Tebi's mind reeled. Pharmaceuticals? The word conjured images of sterile labs, government regulations, and corporate boardrooms—a world as alien to the Nostra Family's current operations as the dark side of the moon. The cognitive dissonance was so profound he could only stand there, mouth slightly agape, staring at Light's back.
Light turned from the window, the morning light casting his face in sharp relief. He saw the utter bewilderment in Tebi's eyes and smiled, a rare, genuine expression that held no mockery, only the excitement of a visionary sharing his blueprint.
"You felt it, didn't you? That day in Yorknew, after the conflict?" Light asked, his voice dropping. "The men who were shot to pieces, the ones the doctors said would never walk again, or would lose their organs?"
Tebi nodded slowly. He remembered. It had been a bloody, costly skirmish with a rival syndicate over a smuggling route. Four of their best enforcers had been brought back in bags of their own blood. Then, Kevin had arrived. A few vials of oddly luminous liquid, administered under the man's quiet instruction, and within days… a miracle. Bones knitting at impossible speeds, shredded tissue regenerating, fever and infection vanishing like morning mist. Those men were not only alive but were now back on active duty, stronger than before.
"That was no conventional medicine," Light said, tapping ash from his cigar. "That was a product of Kevin's Nen. A potion with no side effects. A product that can heal the incurable, enhance the capable, and fetch a price that makes our former 'lucrative' trades look like pocket change sold on a street corner."
He leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with the cold fire of a calculated gambler who has seen the winning hand. "The drug trade? We sell poison that addicts and destroys, constantly hunted by Hunters and rivals, dealing with the dregs of society. The new trade? We sell health, longevity, and peak performance to the richest, most powerful people in the world—CEOs, politicians, celebrities, other Dons who've grown soft and fearful of death. They will pay fortunes for a discreet, guaranteed result. And they will owe us favors. That is influence. That is power. Clean, sustainable, and far beyond anything this city' petty wars can offer."
The scales began to fall from Tebi's eyes. He saw it not as a philosopher's rambling, but as a ruthless business pivot. They were abandoning a volatile, low-margin retail operation for a high-tech, luxury monopoly. The risks were different—not street violence, but corporate espionage and maintaining absolute secrecy—but the potential rewards were astronomical.
"The Liz Family…" Tebi ventured, the name of their superiors a lingering shadow.
Light's expression turned icy. "The Liz Family controls vice because it is predictable and crude. They understand brutality and addiction. They will not understand biotech forged from supernatural energy. By the time they realize what we have, we will either be too valuable to touch, or…" he let the implication hang, "we will have graduated from being their provincial distributors to becoming peers, or even something they answer to. The prophecy points to stability and growth, Tebi. Not stagnation in a bloody gutter."
He walked back to his desk, his demeanor shifting from visionary back to Don. "The discontent among the ranks is to be expected. Weed out the ones who can only see as far as the next bag of powder or the next brothel payout. Offer the smarter, more adaptable ones new roles—security for our new facilities, logistics for acquiring rare materials, personal protection for our… associates. Retrain them. This is not a weakening; it is a metamorphosis."
Light picked up a folder and handed it to Tebi. It contained preliminary market analyses, lists of potential "clients" curated from the family's black book of contacts, and a simplified breakdown of the proposed potion lines—everything from "Executive Focus Enhancers" to "Post-Surgical Recovery Accelerants."
"This is your new directive. Study it. Your first task is to identify which of our current assets—properties, shell companies, offshore accounts—can be cleansed and repurposed for this. Start discreetly. Use the man who runs Kevin's errands as your liaison for any questions that require Kevin's technical input."
Tebi took the folder, its weight feeling profoundly different from the ledgers of betting slips and drug shipments he was used to. The confusion was gone, replaced by a dawning, ambitious clarity. His Boss wasn't going soft; he was executing the most audacious power play in the family's history. They were trading knives for scalpels, and street corners for global markets.
"I understand, Boss," Tebi said, his voice firm with new resolve. "I'll see it done."
As Tebi left the room, Light returned to the window, watching his subordinate stride across the lawn with a new purpose in his step. The "rotting flesh" was being excised. The patient was in surgery, and the prognosis, guided by a little girl's poetry and a Hunter's alchemy, was for a transformation more radical than any of his men could yet imagine. The Nostra Family was leaving the underworld. It was preparing to enter the shadowy, far more lucrative realm where ultimate power truly resided.
Kevin let the silence settle for a moment, letting the weight of the gathering impress itself upon everyone present. This was not a casual meeting; it was the first official council of the fledgling entity he was shaping.
