The tranquility of the garden scene—Light's composed review of ledgers, Neon's carefree laughter—stood in stark contrast to the storm of calculations raging in Kevin's mind. The picturesque mansion was a fortress, but no fortress was impenetrable, especially against foes like the Phantom Troupe. His thoughts were a tangled web of logistics, threat assessment, and moral obligation.
First, the eyes. The twin pools of scarlet, sealed in a lead-lined case in his room, pulsed with a malevolent, grieving aura. Mito's Post-mortem Nen was a locked box with a venomous secret inside. Until he could decipher its exact nature—was it a curse that triggered on contact? A slow poison to any who possessed them?—returning them to Pairo was unthinkable. The irony was cruel: a father's final act of protection could become the instrument of his son's doom. He needed expertise he currently lacked. Perhaps the Hunter Association's archives… or a Specialist with a focus on residual Nen…
Second, the training. The Kurta's latent potential was undeniable. Their Scarlet Eye state was more than a physiological quirk; it was a Nen amplifier, a racial trait that made them natural conduits for aura. Pairo's analytical calm, Rosana's fierce resilience, Kurapika's intense focus—they were promising raw material. But forging them into weapons capable of facing the Spiders wasn't a matter of weeks. It required foundational discipline—Ten, Zetsu, Ren, Hatsu—drilled into instinct. He could give them the keys, but they would have to walk the path themselves, a path that demanded years, not months.
Third, the timeline. The Hunter Exam loomed, a non-negotiable commitment. January was a heartbeat away. His absence would leave a dangerous vacuum. The three Kurta would be vulnerable, their training interrupted. Light's protection, while formidable in the mundane world, was untested against Nen-using assassins of the Troupe's caliber. The mafia boss was an investor, not a guardian angel; his help would extend only so far as his calculated interests aligned.
Fourth, the guardian. This was the most pressing knot. He needed a Nen user he could trust, someone with the power to deter and the loyalty to stay. His list was despairingly short. Mori was a possibility—reliable, powerful, with a keen sense of justice. But involving him would drag another friend into this bloody feud. Menchi and Hakkahalla were capable Hunters, but their obligations lay elsewhere. He couldn't ask.
A shadow of an idea flickered—unorthodox and risky. He watched Light in the garden, the man's elegant composure a mask over unknown depths. Light had resources, foresight (prophetic or otherwise), and a vested interest in keeping his "investment" secure. Could he be persuaded to hire outside Nen talent? A bodyguard from the shadowy world of hired Hunters or underground Nen users? It would deepen Kevin's debt to the man, tethering him further to the Nostra Family's agenda. A dangerous bargain.
Kevin's gaze drifted from the garden back to the opulent, silent corridor. He had decisions to make, and each one carried the weight of future bloodshed—or survival. He needed a plan, a multilayered defense for the time he would be gone. Training regimens to leave with them. Security protocols. A failsafe.
He pushed away from the window, his resolve hardening. First, he would have a blunt conversation with Light about security. Then, he would begin the Kurta's Nen fundamentals, focusing on Ten and Zetsu—the arts of containment and stealth. Survival first, offense later. As for the eyes… they would have to remain locked away, a terrible heirloom waiting for a day when he had the knowledge to safely unlock its legacy.
The path was fraught, but inaction was a greater danger. He turned and walked down the hall, his footsteps silent on the rich carpet, already mentally drafting the harsh, necessary lessons he would impart before he left for the exam. The quiet of the mansion was about to be broken by the first, rigorous steps on the road to vengeance.
The clatter of the teacup meeting its saucer was the only sharp sound in the garden's serene hush. Kevin's words, polite on the surface, carried the weight of an ultimatum. The gratitude was a formality; the question that followed was the true point of entry.
Light didn't flinch. He leaned back, steepling his fingers, his gaze meeting Kevin's with an equal measure of assessment. The kindly benefactor persona was set aside; here was the Don in his element. "A favor is a form of currency in our world. I am a banker of such currencies. But you are correct—transactions work best with transparency." He gently placed a hand on Neon's head. "Sweetheart, go inside and help Maria choose the flowers for dinner, would you?"
Neon, sensing the shift in the air, nodded obediently. "Okay, Daddy." She gave Kevin a curious glance before skipping off towards the mansion, the maids falling into step a discreet distance behind.
