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Chapter 96: A Hard-Line Enhancer
The air in the clinic was thick with the metallic tang of blood and the heavy, suffocating pressure of hostile intent. The man standing before Ronin was a silhouette of focused aggression, his body suddenly enveloped in a violent, flickering surge of Ren.
An Enhancer? Ronin mused, his eyes narrowing as he calculated the trajectory of the descending steel.
Without a hint of panic, Ronin flicked his wrist. The unspent bullets held between his fingers became lethal projectiles, streaking through the air like miniature comets. They collided with the blade with a series of sharp, rhythmic clangs. Sparks showered the floor, and the sheer kinetic force of the impact knocked the heavy blade off its path.
Ronin didn't give him a second to recover. His hand moved in a blur, aiming a second "shot"—a simple flick of a finger—at the man's exposed wrist.
Suddenly, the long sword vanished into nothingness. The attacker, realizing his weapon was compromised, executed a desperate, back-flipping retreat to dodge the incoming projectile.
Not an Enhancer. A Conjurer. Ronin stepped fully into the room, his boots crunching on the debris of the brief skirmish. He was out of ammunition, but he didn't need it. With a predatory grin, he raised his hand, curling his fingers into the shape of a pistol and leveling it directly at the man's chest.
It was an absurd sight: a Conjurer trying to trade blows in close quarters with an Enhancer of Ronin's caliber. In the world of Nen, such a mismatch was usually a death sentence.
"Bang!"
Ronin mimicked the sound of a gunshot with a low, mocking drawl. Simultaneously, a concentrated burst of aura erupted from his fingertip, a visible distortion in the air that screamed toward his opponent.
The assassin, already rattled by how easily his blade had been parried, saw the "shooting" posture and reacted on instinct. He re-conjured his sword, bracing the flat of the blade to block the incoming Nen bullet. The impact was heavy, the parry successful—but as the man exhaled in relief, he realized the "bullet" was just a shadow.
Emission attacks were always the bait.
The real threat was already upon him. Using a rhythmic burst of speed that left an afterimage, Ronin had closed the gap. Before the man could swing his sword again, a massive, calloused hand bypassed the steel and clamped onto his throat like a hydraulic vice.
Ronin didn't care for names or motives. He saw a threat, and he neutralized it. With a sickening crack of bone and sinew, he snapped the man's neck. He didn't even look at the body as he hoisted it up and hurled it toward the clinic entrance.
Outside, a group of Cleaning Squad members had just arrived, their assault rifles raised and fingers on the triggers. They never got the chance to fire. The limp corpse of their comrade slammed into them with the force of a cannonball, sending them sprawling into the dusty street like a set of ten-pins.
Ronin let his aura flow outward, expanding his En until it brushed against every corner of the building. Finding it empty of further threats, he reached into his pocket and produced a small, crumpled piece of fabric.
He shook it out, unfolding the Fun Fun Cloth with practiced ease. Within seconds, the table in the room was covered with a mountain of snacks—chips, chocolates, and dried fruits. Ronin pulled out a chair, sat down, and reached into the pile to retrieve a manga volume he'd been following.
Owl's ability was a masterpiece of utility. As long as the cloth remained active, anyone Ronin authorized could reach inside to retrieve what was stored. The only downside was the constant Nen drain on Owl. Without a way to replenish that energy, the cloth would eventually lose its form and the items would come bursting out.
Good thing I have a personal battery, Ronin thought, a smirk touching his lips.
By having Kurapika use the Recovery Chain to "recharge" Owl every few days, the storage remained stable indefinitely. It was an efficient system, though even with Kurapika's help, maintaining more than three fully loaded cloths was pushing Owl's limits.
A shadow flickered at the door—a scout trying to peek inside. Without looking up from his manga, Ronin flicked a melon seed with his thumb. Reinforced by his Nen, the tiny seed became a high-velocity slug. It tore through the scout's forehead before he could even blink. The body slumped to the ground, twitching in the silence of the street.
Outside, the Spence family's private militia and the Cleaning Squad huddled behind cover, paralyzed by indecision. They knew a monster was sitting inside that clinic, casually eating snacks over a pile of bodies.
The stalemate broke when a heavy, rhythmic thrumming began to shake the pavement. A rusted, ancient tank—a relic of some forgotten conflict—crawled around the corner, its main gun swiveling toward the clinic. Behind it, the squad members grew bold, unboxing RPGs and grenades. Among them stood a man whose aura was tightly coiled in a perfect state of Ten, his eyes fixed on the building.
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High above on a nearby rooftop, Neon Nostrade looked down at the escalating chaos, her chin resting in her hand.
"This is so typical," she sighed, though there was a glint of excitement in her eyes. "Going straight through the front door and waiting for them to bring the fight to him. It's so... Ronin."
"It's effective," Kurapika added, his gaze never leaving the street below. A small, rare smile touched his face.
He realized that Ronin's recent boldness was, in part, due to his presence. Ronin didn't have to worry about the 'what-ifs' or the escape routes because he knew Kurapika was watching his back. It was a silent, absolute trust. If Kurapika had told him the plan was too risky, Ronin would have pivoted without question. But Kurapika hadn't stopped him—because he trusted Ronin's strength just as much.
Kurapika reached into his pocket and felt the cold steel of a kunai. It was wrapped in a charm with the words Ninja Love Sword written in a strange, flowing script. Ronin had told him that as long as he held this, Ronin could bridge the distance between them in the blink of an eye. It was their ultimate safety net.
"You really do spoil him, don't you?" Neon teased, noticeing Kurapika's protective stance.
"It's a mutual reliance," Kurapika countered gently. "Besides, your fortune told us exactly where to be. The poem said that if he stayed in this house, he would find what he was looking for."
Neon smiled, clearly pleased that her ability was the anchor of the mission. Then her expression turned serious. "That girl... Shizuku. Is she really worth all this trouble? Will she actually become one of us?"
"Trust Brother Ronin's eye for talent," Kurapika replied. "Even when he's being reckless, his instincts for people are never wrong."
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Back inside the clinic, the rumble of the tank was getting louder, the vibration rattling the glass jars on the shelves. But before the first shell could be fired, a voice—flat, calm, and utterly devoid of malice—spoke from the shadows behind Ronin.
"Who are you?"
Ronin turned his head slowly. Standing near the back of the room was a girl who looked like she belonged in a library, not a war zone. She wore thick, black-rimmed glasses, a dark turtleneck, and simple jeans.
"The name's Ronin," he said, setting his manga down.
Shizuku didn't move. She stared at him with wide, unblinking eyes, her posture guarded. "So... you did all this on purpose? The fighting, the noise... it was all to get me to show myself?"
"Correct. I'm here for you," Ronin admitted.
"Why?"
"Three reasons," Ronin said, ticking them off on his fingers. "One: Your ability is unique and exactly what my team needs. Two: My gut tells me you're someone I can work with. And three..."
He stood up, his massive frame casting a long shadow over the snacks on the table.
"I really don't want to be your enemy. Because if we're on opposite sides, I'll eventually have to kill you. And that would be a waste of a good talent."
His words were blunt, stripped of any sugar-coating.
Shizuku tilted her head, a hint of a frown appearing on her face. "I don't know you. How do you know about my ability? Or what kind of person I am?"
"Let's just say I have my ways," Ronin replied, his voice dropping an octave. "I've seen how 'clean' this clinic is. I know what you can do. And I know that if I don't give you a better option right now, someone else will come along and lead you down a much darker path. Join me, and we'll change the script."
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