Renko knew him well. A good man with clean intentions—the last person who truly fit that description would be Ron.
Still, Renko didn't point it out. Instead, she stared at nothingness and confessed.
"Too bad... that wouldn't work against the curse."
Curse?
Ron caught the word immediately. His palms grew sweaty with excitement. Thinking, he should try sniffing out more of her secrets.
"Was it caused by... DeathSonata?" he asked, testing the waters.
Renko frowned. The name sounded odd coming from him.
"Where did you hear that?"
Ron studied her body language carefully. There was no fake reaction; she was genuinely curious. That confirmed his suspicion. It wasn't the cause.
He smirked slightly.
"Madam, it's not good to pry into someone's secrets."
Renko: "..."
Even in HunterxHunter, there was no true cure for the curse. Only an exorcist could help—but that was limited to Nen and more about individualresentment than the curse itself.
It was still, undeniably, a curse. Perhaps Nanika could heal her body, but that would be far too difficult to attempt.
Seems he had to find another way to solve her problem...
Ron sighed and murmured under his breath,
"Whatever... rotten grapes still make better wine."
Renko: "???"
***
Renko's reminiscing finally came to an end, leaving her face painted with a rare expression of loneliness.
"He's gone just like that... Kids grow up fast these days..."
Pakunoda, overhearing her mutterings, felt slightly puzzled. She stared at Renko for a moment before finally speaking up.
"Uhm... Master, can I ask you something?"
"What is it?"
"Was the reason you keep wearing the mask because... you had to hide your buck teeth and thick lips?"
"Excuse me!?"
***
Somewhere underground...
A woman with long purple hair was sorting through documents in her office when a bulky man suddenly burst through the door.
He stopped in the doorway, and upon seeing her, his grin widened.
"Rize! Listen, I found an interesting guy."
Rize frowned, intrigued. She pushed her glasses up, the lenses gleaming and hiding her eyes beneath.
"It's rare for you to be this happy. Usually, you're so serious... Who is it?"
Ken calmly slid a photo across the desk. The image showed Ron twisting someone's neck, standing atop a mountain of mafia corpses—all who had suffered the same fate.
Rize caught sight of the photo and was taken aback by his brutality. Still, she listened carefully to his report.
"You know the branch activities in MeteorCity, right?
Recently, their movement was temporarily suspended. You ordered me to investigate, and I found this guy...
I was surprised at how capable he is, considering their tracks were so well hidden—yet he still managed to locate and hunt them down."
Rize nodded, realizing he was from MeteorCity. Her opinion of him shifted slightly.
"I get that much, but what are you hinting at?"
His lips curved into a sly grin as he got to the point.
"As you know, someone in the family—we have a conflict with another branch. They were searching for the culprit but found no leads…"
Rize pinched her chin and murmured thoughtfully,
"Killing with a borrowed knife? That's certainly one way to handle it..."
***
A two-meter black circle with framing white scribbles emerged. Ron popped his head at the center of the flare hole, scanning the area. Not finding anyone, he only decided to go out.
Upon leaving the MistyForest, Ron still had one destination in mind.
The cathedral—
He spotted the elder priest Lisores distributing fruits to children. Lisores noticed him approaching and asked a child to handle the rest.
The two entered his office.
"What brings you here, Ron?" Lisores asked.
Ron went straight to the point.
"I'm leaving MeteorCity today, Elder."
Lisores wasn't surprised but nodded in understanding. He was expecting this to come.
"I see... I won't stop you from leaving, but your disappearance is equivalent to losing our military force.
It's unaffordable. Even if we agreed, I don't think others would follow suit..."
He was hinting at the political repercussions.
Ron understood perfectly and had made advance preparations. Normal people could leave at will, but someone influential like him required more careful planning.
Politics... complicated, yet simple. Just give them benefits.
"Don't worry, elder. I'm planning to join the HunterAssociation, and I'll occasionally send resources here until that is established."
Lisores caught the meaning immediately and nodded. He rubbed his chin and replied with a light smile.
"...that's good. You can rest assured; I'll handle the rest."
***
The clear sky darkened, and rain began pouring heavily. Ron nonchalantly looked up, letting droplets run down from his black hair and crawl along his fair skin.
"How unlucky... Just when I finished sorting my plans, this happens."
"Ron—"
Someone's calling him? He don't feel good about this...
He started to move away, but the person caught up to him. Turning, he saw a little blonde girl wearing a rat-ear headband.
Recognition flickered across his face, and he smiled wryly.
"Shiela, what do you want?"
Sheila clutched his forearm, making sure he couldn't leave. Gasping for breath, she looked up and asked,
"Are you leaving?"
Ron realized there was no way around it. Reluctantly, he answered,
"Yes. I already settled things with the elder. I'm planning to register and take the hunter exam."
Sheila's eyes gleamed sharply.
"Take me with you! I want to become a hunter too."
Ron remained silent for a moment.
Become a Hunter?
Go do it yourself!
Why come with me?
He considered the possibilities. If she weren't connected to Pariston, he might entertain the idea—but there were far too many theories about her.
Personally, he found Pariston's character interesting. But now that the fictional world had become reality, he didn't want to be manipulated.
