“Let Gon answer the phone.”

“Okay.”

Killua quickly passed the phone to Gon.

“Ron.”

“Gon, can you tell me what you’re thinking right now?”

“Nothing.”

“Not even a single thought?”

“Right.”

Ron paused for a moment, then added. “Have you ever been in a situation where your life was truly in danger?”

Gon thought for a second. “There was once when I was little… and then when I faced Hisoka.”

“And what did you think at that time?”

“I wanted to get stronger,” Gon answered earnestly, “so I could beat them!”

“And how did you want to beat them?”

“With my fists, of course!”

“Then, Gon, what do you think your advantage is?”

“My advantage?” Gon tilted his head sideways, looking confused at the phone.

“Something you have that others don’t.”

“I… don’t know,” Gon admitted, his voice quiet.

“Put the phone on speaker and let Killua answer.”

“Okay!”

Gon turned on the speaker.

“Killua, what do you think Gon’s advantage is?”

Killua didn’t hesitate. “His sense of smell. During the Hunter Exam, Gon could tell just by scent that the drinks Tonpa gave us were off. Even I couldn’t do that—I only figured it out after tasting it. And then there’s his instinct. He’s incredibly sharp when it comes to picking up changes around him—he notices things most people miss. Plus, his instincts are like a wild animal’s. Totally primal.

He’s also… stubborn. Way too stubborn. And reckless.”

Milluki muttered off to the side, “Recklessness is an advantage now?”

But Gon, oblivious, just scratched the back of his head and laughed.

Killua added a few more points, then said, “That’s all I’ve got, Ron-nii.”

“Alright.”

Ron’s tone shifted to something a little more focused. “For a Nen user, developing an ability is about helping yourself. If there’s something you want, build your ability around that. If you’re not sure what you want, then use your strengths as the foundation. That way, at least you won’t go wrong. Gon, do you understand now?”

Gon nodded, not entirely certain, but understanding more than before.

“I’ve got other things to handle, so I’ll leave it here. Good luck.”

“Thanks, Ron.”

“Don’t worry about it. You’re welcome.”

Ron ended the call. Gon returned to the room, continuing his effort to develop his Nen ability. He still didn’t have a clear goal, but his thoughts were more focused now.

Ron turned back to the laptop in front of him. Two figures were visible on-screen, seated in a truck—one of them was unmistakably Oster.

The image pulled Ron into memory. Saherta and Tuck’s death.

“Oster’s already in Yorknew. And the Phantom Troupe chose to fight in the city.”

Ron wasn’t surprised. An urban battlefield gave the Troupe certain advantages. Civilian lives meant nothing to them.

In the original story, Chrollo had deliberately used the audience during his fight with Hisoka. That one battle caused hundreds of deaths—people who’d just come to watch a match and had nothing to do with thier grudges.

Heaven’s Arena had rules against that, of course. But Chrollo was too strong. All they could do was ban him from future fights. The only person who could actually punish him was the Arena’s top floor master—and that wasn’t going to happen.

People at that level didn’t care about ordinary things or people. As long as the Arena didn’t completely collapse, they wouldn’t act.

“How many are going to die this time?”

With a flash of movement, Ron vanished. A moment later, he was on the rooftop of a tall building.

Chii sat nearby, laptop in her arms. On screen, several camera feeds ran simultaneously. Oster. The Troupe. All were present in clear clarity on the screen.

“Someone else hacked the surveillance system?” Ron asked.

“Probably the Phantom Troupe,” Chii replied without looking up. “The Underworld Mafia doesn’t need to hack it—they’ve got full access.”

Ron hesitated. “Should I give Oster access?”

After a moment’s thought, he granted it—but removed any footage that showed his own location.

If Oster got nothing, he’d be suspicious. But a partial feed might make him drop his guard.

Oster narrowed his eyes. “So they’ve chosen the city as their battlefield? Do they think I care about the lives of ordinary people? How childish. I didn’t care in Saherta. I care even less now.”

He stepped out of the truck. The black-haired youth in the driver’s seat followed close behind.

Oster looked around slowly. “They’re hiding in these buildings. We’ll split up.”

After issuing the command, he walked calmly toward one of the buildings.

…….

Shalnark raised his communicator. “They’ve arrived. One’s heading toward you, boss. The other’s going for Feitan’s group.”

“Just two?”

“For now. But I don’t think that’s it. They drove a truck, and I felt something terrifying coming from the cargo hold.”

Chrollo was silent for a moment. “And Ron?”

“He sent a message—he’s in position.”

“Good.”

Oster climbed the stairwell step by step.

Meanwhile, the black-haired youth met Feitan and Phinks.

Or rather, Feitan stepped forward first.

“So you’re the ones who killed White?” the black-haired youth said, his voice cool and dismissive. “Doesn’t look like you’re strong enough. I’m guessing the real fighter was someone else. Just my luck—running into the weakest members of the Phantom Troupe. This battle’s going to be boring.”

He glanced at Feitan without any real interest. “No matter how many of you there are—come at me together.”

Feitan’s expression darkened. “Hmph. Cocky, aren’t you? You really think this will be easy?”

The white-haired youth had been strong. This one might be just as formidable.

But Feitan didn’t believe for a second that he’d lose.

“As long as Phinks and I work together…”

He launched forward in a burst of speed, while Phinks remained hidden in the shadows—waiting for the right moment to strike.

———————————————-

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