Kurapika's POV – September 12th, Yorknew Safe House (Cemetery Building, Top Floor)
The coffee had gone cold hours ago. I didn't notice until Neon slid a fresh cup under my nose with a dramatic sigh.
"You're doing that thing again," she said, voice light but eyes sharp. "Staring at the map like it personally insulted your clan."
I blinked, realizing my fingers had been tracing the same red line for twenty minutes—the projected route for the remaining sixteen pairs of Scarlet Eyes outside Kakin. Sixteen. Each one a piece of my people. Each one fuel for Ronin's eyes.
Big Brother Ronin.
The title still felt strange on my tongue, even in my own head. He called me "little brother" with that easy grin, like the massacre had never happened, like we were just two survivors building something new instead of tearing the world apart for revenge. But I knew the truth. I had staged my own "death" to push him past his bottleneck. I had watched his Mangekyō awaken in real time, that abyssal black pattern spinning like the end of everything.
And it had worked.
His power was growing faster than even I had calculated. The Scarlet Eyes weren't just boosting his aura—they were unlocking something ancient, something that made the Phantom Troupe look like children playing with knives.
Neon plopped down across from me, legs swinging like a kid. She was sketching something in her notebook—another macabre little taxidermy project, this time turning one of Uvogin's preserved fingers into a keychain. "You're thinking about the eyes again, aren't you? The ones in Kakin. Tserriednich's collection."
I nodded. "We can't touch them yet. Not without Ronin. But the sixteen scattered pairs… if the Troupe splits up to hunt them, we pick them off one by one."
Neon tilted her head, glasses slipping down her nose. "And if they don't split? If Chrollo just sits on his hands like the smug spider he is?"
"Then we bait them harder." I tapped the map. "The 'Divine Artifact Destiny' rumor you helped me spread is already trending on the Hunter forums. People are calling it the new 'Greed Island-level' treasure. Even non-ability users are looking for it now."
Neon's eyes sparkled with mischief—the same look she used to give when she predicted someone's gruesome death for fun. "I love it when my fortunes come true in the messiest way possible. Remember the one I gave you last week? 'A crimson ribcage will shield your family while black flames consume your enemies.' Ronin's Susanoo is basically custom-made for my prophecies now."
I allowed myself a small smile. Neon had changed. The spoiled, gloomy girl who once collected body parts like trading cards had become… something warmer. She still taxidermied corpses (Uvogin's preserved remains were now displayed proudly in the corner with a little plaque that read "Spider #11 – Donated by Kurapika"), but she trained with me every day. Ren for three hours straight. Push-ups until her arms gave out. She even asked me to teach her basic chain techniques "just in case Ronin needs backup."
She was becoming family.
Neon's POV – Same Night, 2:17 AM
Kurapika finally passed out on the couch, head lolling against the armrest, chains still faintly glowing on his fingers like he was ready to fight in his sleep. I draped a blanket over him—quietly, so I wouldn't wake the big scary strategist.
He thinks he's the one protecting us. Cute.
I slipped into the next room where my "collection corner" had taken over half the wall. Uvogin's head (well, the taxidermied version) stared back at me with glassy eyes. I patted its cheek. "You were tough. But Ronin turned you into paste. Kinda hot, right?"
Shizuku had joined us two days ago. She was… different. Quiet. Vacuumed up an entire spilled cup of coffee without blinking. I liked her already. She didn't ask questions; she just followed rules. Kurapika's rules. My rules. Ronin's rules. Easy.
I pulled out my fortune-telling deck and shuffled it absently. The cards were new—custom ones I'd had made with tiny chain motifs and Sharingan patterns. One card flipped face-up by itself.
The Crimson Guardian.
I smiled. Ronin again.
"Big brother's getting scary strong," I whispered to the empty room. "But I'm getting stronger too. Watch me, okay? I'm not just the prophecy girl anymore."
Kurapika's POV – September 15th, Training Room
Sweat stung my eyes. Ren burned in my veins—three hours and twelve minutes today. A new record. My aura capacity had climbed past 4,800. Still nowhere near Ronin's 50,000+, but I wasn't Enhancer. I was Kurta. Vows and restrictions were my blade.
Neon was across the mat, doing one-armed push-ups while maintaining Ten. Her form was sloppy, but her determination made up for it. "Kurapika… if I… pass out… you have to… tell Ronin… I died heroically."
"You're not dying," I grunted, extending my pinky chain. Holy Chain wrapped around her wrist, feeding her a gentle pulse of recovery aura. "And stop talking during training. Focus."
She stuck her tongue out but kept going.
