HxH: Ryomen... Satoru?

"So it's already full, huh?"

Chrollo's gaze swept over the interior of the tavern. He didn't insist and reached for the doorknob, preparing to leave.

"Attention—"

"Everyone, stay inside. Do not go out."

"A bomber has infiltrated the area. We are conducting a search."

"Anyone who leaves will be considered a suspect. Please remain indoors."

Chrollo's hand froze on the door handle.

"Um…"

A blonde girl clasped her hands in front of her chest.

"If you don't mind… my seat is over there…"

Her large, fluttering eyes looked up at Chrollo, shy yet inviting.

"Of course, I don't mind."

Chrollo smiled, his deep black eyes unfathomable.

This place was both a tavern and an inn—the first floor was a bar, while the second and third floors were guest rooms.

He had originally planned to stay here for a while, enjoy the scenery, and perhaps find some interesting abilities.

He hadn't expected to run into something like this as soon as he arrived…

A bomber, huh…

Recalling the few people he had brushed past on the street not long ago, Chrollo smiled faintly.

Biscuit led him to a seat at the bar.

"My name is Biscuit. What about you?" She looked expectantly at the black-haired man.

"I'm Chrollo. And these two are?" Chrollo glanced curiously at the blond young man and the white-haired boy.

His gaze lingered for a moment on the small white tiger beside them.

A white tiger cub with a single horn on its forehead? Now, that was rare.

"Oh, this is my older brother," Biscuit said, pointing to the blond young man. "And this is my younger brother," she added, motioning to the white-haired boy.

Two blondes—calling them siblings wasn't too much of a stretch…

But with a white-haired one in the mix, things seemed a little off.

Besides, they called themselves siblings, but there was an obvious sense of unfamiliarity between the two blondes.

Chrollo concealed his thoughts, keeping his expression warm and polite.

"Maro, Cyr." The white-haired boy pointed at the blond young man first, then at himself.

"Nice to meet you," Chrollo nodded.

"Chrollo, what do you want to drink? My brother will pay for it!" Biscuit patted her chest and declared loudly.

Maro, who had suddenly gained the title of "older brother" and was now expected to buy drinks for a stranger: …

He gripped his glass a little tighter.

The man in charge said nothing—he probably wanted to see how things played out—so Maro endured it.

"By the way, Chrollo, your earring is so pretty! It looks just like my brother's eyes." Biscuit's eyes sparkled as she stared at Chrollo's earring.

As if she was simply mesmerized by its beauty rather than suspecting it to be something else—like liquid mineral ore, for example…

The black-haired man reached up, gently twisting his earring, his gaze landing on the girl's "brother"—the white-haired boy.

Those blue eyes…

"His eyes are more beautiful than my earring."

Chrollo lowered his hand and smiled.

Yet, deep down, he felt as if his earring wasn't all that appealing anymore.

He was… getting tired of it.

Once something rare and exquisite was in your possession, you would eventually realize it wasn't all that special.

The so-called value and beauty—were just illusions carefully crafted by others.

"Stop looking at me like that." The white-haired boy frowned.

Chrollo's gaze… How should he put it?

For someone who knew full well that this man was a thief, it was impossible to like.

What did thieves do with things they found beautiful? They stole them.

He had taken so many pairs of scarlet eyes already—there was no way he'd mind taking another pair.

"No matter how beautiful my eyes are, they're not something you can wear as earrings." Cyr's tone was ice-cold.

This was just too much—

"I wouldn't think of such a thing." The black-haired man gave a refined smile.

"Chrollo, can your earring…?" Biscuit was about to ask if she could take a closer look when—

"BANG—"

The tavern door was kicked open, and a squad of uniformed men stormed in.

Everyone inside turned to look at the entrance.

"Everyone, stand up and cooperate. We are conducting a search for explosives."

A man, clearly the squad leader, issued the order.

Though the patrons looked displeased, they had no choice but to comply.

"I…"

A woman wearing only a dress instinctively stepped back as a soldier's hands roamed over her body under the pretense of a search.

And those two small steps cost her life.

"Resisting a search? She must be hiding something."

The soldier who shot her down spoke as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

Before long, it was Cyr and the others' turn.

The four of them had remained at the bar, their figures hidden behind the crowd. But now, as one person after another was checked, their presence became impossible to ignore.

Especially since, unlike everyone else who had stood up and cooperated, the four of them hadn't even bothered to get out of their seats.

They continued their conversation, exuding an air of indifference, as if the situation unfolding before them was of no concern.

It was infuriating.

"You four—stand up!"

The soldiers pointed their guns at them.

Judging by their clothing, they were obviously wealthy, but they weren't from this country.

Foreigners daring to act so arrogantly on their turf?

"I said, stand the hell up!"

The squad leader, seeing no one complying, decided to make an example of one of them.

His target was—

A gunshot rang out, the bullet flying straight toward the white-haired boy.

"Annoying trash."

Cyr held his wine glass in one hand while forming a fist with the other, resting it horizontally against his chest.

He then slowly rotated his palm downward and opened his fingers.

A single bullet fell from his palm onto the floor with a crisp clink.

"The taste of the liquor has turned foul." The white-haired boy's gaze carried a trace of contempt.

"Fire! Kill him!" the squad leader ordered.

"Killing you myself would be a waste of my time." Cyr sneered.

"Maro."

"Consider this your funeral toast for the same time next year." He tilted his glass upside down, letting the liquid spill onto the floor.

The moment his words fell, the armed gang members inside the tavern froze mid-action—locked in place, guns still raised—transformed into a collection of ice sculptures.

In front of Cyr, several ice shields had formed, stopping the bullets in their tracks.

The entire tavern was now filled with an eerie chill, and every breath from the patrons turned into visible white mist.

"Hey, Chrollo, let me borrow your earrings for a bit, won't you?" Biscuit asked, as if nothing had just happened, her voice light and casual.

"I'm afraid that won't be possible. These were a gift from someone very important to me." The black-haired man's expression was filled with an apology so sincere that it made refusal seem like a painful necessity.

It was impossible not to believe that he truly wanted to lend them to her, but that the request placed him in a difficult position.

"Oh? Someone important? Could it be… your lover, Chrollo?" Biscuit pressed on, curiosity gleaming in her eyes.

"Well…" Chrollo gave a small, slightly embarrassed smile—neither confirming nor denying the assumption.

From the moment they started speaking, apart from their names, not a single word exchanged between them had been the truth.

Meanwhile, the rest of the tavern's patrons were now staring at the four of them in sheer horror.

They had just wiped out an entire armed gang without breaking a sweat—who were these people?!

"Throw this trash out," the white-haired boy instructed lazily.

Immediately, someone eager to curry favor stepped forward to comply.

The frozen bodies were dumped outside the tavern, and before long, they vanished without a trace.

Not a single armed gang member returned to the tavern again.

°°°

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