Kevin's gaze held Pairo's. The boy's crimson eyes, still dulled from old injury, burned with an intensity that belied his age. He wasn't just eager; he was ravenous. Kevin understood that hunger—it was the same drive that had pushed him in his earliest days with Ging. But here, fueled by genocide, it was a thousand times more volatile.
"The accelerated method, Water Divination, can force your nodes open," Kevin continued, his voice cutting through the morning chill on the lawn. "But it's like igniting a gas leak with a match. If your emotional state is unstable—if your grief, rage, or fear is the primary fuel—the resulting 'awakening' will be chaotic, difficult to control, and may warp your Nen Type towards something… self-destructive." He thought of the Phantom Troupe members, their auras often sharpened by malice. "For revenge, control is more important than raw power. A scalpel, not a bomb."
He turned to include Kurapika and Rosana. "You will begin with the steady method. Meditation. Breathing exercises. Learning to feel the flow of your own life energy, your Aura, without external force. It's tedious. It's frustrating. It's the foundation upon which everything else is built. Mori will guide you through the initial stages of Ten and Zetsu while I am away."
Light, who had recovered his composure, spoke up, his businessman's mind analyzing the risk. "And the danger of the… injection method?"
"For a normal person, significant discomfort, potential psychological shock, a long recovery period to gain control," Kevin explained. "For them," he nodded toward the three Kurta, "with their trauma and the latent power of their Scarlet Eyes? It could trigger a feedback loop. Their aura might run wild, injuring them or others. Or it could crystallize their Nen ability prematurely into a form solely defined by vengeance, limiting its future growth." He looked back at Pairo. "Your father's final act was one of supreme control and sacrifice. Honor that by learning control first."
Pairo's jaw tightened, but after a long moment, he gave a short, sharp nod. The lesson was understood, if not wholly accepted.
"Now," Kevin said, clapping his hands together, "the first lesson. Feeling Aura. Everyone, sit. Close your eyes. I'm not going to force it open. I'm going to let you sense mine, gently."
He had them sit in a circle on the grass. Neon, intrigued now, joined in, mimicking the others. Kevin sat in the center. He began to emit his aura not as a crushing pressure, but as a warm, steady radiance—a pure, undirected Ren of benign intent. It was like sunlight on skin, a gentle current in still water.
"Don't try to see it. Try to feel it," he instructed softly. "Like the warmth of the sun you can't see on a cloudy day. Like the pressure change before a storm. It's there. Find it."
Kurapika's brow furrowed in concentration. Rosana's breathing slowed. Pairo's small fists were clenched in his lap, but slowly, one finger at a time, he began to relax.
Minutes passed. Then, Kurapika's eyes flew open, not with their scarlet fire, but with a look of pure astonishment. "I… I feel it. It's like a… a quiet humming in the air. A warmth that isn't temperature."
Soon after, Rosana gasped softly. "It's… there. A presence. Like standing next to a sleeping giant."
Pairo was last, his expression one of grim triumph. "I feel it. It's… solid. Like a wall made of light."
Neon simply giggled. "It tickles, Daddy! It's like sparkles!"
Light felt nothing but the normal breeze, a stark reminder of the wall Kevin had spoken of. He watched his daughter, a complex mix of pride and worry in his eyes. She lives in this world already, he realized. She just didn't have a name for it.
"Good," Kevin said, letting his aura recede. "That's the first step. Recognizing the energy that exists within and around all living things. Your own aura is a part of that. For the next week, your only task is to sit like this, twice a day, and try to find that feeling within yourselves. Not mine. Yours."
He stood up. The lesson was over. The seeds were planted. The three Kurta now had a direction, a first tangible connection to the power they craved. It was a small step, agonizingly slow for their desperate hearts, but it was a step on solid ground, not a leap into a chaotic abyss.
As they dispersed, Kevin pulled Light aside. "The training has begun. The foundation is what matters now. My flight for the exam is this afternoon. Remember our agreement. Mori is in charge of their Nen fundamentals. Your men are in charge of everything else."
Light nodded, his earlier vulnerability gone, replaced by the resolve of a partner who had seen the blueprint of a profitable future. "The forge is lit, Kevin. We'll tend the fire."
Kevin looked back at the lawn. Kurapika was already trying to meditate again, his expression fiercely determined. Pairo was watching him, a silent challenge in his eyes. Rosana had an arm around Neon, pointing out a bird in a tree, a moment of normalcy amidst the extraordinary.
He turned and walked towards the mansion to collect his gear. The quiet, methodical work here would continue. His own trial, of a different sort, was about to begin. The paths were diverging, but for the first time, they were all moving forward with purpose.
