In HxH with Doraemon Pocket

"Idiot!"

Feitan shot Phinks a disdainful look, as if staring at a fool.

The silent Kortopi and the ever-curious Shalnark, who never missed an opportunity to enjoy some chaos, wore similar expressions.

They genuinely thought Phinks was acting rather dense.

"You guys don't understand!!"

Phinks shouted, visibly annoyed, his signature Egyptian-style hat already long flung away.

"A true battle should be a head-on clash, a manly showdown!!"

"Is he really from Meteor City?"

Pakunoda, who rarely joined in on such antics, chimed in, asking Feitan.

"His origins are correct," Feitan replied coolly, though his tone was laced with malice. "But maybe something happened after he left the city. Perhaps he suffered some trauma—or blunt force to the head."

"You two are too loud! I can hear everything!!"

Phinks yelled, briefly losing his temper before calming down again, though he still muttered in frustration:

"Of course, I know what real battles are like."

"This isn't a life-and-death fight—it's just a sparring match within the Troupe, isn't it?"

Phinks explained his reasoning, looking genuinely earnest. "I just really want to test myself against the Vice Leader!!"

"How naive," Feitan scoffed, his ridicule sharp. "Such simple-minded logic from an Enhancer."

"And what's wrong with being an Enhancer? Did an Enhancer steal your rice or something?!"

Phinks snapped back, clearly annoyed.

"Vice Leader!!"

Phinks turned again to Morin, his determination unwavering.

"Let's fight again!!"

Phinks resembled a mage whose spellcasting had been interrupted—he was clearly desperate to release his pent-up energy.

"A fist-to-fist battle, a true contest between men!!"

Feitan stepped forward, standing directly in front of Phinks.

"Stop joking around. This isn't the time for games."

"This isn't a game!!"

Phinks ripped off his upper Egyptian Pharaoh-style outfit and tossed it aside, revealing his chiseled physique.

"Of course, if the Vice Leader says he doesn't want to fight me again, I'll stop immediately!!"

Phinks added solemnly.

He understood the significance of the Troupe's gathering and knew pressing further could come across as overly disruptive. So, he left the choice up to Morin.

While he longed to continue the fight, he'd back off immediately if Morin declined.

Of course, in true Enhancer fashion, Phinks would undoubtedly look for another opportunity to spar in the future.

Morin could sense this straightforward yet earnest mentality, and he understood the situation needed resolution.

"Alright, let's go again," Morin said with a slight smile, extending his hand toward Phinks, whose face immediately lit up with excitement.

"This time, don't worry—I won't use any tools. We'll settle this with our fists."

"Hahaha! That's the Vice Leader for you!!"

Phinks swallowed the words of concern he'd been about to voice, grinning wildly. "You've got guts! It's a deal!!"

Even without eyebrows, Phinks' face twisted into a terrifyingly excited expression.

"Here I come again!!"

He began rotating his right arm once more, preparing his signature Ripper Cyclotron.

However, due to the strain from his earlier attempt, this time his arm's rotation wasn't as powerful as before.

As the saying goes: "Strike while the iron is hot; hesitation weakens the force."

This second attack didn't carry the same overwhelming momentum as the first.

But before Phinks could complete his wind-up, Morin disappeared in a blur, reappearing directly in front of him.

"So fast?!!"

Caught off guard, Phinks abandoned his rotation and threw his punch in a panic.

Bang!

A solid impact echoed as Ripper Cyclotron hit its mark—but not in the way Phinks intended.

"As expected of an Enhancer," Morin remarked calmly.

Morin had intercepted the punch with his palm, deftly absorbing and redirecting the force with incredible precision.

Using a technique akin to "softness overcoming hardness," Morin skillfully neutralized the attack.

In his heart, Morin murmured: Softness triumphs over strength.

This technique was something he'd picked up from Ging during their sparring sessions, a skill Ging had learned while exploring an ancient ruin.

