Nostrade Manor. VIP Lounge.
"That is the situation, Boss. Mr. Ryker is a Two-Star Hunter. His strength is undeniable; we all saw it. He is the most suitable candidate for Captain. I fully submit to his command."
Dalzollene spoke to the screen, his voice respectful, almost reverent. He had already briefed Light Nostrade on the... restructuring of the team.
On the screen, Light Nostrade—a man whose influence in the mafia underworld was second only to the Ten Dons—nodded. He was thrilled.
A Two-Star Hunter? Leading his security detail?
Professional Hunters were rare enough. Two-Star Hunters were unicorns. They were the elite of the elite, individuals who had made significant contributions to humanity. For a mafia boss to employ one was not just practical; it was a massive status symbol. It was like hiring a retired general to guard your front door.
"Of course," Nostrade said, his eyes gleaming. "To have a talent like Mr. Ryker is an honor. And you say he eliminated the other Hunter, Tocino, in a single blow? Impressive. Truly impressive."
Nostrade turned his gaze to Ryker, who was lounging in the main chair. "Mr. Ryker, we are happy to have you. Regarding the compensation..."
"Two hundred billion," Ryker interrupted.
The room froze.
Dalzollene's jaw dropped. The other bodyguards looked like they had just swallowed broken glass.
Two... hundred... billion?
Dalzollene's contract was for 80 million Jenny. The others were earning 20 to 30 million. Ryker wasn't asking for a salary; he was asking for the GDP of a small nation.
"Two hundred million?" Nostrade asked, assuming he misheard. "That is high, but acceptable."
"No," Ryker said, his voice flat. "Two hundred billion."
Hiss.
The collective intake of breath sucked the air out of the room.
Even Kurapika's eyes widened. The Scarlet Eyes of his clan—one of the Seven Great Colors of the World—auctioned for around 8 billion a pair. That was for a legendary treasure. Ryker was asking for twenty-five times that amount for a few weeks of work.
It was extortion. Pure and simple.
Dalzollene looked ready to faint. If Nostrade took this as an insult, they were all dead. Ryker would kill them, then kill the boss.
Light Nostrade's smile twitched. A dangerous glint appeared in his eyes. He was a businessman, but he was also a mobster. He didn't like being robbed.
"Mr. Ryker... two hundred billion is absurd. That is far beyond market value. I need to see the justification for such a price."
He kept his tone polite, but his knuckles were white. He was holding back an explosion.
"Two hundred billion," Ryker repeated, leaning forward. "To guarantee your life. And the life of your daughter, Neon."
What?!
Nostrade's face went pale. The aggression vanished, replaced by shock.
Neon.
Her name was a state secret. She was the golden goose, the oracle whose "Lovely Ghostwriter" ability had built the Nostrade empire. Her identity was the core of his power. If she died, or if her ability vanished, the Nostrade family would crumble overnight.
"If nothing happens, you don't pay me a dime," Ryker continued, his voice calm, confident. "But I know what is coming to Yorknew. The storm that is approaching... two hundred billion is a bargain for two lives."
He looked Nostrade in the eye.
"You are buying insurance against the apocalypse."
Nostrade stared at him. This man knew too much. He knew Neon's name. He knew the risks.
As a transmigrator, Ryker knew exactly what was coming. The Phantom Troupe. The massacre. The requiem. Two hundred billion was cheap.
"Deal," Nostrade said suddenly.
"Boss?!" Dalzollene gasped.
"I accept your terms, Mr. Ryker," Nostrade said, his voice firm. "In fact, I will transfer a deposit of 100 billion immediately. Consider it a sign of my sincerity. We are friends now. If you need anything, simply ask."
He was a gambler. And he knew when to go all in. If a monster like Ryker said a storm was coming, you bought the strongest umbrella you could find.
"Wise choice," Ryker smiled.