That guy had a habit of destroying what he loved most. Not that Ron was afraid, but dealing with him was a hassle. That guy was a master of mind games.
Originally, he had avoided interacting with Sheila, but fate had been cruel: he had donated supplies, and she happened to stumble upon Book D: Hunter—taking a liking to him.
Seeing him remain unresponsive, Sheila clutched the book tighter and said,
"My dream is to become a Hunter... and go on adventures."
Ron murmured to himself.
I know... But was that really your dream? Your dream is to manipulate the whole world and make it a toy box.
If Sheila truly tagged along, he wouldn't be able to shake this lunatic off until the exam was over. On the spot, he formulated a plan.
"I'd take you, but the Elders probably wouldn't approve. So... how about this—get approval from the Elders, and I'll take you with me when I come back?"
He thought it was a solid plan. Even if she tried, getting approval would take days—plenty of time for him to move out.
Sheila's eyes sparkled in anticipation.
"Is that so? But Ron... they already approved."
"It's a pity you wouldn't get ap—wait, did you just say 'approved'?"
That wasn't in the script. This wasn't supposed to happen!
Sheila looked at him, dumbfounded.
"Huh—uh... they already approved it in advance. I asked them beforehand, and they said it was fine."
The corner of Ron's lips twitched aggressively. Suddenly, he felt a gaze on him. Following it, he saw an elder peeking from the doorframe.
They made eye contact, and the elder gave him a thumbs up.
So that's how it is... If this place gets raided by Chimera ants later, I'm not helping you guys!
He only thought it—but would Ron really refuse to help? Of course not.
Realizing there was no way out, he reluctantly agreed.
"If that's what you want, I won't stop you. But you should know... there are dangers ahead."
Sheila nodded, her eyes alight with determination.
"Yes."
After leaving the borders of MeteorCity, Sheila began to wonder about their next step.
"What's the plan, Ron?" she asked, curiosity and caution lacing her voice.
Sheila knew leaving MeteorCity wouldn't be easy—not because of the harsh environment, but because of their identity crisis. People in MeteorCity were invisible to the outside world; they existed only inside.
Ron understood this well, and Sheila assumed he wouldn't make a mistake regarding their anonymity.
He replied indifferently.
"Our main problem is lacking proper identity. That said, it hasn't prevented us from moving from town to town but only restricts fast travel and access to certain places."
Sheila nodded thoughtfully.
"That's true... But we don't have a wide network. Forging an ID would take time. Also, the hunter exam registration is closing soon. The announcement could come at any moment."
Although Sheila had a basic understanding of how the world worked, she knew the process of the hunter exam was complex.
Ron's retort left her momentarily speechless.
"That's certainly the case—but it's not a problem. We could just take a blimp ourselves. Without valid IDs, no one would be able to trace us."
Sheila stared at him, silent. His solution was practical—but morally questionable.
"Ron... can't we do it the normal way?" she asked, a hint of exasperation in her tone.
He gave her a subtle glance, almost amused.
"Sure. We take the hunter exam and get our licenses. That way we'll have valid IDs and can travel freely."
Sheila was speechless.
Technically, his plan solved the problem—but it didn't feel right. For some reason, she regretted tagging along with him.
Was he always this unreliable?
This didn't match the composed, strong Ron she had imagined.
Seeing her troubled look, Ron chuckled inwardly.
Pariston was probably her sibling, or perhaps Sheila hadn't yet reached the point of insanity where she justified hurting others with twisted affection.
Or maybe it had already been triggered long ago, and she was only pretending.
Ron didn't know, and he didn't want to figure it out. For now, he would just enjoy the situation.
Regardless—
As a solitary individual, Ron played along whether it was true or not. At least now he could understand why Chairman Netero liked keeping him around as a playmate.
He coughed lightly, looked up at the sky, and spoke:
"Do you remember the kidnapping incident a few months ago?"
Sheila's expression darkened. Of course she remembered—it had been a turning point in their lives.
Besides, it wasn't even a month ago. Their childhood friend Sarasa had been brutally killed, officially marking the emergence of the future villain—the Phantom Troupe.
Sheila murmured, clutching her aching chest.
"Yes…"
Ron ignored the visible pain in her posture and continued.
"Over the past few months, the number of missing children suddenly increased. The elders and others became restless every day.
Although they investigated, the main culprits kept themselves well hidden. Since the problem seemed unsolvable, they deployed me.
I barely managed to rescue a few, but I couldn't completely stop their operation. No matter how skilled I am, there are limits to what one person can do.
Sheila listened, then interjected.
"But you still succeeded, right?"
Ron nodded slightly.
"Well, yes. I succeeded in my operation, but there's still more. Saving your friend... that was considered a failed task."
Sheila froze.
Failed task?
Was it necessary to rub salt in their wounds?
Sometimes Ron truly speaks without consideration. It's like he's intentionally wounding you and then providing healing.
Ron pressed on.
"Anyway, the thing is, they intentionally leave traces while keeping some hidden.
At first, I found it suspicious—probably part of their plan: leaking small information to conceal the bigger operation and guiding us toward their main goal."
Sheila caught his meaning. Her eyes widened in disbelief, her mouth falling open.
"You mean to say—"