Though Morin didn't know the exact name of the style, its effects reminded him of the "soft against hard" principle found in Taichi.

According to Ging, this technique was exceptionally useful and effective, particularly when dealing with powerful Enhancers.

It was a remarkable martial art, with utility rivaling the Zoldyck family's assassination techniques, such as Silent Step or Rhythm Echo.

Morin utilized a technique resembling the "Dragonfly Touches the Water Lightly" method, infused with Nen.

This allowed him to dissipate much of the force behind Phinks' attack.

Taking advantage of Phinks' surprised expression, Morin lightly pushed against his arm, sending the force rippling through Phinks' shoulder and arm, throwing him off balance.

Phinks staggered backward, his footing unsteady, while Morin calmly retreated to a neutral stance.

"Again..."

Phinks nearly coughed up blood in frustration. His ability, Ripper Cyclotron, had once again failed to achieve the decisive impact he sought.

All he wanted was a straightforward, head-on fight to determine a clear victor against Morin.

But once more, his opponent had thwarted him, this time in close combat. Phinks' ability had been neutralized with pure martial technique after being hastily activated.

Of course, Phinks' ability wasn't particularly complex—it was centered on enhancing the power of his arm. Strength could be amplified, but it could also be dispersed.

In the world of Hunters, and especially by the rough standards of Meteor City, such a scenario typically signified the end of a battle—or even life and death.

For the first time, Phinks truly understood what it meant to feel stifled, and just how maddening it could be.

Having his momentum broken twice in a row, his heart was screaming a torrent of unutterable frustrations.

What he wanted was a full-throttle, all-out brawl where the winner wasn't decided until the last moment...

But clearly, Morin's two countermeasures didn't defeat Phinks in a way that satisfied him. He hadn't earned Phinks' submission.

Still, enough was enough.

Though he felt unfulfilled, Phinks knew he couldn't continue acting out.

This was the Phantom Troupe's first major gathering, not his personal stage for performance—especially not one that was going so poorly.

Just as Phinks was begrudgingly about to concede and swallow his pride:

"Ripper Cyclotron, huh? That's a pretty good name," Morin remarked, rolling his right shoulder casually. "Did you come up with it yourself?"

"Huh?"

Phinks froze, unsure why Morin was asking this out of the blue.

Still, instinctively puffing out his chest, he replied with a hint of pride:

"Of course! I came up with it myself."

He jabbed a thumb toward his chest, his face beaming with satisfaction.

"When I was developing my ability, after setting the conditions, I realized each rotation of my arm seemed to reach upward, almost like ascending to the heavens, and it formed a sort of cycle."

"So I thought of this... this..."

Phinks' words trailed off mid-sentence.

His eyes widened as he saw Morin's right arm begin to rotate in midair, perfectly replicating the motion he had just demonstrated.

Not only was the motion identical, but it was even more precise and flawless than Phinks' own technique.

What was more shocking was that with each rotation of Morin's arm, the aura around it grew visibly stronger.

This form, this effect...

"This is... Ripper Cyclotron!?"

Phinks' voice was strained, his tone breaking as disbelief overtook him.

"It's definitely Ripper Cyclotron..."

Shalnark, who usually kept his cool, spoke up, his tone unusually serious. His face remained composed, but his eyes betrayed his astonishment.

"To think that after seeing it twice—no, experiencing it just once—he managed to replicate the Nen ability entirely."

"Is this because of some kind of tool?" Kortopi finally broke his silence, voicing the question lingering in everyone's minds.

"No, there's no trace of tool usage."

Sitting on a rock, Chrollo rested his chin on his interlaced hands, observing Morin's technique and the steadily increasing aura. His expression grew deeper and more contemplative.

"This... he achieved this purely on his own."

"On his own? So you're saying it's entirely due to his talent?" Feitan's sharp gaze remained fixed on Morin. "Is such a thing really possible?"

"In this world, nothing is absolutely impossible," Chrollo responded, his tone calm yet weighty.