Later, while we cooled down with Zetsu, she asked the question I'd been dreading.
"Do you ever… regret making Ronin watch me 'die'?"
I stared at the floor. The memory of his face when he thought I was gone—raw, broken, then exploding into Mangekyō—still haunted me.
"No," I said finally. "Because it worked. And because he forgave me. That's what family does."
Neon leaned her head on my shoulder. "We're weird family, huh? Revenge boy, prophecy girl, and the ninja god."
I didn't correct her. For the first time since the massacre, the word "family" didn't feel like a wound.
Neon's POV – September 18th, Southernpiece Auction House (Backstage)
Kurapika was in full mafia-don mode—Raymond's face perfectly mimicked by one of Ronin's spare transformation scrolls. I sat beside him in a slinky dress, pretending to be arm candy while secretly scanning the crowd for Scarlet Eyes bidders.
My fortune for today had been simple: "A spider will lose another leg, and a new thread will join the web."
Shizuku had arrived yesterday. She was currently vacuuming the entire hotel room back at the Cemetery Building because "it was dusty." I loved her.
Kurapika's phone buzzed. Hisoka's message: Found your girl. Meteor City. Trouble with an Elder. Ronin's already on the way.
Kurapika's scarlet eyes flashed for half a second before he forced them back to normal. "We stay here. Collect the eyes. Ronin handles Meteor City. That's the plan."
I squeezed his hand under the table. "He'll be fine. My prophecy said so."
But inside, I worried too. Ronin was our tank, our big brother, our unstoppable force. Without him, we were just two kids playing at war.
Kurapika's POV – September 22nd, Safe House
Ronin's Shadow Clone had just delivered the latest update from Meteor City. Shizuku was secured. Ryan was dead. Theodore was ash. The "Ryan" identity was now ours.
I stared at the clone—identical to Ronin down to the lazy grin—and felt a surge of something like pride mixed with envy.
"He's really doing it," I murmured. "Turning Meteor City into our forward base while we handle the eyes."
Neon was braiding Shizuku's hair in the corner. Shizuku sat perfectly still, letting it happen. "Blinky likes the new base," she said flatly. "Lots of trash to store."
I laughed despite myself. The three of us—me, Neon, and now Shizuku—were becoming something real. A team. A family.
But the weight of the remaining eyes never left me. Sixteen pairs. Each one a piece of my dead clan. Each one another step toward making the Phantom Troupe pay.
Neon's POV – September 28th, Heaven's Arena Viewing Lounge (Private Box)
We were here to watch Ronin fight Hisoka on October 1st, but Kurapika had dragged me in early for "recon." Really, he just wanted to be close to the action.
I was on my third fortune of the day. This one was for Kurapika personally.
"The chains will bind the spider's web, but only if the guardian's flames light the way."
He read it over my shoulder and nodded slowly. "Ronin's flames. My chains. Your prophecies. We're actually doing this."
Shizuku wandered in carrying a tray of snacks she'd vacuumed from the concession stand. "Ronin said I could eat as much as I want if I follow the rules. Rule one: no killing without reason. Rule two: listen to Kurapika and Neon."
I ruffled her hair. "Good girl."
Kurapika's expression softened—the rare big-brother look he usually saved for Ronin. "We're going to win this. All of us."
Kurapika's POV – October 1st, Heaven's Arena – During the Fight
The arena shook. Susanoo's roar echoed through the stands. I watched from our private box, fists clenched so tight the chains on my fingers dug into my skin.
Ronin was winning. Of course he was. But Hisoka was pushing him—actually pushing him. That magician's cloth, those gum tricks, the way he kept smiling like this was the best day of his life.
Neon gripped my arm. "He's holding back. For the crowd. For fun."
I knew. Ronin loved the spotlight now. The cheers. The spectacle. It was his way of saying, "Look at what the last Kurta can do."
Shizuku adjusted her glasses. "His left eye is bleeding again. The space-freeze thing. He's overusing it."
I made a mental note to lecture him later. But right now, all I felt was fierce, protective pride.
That's my big brother.
Neon's POV – Post-Fight, Rooftop Extraction
Chaos below. Zoldycks. Assassins. Ronin teleporting away with Flying Thunder God like it was nothing.
Kurapika was already on the phone with Millia, arranging the next safe house. Shizuku was vacuuming evidence.
I looked out over Yorknew's lights and whispered to the night sky, "Hey, destiny… keep him safe, okay? We still need our guardian."
A new card flipped in my deck without me touching it.
Eternal Bonds.
I smiled.
We weren't just surviving anymore.
We were building something the Phantom Troupe could never break.
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