"We've spent the past weeks recovering, learning, and planning," Kevin began, his voice calm but carrying the full authority of the room. "The emergency phase is over. We now enter the construction phase. Today, we define our structure and our immediate objectives."
He turned his gaze first to Light. "Light Nostra. Your role is Quartermaster and Financier. You are converting the Nostra Family's assets into a clean capital and logistics engine. You will secure materials, manage finances, and build the legal and corporate shell for our operations. Your daughter, Neon, is our Strategic Asset. Her safety and well-being are paramount. Her ability provides us with a unique, long-range planning advantage, but it is not to be abused. Her training in basic Nen control and physical resilience continues, for her own protection."
Light gave a solemn nod, the mantle of 'Quartermaster' settling on him with a sense of grim purpose that felt more honorable than 'Don'.
Kevin's eyes moved to the three Kurta. "Kurapika, Pairo, Rosana. You are our Core Operatives-in-Training. Your primary objective for the next six months is singular: master the fundamentals of Nen. Mori will be your drill instructor. There will be no shortcuts. Your secondary objective is physical and psychological recovery. Revenge is your driver, but a broken tool is useless. You will learn, you will heal, and you will become the foundation of this group's actionable strength."
He saw the fierce agreement in their eyes, tempered now by the understanding of the long road ahead. They were no longer lone avengers; they were soldiers in a nascent army.
"And my role," Kevin continued, "is Strategist and Vanguard. I secure external resources, handle high-level threats, and establish connections beyond our walls. My immediate task is the Hunter Exam. The license will grant us legitimacy, access to restricted information, and a degree of legal immunity."
He then placed a single sheet of paper in the center of the table. It was a simple, hand-drawn organizational chart.
The Forge (Provisional Name)
Leadership & Strategy: Kevin Carpenberg
Logistics & Finance: Light Nostra
Intelligence & Foresight: Neon Nostra (Asset)
Core Operations (Trainees): Kurapika, Pairo, Rosana
Security & Training: Mori (External Contractor)
"This is our skeleton," Kevin said. "We have no official name yet. 'The Forge' is apt for now. We are here to temper ourselves, to create tools of power, and to shape our future. Our first operational goals are clear."
He held up a finger. "One: Within three months, the Nostra Family's transition to a legitimate pharmaceutical holding company must be complete. The first line of non-Nen-based, but Kevin-enhanced, regenerative serums must be ready for discreet distribution to a curated list of twenty clients."
A second finger. "Two: Within the same period, the three Core Operatives must achieve proficiency in Ten, Zetsu, and Ren, and have begun exploring their Nen Types and initial Hatsu concepts under Mori's guidance."
A third finger. "Three: I will obtain the Hunter License and establish contact with at least one reliable specialist within the Association, preferably one capable of analyzing complex Post-mortem Nen, by the end of the exam cycle."
He finally looked at Neon, his expression softening slightly. "And four: Neon will complete her basic resilience training and begin a controlled, once-per-month use of her ability, strictly for verifying critical path decisions for the group. No personal fortunes. No looking at the results herself."
The plan was laid out—ambitious, structured, and coldly pragmatic. It acknowledged their traumatic past but refused to be governed by it. It transformed grief into a project, vengeance into a milestone, and a mafia family into a venture capital firm with a supernatural edge.
Kurapika was the first to speak after Kevin finished. "The structure is sound. The goals are clear. I have no objections." His voice was that of a junior officer acknowledging orders.
Pairo nodded silently, his crimson eyes fixed on the chart, as if memorizing his place within it.
Rosana placed a hand on the table. "The medical focus… it aligns with my old skills. Once my training allows, I wish to assist in the development of the serums. Understanding the product will make me a better guardian for it."
Light smiled, a genuine expression of satisfaction. "The pharmaceutical shell is already being constructed. Tebi is on it. The 'Forge'… I like it. It implies strength through craft, not just through force."
Neon, perhaps feeling the seriousness, puffed out her cheeks but didn't complain. "Okay… I'll keep training. But only if Kurapika and Pairo keep doing it with me!"
Kevin allowed a small smile. "They will. We all will. We are each other's accountability now."
He rolled up the chart. "This meeting is adjourned. Remember your roles. Prepare. Mori arrives tomorrow. I leave for the exam in forty-eight hours. The construction has begun. Do not falter."
