Auren and Goreinu, not needing to concern themselves with the others, thanks to the groups they have created, walk out of the airport together.
Auren checks his phone, having already informed his 'partners' of their arrival earlier.
"Looks like they're going to pick us up," he says, a bit relieved. "That's rather convenient. I really didn't feel like hiring a taxi or walking. However, they should already be here. Not a good impression to arrive late, however, Yorknew traffic seems to be really nasty, so let's wait a few more minutes. If they still don't show up, I'll call them."
"Well, that's to be expected, isn't it? Aren't you paying them a fortune?" Goreinu asks.
"Indeed," Auren replies with a grin. "It'd be a real shock if they didn't bother kissing my ass."
Waiting near the curb just outside the airport, Auren looks visibly bored.
But after only a few minutes, a large, sturdy car pulls up—arrogantly swerving onto the sidewalk without hesitation, forcing a few pedestrians to scatter in alarm.
Two people in grey suits step out quickly and make their way toward Auren. One is a man, the other a woman—both seemingly in their late twenties.
Auren blinks, mildly surprised. Their appearance is striking, though not in a reassuring way. Both of them are attractive, but they look... oddly out of place. Auren immediately notices their gray eyes. Their skin is pale—almost unnaturally so. The man is tall, with short, buzzed blonde hair. The woman is nearly as tall, her straight, blonde hair flowing all the way down to her hips. Still, Auren hardly notices the rest—his eyes are locked on their faces.
Both have two parallel scars etched across them. The man's run from his lower left cheek up to his forehead. The woman's stretch from the lower right side of her face to her forehead, mirrored perfectly.
"Greetings," the woman says with a polite smile and a slight bow. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Hunter Auren. Please call me Ura."
"Nice to meet you. I'm Oron," the man adds, giving a casual nod.
"…"
Auren stares at them in silence, unsure how to respond.
I have so many questions... but the one that keeps popping up is—Is Pariston a fucking moron? Is he screwing with me again? Maybe I shouldn't have trusted that bastard after all. I can't believe this. He would go so far as to annoy me and cause me trouble?
I need to tread carefully. I can't reject them outright... not before I've gotten my stuff. Afterwards however....
"Nice to meet you," Auren says calmly, flashing his license. "It's good that you recognize me. This is my friend and fellow Hunter, Goreinu. He's been supporting me on my... endeavors."
"Please follow me inside," Oron says, walking over to the driver's seat. "I don't want another ticket—we're already in a tight financial situation."
Tight financial situation? I paid ten billion. Is this guy a comedian?
Meanwhile, Ura opens the back doors for them, grinning like nothing's wrong.
Auren and Goreinu exchange a brief glance, then step into the vehicle. The car immediately speeds off, disappearing into the distance.
Sitting in the back, Auren watches the two 'business partners' sitting upright in the front of the car. He stays quiet and composed—but inside, he's seething.
"Hunter Auren... you seem very polite. However," Ura says, turning around with a sheepish look, "I like to think I'm observant—if you'll forgive the self-praise. I can tell you're rather aggrieved."
"Is he?" Oron mutters. "Man, I knew this day was gonna suck. Looks like we're getting fired, after all."
"That remains to be seen," Auren replies coldly, a hint of killing intent leaking out of his body. "Depending on what happened to my ten billion Jenny investment... losing a client would be one of the better and positive outcomes for you, I can guarantee you that."
Both of their faces turn pale, as they notice Auren's change.
"Uhm," Goreinu says, rubbing the back of his head. "Am I missing something here? Do you guys know each other? Is there some backstory that I'm not aware of?"
"No... but I'm afraid we've already offended your boss," Ura replies flatly.
"Two strikes," Auren says calmly, his expression unreadable.
"I get it," Goreinu chuckles, suddenly amused. "They were two minutes late, broke a bunch of traffic laws, and didn't kiss enough ass! One Strike for laziness, one for rudeness."