Dalzollene bowed. "Understood, Boss." But inside, he was terrified. A 200 billion Jenny mission? That meant the threat level was catastrophic.
The Video Call ended.
The room was silent. The bodyguards looked at Ryker with a mix of awe and terror. He had just made more money in five minutes than they would make in ten lifetimes.
"Alright," Ryker clapped his hands. "Dalzollene, briefing."
"Y-Yes, Captain!"
Dalzollene scrambled to the map. "We will take an airship to Yorknew City. Flight time is 35 hours. Then a private convoy to the hotel..."
He rattled off logistics. Kurapika raised his hand.
"Vice-Captain," Ryker nodded.
"Dalzollene," Kurapika asked, "You haven't told us who the enemy is. If we know the threat, we can prepare."
"Ah... well..." Dalzollene looked awkward. "The Nostrade family has many enemies. We don't know who will strike. We are flying blind. Our job is simply absolute protection."
Kurapika frowned. Blind defense was the hardest kind.
"It doesn't matter," Ryker waved his hand. "Enemies are just crops waiting to be harvested."
He scanned the room. His eyes landed on the haiku poet.
"Basho."
"Y-Yes, Captain?"
The burly man jumped. He had been trying to make himself invisible. Why was the Demon King looking at him?
"What is your ability?"
"I... uh... I am the Wandering Haiku Poet," Basho stammered. "Whatever I write in a haiku becomes real, depending on the quality of the poem."
He quickly demonstrated. "The old pond is still / A frog leaps into the water / Sound of the splash."
Splash.
The sound of water rippled from the table.
"Not bad," Ryker smiled. "Duel me."
"H-Huh?!"
Basho turned pale. "Duel? Captain, I... I surrender! I can't beat you!"
He looked at the spot where Tocino had died. He didn't want to be a watermelon.
"Just a spar. I won't kill you. Go."
"O-Okay..." Basho swallowed hard. He had no choice.
He took a deep breath. "I strike the banana leaf / A new shoot hangs from the pillar / The hut views the moon..."
Bang!
Before he could finish the last syllable, a finger flicked his forehead.
Basho flew backward, crashing into the wall. He slid down, unhurt but defeated.
[DING! You defeated Basho. 10% chance to plunder Trait...]
[DING! Success. Acquired: {Wandering Haiku Poet} (Double Blue), {Conjuration Talent} (Blue).]
[System: {Wandering Haiku Poet} + {Conjuration Mastery} (Purple) = Fusion Initiated.]
[Evolution Complete. New Trait: {Incantation Manifestation} (Purple).]
Ryker's eyes lit up.
It worked.
He had theorized that combining obscure abilities could unlock new paths. Basho's power—bringing words to life—was the key. Combined with his high-level Conjuration, he now had a new system: Magic.
[Trait: Incantation Manifestation (Purple)]
[Effect: By chanting a specific incantation, you can manifest the desired effect through Nen.]
It was basically a spellcasting engine.
"Captain... you're too fast..." Basho groaned, rubbing his head. He was alive. Thank god.
Ryker ignored him. He looked at the far wall. He raised his hand, channeling his aura. He didn't need a haiku. He needed a specific chant from his memory.
"Ye Lord! Mask of blood and flesh, all creation, flutter of wings, ye who bears the name of Man! Inferno and pandemonium, the sea barrier surges, march on to the south!"
The air grew hot. Red light gathered in his palm.
The bodyguards watched in confusion. Was he writing a poem?
Then, the pressure hit them.
"Hadō #31..." Ryker whispered.
"Shakkahō!" (Red Fire Cannon)
BOOM!
A ball of crimson fire erupted from his hand. It slammed into the wall behind Basho.
There was no explosion. There was just erasure.
When the smoke cleared, the entire wall was gone. Vaporized.
"Perfect," Ryker murmured.
It wasn't just fire Nen. It was Kidō, recreated through the logic of Hunter x Hunter.
The Red Fire Cannon.
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