As the group filed out, the atmosphere in the mansion shifted palpably. The aimless tension of recovery was gone, replaced by the focused hum of a machine powering up. In a small conference room, a forge had been lit, its first task to temper its own creators. The path to vengeance, and to whatever lay beyond, was now a corporate strategy, complete with milestones and performance reviews. The Spider Troupe had no idea that the scattered, fleeing prey they had left in the forest was now quietly, methodically, building a hive.
The acceptance from the Kurta solidified the pact. Kevin felt the final piece of his short-term framework click into place. It was no longer just a shelter or a mentorship; it was a joint-stock company of survival and ambition, with shares paid in trauma, prophecy, and alchemy.
"Good," Kevin said, a note of finality in his voice. "Then the initial structure is set. Nostra-Carpenberg Pharmaceuticals, NCP will be the public face. Light, you handle the incorporation, the shell companies, the legal frameworks. Use the funds from liquidating the old assets as seed capital. The first product will be a non-Nen-based but highly effective topical regenerative gel, derived from a formula I can optimize. It will heal severe lacerations and burns with minimal scarring at three times the speed of the best market alternative. We'll target elite private clinics and the military procurement pipeline first."
Light was already making notes, his mind translating Kevin's vision into actionable corporate steps. "Discreet marketing. No flashy launches. Word-of-mouth among the right circles. I'll have the prototypes and documentation ready for regulatory submission within two weeks."
Kevin then addressed the three Kurta. "Your shares will be held in a trust until you come of age or until we deem the environment secure. Your immediate 'work' is your training. However," he looked specifically at Rosana, "your knowledge of traditional Kurta herbal medicine could be invaluable. Once your Nen fundamentals are stable, I'd like you to work with me on analyzing and cataloging any unique botanical knowledge your clan possessed. It could inspire new lines or provide natural complements to the synthetic formulas."
Rosana's eyes widened, then shone with a new light. It was a purpose that connected her past to this strange future, honoring her heritage in a way that wasn't about bloodshed. "I… I would be honored. Our people had remedies for many things the outside world considered untreatable."
Kurapika and Pairo exchanged a glance, seeing a path for their mother that was about creation, not destruction. It was a balm to their own relentless drive for the opposite.
"As for you two," Kevin said to the boys. "Your 'shares' are an investment in your future power. That power will be the company's ultimate security division. But before you can protect anything, you must master Ten and Zetsu until they are as natural as breathing. Mori will ensure you do."
He then turned to Neon, who was trying to look very serious and grown-up. "And you, Neon. Your contribution is the most unique. Your monthly prophecies will guide our major strategic decisions—when to launch a product, when to expand, when to lay low. But understanding business will help you frame better questions for your ability. So, you will also have simple lessons in economics and corporate strategy."
Neon puffed out her cheeks, but a spark of interest was there. Being told her "fortune-telling" was important boardroom strategy was much more appealing than being called a weird kid.
"Finally," Kevin concluded, standing up. "This is not a democracy in the heat of the moment. I will make the final calls on security and Nen-related matters. Light has final say on financial and legal execution. We operate on consensus for major strategic shifts. Disputes are resolved here, at this table. Outside these walls, we present a unified front."
He looked at each of them—the mafia don turned CEO, the prophetic child, the mother-healer, and the two young avengers. "We are building something from the ashes of your old life and the shadow of mine. It will make us wealthy. It will make us strong. And it will give us the means to face the Phantom Troupe not as desperate fugitives, but as a power in our own right. The first board meeting of NCP is adjourned."
As the group dispersed, the air in the room seemed to vibrate with a new energy. The grief and fear were still there, but they were now compartmentalized, transformed into fuel for a grand, meticulous project. Light walked out already speaking in hushed tones on his phone to Tebi, issuing new, legitimate-sounding orders. Rosana was gently questioning Kurapika about the details of some long-forgotten clan poultice. Pairo stood by the window, looking out at the grounds, his small frame held with a new, purposeful stiffness.
Kevin gathered his notes. The "Forge" had its blueprint. The anvil was security, the hammer was Nen training, the bellows were finance, and the fire was a mix of prophetic insight and alchemical science. The first piece of metal on the anvil was the trio of scarlet-eyed survivors. The first product from the fire would be a medical miracle.
He had a company to run, apprentices to train, and an exam to pass. The path of the lone hunter was receding behind him. Ahead lay the complex, fraught, but powerful path of the architect. The Spider Troupe had taken a clan. Unknowingly, they had spurred the creation of something far more organized, patient, and dangerously well-funded in its thirst for retribution. The hunt was no longer a chase; it was a long-term corporate acquisition strategy.
