After the act was over, Rimo cast one last complicated glance at the station.
Despite how casually he spoke and acted, this place was, in truth, his home—from the moment he crossed into the world of Hunter × Hunter until now.
It had witnessed everything: his confusion and helplessness upon arriving in Meteor City, and the gradual hardening of his will as he adapted to its brutal laws—"We reject no one, so take nothing from us."
It saw him grow from an ordinary person, ignorant of Nen, into someone who could manipulate aura with terrifying precision—someone whose presence could even suppress seasoned residents of Meteor City.
"Burn it."
After a brief silence, Rimo made his decision.
It wasn't that he didn't consider leaving the station behind for someone else in Meteor City. But in a place ruled by strength, anything valuable without protection was nothing more than bait for slaughter.
He could already imagine it—if this place remained, it would inevitably spark bloodshed, drawing scavengers, fighters, and desperate survivors into conflict.
It wasn't kindness.
And it certainly wasn't mercy.
It was simply that… there was no benefit for him in leaving it behind.
Seeing Rimodecide, no one objected. After all, everything here had been built and secured by him in the first place.
After Rimomaterialized several barrels of gasoline—an application of his ability that resembled a Conjurer's technique within the Nen system—everyone worked together to spread it throughout the station.
At last, Rimoflipped his wrist.
A silver lighter appeared in his hand.
"Click."
With a practiced motion, he flicked it open. The movement was smooth—something ingrained from habits in his previous life.
He played with it briefly.
Then, with a soft swipe of his thumb, a small flame ignited.
"Let's go."
Without looking back, Rimoturned and casually tossed the lighter behind him.
It traced a clean arc through the air.
Then—
"BOOM!!"
The flame met gasoline.
Fire erupted instantly, devouring the structure in a surge of heat and light. The blaze illuminated the retreating backs of the group—eight figures walking away without hesitation, just like the wandering outcasts of Meteor City always did.
"It's still a pity," Franklin Bordeau muttered, glancing back at the burning station.
"Don't be stupid," Feitan Portor said coldly. "If we didn't destroy it, I don't know how many people would die over it."
Franklin paused.
Then he nodded slowly, understanding.
"Is that so… The deputy leader is surprisingly gentle."
･･････
The group of eight traveled for an entire afternoon, finally crossing the endless garbage plains that filled the inner regions of Meteor City.
Before nightfall, they reached the outer zone.
Unlike the inner wastelands, the outskirts were connected to the outside world. This was where surrounding towns dumped their refuse, forming crude roads for transport trucks.
Watching garbage trucks pass by occasionally, Rimolet out a breath.
"There's finally a road."
As he spoke, he raised his hand.
In the next moment, a minibus with enough seats for all of them materialized—solid, functional, and unmistakably real, as if conjured directly through a highly advanced Nen ability.
He had wanted to do this for a long time.
But inside Meteor City, the terrain had made it impossible.
Walking didn't exhaust his body—but it wore down his patience.
If there was a car, why walk?
"Come on, get in. We can finally drive."
Rimoslid into the driver's seat without hesitation.
He didn't particularly want to drive—but expecting anyone else here, all raised in Meteor City, to know how was unrealistic.
One by one, the others climbed in.
"Lin Mo," said Chrollo Lucilfer, leaning back comfortably, "I have to say it again. Inviting you into the troupe was the best decision I've ever made."
Even now, Chrollo couldn't help but marvel.
This ability—to create objects so naturally—bordered on something beyond standard Nen categories, almost as if it challenged the limits of what even Conjurers could achieve.
"Don't start," Rimoreplied, clicking his tongue. "The more you say that, the more I regret it. I thought joining meant I could relax. Turns out I'm working even more."
Chrollo laughed.
"Hahaha, Lin Mo, you're the deputy leader. Is that really something you should say?"
"Tch! I shouldn't have agreed to that position back then!"
Still, Rimodidn't press the matter.
They were leaving Meteor City.
That alone put him in a good mood.
Laughter filled the bus.
It was rare to see Rimoat a loss, and the others took full advantage of it.
Hearing their laughter behind him, Rimocouldn't help but smile faintly.
To him, this world was no longer just an anime.
Since crossing over, everything had become real.
The people around him—the members of the Phantom Troupe—were no longer characters.
They were flesh and blood.
And during his time with them, he had come to understand something:
They were not born monsters.
Even someone like Feitan, feared for his cruelty, did not kill without reason. Those without conflict or enmity were beneath his notice.
And the others?
The oldest among them was barely twenty.
The youngest—Machi—was only eleven.
They were products of Meteor City.
Not demons.
Which raised a question that Rimocouldn't ignore—
Why did they massacre the Kurta Clan in the original story?
Was it really just because of their Scarlet Eyes?
That explanation didn't make sense.
Not to him.
If it were just about value, stealing from collectors—as they later did in Yorknew City Auction—would have been far more efficient.
Flooding the market with Scarlet Eyes would have lowered their value. That alone contradicted basic economic logic.
And yet, in the canon, their price never collapsed.
Then there was the matter of strength.
As Uvogin once said, the Kurta were not weak. And when their eyes turned scarlet, they became even more dangerous—something later tied to Kurapika and his Specialist abilities.
By all logic—
It wasn't worth it.
And yet, it happened.
Which meant there had to be another reason.
Rimogripped the steering wheel, his gaze fixed on the unchanging road ahead as his thoughts drifted deeper.
There was nothing else to do, after all.
Then, in the distance—
A sign appeared.
Written in bold letters:
Cambie Town.