Under the dense night, Kisho's figure shot like an arrow, darting swiftly through the endless mountains of trash.
Attacks that could kill him in an instant might burst out from all directions at any time.
The rapier flashed with a chilling cold light under the moon.
The boy's pupils shrank to their limit.
"Sold—"
The three-edged spike in his hand swung sharply upward, blocking Feitan's rapier. Using the rebound force, he leapt backward—just in the blink of an eye, his figure vanished without a trace.
"Well, compared to the beginning, you really are a lot faster."
Feitan, standing where he was, revealed a cold smile, his blade-sharp gaze cutting toward a shadow blackened by the night.
"That's what makes it interesting."
His figure likewise melted into the darkness.
...
Hidden on the far side of the trash mountain, Kisho silently exhaled, then slowly held his breath again.
"Zetsu," completely concealing his nen, sealing off his presence so the enemy would find it even harder to detect him.
"Ten," releasing aura from the aura nodes to form a barrier enveloping the body, increasing defense and greatly reducing the damage caused by an enemy's nen pressure.
Under Feitan's sparring, he was undergoing survival training where a single misstep could mean severe injury—or death.
After training, his ability to switch between "Zetsu" and "Ten" had become increasingly smooth and natural.
At first, Feitan hadn't been very willing to follow Chrollo's arrangement to act as a sparring partner for the brat. But after a few days, his interest in a real-life version of "cat and mouse" gradually surpassed Shalnark's game console.
The brat's progress surprised him, and inevitably stirred intense curiosity.
This kind of training had already lasted for more than half a month.
As for "nen abilities," no one casually interfered with another person's cultivation—even though they were curious about Kisho's ability to freely switch categories, the members of the Troupe didn't ask him much about it.
So Kisho's training focused mainly on "actual combat" and "survival."
During the day, with members of the Troupe's assault group acting as opponents, Kisho had to fight each one dozens or even hundreds of times.
Although he lost every time—and badly each time—Kisho could feel that his progress each day was so great that even he himself was astonished.
And when night fell, it meant the start of survival training—no fixed location, no chosen setting, lasting until the night passed.
At the same time, during night training, he was not allowed to use any badge abilities.
"Even though I'm actually pretty happy to train like this, it's just… really exhausting." Kisho helplessly raised a hand to press at his brow, sighing inwardly.
Complaints aside, he didn't relax his vigilance in the slightest.
According to Feitan's original words, if he could be killed even during training, then dying would be for the best.
It sounded infuriating, but this was Meteor City—it was supposed to be like this.
People who died too easily weren't suited to live here, let alone in the Troupe, whose "rules" were even more cruel than Meteor City itself.
And besides…
Feitan was actually someone you could deal with. Fierce as he was, he truly taught.
Besides, he must have held back.
After all, judging by how he'd been on the first night of training, his past self was so weak that his current self couldn't bear to look back.
If Feitan had used his later training-level strength back then, there was no way he'd still be standing here alive and kicking.
Kisho raised his hand and looked at his palm, smiling.
"But now, killing me isn't that easy anymore."
The night was utterly quiet.
No one knew how long had passed—long enough to make one unconsciously believe that everything had already settled.
Then, at that very moment, an extremely faint sound came from behind.
Kisho's eyes widened slightly, but he didn't turn to look. The instant he sensed something amiss, he released his "En."
Centered on him, within a radius of three meters, almost nothing could escape his perception.
A flash of cold light—"ding"—an attack from the front was once again blocked by his three-edged spike.
After failing in a single strike, Feitan didn't continue hiding to wait for another chance. Instead, he stood in place, staring at Kisho.
A moment later, the rapier in his hand vanished.
"So you've learned to use 'En' in place of your eyes?"
Recalling the painful price he'd paid a few days earlier, Kisho fell silent for a moment, then smiled.
"Yeah. You taught me well."
Learning to restrain bodily instincts, not wasting effort and time using one's eyes to look for disturbances from behind—something meaningless that only distracted attention from other directions.
Learning to deploy "En" instantly to judge the direction of an enemy's attack was the most valuable thing Kisho had learned in these days of training, where he'd wagered his life.
Only by paying the price and learning the lesson in practice could he avoid losing his life in future battles.
Feitan: "…"
After hearing Kisho's words, a barely perceptible trace of embarrassment flashed across the half of Feitan's face covered by his collar.
"Stop yapping. A stupid student like you—if it weren't the boss's order, who would be willing to teach you!"
Kisho grinned.
The sky at the horizon was already growing faintly bright.
"That's it, then. This kind of training can end here." Feitan said slowly. "If we keep going, it won't be this kind of small-scale game anymore."
He clicked his tongue and spoke with extreme nonchalance.
"Fighting while holding back is really boring."
Kisho shrugged.
"Then I'll try to get stronger a bit faster? And then fight you properly?"
Feitan looked back at him, raising an eyebrow.
By common sense, enhancement-types who were provoked by him usually flew into a rage.
He'd thought the brat would be like the others—stomping in anger and demanding an immediate fight—but he hadn't expected this kind of reaction.
Still, though it was a bit strange, it counted as a challenge.
He smiled coldly.
"Fine."
The two walked one after the other, separated by more than ten meters, slowly returning to the base.
...
In a corner of the first floor of the base, a ghastly pale candlelight flickered.
Someone was still sitting on his exclusive sofa, turning the pages of a book one by one by candlelight.
A rare moment of tranquility—the base was steeped in silence.
The noisiest ones were still asleep—once that bunch got up, the entire base would be turned upside down by the noise.
"You're back?"
Chrollo didn't look up, casually greeting the two who had finished training.
Feitan responded, then turned his gaze toward another corner of the base and let out a cold laugh.
He withdrew his eyes.
"I'm going up."
"Alright." Chrollo turned another page of the book in his hands.
Kisho frowned and followed Feitan's earlier movement with his gaze.
Standing there was a tall, thin man in black.
The man had long silver-gray hair, with a wooden puppet taller than a person beside him, his right hand wrapped in bandages.
He slowly raised his head, meeting Kisho's eyes, the corners of his mouth curling into a faint smile.
"Yo, boss. Is he the newcomer you mentioned?"
He spoke softly, his gaze openly revealing an emotion that made Kisho uncomfortable.
Kisho calmly returned the look, giving no ground.
Chrollo ignored Omokage and introduced him to Kisho.
"His name is Omokage, the number four member I told you about earlier."
After a brief pause, he said to Omokage.
"This is number eight, Kisho."
His voice lowered slightly—seemingly just an introduction of a newcomer to a veteran member, yet carrying a warning undertone.
Omokage chuckled lightly, spreading his hands helplessly.
"Yeah, yeah, I know. Members aren't allowed to kill each other."
A dark glint passed through Omokage's gray eyes.
"But a new member's eyes really are beautiful…"