The meeting dissolved not with an ending, but with a sense of ignition. The blueprint for Nostra-Carpenberg Pharmaceuticals (NCP) was no longer a vague idea; it was a detailed business plan with distinct revenue streams and a clear division of labor. The air in the room crackled with a potent mix of grim purpose and nascent ambition.
Kevin watched as Light—now fully embodying the CEO role—immediately began drafting memos, his mind already calculating startup costs, patent law, and which of his "retired" enforcers could be retrained as corporate security or logistics managers. The man had switched modes with terrifying efficiency.
Rosana had taken Neon by the hand, already speaking softly about different types of flowers and their historical uses, beginning the girl's informal education in botany that would one day feed into R&D. Kurapika and Pairo had their heads together, not speaking of vengeance, but quietly debating the pros and cons of different intelligence-gathering models for the proposed Nen-user black-market stalls.
This was the "legion" the prophecy had hinted at. Not a military force, but a multi-faceted enterprise where every member's trauma, talent, and desire were being channeled into a cohesive, growing entity.
Kevin retreated to his designated workshop within the mansion—a spacious, secure room that had been cleared of opulence and stocked with mundane medical texts, chemical catalogs, and basic lab equipment. He needed to translate theory into a tangible first product.
He materialized A Moment's Dream. The ornate pharmaceutical platform gleamed under the sterile lights. For the flagship product—the one Pairo had, with startling pragmatism, identified—he wouldn't need rare Nen-infused materials. He needed to analyze and perfect existing chemical pathways. He placed standard pharmacopeia references on the scales: texts on vascular physiology, endocrine regulators, and molecular chemistry.
The platform hummed. Ideas and formulas swirled in the manifested liquid within the glass vessels, not creating a potion, but refining a blueprint. After an hour, a detailed, peer-review-ready formula for a compound he temporarily dubbed "Vigor-7" was produced, along with a list of optimized synthesis steps that would cut production costs by 40% compared to any theoretical competitor. It was a masterpiece of reverse-engineering and optimization, a product ready for a lab, not a cauldron.
This is the true power, Kevin thought, dispelling the platform. Not just in making miracles, but in perfecting the mundane to an extraordinary degree.
He then turned to the second stream. From a locked case, he took a single, shimmering leaf from a Dark Continent-adjacent plant he'd acquired months ago. He placed it on the scale. This time, the process was different. The platform glowed with an inner light as it analyzed the plant's latent life-force properties. The output was not a document, but a small, pearl-like pellet that radiated a gentle, rejuvenating aura—a true Nen potion, a low-tier stamina and focus enhancer with zero crash. He produced only three. These would be the samples for Light's most trusted, deep-pocketed contacts.
The work was done for the day. As he left the workshop, he saw Mori had arrived. The martial artist was in the garden, not training the Kurta, but simply standing in a perfect Ten, his aura a placid, unmovable lake. Kurapika and Pairo were imitating his stance a few feet away, their own auras flickering but gradually steadying under his silent, immovable example. It was a lesson in presence, not technique.
Kevin intercepted Light on his way to his office. "The first product is ready for R&D. Non-Nen. It will be revolutionary and extremely profitable. Have your lawyers ready for the patent rush." He handed over the "Vigor-7" dossier. "And these," he added, passing the three pearls in a secure vial. "For your top three potential 'investors'. Demonstration only. No price. Let them make offers."
Light took the items, his hands steady, but his eyes held the fervor of a man holding the deeds to a new kingdom. "The machinery is already in motion, Kevin. The forge is hot."
That night, Kevin packed a single, rugged bag. The Hunter Exam waited. But as he checked his gear—the prophecy about the "north" and the "white-haired friend" a quiet hum in the back of his mind—he felt no anxiety about leaving. He wasn't leaving a vulnerable hideout. He was leaving a start-up that was already bootstrapping itself into existence, with a capable CEO, a motivated R&D department, a dedicated security trainer, and a market strategy that targeted both the mass market and the elite shadows.
The Spider Troupe had taken a family and created a scattering of grief-stricken refugees. Without realizing it, they had also created the perfect pressure cooker to forge a corporation built on that grief, armed with prophecy, alchemy, and a mafia don's ruthless business sense. Kevin closed the door to his room. The mansion was quiet, but it was the quiet of a factory on the night shift, productive and purposeful.
He slipped out into the Lutto night, heading for the transport that would take him north to the exam site. His journey was no longer a solitary pursuit of strength or answers. It was a business trip. He was going to secure the necessary licensing and connections for the company back home. The game had changed entirely. The hunter was now also a CEO, and his pack was no longer just following—they were building an empire for him to return to.