Yes, it's Meteor Street."
Chrollo's voice was calm, but his words carried the weight of harsh truth.
"There is no better place in the world to handle these matters than Meteor Street. In the eyes of the outside world, we don't exist. Anything dumped here goes unnoticed, unpunished."
"But there has always been an agreement—both among the elders and with the outside world—that large-scale infectious substances cannot be brought here. All countries respected it… until the Poor Man's Rose appeared."
Rimo's eyes flickered, remembering the infamous weapon.
"The emergence of the Poor Man's Rose sparked secret arms races across the world. Its success awakened the deepest malice of humanity, and the production of various pathogens and toxic agents grew exponentially."
"As a result, the eyes of every country are now on Meteor Street. They see it as the perfect place to dispose of highly valuable yet dangerous materials."
Chrollo continued, his tone deliberate:
"They cannot openly dump infectious agents here because of the old agreement. So they fabricate excuses."
"For instance, they claim, 'These people from Meteor Street caused damage in our country, they cost us resources.' Using that pretext, they dump their poisons and toxins here."
"And if the elders resist? Material sanctions are imposed."
Chrollo's words hung heavy in the room.
Material sanctions. Rimo realized that this was the part of Meteor Street's history he had never fully understood before arriving in this world.
"The operation of Meteor Street functions in two parts," Chrollo explained.
"One is resource collection. Residents scavenge and screen valuable items, which are exchanged through the elders. The elders then convert these items into materials from the outside world and redistribute them to the residents. But this accounts for only a small portion."
"After all, garbage is still garbage. No matter how valuable, it cannot sustain ten million people."
"The second part is the real lifeline of Meteor Street: the waste disposal fees from each country."
"Whenever a country dumps a certain amount of trash here, they must pay Meteor Street a corresponding fee. This is the foundation of our survival. Countries need a cheap disposal site, and Meteor Street depends on their garbage to keep running. It's a delicate balance."
Chrollo's gaze hardened.
"This is why Meteor Street is forced to accept partial contamination. If residents leave without permission or commit offenses, the blame ultimately falls on us."
Everyone's expressions darkened.
"Bastards!"
Uvogin could not hold back. He slammed his fist into a broken wooden table, sending splinters flying.
Even Feitan, who hated the elders the most, remained silent but radiated a cold, lethal aura. This time, his target was not the elders, but the outside world.
No matter their grievances with the elders, they could not deny the work the elders had done to preserve Meteor Street.
Yet, no matter how furious they were, it was impotent rage. The problem could not be solved by them alone.
Even Netero, recognized as the world's strongest, had limits imposed by the outside powers—V5 and others.
Rimo, regaining composure, asked, "Then what exactly is the arrangement between you and the second elder?"
Chrollo explained calmly:
"He taught me the power of [Mind] and gave me a pass for my team. In return, I'm responsible for scavenging resources from the outside world to supply Meteor Street, while also exploring ways to lift its external restrictions."
Rimo narrowed his eyes. He finally understood the connections in the original story: why the Phantom Troupe appeared during the Chimera Ant invasion—they had always been tied to Meteor Street.
The stolen goods weren't merely for personal gain—they were to maintain Meteor Street itself.
He recalled a conversation with Uvogin over the phone about Judah, a suspected traitor in the Troupe.
Chrollo had asked: "If someone betrays us to the underworld, what would they gain? Money? Fame? Status?"
Uvogin's answer had been blunt: "No."
No member of the Troupe pursued wealth or recognition. They acted for the survival and preservation of Meteor Street.
Rimo's mind raced. The Phantom Troupe was not a simple gang—they were a violent but strategic charity of sorts, ensuring the survival of their home and people.
Rimo's next question came naturally:
"So if I join, or you let me join, will this affect your arrangement with the second elder?"
Chrollo shook his head.
"No. My personal dealings with the elder are independent. Anything you do is at your discretion. The leader does not control the members. Each member's actions are free, and they can call upon the team's strength only when personal power is insufficient."
"Whether for personal dealings or team objectives, I still hope to hold leadership."
Chrollo's gaze lingered on Rimo, waiting for his final decision.
Rimo fell silent, deep in thought.
This was different from the image he had of the Troupe. Initially, he had imagined them as a simple band of thieves, drawn to them only by curiosity and admiration of their legendary reputation in the original chronicles.
Now he realized there was purpose and strategy, far beyond mere theft.
The room waited in tense silence, Uvogin, Nobunaga, and Machi prepared to support whatever decision he made.
"I…" Rimo began, his voice calm but resolute.