Human trafficking. Organ trade.
In the Hunter × Hunter world, that kind of thing was everywhere.
There were even dedicated channels and dark-web marketplaces that catered to every twisted desire a buyer could have.
If nothing changed, Moro and the rest would be lined up like livestock for inspection.
The unlucky ones would have their organs harvested on the spot or be turned into living statues and decorations.
The "lucky" ones would become some rich pervert's private toy—at least they'd stay breathing, even if the price was endless suffering.
Moro sat cross-legged, calmly recalling what came next.
In a few hours the truck would reach the mental hospital in the mountains.
He couldn't pin down the exact minute, but it was at least two hours away.
And right after arrival, during unloading, an unknown group would ambush them.
Most of the kids in these cages had died in that attack the first time around.
Moro had survived purely by chance—he'd been out of the initial blast radius—and because Morena showed up pretending to be a buyer, picked him out, and somehow convinced the organization to cancel the organ order they already had on him.
Without Morena back then, he would've been the fastest-dying transmigrator in history.
Now the same crisis stared him in the face again, and he stood at a crossroads.
Follow the old script and let Morena buy him?
Or break out while the truck was still moving?
His eyes flickered.
Images flashed—Chrollo and the Troupe who'd hunted him, Brother Ken leaving the shop, Morena's abyss-black eyes.
Then he made his choice.
This time he knew the world. He spoke the language.
For the early game, he no longer needed Morena's "protection."
Which meant he absolutely refused to get involved with her again.
"I've got two hours to force open my aura nodes. If possible, I also need to re-familiarize my body with Deceitful Shooting Star…"
Moro stared at the rusted vertical bars.
If he was escaping mid-transit, awakening Nen was non-negotiable.
Normally, without a teacher, even knowing the theory made self-awakening almost impossible.
And even if you managed it, mastering the basic techniques was another brutal hurdle.
Ten, Zetsu, Ren, Hatsu—the Four Major Principles.
Under normal circumstances, Nen users spent months, years, grinding those fundamentals.
The "genius" stories where someone awakens and masters everything in days? In real life the odds were basically zero.
Nen was profound, unforgiving power.
Knowing → Touching → Learning → Using → Refining → Mastering → Micro-control → Absolute peak…
Every single step demanded blood, sweat, and time.
Gon, Killua, the Kakin princes—those monsters were the exception, not the rule.
But now?
Moro was about to become the exception too.
He closed his eyes and slipped into meditation almost instinctively, letting his mind sink until he could feel the latent aura inside his body.
Six months of prior experience made all the difference.
In mere seconds he touched his aura, then guided it toward his aura nodes like leading a stream.
Everything went impossibly smoothly.
Under his precise control, aura flowed to every node, opening them one by one as naturally as breathing.
Node after node burst open. Aura surged across his skin in restless waves.
"Perfect."
Moro opened his eyes and looked down at his hands, now wrapped in brilliant white aura.
The aura pouring out of him was like a wild horse trying to bolt.
In his current physical state, if he didn't rein it in he'd collapse from aura depletion in ten minutes.
But that was a small problem.
With a thought, he smoothly applied Ten, wrapping the escaping aura tightly around his body and stopping the drain.
Even easier than I expected…
Awakening and using the Four Principles without the slightest resistance—his mind settled completely.
Nen awakened meant he now held the initiative in his own hands.
Next step: when the timing was right, make enough noise to force the driver to stop.
Moro reached out and gripped a rusted bar.
Inside the cab.
The driver was a scruffy middle-aged man, eyes locked on the winding mountain road.
In the passenger seat lounged a crew-cut young man named Zazan, half-melted into the seat, looking bored out of his mind.
But his eyes never stopped moving—rear-view mirror, monitors, mirror, monitors—always watching.
That was his job.
"Huh?"
Zazan's gaze swept across one of the screens hanging from the ceiling and he let out a startled sound.
The driver glanced over. "Trouble?"
"…"
Zazan didn't answer immediately. He just stared, wide-eyed, at the feed.
It clearly showed Moro.
"No way…?!"
In the span of a few seconds, the kid had forced his nodes open and instantly applied perfect Ten.
Zazan's lazy posture vanished. His face looked like he'd seen a ghost.
Self-awakening in seconds already shattered his understanding of Nen.
Mastering Ten right after? That was straight-up impossible.
If he hadn't seen it with his own eyes he'd never believe it.
Hiding prior ability? No chance.
This batch was premium stock—hand-picked for VIP clients. Zazan had personally vetted every single one. He knew their backgrounds inside out.
The scruffy driver glanced at Zazan's expression and frowned. "Zazan, what the hell's going on?"
"Stop the truck!"
Zazan forced down his shock and barked the order, no explanation.
Trusting Zazan's judgment (and his strength), the driver slammed the brakes without question.
Zazan dug a pistol out of the glove box, tossed it to the driver, then jumped out into the rain and jogged toward the cargo hold.
The driver clicked the safety off, face grim, and followed from the other side.
Inside the cargo hold.
The moment the truck lurched to a halt, Moro twisted the rusted bar with both hands.
Creak—SCREEECH!
The tortured metal screamed as it bent.
Every other captive turned to stare, brains short-circuiting at the sight.