The car rolled forward. Behind the trash mountains were rows of dilapidated wooden shacks. Children in rags rummaged through roadside garbage, and adults fussed with things in front of their homes.
Poor. Filthy. Chaotic.
That was Ronin's first impression of Meteor City.
"I'm Damian. A private detective," the middle-aged man driving introduced himself.
Ronin shifted his gaze from the window back into the car, then noticed something on the glove compartment: a cobra with the number 5 on its body was slowly sliding along, deftly using its tail to open the compartment.
Ronin caught the aura attached to the cobra and formed a judgment about Damian.
From the moment Ronin got in the car, he'd already noticed Damian maintaining Ten. Now that Damian's aura was attached to the snake, Damian's Nen ability was likely Manipulation-type.
As for the number 5 on the snake—maybe it meant it was Damian's fifth controlled snake, maybe it meant something else… or maybe it meant nothing at all.
"The file bag inside has what you want," Damian said, lighting a cigarette after the car left the trash mountains. "The place we're heading to is also near where Shizuku might be hiding. You don't mind, right?"
He didn't offer a cigarette—he only asked politely.
Ronin shook his head and didn't remove his mask. Under the snake's watch, he reached in and took the file from the glove box.
He unwound the string sealing it, tipped it out—and a stack of photos slid onto his lap.
In the photos was a girl with short black hair, large-framed glasses, and a hoodie with jeans.
Ronin recognized her immediately.
It was Shizuku—the one he'd been looking for.
Unfortunately, the photos didn't reveal whether Shizuku had already mastered Nen. But he could see dried bloodstains on her clothes and even in her hair—no idea whether it was hers or someone else's.
All the photos were candid shots, and judging from Shizuku's eyes in them, she seemed to have sensed the photographer's position.
Besides photos, there were written notes.
They recorded not only what Damian had found about Shizuku, but also why she was being hunted.
Shizuku Murasaki, 16. Her father was a rule-abiding doctor; her mother was a fairly attractive housewife.
This family—totally out of place in Meteor City—had suffered a sudden upheaval a month ago.
That "rule-abiding" father had another identity: he was a master thief.
And he had assassinated an elder of Meteor City's Third District: Spence.
More importantly, after the assassination, he relocated a batch of treasures from Spence's home. During the transfer, he was spotted—and identified.
So the council's cleanup squad began hunting Shizuku's father.
At the same time, people stormed the clinic the family ran, trying to seize Shizuku and her mother as hostages—leverage against the father, and a way to force the treasure's location.
But Spence's private soldiers weren't only after the father and the treasure—they wanted revenge.
So Shizuku's mother, who sacrificed herself to buy Shizuku time to escape, was tortured and murdered.
Ronin saw images of the clinic's horrific aftermath—blood and shredded flesh splattered everywhere, the result of inhuman abuse.
Yet seven days later, Shizuku appeared at the clinic again.
The cleanup squad and Spence's private soldiers had vanished without a trace. The building had been restored—every stain and sign had been cleaned away.
Ronin closed the file. "So do we have any news on Shizuku's father?"
"No." Damian stopped the car at a street corner instead of driving closer. "But he's probably dead. If you want me to investigate Hiroki Murasaki, I can—just costs extra."
Ronin looked toward the clinic in the distance and replied flatly, "Not necessary."
In Neon's divination poem, there had been a line:
"In the house surrounded by malicious guests, you will meet the one you're waiting for."
At first Ronin hadn't understood it.
But after reading Damian's file, he knew exactly what he needed to do.
He pushed the door open and stepped out.
"Hey—doing that will expose you," Damian warned.
In the back seat, Neon and Kurapika also got out.
"You two wait outside," Ronin said, already striding toward the clinic. "If you find Shizuku first, stop her and notify me."
The clinic might have been "cleaned," but uniformed men with guns were still patrolling.
Even passersby avoided that area instinctively.
Kurapika and Neon exchanged a look. They didn't follow Ronin—instead they kept distance, drifting toward a nearby alley mouth and hiding.
From the car, Damian muttered a few complaints.
He knew it. People Hisoka introduced were never reliable.
Even while complaining, he didn't drive off—he kept the engine running, parked at the curb ready to flee, and watched to see what Ronin planned to do.
He found out quickly.
Ronin's direct approach drew immediate attention from patrolmen.
"Stop. You want to die?" A voice barked without any courtesy, and the muzzle of a gun snapped toward Ronin's forehead.
Before Ronin could comply, a shot was fired.
The bullet grazed past Ronin's ear—malice and warning.
"Stop!" The shout drew more attention. More guns swung over, ready to fire.
But the pedestrians on the street acted as if this was normal. Only those closest hurried away; those farther off watched with open schadenfreude.
Ronin didn't stop. He reached into his clothing and produced a few coins.
Gunfire cracked again.
But the bullets were knocked aside midair by the coins. The coins didn't slow—each one punched through the shooter's gun and continued into the shooter's body.
Ronin didn't have enough coins for every bullet, so after throwing a few, he simply raised his hand and caught the incoming bullets out of the air.
Enhancer aura and months of refining his body meant bullets couldn't hurt him anymore.
He rolled the bullets in his hand, shifted them to his thumb and index finger pads, then flicked them back out—faster than when they had been fired.
Ronin stepped past the cleanup squad members' falling bodies and pushed open the clinic's door.
And the instant it opened, a long blade coated in aura chopped down at his head.