"Will anyone actually believe that?" Ronin looked at him in surprise.
"They will," Kurapika said, looking straight at Ronin. "And if someone with intent investigates, they might even trace it to you and me.
You were too high-profile at Heavens Arena, and the Phantom Troupe has already struck back—your Kurta identity has been exposed on the Hunter sites for a while now. Of course, I've been exposed too."
"So that's why you've been making me disguise myself so much lately!" Ronin had thought Kurapika was just worried about his identity as a famous fighter causing unnecessary trouble.
Turns out he wasn't far off.
"Won't the smart ones connect the dots and assume this so-called 'Destiny' is with us?" Ronin asked.
"They will. Some will even come after us." Kurapika nodded gravely. "But even without a 'Destiny' artifact, you and I are already walking tens of billions. One more label doesn't change much."
"But the strength of the people who come after us will change," Ronin objected.
"Yes—but this is the best way I can think of to ensure Scarlet Eyes won't be destroyed early," Kurapika said, a little helpless. "Taking some risk is better than having the Scarlet Eyes wiped out."
"That's fair. The key is still the Troupe," Ronin said, understanding. "If we don't make them draw the wrong conclusions, then the best way to stop me from gaining power from Scarlet Eyes is to find and destroy them one by one."
"Exactly."
"But this lie could be exposed, right? There's no real artifact called 'Destiny,'" Ronin worried.
"There can be," Kurapika said seriously.
"What do you mean?" Ronin didn't understand.
"I mean your rapid power jumps after obtaining Scarlet Eyes are the best proof," Kurapika explained. "And anyone who obtains Scarlet Eyes and wants to 'make a wish' would have to come to us. Only we know the ritual method and 'hold' Destiny.
Most importantly: if they go investigate Nancha, they'll learn about the 'Apostles of the Devil' red-eyed clan. At that point, they'll have no choice but to believe."
With that, Ronin fully understood.
"So your final arrangement is basically to have me go back to Heavens Arena and act as a living billboard," Ronin said.
"Yes." Kurapika nodded. "You in the open, me in the shadows, with Milia helping—we can pull in and collect all the Scarlet Eyes that gather around. And this also serves as real combat training for me and Neon."
"Alright. I'll follow your plan." Ronin kept sorting it out in his head, though there were still plenty of details he couldn't fully account for.
But overall, he could feel Kurapika's approach was likely the best available strategy under the current situation.
Neon listened the whole time but didn't join the discussion.
Her job was simple: at the start of each month, divine once for Ronin and Kurapika.
The rest of the time, following them around was "work." When resting, she could devote herself to her own interests.
The car sped toward the airship terminal.
"There are still a few things to handle in Yorknew. It won't take long. Once we're done, we can return to Heavens Arena," Kurapika said from the passenger seat.
Ronin drove. "What about the mafia side?"
"Milia helped me find people. Even if we're at Heavens Arena, we'll still be able to get money and information from the mafia whenever we need it. Don't worry," Kurapika said, rubbing his temples. Compared to all the calculations and thinking he'd been doing through September, he preferred the earlier days—where he didn't need to think, just train and get stronger.
Ronin casually turned on the radio. A gentle song played—and at the same time, his phone rang.
With one hand on the wheel, he picked it up.
It was a message from Hisoka:
"I found her for you. Do you want to come to Meteor City? She might be in some trouble."
Ronin showed the screen to Kurapika, then replied with a single word:
"Okay."
Meteor City had been a dumping ground for waste for fifteen hundred years.
Officially, it didn't "contain humans." It was treated as an uninhabited zone—so even as technology advanced and the world implemented national IDs and biometric records, the people living in Meteor City didn't need to register anything.
No one cared.
No one came to register them.
The people of Meteor City were like ghosts pushed outside the world.
And by various local power structures' estimates, those "ghosts" numbered over eight million.
And the number was still growing—larger than the population of many small nations.
Ronin knew, for instance, that the East Gorteau Republic in the Mitene Federation only had a population of around five million.
Ronin's group arrived by a garbage-transport ship.
The workers on board knew perfectly well that humans clustered in Meteor City, but they didn't care. Some of them, with a bit of money in their pockets, were even excited.
According to them: if you have money, you can buy anything you want in Meteor City.
Women, drugs, organs, dangerous species—anything. There was nothing you couldn't imagine, and nothing Meteor City people wouldn't dare sell.
And ironically, the thing the dockworkers valued most—women—was actually the cheapest in a place like Meteor City.
When the ship arrived, the stench hit them before they even disembarked. What they saw was an endless chain of trash mountains.
On the shore, crowds were already waiting—ragged clothes, desperate eyes fixed on the ship's garbage.
Behind them were heavy trucks dumping waste nonstop, and workers in protective suits moving across the trash hills.
Ronin's group put on masks they'd prepared in advance—both to hide their faces and to filter the air so the stink wouldn't torture them nonstop.
It was now September 13. After receiving Hisoka's message and finishing his Yorknew business, Ronin came to Meteor City.
This could be considered the Phantom Troupe's "home," but it wasn't the Troupe's territory.
Meteor City's forces were complex, and there was an elders' council—those were the real powers that controlled the city's direction.
And the person Ronin was looking for—Shizuku—had apparently offended one of those elders, someone with immense authority in Meteor City.
After stepping off the ship and moving down a narrow path through the garbage—while the dockworkers held back the crowd—Ronin saw vehicles waiting farther ahead.
He opened a car door.
Inside, the driver was a middle-aged man in a suit.
He didn't look like someone from Meteor City at all—he looked like a polished urban professional.
~~~
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