HxH: Ryomen... Satoru?

Cyr climbed down from the top of the safe, surveying the room before yanking a red velvet cloth off the desk. He used it to bundle up the cash, gold, and jewels scattered on the floor, tying it into a makeshift sack.

"What are you doing?" a voice called from the doorway.

Unfazed, Cyr slung the sack over his shoulder with a casual air. "Picking up trash," he replied nonchalantly.

Then he turned to face Pampas—or rather, the puppet Pampas was controlling.

The puppet resembled a marionette, covered in threads of Nen that both manipulated and protected it. It was the same puppet Cyr had encountered before, now fully healed from their last encounter.

"Trash?" The man glanced at the sack but said nothing more. His gaze shifted to the half-open safe in the corner.

"The last survivor… hiding in there, huh?" His tone was laced with subtle irony.

Before Cyr's mission, Pampas had specifically instructed him to leave a few alive for questioning. Cyr had, technically, obeyed—he left one. The rest were dead.

Was this obedience or defiance?

"Where is this place?" Cyr asked, though his tone suggested he didn't care much about the answer.

He was more curious about how someone had managed to construct such an elaborate underground facility beneath Meteor City.

"Beneath District Three," Pampas replied, his tone unreadable.

"Ah, the upper section of District Three…" Cyr mused, nodding as if everything now made sense.

To build something like this in District Three's territory, one would either need to be a noble or have ties to the Elders' Council.

"Oh, by the way," Cyr suddenly asked, his eyes gleaming with interest, "who's the Nen user with the ability to make people disappear mid-step? Can they open a hole in the sky and another on the ground, so someone falls endlessly? That sounds like fun!"

An infinite bungee jump—what a thrill!

"Probably not," Pampas chuckled, shaking his head. "They need a surface to apply their ability."

He already had a good guess about who possessed this teleportation ability, but he wasn't about to share that with Cyr.

"That's such a fun ability… If you catch them, hand them over to me, will you?" The white-haired, blue-eyed boy smiled lazily, his tone detached, as if people were mere toys. Even Pampas fell silent for a moment.

Could Cyr be some naturally cold-blooded psychopath? If so, Pampas's investment in him would be worthless. A true psychopath wouldn't be swayed by kindness or gratitude.

"If the opportunity arises," Pampas replied smoothly, offering no real commitment.

Dealing with a shrewd adult was always such a hassle.

"Hey, come out," Cyr said suddenly, ignoring Pampas. He raised his foot and kicked the safe.

Bang! The half-height safe flew across the room, slamming into the wall before crashing to the floor. The door burst open, and the man inside tumbled out, landing in a heap.

"Ahhh! Don't kill me! Don't kill me!"

"I don't know anything—nothing at all!"

The man scrambled under the desk, trembling and screaming. His eyes rolled back as if he were about to pass out.

"Can't have you fainting just yet." Cyr stepped forward, placing a cold hand on the man's head. He offered a deceptively kind smile. "Answer our questions properly, and everything will be fine. Understand?"

The icy chill of Cyr's touch seeped through the man's hair, jolting him back to reality. He nodded frantically.

"My name is—" the man began, desperate to cooperate.

"No one cares about your name," Cyr interrupted flatly.

After all, he was just a small fry. What use was knowing his name? Who bothers remembering the names of expendable NPCs in a game?

"Who owns this facility? And where were the children being sent?" Cyr asked coldly. His blue eyes glinted with malice as they drifted toward a pile of mangled flesh on the floor. "If you don't tell the truth…" His voice carried a faint, almost playful menace.

The man shuddered violently, terrified at the thought of ending up like the pile of meat. "I'll talk! This place is…" He opened his mouth to speak but froze.

An eerie silence descended.

Cyr and Pampas watched, intrigued, as the man's face contorted in fear.

Why are they looking at me like that?

The man tried to speak again, but no sound came out. Blood suddenly poured from his eyes, ears, and nose. His tongue had vanished, and his lifeless body crumpled to the floor.

He was dead.

"Seems he made a pretty serious contract with someone," Pampas remarked, his tone indifferent as he gazed at the corpse.

Cyr glanced at the lifeless body, then at Pampas's puppet, which remained as emotionless as ever.

"Well, my job here is done." Without further delay, Cyr disappeared, his sack of treasure in tow.

Pampas surveyed the ransacked office, now stripped of all valuables except a stack of blood-stained documents. Cyr had at least left him something significant.

"District Three…" Pampas muttered, carefully gathering the papers. They reeked of blood even more than the stains on them.

Despite being a Manipulator-type Nen user, Pampas moved swiftly, leaving the facility just as quickly as he had arrived.

On his way out, he passed numerous mutilated corpses. Some were in pieces; others were so thoroughly destroyed they were barely recognizable as human.

Blood and body parts littered the halls at regular intervals.

If circumstances allowed, Pampas would've taken photos for Sid. That way, Sid would stop claiming that Cyr was weak.

…

Cyr returned to his temporary home in District Twelve, lugging his heavy sack of valuables.

Honestly, he felt no attachment to Meteor City or this so-called house. To him, it was just another stop on his journey—a temporary inn.

Leaving his treasures here didn't feel secure. After all, in Meteor City, any unoccupied house was considered ownerless. The moment he left, some kid could easily ransack the place.

"System, do you have a storage space feature?" Cyr asked, though he didn't expect much.

"The system does not provide storage space. However, you may purchase space-related items in the store once it's unlocked."

Typical. The system was not only incompetent but also stingy.

"Where should I stash this, then…" Cyr pondered aloud.

The safest place in Meteor City?

His gaze shifted toward the church.

At least in every district, the church was a safe zone. No one dared cause trouble there.

"Perfect," Cyr declared. Slinging the sack over his shoulder, he marched toward the church.

Ignoring Sid, who was meditating inside, Cyr searched for a suitable hiding spot.

Eventually, his eyes landed on the stone floor. Before Sid could react, Cyr pried up one of the tiles, dug a small hole, and buried the sack. He replaced the tile, patting it into place.

"What did you just bury?" Sid asked, having witnessed the entire scene.

"Trash," Cyr replied, brushing off his hands and sitting down with an air of nonchalance.

"Trash?" Sid's eyes narrowed in suspicion.

This kid must think I'm an idiot. A guy who never touches garbage duty suddenly claims he's collecting trash? Who would believe that?

And what kind of trash needs to be wrapped in cloth and buried under the church?

"You didn't… rob someone, did you?" Sid guessed, exasperated.

Given Cyr's usual cocky behavior, it wouldn't be surprising. He was an outsider but had adapted to Meteor City's rules better than most natives.

"Nope. I picked it up off the ground." Cyr's smile was light and cheerful.

Anything on the ground is ownerless—common knowledge, right?

Sid fell silent, turning his gaze away.

Fine. If that's the story he's sticking to, so be it. After all, this was Meteor City.

"You've missed three days of training," Sid announced, folding his arms. "We'll make up for it tomorrow."

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