"That's why we screwed up?!" Oron snaps, looking annoyed. "Man, I really did my best! Sorry, I'm not used to such demanding clients. I focus on my work, not on my manners."
"Goreinu, don't embarrass yourself, and more importantly don't talk bullshit. Gullible people might actually believe what you are saying," Auren says without looking at him. "Do I look like the kind of person who'd care about those things?"
He leans back slightly, then continues with a mild but dangerous tone.
"First of all, you mentioned you're in financial difficulties. I find it hard to believe that people managing assets worth ten billion Jenny could end up in that kind of situation. I'm already regretting trusting Pariston with my money. And while your pictures of your... acquisitions seemed promising, I just can't wrap my head around how you could possibly be struggling financially. That is Strike One."
"Do you know what that greedy rat Pariston pays us?!" Oron bursts out, eyes wide with frustration. "We might be managing your fortune, but he's such a control freak that he demands receipts for everything! Even hotel stays when we pick up your items from all over the world! We're also on a flat salary—two million per person, per month, regardless of how long we work. On top of that, he constantly calls our business partners to check if we're embezzling anything. Once, he cut our salaries in half, because we changed 2,910,000 Jenny to a flat three million. We're probably the poorest people on the planet handling a fortune that large! Sometimes, I feel like he's not even trying to save money. He just wants to drive us insane. I can't even concentrate anymore. And honestly, whether you hire us or not—I'm at the point where I just don't give a fuck. That guy is driving me insane. The last thing I want to hear is that we're bad with money."
"It's true," Ura says quietly. "We can't escape Pariston's grip, no matter how hard we try."
Sounds like Pariston, alright. He sure loves fucking with people. I can imagine his smile when he tortures them like that.
Auren shrugs, completely unbothered. "Whatever the reason, it still counts as Strike One. Also looking at you... I know you can use Nen. It seems Pariston has you under his thumb, because as a Nen user, a salary of two million is nothing. Since you stay regardless, there must be a reason. That leads us to Strike Two. Now tell me—are you Flesh or Second-Track Fakers? In other words, are you escaped slaves... or Mafia members of the Kakin Empire? Either option is deeply troubling. I'm either dealing with one of the world's most dangerous Mafia families—on par with the Ten Dons—or someone being hunted by one of the most powerful nations on the planet. You smell like trouble."
Oron visibly flinches. The car swerves slightly, veering out of its lane before he recovers. Thankfully, there's no crash. In the passenger seat, Ura goes pale.
"It's probably Pariston," Auren says, narrowing his eyes. "He gets off on messing with people—friends, enemies, it doesn't matter. He knew that putting you two in charge of my assets would cause me the maximum amount of trouble. And frankly, that's the last thing I need."
"Flesh? Second-Track Fakers?" Goreinu mutters, visibly confused. "Kakin Empire...? Auren, what are you talking about... you know what, tell me later. You seem to know what you are doing."
"You are..." Ura begins slowly, "...rather well informed, Hunter Auren."
"Your scars give it away. Don't get smug with me," Auren replies bluntly. "And while I do sympathize—and I despise the Empire for their so-called 'Carnivals'—I'm far more concerned about my assets. I don't appreciate being stabbed in the back. To be clear, I consider the Kakin Empire one of the most loathsome nations on Earth, especially its royalty. All the more reason why I want to avoid that place and anyone with strong connections to it. Carnival children are probably at the top of the list of troublesome people."
His eyes narrow further.
"If I had to choose between living in the Empire and living in Meteor City, I'd choose the trash heaps of Meteor City without a second thought. Even if most people are left alone by the Empire, I simply loathe its royal family."
"Hmph. I said this day couldn't get any worse..." Oron mutters. "Looks like I was wrong. But not the way I expected. I like you, dear client."
Ura also smiles at him, apparently pleased by his comments. "Please give us a chance to explain. I'm sure you'll understand our situation."
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