The garden courtyard was bathed in the soft, late-morning light, the earlier tension of the Nen demonstration replaced by a focused, almost clinical curiosity. Neon, now the center of attention for a purpose she understood, fidgeted with excitement rather than fear.
"Okay!" she chirped, clearly delighted that a real-life "subject" was asking for her fortune. "I need your real name, your blood type, and your birthday!"
"Kevin Carpenberg," he said, providing the other two pieces of information without hesitation. He watched her closely, his Gyo active, his senses attuned to the subtlest fluctuation of aura.
Neon's demeanor shifted. The playful child receded, replaced by a solemn, distant concentration. She closed her eyes, her hands coming together as if in prayer. For a long moment, nothing happened. Then, Kevin felt it—not a surge of power, but a profound stillness radiating from her. Her Zetsu state, which had been a passive, subconscious curtain, now became an active void, a blank canvas upon which something was being drawn from a place beyond normal perception.
A faint, shimmering light, visible only to Nen-sensitive eyes, coalesced in the air between her palms. It wasn't aura in the conventional sense; it lacked the personal imprint of emotion or will. It was more like… condensed information. A script from the universe itself.
A small, ornate notebook and a beautiful, feathered quill materialized in her hands—a Conjured item, but one that felt less like a tool and more like a component of a ritual. Her eyes remained closed as her hand began to move, the quill scratching across the paper with an unnatural, fluid speed. She wasn't writing words; she was transcribing them from the shimmering light.
Light watched, his breath held, a familiar awe mixed with paternal concern on his face. He had seen this before, but never with a Nen user observing the process.
Kevin analyzed silently. The Conjured items are part of the condition. The deep Zetsu is necessary to become a clear receptor, eliminating 'noise' from her own aura. The personal data are the targeting parameters. The monthly limit… a cooling period for the 'circuit' to prevent burnout or paradox. The restrictions were severe and intrinsic, making the ability both incredibly powerful and perilously fragile.
After a minute, the light faded. Neon's hands stopped. She let out a small, tired sigh, the concentration leaving her face. The notebook and quill vanished. In her hand was a single, beautifully illustrated page that had not been there before. She held it out to Kevin without looking at it, her eyes still averted, adhering strictly to her own rule.
"Here you go, Uncle Kevin," she said, her voice a little thinner.
Kevin took the page. The artwork was whimsical, almost like a children's book illustration, but the four-line poem written in elegant calligraphy belied its playful appearance.
The Alchemist stands at the crossroads of stone,
Where a forgotten king's test is sown.
*A choice of vial, a breath of frost,
Will crown a victor, or see all lost.
Beware the guide with a smiling face,
For a spider's thread runs through that place.
Kevin read it twice, his mind racing. The "crossroads of stone" and "forgotten king's test" sounded like a phase of the Hunter Exam. "A choice of vial" directly referenced his own abilities. The "spider's thread" was unmistakable.
The prophecy wasn't a fixed outcome. It was a warning and a map of a critical juncture. It could be changed, but changing it blindly ("a breath of frost") could lead to disaster ("or see all lost"). And the Troupe's influence, even here, was implied.
He looked up at Neon, who was now leaning against her father, looking drained. The cost of the ability was clear—it took a tangible toll on her, a withdrawal of vitality to pay for glimpsing fate.
"Thank you, Neon," Kevin said, his voice gentle but his thoughts already analyzing the intel. "This is very helpful."
He folded the page and placed it securely in his inner pocket. The final check was complete. He now understood the mechanics, the cost, and the terrifying utility of Lovely Ghostwriter. It was a strategic asset of the highest order, but one tethered to the well-being of a little girl.
"Light," Kevin said, his tone shifting back to business. "Her ability is a national treasure. And a monumental vulnerability. Her security, especially her emotional well-being, is now paramount. Not just for her, but for the stability of everything we're building. The fortune-telling must remain an absolute secret, used only for the most critical decisions."
Light's expression hardened into that of a protector. "I have always known this. She is my daughter first, an asset second. Her sessions will be limited, and her environment controlled."
Kevin nodded. The partnership had just deepened into a shared guardianship of a profound secret. He had his prophecy for the exam, a crucial edge. But he also carried a new weight: the knowledge that his actions in the coming days would ripple through a future a little girl had glimpsed, and that the spiders, it seemed, had threads everywhere.
He left the garden, the prophecy a cool weight against his chest. The training of the Kurta, the business with Light, the analysis of Mito's eyes—all were crucial. But his immediate path was now clear. He had to navigate the "crossroads of stone" with extreme care, make the correct "choice of vial," and be hyper-aware of any "guide with a smiling face."
The Hunter Exam was no longer just a test of skill. It was a puzzle box with a prophecy for a key, and a spider's web lurking in the shadows.