HxH: Ryomen... Satoru?

"Master, please wait in the hallway for a moment," Maro said, dragging an intact chair into the corridor. After wiping it clean, he gestured for the white-haired boy to sit.

"Good luck~" Cyr sat down obediently and began rolling up a paper napkin.

The bombs hadn't caused him any harm—after all, back in the Jujutsu world, even a Special Grade Curse Spirit could survive a missile strike.

With his current strength, handling these small bombs was more than manageable. As for missiles… he hadn't tested those yet, and he wasn't sure about the power of missiles in this world.

Still, he wasn't reckless enough to seek out a missile and blow himself up just for the sake of curiosity.

"Ugh, tired." Stuffing a rolled-up piece of paper napkin into his nose, he slouched back in the chair, his body going limp like a deflated balloon.

He almost looked boneless, draping himself over the chair in an exaggerated bridge-like posture.

---

Inside the room.

The blonde youth froze the lower halves of all the victims' bodies with ice.

"You all should know that, if properly preserved, your bodies can still be reattached," he said, throwing out a line of hope for everyone.

"But whether you'll even have a chance to leave here alive to find someone to stitch you back together depends entirely on your cooperation." His face remained cold as he spoke.

---

Half an hour later, Maro stood up and went to the bathroom to wash the blood off his hands. He looked up at the shattered, half-broken mirror and saw his own reflection.

His emerald-green eyes were dark and gloomy, his expression indifferent and cold. It seemed as if he exuded an oppressive aura of shadow and despair, inside and out.

Once, even in his dreams, he wouldn't have imagined himself with such an emotionless expression.

But this was exactly who he wanted to become.

However, in front of Cyr, such an expression… didn't seem very presentable, did it?

He adjusted the muscles of his face, forcing himself to put on a docile smile before stepping out of the room.

Stepping over a pile of lifeless corpses, Maro arrived in the hallway.

"Master, I've gotten the information. They're from Milburn, Congarde, Mormont, and the Nostrade family," he reported, standing beside the white-haired boy.

"Ah… never heard of them," Cyr replied, sitting up and yawning. He tossed the bloodied napkin away.

Milburn, Congarde, and Mormont were unfamiliar names, but Nostrade did ring a bell.

That was Neon's family, right? The girl who was a fortune teller.

From his memory, Neon did have a fascination with collecting human body parts. And her useless father, who would do anything to please her, was hardly surprising.

They were probably planning to take his eyes as a gift to make Neon happy.

It wasn't unexpected—but that didn't mean Cyr would allow anyone to treat him as prey.

"Where are these families located?" Cyr asked Maro.

While he didn't know where they were, as a member of the mafia, Maro was sure to know.

"Are we going to confront them directly?" Maro asked, his expression barely able to contain his excitement.

As expected, I knew Master wouldn't let those self-destructive fools off the hook!

"Of course. What else? We need to kill a group as a warning," the white-haired boy said lazily.

"If they keep bothering me, how am I supposed to sleep?" Cyr muttered, his expression full of irritation.

Especially these mafia groups—they always chose to act at night.

Late at night, instead of sleeping, was he supposed to entertain them?

A bunch of trash like that? Ridiculous.

"I'll guide you! Oh, and the private airship is already prepared!" Maro said excitedly, his voice brimming with admiration.

As expected of the Master! Even his impatience looked incredibly cool! This was the attitude of a true strongman!

Good thing Maro had the foresight to prepare the airship in advance (well, technically, he "borrowed" it from his father).

Most of these mafia families lived far away, generally outside of Yorknew City.

Only a private airship could possibly match the Master's status!

"Not bad," Cyr glanced at Maro, feeling increasingly satisfied with his decision to recruit him as a follower.

No wonder Sukuna had Uraume by his side—being pampered like this did feel rather nice.

"It's my duty!" Maro's eyes sparkled with joy at the recognition he received.

"Let's go." Cyr stood up and walked out.

---

The private airship was parked on the hotel's rooftop.

Cyr boarded the airship and paid no attention to its extravagantly luxurious decor.

At best, it was far superior to a regular airship and even more opulent than those used by the Hunter Association. Mafia families really were wealthy.

He stood by the airship's floor-to-ceiling windows, gazing at the nightscape outside.

"Master, which family should we visit first?" Maro asked from behind him.

The glass faintly reflected their silhouettes.

"Doesn't matter. Let's start with whoever's closest." Cyr sat down on the sofa, crossed his legs, and casually picked up a newspaper lying nearby.

The newspaper was filled with articles on finance and politics, likely belonging to the airship's original owner.

"Then the first one should be the Mormont family," Maro recalled after a moment of thought.

"Alright, let's go there first." Cyr nodded.

---

Three hours later…

The Mormont Family.

Cyr stood in the basement of their estate, yawning as he stuffed valuables into Storage Curse's mouth.

The mafia truly was wealthy—many of the items in this basement were worth a fortune.

If sold, they would easily fetch enough to buy spear of heaven.

Of course, he didn't touch any of the human organs stored there.

Frankly, he found them disgusting.

He couldn't understand what was so appealing about a pair of despair-filled crimson eyes floating in liquid inside a transparent jar.

In terms of style, weren't the Kurta Clan's scarlet eyes far more impressive when alive? Their eyes changed color with heightened emotions, far more interesting than a single static shade.

If it were up to him, he'd imprison the entire clan and force them to endure pain and despair just to watch their eyes shift between colors.

This idea seemed a bit… hellish. Maybe even immoral.

Cyr shook his head, suddenly recalling the system's task: [Find the Seven Greatest Beauties] Weren't the scarlet eyes one of them?

His hand, which had passed over the jar of crimson eyes earlier, now reached back to pick it up.

"System, come out. Here's one of the Seven Beauties you wanted." He shook the jar slightly, calling out in his mind.

[Ding… One of the Seven Beauties, the Scarlet Eyes, has been found.] The system's voice chimed briefly before vanishing again.

"…And? That's it? No rewards?" Cyr curled his lips in disdain as the jar in his hand disappeared.

Hah. A stingy, money-grubbing system.

Whatever.

He was long used to this pattern.

At least the system didn't force him to complete tasks. Most of the time, they ignored each other's existence entirely, which was fine by him.

"Let's go." After stuffing all the valuable items in the basement into the curse's mouth, Cyr turned to leave.

The stairs leading upward were littered with slumped corpses, twisted and broken.

Patches of frost lingered on the walls, their icy sheen yet to melt.

Corpses and dismembered body parts were scattered everywhere in the once-grand mansion.

The luxurious private residence was now silent, save for the echo of footsteps—his and Maro's.

The heavy stench of blood lingered, carried off into the distance by the night wind.

Beneath the moonlight, their airship ascended, flying toward its next destination.

°°°

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