September 1st marked the kickoff of the Yorknew City Auction.
Ronin's real target was tonight's underground auction. If the Phantom Troupe stuck to their usual playbook, everyone attending that event would end up dead.
But Ronin wasn't the type to slaughter indiscriminately, so he kept his focus strictly on the auction items themselves.
The guys he'd run into yesterday—Uvogin and the others—were perfect for his disguise plan.
He had no clue how Uvogin had regrown that arm, but Ronin could mimic the guy's Super Destructive Fist down to the last detail.
"Too bad I don't have any spatial-type ability," Ronin thought while mapping out his strategy. "That would've made grabbing every single item a whole lot easier."
Then an idea hit him: Shizuku.
At this point in the timeline, she hadn't joined the Phantom Troupe yet. Her Nen ability—blinking stuff in and out of existence with that vacuum—was exactly what he needed.
The problem was finding her. If she was from Meteor City like most of the Troupe, Ronin figured there was zero chance of recruiting her.
From what he knew, Shizuku was pretty laid-back. A little forgetful, kind of detached, no strong sense of right or wrong, didn't lose sleep over killing. She looked cute enough, but her words could cut like a knife. And because of the memory thing, she'd forget her own insults five minutes later.
The only things she never forgot were the Troupe's rules—she was obsessive about them. Whenever the group split on a decision, she'd side with whatever fit the rules without a second thought.
And then there was her total trust in the boss, Chrollo. Ronin had no idea why.
If that loyalty came from growing up in Meteor City, he was out of luck.
But if it only formed later, after Chrollo personally brought her into the Troupe… then maybe there was a slim chance.
Still, Ronin wasn't about to go wandering around Meteor City looking for recruits.
Whether he ever crossed paths with Shizuku was basically up to fate.
And if she did end up joining the Troupe—even if she hadn't taken part in the Kurta massacre—Ronin wouldn't hesitate. The moment it came down to it, he'd take her out without a second thought.
No spatial ability? Fine. He'd find a workaround.
A little after eight that night, Ronin stepped out of the car. Using a transformation technique, he disguised himself as one of the mafia security guards and strolled confidently into the building hosting the auction.
The car kept rolling a bit farther, then parked across the street in front of a hotel facing the Cemetary Building.
This underground auction was run entirely by the mafia.
Buyers were limited to groups of three, and venue security was handled one hundred percent by the hosting families.
In Yorknew, that was considered top-tier protection—because starting trouble here meant declaring war on every mafia family on the planet.
By the time Ronin slipped inside, the place was already packed.
Everyone was dressed to the nines, like they were heading to some high-society gala. Bodyguards were everywhere, but actual Nen users? Rare as hen's teeth.
Ronin didn't slow down. He headed straight for the basement vault where the items were stored.
Things went smooth at first, but when someone asked him to show ID, he dropped the act.
In a blink, the fake security guard morphed into the burned, monstrous image of Uvogin.
And that's when the killing started.
The mafia guards watching the vault were all armed to the teeth—pistols, rifles, the works. But the bullets just pinged off Ronin's skin like hail on a tin roof.
Spent rounds clattered to the floor behind him as he walked, leaving the surviving guards staring in disbelief.
His body wasn't quite on par with Uvogin's a few years down the line, but shrugging off small-arms fire? Easy.
Tank rounds might still give him trouble, but he was getting close.
The Enhanced Rock training had paid off way better than he'd expected.
He casually caught a few falling bullets mid-stride, flicked one with his finger, and the sonic crack dropped a gunman with a neat hole between the eyes.
Ronin moved through them like a walking tank.
When he reached the massive steel vault door, there wasn't a single guard left standing nearby.
He hadn't killed everyone—he needed witnesses.
Raw aura surged around his fist. He channeled the same principle behind Super Destructive Fist, then slammed a punch into the reinforced door. The impact echoed through the basement like a muffled explosion.
A huge fist-shaped dent appeared. The whole door buckled inward.
No jutsu—just pure, brute-force punches. On the tenth hit, the door itself held, but the surrounding metal walls couldn't take it anymore and ripped wide open.
Even the guards still breathing on the floor went bug-eyed, totally stunned.
Was that something a human could actually do?
Who the hell was that giant figure?
Ronin kicked the ruined door aside and stepped into the vault.
He pulled out two big backpacks he'd prepared ahead of time and started stuffing them with anything that looked valuable.
His top priority, of course, was the one pair of scarlet eyes sitting among the treasures.
Only one pair. Damn.
From all the intel they'd gathered, the underground auction was supposed to sell three pairs total—just split across different lots.
There was also one more pair up for grabs at Nostrade's main auction house, the biggest one in Yorknew.
Best-case scenario, Ronin could recover four pairs while he was in town.
Absorbing the scarlet eyes would take time, and the alarms had already started blaring the second a bunch of guards went down.
Once the packs were mostly full, he walked out of the vault.
Instead of heading straight up, he ducked into a blind spot and used a jutsu—Shadow Clone.
The clone took one backpack and headed toward the main exit. Ronin's real body, carrying the pack with the scarlet eyes, sprinted upstairs.
The clone drew every mafia gunman in the building like moths to a flame.
Unnoticed, Ronin reached the fifth floor, threw open a window, and cast another jutsu on himself: Earth Style – Ultra-Light/Heavy Rock Technique.
A flood of chakra poured out, letting him leap into the night sky—and it kept draining to maintain the flight.
But he was already soaring out the window.
In the opposite direction, gunfire and explosions merged into a constant roar.
The mafia had the clone completely surrounded.
Along with three very confused, very pissed-off people in suits who'd come for the auction: Uvogin, Nobunaga, and Machi.
The clone had shifted appearance again—this time into a perfect copy of Franklin, giant package still slung over its shoulder.
A few sharp-eyed guards noticed something off, but the wounded ones on the floor were screaming that Franklin and the Troupe members were all in on it together.
And just like that, the mafia turned their guns on the real Phantom Troupe members too.