelessly stepping into places like that.
"Then let's go to the church."
Moge decisively chose the safer option. The church grounds at least had maintained vegetation—and more importantly, they were under protection.
"Can we go to the church?"
Before moving, Moge asked deliberately.
"Yes. The church doesn't reject children who want to enter."
Machi answered calmly, her eyes steady.
"And the Elder Council oversees it. No one would dare cause trouble there."
The church stood like a miracle within Meteor City.
Magnificent. Lavish. Almost unreal.
Amid endless trash heaps and broken steel ruins, its golden spires rose like something from another world. It was so conspicuous that it bordered on absurd.
And in a place like Meteor City, such wealth could not exist without backing.
The church handed over a portion of its gains to the Elder Council. In exchange, it received protection.
In Meteor City, even faith required power to survive.
"Luxurious… wealthy…"
Led by Uvogin and Machi, Moge arrived before the church and couldn't help but sigh softly at the sight of its gleaming structure.
Compared to the surrounding wasteland, it was like heaven separated from hell by only a few hundred meters.
The harsher the land, the more prosperous certain organizations seemed to become.
But Moge wasn't here to philosophize.
Fortunately, Uvogin hadn't exaggerated. The church grounds indeed had trees—well-maintained, healthy ones.
Just as Moge, along with the puzzled Uvogin and Machi, began searching for a suitable tree—
Inside the church hall.
"Yo, you're back, Chrollo."
At the center of the hall stood Father Litzol—a curly-haired man dressed in immaculate, expensive clothing, a Bible resting in his hands. His smile was warm and seemingly benevolent.
"Are you here to watch the videotapes and study again?"
"Yes. I need to study."
Chrollo, having safely returned with his findings, nodded gently.
"When I entered earlier, I noticed more gravestones outside."
"The world is cruel."
Father Litzol sighed, sounding sincerely mournful.
"Recently, criminals from outside have infiltrated the residential zones of Meteor City. Many children have been abducted."
"Therefore, you must never go alone to the outskirts."
People born in Meteor City had no official records, no identification, no legal existence.
Some in the outside world twisted this into justification—believing that if one had no identity, then one was not truly human, and thus not entitled to human rights.
Under that distorted belief, they hunted Meteor City's residents.
Every year, hundreds disappeared.
And among them, seven out of ten were children under fifteen.
"I understand."
Chrollo nodded softly.
As he did, his sharp eyes drifted toward the window almost unconsciously.
And then—
"Huh? Uvogin?"
Seeing Uvogin outside through the church's glass startled him slightly.
In Chrollo's understanding, Uvogin had always scoffed at religion, prayer, and places like churches. He considered them meaningless.
So why was he here?
"And Machi… and there's…"
Chrollo's gaze shifted to the unfamiliar boy standing beside them.
That youth—handsome, composed—radiated an unusual calm. Judging purely by appearance, he was almost on par with Chrollo himself.
Who was he?
Why had Chrollo never seen him before?
Uvogin and Machi always moved together. Had they recruited someone new?
If so, why hadn't he appeared earlier—during their previous scuffles, or when Phinks and Feitan were fighting?
Questions stacked one upon another in Chrollo's mind.
His thoughts were interrupted.
"We've arrived at the screening room, Chrollo."
Father Litzol stopped before a door.
"However, someone is already inside. If you wish to study, you'll have to join them."
Someone?
Chrollo pushed the door open.
Inside, seated casually on the floor before the screen, was a familiar figure.
"Pakun?"
"Oh. It's Chrollo."
Pakunoda—short buzz cut, already taller than most girls her age—tilted her head back and smiled at him.
"What are you doing here?"