Kurapika's abilities had drifted a bit from the original canon, with the biggest changes centered on his middle and little fingers.
His chains were no longer exclusively designed to target the Phantom Troupe.
Instead, his kit leaned heavily into a support role. With Ronin—a fellow Kurta survivor—by his side, Kurapika no longer had to shoulder the burden of revenge entirely on his own.
However, his Specialist ability remained the same.
When his eyes turned Scarlet, Emperor Time kicked in, allowing him to utilize all six Nen categories at 100% efficiency. In practice, though, he still mostly relied on Enhancement for raw power.
By now, Kurapika's fight was already over. Not far away, Neon was also wrapping things up.
Neon didn't know her opponent's name, but that didn't stop her from telling his fortune.
A sudden flare of aura wrapped around her left hand. A Nen beast materialized out of thin air—it looked like a cute, black-winged marshmallow. Guided by the beast, the fountain pen in her hand began to scribble frantically in the air, leaving behind a trail of glowing, blood-red text.
"The busy street beneath the moon's pale light,
Shall serve as your gravesite tonight."
A smirk tugged at the corner of Neon's lips. She didn't bother using her speed to close the distance on the Shadow Beast known as Slug. Instead, she took a slight step back, simply watching him.
Slug saw the ominous message written in Nen floating in the air.
He didn't understand what it meant, but a sudden, unshakable sense of dread washed over him.
Neon's gaze shifted, locking onto a heavy-duty truck that had been blaring its horn earlier.
It wasn't clear what happened inside the cab, but just as the driver was about to rear-end a sedan, he yanked the wheel hard. Tires screeched against the asphalt, sparking friction burns, and the massive truck tipped over, sliding on its side.
It was skidding directly toward where Slug was standing.
Hearing the piercing screech, Slug whipped his head around just in time to see the toppled truck barreling toward him. His pupils constricted. He tensed his muscles, ready to dash out of the impact zone.
But in that exact split second, the ground beneath him—weakened by a "small volcano" of earth that had erupted earlier during the fight—suddenly cracked open. As Slug took a step, his foot plunged straight into the fissure.
He was stuck. Only for a heartbeat.
But that heartbeat was all it took. Just as he flared his aura to shatter the pavement and free his leg, the truck slammed into him.
Crunch.
Neon stood there, hair fluttering in the wind. She hadn't lifted a finger, content to watch the truck drag Slug away.
"You should have been able to read that text. And yet, you stayed in the street. Were you trying to insult my curse?" Neon walked slowly toward Slug, who was lying on the ground, coughing up blood but not quite dead yet.
If he had just ducked into one of the roadside shops the moment he saw the bloody text, he might have changed his fate. After all, the poem was clear: the street would be his grave.
Leaving the street was the loophole—the way to snap the thread of destiny leading to his death.
Too bad he didn't get it.
"Ronin once told me my poems were like curses... I actually kind of like that description." Neon's smile widened.
Her original ability, Angel's Automatic Notes, could only write fortunes.
But right now, she wasn't using the Angel. She was using Devil's Automatic Notes.
That was why the writing implement had switched from a mechanical pencil in her right hand to a fountain pen in her left.
The floating text wasn't just red; after Slug was hit, the words began to ripple and drip like fresh blood.
Neon was a Specialist. She refused to accept Ronin's teasing that she'd have to rely on Enhancement-style brawling—she had no intention of training her body until she looked like some muscle-bound brute. So, she actively developed her Specialist Hatsu instead.
Her hard work had paid off.
Her right hand retained Angel's Automatic Notes, though the range had shifted from predicting a whole month to just a single day. As always, she couldn't read the fortunes herself; she only knew they were comprised of verses.
Her left hand, however, held Devil's Automatic Notes. It also wrote text, but these were curses directed at a target.
The curse only lasted for three minutes. If the target could figure out the hidden "out" within the text, they could avoid the effect entirely.
But if they ignored it? Bad luck would hunt them down.
Just like it did to Slug.
Crushed by the truck, Slug was gasping for air, more breath leaving him than entering. But Neon wasn't done.
She pulled a dagger from her waist. While Slug stared up at her, eyes full of confusion and unwillingness, she drove the blade through his skull.
Unfortunately, Slug's brain didn't meet Neon's standards.
A complete failure, she thought. Not even worth collecting.
Pure trash. Garbage. Scum.
Her eyes drifted from the corpse to the Bat falling from the sky, and then to the Worm that Ronin had hammered into the underground.
Those two had some interesting, non-human traits.
Worm's grotesquely elongated head and Bat's functional, biological wings... now those were prime collector's items.
I hope Ronin didn't break them.
Spotting a hole in Bat's wing, Neon felt her heart bleed.
"Stop! The wings! Don't ruin my wings!"
Ronin hadn't planned on sparing Bat. Even though the creature was falling helplessly toward him, Ronin was ready to strike. But before he could throw the killing blow, Neon's frantic screaming reached him.
My wings?
Is her hoarding fetish acting up again?
Despite his internal sigh, Ronin adjusted his aim. He didn't unload the handful of stones he was clutching. Instead, he flicked just one, aiming precisely for Bat's head.
The Nen protecting Bat's skull might as well have been wet paper. The stone punched clean through.
"Huh. So they really aren't Conjured," Ronin muttered to himself, watching Neon sprint over enthusiastically. "I thought maybe he was weak because he made the mistake of training in opposing categories like Conjuration and Emission. Turns out, I gave him too much credit. He's just weak."
Kurapika walked over, looking perplexed.
"These guys feel... flimsy. Is this really the best the Ten Dons have to offer?" Kurapika couldn't quite believe it.
"They know Nen, but they lack a systematic understanding of it. That's standard for ability users outside the Hunter Association," Ronin explained with a shrug.
The Hunter Association kept Nen a top-secret matter, a policy the V5 nations agreed with.
In this world, without a proper master, even those who naturally awaken to Nen usually just treat it as a unique superpower. History is full of them—recorded not as Nen users, but as "Psychics," "Gurus," "Prodigies," or "Immortals."
Without a systematic curriculum, self-taught users fumble in the dark.
First, they're prone to the "Kastro mistake"—like an Enhancer wasting their potential trying to master a complex Conjuration ability that doesn't fit their affinity. It's a massive waste of talent.
Second, their grasp of the basics is usually a mess. They understand that wrapping themselves in energy increases offense and defense, but against a trained pro, that's nowhere near enough.
Most of the Shadow Beasts fell into this category.
In Ronin's eyes, aside from a few members with truly valuable abilities like Owl, the rest were just stepping stones—glorified punching bags to test the results of Kurapika and Neon's training.
Overall, Ronin was satisfied with their performance.
"Grab him. We're leaving."
Sirens were wailing in the distance. Ronin leaped effortlessly, scaling a nearby high-rise in a few bounds.
Kurapika and Neon followed close behind. They weren't quite as graceful as Ronin, but they had their own ways of keeping up.