Once they were truly alone, the atmosphere in the pavilion thickened. The distant chirping of birds and the rustle of leaves seemed to recede.
"I know you have questions," Light began, preempting Kevin. "About my generosity. About my… foreknowledge." He took a slow sip of his own tea, his eyes never leaving Kevin's. "Let us be direct. I have a… unique asset. My daughter, Neon. She possesses an ability. She can write conditional prophecies."
He let the statement hang, watching for Kevin's reaction. It was a staggering admission, revealing a source of power far more valuable than any mafia empire.
"Four lines," Light continued, his voice low. "Not long before our first meeting in Yorknew, she wrote one. It spoke of 'a fleeing eagle finding refuge in a wolf's den,' of 'a crow, a swallow, and a dove, their feathers stained with scarlet grief, finding sanctuary under a false moon.' It spoke of great danger, and of… significant potential. The 'eagle' was clearly you. The 'wolf's den' is my family. The birds…" He gestured vaguely toward the mansion. "You brought them to me."
Kevin's mind raced, connecting the dots. The immediate, unhesitating help. The strange looks of recognition. The perfect, almost pre-scripted hospitality. It wasn't clairvoyance in the pure sense, but a guided foresight—a map he had been unwittingly following.
"So your help wasn't altruism, or even an investment in me personally," Kevin stated, his voice flat. "It was you following the script of a prophecy to secure the 'potential' it mentioned."
"Correct," Light admitted without shame. "The Nostra Family's strength lies in leveraging all assets. Information is the greatest asset of all. The prophecy indicated that aiding you would bring stability and strength to my family in the long term. It indicated that the 'birds,' once healed and hardened, would become formidable. Allies, perhaps. Or at the very least, they would draw conflict away from my core interests and toward… other targets." His meaning was clear: toward the Phantom Troupe.
Kevin felt a cold clarity wash over him. The manipulation was laid bare, but it was a manipulation born of pragmatic, almost clinical, logic. It was a deal, after all—just one whose terms had been written in advance by a little girl's Nen.
"Now you have your answer," Light said, spreading his hands. "The 'connection' to the Kurta is not blood or history. It is fate, as written by Neon. I am hedging on that fate. My protection, my resources, are an advance on the future return your group represents."
Kevin absorbed this. It was unsettling, but it was also a foundation he could work with. Trust based on mystic fortune-telling was fragile, but a mutual understanding of vested interests was solid ground.
"Then let's talk about the next transaction," Kevin said, his business-like tone mirroring Light's. "I have to leave for a month, for the Hunter Exam. The 'birds' will be vulnerable. Your prophecy likely didn't cover day-to-day security while I'm gone."
Light nodded. "It did not. This is an… operational variable."
"I need a Nen-user guard. A powerful one. I have someone in mind, but it will cost money. A lot of it." Kevin watched Light closely. "Since their safety and your 'investment' are aligned, I propose a joint venture. You front the capital for the guard. In return, I will begin developing a product line based on my Nen ability—potions without negative side effects. The Nostra Family gets exclusive distribution rights in this hemisphere. The profits will first repay your outlay for security, then we share the remainder."
It was a bold proposition, turning his ability from a personal tool into an industry, and tying the Nostra Family's fortunes to its success.
Light's eyes gleamed, not with paternal warmth, but with the sharp interest of a venture capitalist seeing a disruptive new technology. He considered for a long moment, the wheels of calculation almost visible behind his eyes.
"The security is a sound investment in protecting the principal," he mused. "The potion venture… that is speculation. But the potential market for safe, potent Nen-enhancements is… considerable." He leaned forward. "We have a deal. On one condition: I want to meet this guard you have in mind. I vet my business partners personally."
"Agreed," Kevin said. He would contact Mori immediately. The martial artist's straightforward nature and power would likely pass Light's vetting.
The meeting in the garden had transformed their relationship. The veil of unexplained benevolence was gone, replaced by the clean, if cold, lines of a partnership contract. They were no longer host and guest, or even protector and refugee. They were co-conspirators in a future written by prophecy and forged by mutual need. Kevin left the pavilion with a clearer path, but also with the sobering knowledge that he had just deepened his entanglement with a man who saw people and their pain as entries in a ledger, guided by the verses of a child's rhyme.