Chapter 93: News of Shizuku
"Will anyone actually believe that?" Ronin asked, looking at Kurapika with genuine surprise.
"They will," Kurapika said, meeting his gaze. "And if any clever individuals decide to investigate, their search will lead them straight to us."
"You've been far too high-profile at Heavens Arena, Brother Ronin. The Phantom Troupe already retaliated by leaking your Kurta identity onto the Hunter Website. I'm just an addition to that list now."
"So that's why you've been insisting I wear heavy disguises lately!" Ronin realized. He had assumed Kurapika was just worried about paparazzi or minor bounty hunters.
"Exactly. But it goes deeper."
"Aren't you worried these 'clever people' will conclude that this 'Mandate' artifact is currently in our possession?" Ronin pressed.
"They will. They might even try to take it from us," Kurapika nodded solemnly. "But even without the legend of the Mandate, we are already walking targets worth billions. Adding one more reason for people to hunt us doesn't change the danger—it only changes their behavior."
"The strength of a target usually dictates the caliber of the hunter," Ronin noted skeptically.
"True. But this is the only way I can guarantee the Scarlet Eyes aren't destroyed out of spite," Kurapika sighed. "A little extra risk is better than the permanent loss of our kin's remains."
"I see. You're targeting the Troupe's logic," Ronin followed the thread. "If they think I'm getting power from the eyes, and they want to stop my growth, their most rational move would be to find every pair and burn them. But by introducing the 'Artifact' and the 'Wish,' you give them a reason to hoard the eyes for themselves instead of destroying them."
"Precisely."
"But won't the lie fall apart? There is no 'Mandate' artifact," Ronin worried.
"There can be," Kurapika said firmly.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean your rapid power spikes after every acquisition are the only proof the world needs," Kurapika explained. "Anyone who wants a 'wish' will eventually have to come to us. We are the only ones who 'know' the ritual and 'possess' the Artifact."
"Most importantly, if they investigate the Lukso Province, they'll find the history of the 'Devil's Apostles.' At that point, they won't have a choice but to believe."
Ronin finally saw the full picture.
"So your plan is to send me back to Heavens Arena as a living billboard?"
"Yes," Kurapika nodded. "You stay in the light. I stay in the dark. With Miria's help, we'll draw all the scattered eyes toward us like a magnet. It's also the perfect live-combat training for Neon and me."
"Fine. I'll play my part," Ronin said. He began organizing the details in his mind. He wasn't a master strategist who could see fifty moves ahead, but he could recognize a solid gambit when he saw one.
Neon sat nearby, listening to the entire conversation in silence. Her job was simple: perform a prophecy at the start of every month. The rest of the time, she followed them, trained, and focused on her own "hobbies."
The car sped toward the airship terminal.
"There are still loose ends in Yorknew, but they won't take long. Once we're finished, we return to the Arena," Kurapika said from the passenger seat.
Ronin, still at the wheel, asked, "What about the Mafia assets?"
"Miria found a proxy for me. We can manage the cash flow and intel remotely from the Arena. Don't worry about it." Kurapika rubbed his temples. He preferred the simple days of pure training over the mental exhaustion of September's scheming.
Ronin reached for the radio. A soft melody filled the cabin, but it was quickly interrupted by the buzzing of his phone.
Keeping one hand on the wheel, he checked the screen. It was a message from Hisoka.
"I found her. Are you coming to Meteor City? She's in a bit of trouble."
Ronin showed the screen to Kurapika, then typed a single word in reply: "Yes."
For 1,500 years, Meteor City has been the world's dumping ground.
In official records, the city doesn't exist. It is a no-man's land. Despite the advancement of global surveillance and national ID databases, the residents of Meteor City are never registered.
To the rest of the world, they are ghosts.
Yet these ghosts, according to internal statistics, number over eight million.
The population is growing, already surpassing the totals of many established nations. For comparison, East Gorteau only has a population of five million.
Ronin and his team arrived via a massive waste disposal freighter.
The crew knew humanity thrived amidst the trash, but they didn't care. In fact, those with a bit of coin in their pockets looked forward to the port.
In Meteor City, anything can be bought if you have the Jenny.
Women, drugs, organs, dangerous species—there is nothing a resident of the Junkyard won't sell. Even the women, the prize of the sailors, were heartbreakingly cheap in a place that didn't value life.
As the freighter docked, a foul stench reached them before they even stepped off the gangplank. Garbage mountains stretched as far as the eye could see, meeting the horizon.
Crowds waited at the shoreline, dressed in rags, their eyes desperate as they watched the new arrival of trash. Behind them, heavy trucks were already dumping fresh loads while workers in hazmat suits patrolled the mounds.
Ronin, Kurapika, and Neon wore specialized masks. They hid their faces and filtered the toxic air, sparing them from the worst of the city's aroma.
It was September 13th. After settling their business in Yorknew, they had come for Shizuku.
Meteor City was the cradle of the Phantom Troupe, but it wasn't their territory. The city was ruled by the Council of Elders—the true architects of the city's destiny.
According to Hisoka, Shizuku had offended one of these powerful Elders.
As the ship's security pushed back the scavenging mob, Ronin led the way down a path cut through the refuse. A car was waiting for them.
The driver was a middle-aged man in a sharp business suit. He looked like a corporate elite from a metropolitan center, a jarring contrast to the wasteland around him.
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