HxH: Ryomen... Satoru?

Hunter Calendar, February 5, 1998.

Cyr brought Maro to their seventeenth casino.

It was a small underground establishment, yet the games played here were unusually brutal.

Anything you owned could become a wager on the table—even your life.

The room was shrouded in darkness, with only scattered tables illuminated by dim hanging lamps. These lights weren't enough to brighten the entire space but provided just enough visibility to observe the games at each table.

Many people stood around the room, some even climbing onto chairs to get a better view of the action.

The patrons were ordinary folk, coming here after a long day's work to squander their meager earnings. They drank the free, low-quality liquor the casino provided, throwing cash onto the tables in a haze of alcohol and adrenaline.

Cheers erupted when someone won, heightening their excitement, while murmurs of disappointment surrounded those who lost.

But regardless of the outcome, the conclusion was always the same: they went for another round.

"This time, I'll win," they all told themselves.

Cyr, dressed in a black sleeveless hoodie with the hood pulled over his head, blended into the crowd of spectators. He still hadn't spotted his target.

"Seriously… where is that guy, Chad?" Cyr sighed in frustration.

Two men nearby overheard his complaint and instinctively turned to look at him.

Seeing a figure who wasn't very tall or imposing, with his face obscured by the shadow of his hood, they couldn't help but laugh.

"Kid, are you looking for Chad? What, you think you can take him on?"

"Another one who's heard the rumors and came to challenge Chad, huh?"

"Talk about overestimating yourself."

"This one's pretty confident, though…"

The two men, seemingly familiar with Chad, laughed mockingly. They had clearly seen plenty of people like Cyr, eager to challenge the infamous Chad. Their words were laced with sarcasm and a hint of anticipation for the spectacle.

"Enough!" A sharp voice broke through their laughter.

"Stand down, Maro." A cold, low voice followed almost immediately after.

The two commands were separated by less than a second.

An icy blade pressed against the men's throats, a thin red line forming as blood trickled out, only to be absorbed by the frost-coated weapon.

The frost-colored blade was tinged with a faint red hue, its wielder glaring at them coldly.

The blond figure's expression was grim, his emerald green eyes filled with disdain as he scrutinized the men.

He couldn't tolerate their disrespect toward Cyr.

Initially, Maro had intended to kill the two, but Cyr's voice stopped him.

"We finally got a lead. If you kill them, we'll just get kicked out again," Cyr said lazily, stifling a yawn.

They had already been banned from sixteen casinos, for two recurring reasons:

Sometimes, Cyr participated in games and won too much, leading to his ban.

Other times, Maro lost his temper and killed someone, also leading to their ban.

Of course, the staff had always been polite, gently requesting that they leave.

Maro, it seemed, was gradually shifting from one extreme to another…

Maro had changed significantly, from initially timid to now ready to kill at the slightest provocation.

Could simply being around Cyr really change someone this much?

Cyr, stroking his chin, refused to believe Maro's behavior was subconsciously influenced by his own.

'After all.' Cyr thought, 'I'm a reasonable person.'

"Yes." Maro withdrew his icy blade and stood silently by Cyr's side.

The two men, still in shock, raised their hands to their necks. Feeling the sting of the shallow wounds, terror spread across their faces.

"Well, then," said Cyr, his hoodie partially concealing his face while his pale tattooed arms gleamed eerily in the dim light, "tell me about this Chad you were talking about."

Their instincts screamed at them: obey, or die.

"Chad… uh, he comes here sometimes to play. He's got terrible luck—loses a lot. But he's strong, really strong. When he runs out of money, he goes to underground boxing matches to earn some." One of the men stammered, swallowing hard.

"When does he usually come here?" Cyr asked.

The rowdy environment around them seemed to ignore this pocket of tense quiet.

"W-we don't know… He doesn't come at regular times."

"Really, we're not close to him! Not at all!"

The two men, who moments earlier had acted like they knew Chad well, now scrambled to distance themselves.

"I see…" Cyr sighed, dragging out the word as if disappointed by their lack of useful information.

"Alright then," he said, sounding almost defeated before turning to leave with Maro.

As soon as the pair disappeared, the two men left behind heaved sighs of relief.

---

But Cyr hadn't truly left as they thought. Instead, he and Maro waited outside in a shadowy corner near the casino.

Maro, though puzzled, didn't ask any questions.

Half an hour later, a man slipped out of the casino, glancing around nervously as he walked in the shadows.

After winding through back alleys and side streets, he stopped in front of an unassuming small house. Knocking on the wooden door in a specific rhythm, it opened quickly.

A tall, intimidating man stood behind it, his scarred face and burned skin adding to his menacing presence.

"What is it?" the man growled.

"Someone was looking for you earlier," the nervous man whispered.

"They specifically asked for Chad… two dangerous-looking guys. One of them put a knife to my throat." He tilted his head to show the faint cut, as if to emphasize the gravity of the situation.

"What did they look like?" Chad asked.

"One was young, not too tall, with black tattoos. The other had blond hair…" the informant gestured as he spoke.

"Those two again…" Chad muttered, as if he had already heard about them.

He had contacts in various underground venues—casinos, loan houses—that would tip him off when trouble was near. This network had helped him evade bounty hunters and law enforcement countless times.

Those two odd individuals had been loudly looking for him across several venues, making no effort to hide their intent. Chad had already heard about them more than once.

"Got it. You should head back and avoid contacting me for a while," Chad said, pulling out his wallet and handing the informant a stack of bills.

"Thanks, Chad. You're as generous as ever." The man beamed, clutching the cash. Suddenly, his neck wound didn't hurt anymore, and he decided to return to the casino the same way he'd come.

And what do gamblers do with new funds? Of course, they go right back to the tables to try their luck again.

°°°

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