Chapter 94: Meteor City
The car rolled slowly away from the freighter. Beyond the mountains of refuse lay clusters of dilapidated wooden shacks. Children in rags scavenged through heaps of roadside junk, while adults tinkered with scrap metal in front of their hovels.
Poor, filthy, and chaotic. This was Ronin's first impression of Meteor City.
"The name's Damian. Private investigator," the middle-aged man behind the wheel introduced himself.
Ronin turned his gaze from the window to the interior of the car. On the glove box of the passenger side, a cobra marked with the number 5 slithered slowly, using its tail to deftly flick the latch open.
Ronin noted the aura clinging to the snake. He made an instant assessment: Damian was a Manipulator.
Whether the "5" meant it was his fifth snake or had some other cryptic meaning was irrelevant. What mattered was the professional efficiency.
"The file in the compartment has everything you asked for," Damian said, lighting a cigarette after they cleared the main garbage heaps. "You mind?"
He didn't offer one; it was a polite formality.
Ronin shook his head, keeping his mask on. He reached out and took the dossier under the watchful eyes of the cobra.
He unwound the string and tipped the envelope. A stack of photographs spilled out.
The photos showed a girl with short black hair, large framed glasses, a hoodie, and jeans.
Ronin recognized her instantly: Shizuku.
The photos didn't reveal if she was a Nen user yet, but dry bloodstains were visible on her clothes and hair. It was impossible to tell if the blood was hers or her enemies'.
The shots were candid, taken from a distance. However, in several photos, Shizuku's gaze was fixed directly at the camera. She had clearly sensed the stalker.
Aside from the pictures, there was a detailed report.
Shizuku Murasaki, 16. Her father was a law-abiding doctor; her mother, a beautiful housewife.
A month ago, this family—which looked entirely out of place in the chaos of Meteor City—was shattered.
The "law-abiding" father had a secret life as a master thief. He had successfully assassinated Spence, an Elder of the Third District.
More importantly, he had stolen a massive hoard of treasure from the Elder's estate. During the extraction, he was spotted and identified.
The Council's "Cleaning Squad" began a relentless hunt for him. Simultaneously, a private militia loyal to the deceased Elder stormed the family clinic, hoping to seize Shizuku and her mother as leverage. They wanted the treasure back.
But Spence's men weren't just looking for loot; they wanted blood for blood.
Shizuku's mother gave her life to buy her daughter a few seconds to run. In return, she was tortured to death.
Ronin looked at the photos of the crime scene. They were stomach-churning. Blood and shredded remains were scattered across every inch of the small clinic.
Yet, seven days later, Shizuku had returned to that same clinic.
The Cleaning Squad and the private militia members who had been stationed there vanished. The house was now spotless, every trace of the carnage erased.
Ronin closed the folder. "Any word on the father?"
"None. Most likely dead," Damian parked the car at a street corner, refusing to drive any closer. "If you want me to track down Hiroki Murasaki, I can provide that service. For a premium, of course."
Ronin looked at the clinic in the distance. "Not necessary."
In the prophecy Neon had written for him, one line stood out:
"In a house surrounded by evil guests, you shall find the one you seek."
Ronin finally understood the riddle.
He pushed the car door open.
"Hey, you'll be exposed!" Damian warned.
Kurapika and Neon stepped out of the back seat simultaneously.
"Wait for me out here," Ronin said. "If Shizuku tries to bolt, intercept her and let me know."
As he spoke, Ronin began walking toward the clinic.
Though Shizuku had "cleaned" the place, it was currently occupied. Men in uniforms carrying assault rifles patrolled the perimeter. Pedestrians gave the building a wide berth, their heads down.
Kurapika and Neon exchanged a glance. They didn't follow him directly; instead, they fanned out, disappearing into the nearby alleys to cut off any escape routes.
In the car, Damian watched the trio move with a sigh of annoyance.
Hisoka's friends are just as reckless as he is.
Despite his grumbling, he kept the engine running, ready to floor it at a moment's notice. He wanted to see what these outsiders were planning.
He didn't have to wait long.
Ronin's approach was bold and unhurried. He was spotted immediately.
"Halt! Looking to die?" a guard barked, leveling his rifle at Ronin's head.
When Ronin didn't stop, the guard fired immediately.
The bullet whizzed past Ronin's ear—a malicious warning shot.
"I said HALT!"
The shout drew the attention of the rest of the squad. Half a dozen rifles were suddenly aimed at Ronin's chest.
The local residents watched with a mix of indifference and morbid curiosity. Those close by quickened their pace to avoid the crossfire, while those further away lingered, hoping for a show.
Ronin reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of coins.
Bang!
Another guard fired.
The coin in Ronin's hand blurred. There was a sharp clink in mid-air as the coin struck the bullet, deflecting it. The coin's momentum didn't stop; it punched through the guard's rifle and embedded itself in his chest.
The guards opened fire in a panic.
Ronin's hand moved faster than the eye could follow.
Instead of dodging, he reached out and snatched the bullets out of the air.
With his physical body reinforced by months of Weighted Boulder training and layered in Enhancement Nen, the lead rounds were harmless.
He rolled the bullets between his thumb and forefinger. A second later, he flicked them back.
The return fire was faster and more accurate than the original shots.
Ronin stepped over the bodies of the fallen Cleaning Squad and reached the clinic door.
He gripped the handle and pulled it open.
The moment the door swung wide, a Nen-infused blade swept down toward his head.
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