Chrollo spoke softly, "Even if the sun were to rise from the west someday, I wouldn't be surprised."

"With Nen abilities in existence, anything is possible."

"Are you suggesting…"

Shalnark quickly understood Chrollo's implication. "That the vice-captain's ability—or perhaps we should call it talent—is the result of Nen?"

"I can't say for certain."

Chrollo shook his head slightly. "But it's the most likely explanation."

Chrollo's reasoning was impressive—he had deduced this much despite being unaware of the peculiarities of the Dark Continent.

However, he didn't know that the "talent" Morin displayed could be traced back to bloodline inheritance, passed down from someone like Ging Freecss.

In reality, Morin's current abilities were the result of copying Ging's talent through a Nen tool. Nonetheless, this didn't stop the other members of the Troupe from being astonished by Morin's performance.

Pakonoda, in particular, gazed at Morin with a look of deep admiration, her lips pressed together tightly. Her eyes seemed to hold no one else but him.

Good thing I didn't try to fight you, Vice-Captain Morin…

Her thoughts echoed in her mind. You're as remarkable as ever—always the center of attention, always so powerful and commanding.

Women from Meteor City were often drawn to men who were both strong and handsome—a fact Shalnark could personally attest to.

And Morin? He surpassed Shalnark in both looks and power.

"Stop joking around!"

The first to break the silence as everyone watched Morin's demonstration was Phinks, who couldn't contain himself any longer.

"My ability isn't that easy to learn!"

His frustration boiled over. "Even if you did manage to copy it, it should have taken tremendous effort and cost! You're telling me you picked it up effortlessly after just two encounters?

"Who can accept that?! At least pretend it was difficult!"

His indignation—focused on the ease with which Morin had mastered his technique—revealed much about his straightforward, enhancement-type personality.

"Noted. I'll keep that in mind next time," Morin responded casually, humoring Phinks without much sincerity.

By now, Morin's rotations were nearly complete. He could feel the surging power of his aura accumulating in his right arm.

Then, under Phinks' increasingly aggrieved gaze, Morin unleashed a punch.

"Ripper Cyclotron!"

The same technique. The same ability. The same combatants.

But this time, their roles were reversed. Morin was the attacker, and Phinks the defender.

"Who's afraid of who?!"

Fueled by humiliation and rage, Phinks charged forward to meet Morin's fist head-on.

"I won't back down!"

With his arm swinging furiously and all his remaining aura concentrated in his fist, he roared, "I'll show you what it means to be a real ma—!"

Boom!

Before he could finish, the final word was knocked clean out of his mouth.

The world spun wildly around him. The surrounding scenery blurred into a whirlwind, and the rushing wind roared into his eyes, ears, nose, and mouth.

His face stung as if slashed by knives.

His right arm had gone completely numb—so much so that he couldn't even feel pain anymore.

The only sensations left were the chaotic visuals and the unbearable ache in his face, accompanied by the overwhelming force propelling his upper body toward the heavens.

"Am I about to become a shooting star?"

For some reason, as he looked up at the blinding sun and the vast blue sky, this absurd thought floated through Phinks' dazed mind.

Splash!

Unfortunately, Phinks was destined not to become a celestial phenomenon. Instead, he was more like an insignificant splash in the ocean—albeit one with a rather dramatic impact.

"Well, this idiot never fails to make trouble," Feitan muttered, shaking his head. He cast a glance at Morin, who had already pulled back, his expression unreadable.

Grumbling under his breath, Feitan kicked off the ground and dashed toward the area where Phinks had crash-landed in the sea.

Phinks' twisted arm and nearly disjointed body, coupled with the bubbles rising from the ocean's surface, made it clear he was in no condition to pull himself out.

Or perhaps he'd already lost consciousness.

If left unattended, Phinks might very well become the Troupe's first casualty—during their very first gathering, no less.

A death wouldn't matter much, except that it should happen in battle or through betrayal—not like this.