The young master jerked awake when Liam slapped him across the face.
His eyes snapped open. Focused on Liam. Then darted around the unfamiliar room. Not his office. Not his building. Somewhere else entirely.
Where the hell am I?
The young master's mind raced. He forced his expression to stay calm. Professional. Like this was just a minor inconvenience.
"Who are you?" His voice came out steady. Measured. "Did I do something to offend you personally? Or is this about my family? The Bonarlon organization can negotiate—"
Liam waved him off and stepped aside. "All yours, kid."
Kurapika moved forward. He raised his left hand. Aura swirled, and the fourth book materialized. Revelation. The pages flipped open on their own, and a sketch of the young master's face appeared on the blank paper. Perfect likeness. Down to the nervous twitch in his left eye.
Kurapika held the young master's own pistol in his right hand. Book in one hand. Gun in the other. His voice was ice.
"Neil Chadman said he sold a pair of Scarlet Eyes to you. Where are they?"
He pulled back the slide. The metallic click-clack echoed in the small room.
"If you lie, the portrait in this book will turn red. If it turns red, I shoot. Think carefully before you answer."
Liam leaned against the wall and watched.
Where did this kid learn to handle a gun like that?
Kurapika had been a sheltered kid from an isolated tribe less than two years ago. No contact with modern civilization. No exposure to firearms. But now he held that pistol like someone who'd been trained. Proper grip. Finger on the frame, not the trigger. Safety off. Ready to fire.
Revenge is one hell of a motivator.
In three months, this thirteen-year-old had developed a six-book Conjuration system, mastered the four major principles of Nen, learned advanced applications like Gyo and Ryu, and built up over five thousand aura. All while studying how the outside world worked. Languages. Technology. Firearms.
Who's the protagonist here? Because it sure as hell isn't me.
Liam glanced at Shizuku. She sat quietly beside him, watching the interrogation with mild curiosity. Like this was a play.
The young master's face cycled through several emotions. Confusion. Realization. Annoyance.
That's it? All of this over a pair of eyeballs?
"Three." Kurapika started counting down. His finger moved to the trigger. "Two."
"I sold them! I sold them already!" The words tumbled out of the young master's mouth. "Look, I bought them for resale. They were pretty, sure, but I'm not a collector. I'm a businessman. I moved the product as soon as I could—"
"Who did you sell them to?" Kurapika's voice dropped lower. Colder.
"Masuo Harrison!" The young master swallowed. "He's a painter. Not super famous, but you can look him up online. He's got money. Lots of it. I sold him the eyes for a premium because he was desperate—"
Kurapika glanced down at the book. The portrait stayed the same color.
He's telling the truth.
The young master noticed the lack of reaction. He relaxed slightly, loosening his tie with shaking hands. "If you're looking for Harrison, I can give you some free advice. The guy hasn't produced anything in years. Word is he's going insane trying to find inspiration. He's loaded, though. That's why I could charge him so much for those red eyes."
Kurapika raised the gun again. The barrel lined up with the young master's forehead.
"Wait, wait!" The young master held up both hands. "The Sensui Mountain Expo! Next month. The Sensui Mountain Art Exhibition. Harrison was so excited when he got those eyeballs. Kept babbling about inspiration flooding back, about how his creative block was finally broken. He said he'd definitely attend this year's exhibition. If you want to find him, that's your best shot. I swear!"
Kurapika held the gun steady for another three seconds. Then he flipped it around and cracked the butt of the pistol against the young master's temple.
The man slumped forward, unconscious.
Liam plugged his black Hunter License into the terminal at an internet cafe. He pulled up the Hunter Association database and typed in "Masuo Harrison."
The results loaded. A mess of information sprawled across the screen.
Unlike Neil Chadman, who had a simple apartment and predictable patterns, this painter was scattered. Properties in four different cities. Hotel stays logged across three continents. Credit card transactions in dozens of locations. Recent activity showed him bouncing between Mimbo Republic, the Sahams Continent, and the Azian Continent like a pinball.
Liam scrolled through the photos. Middle-aged man. Thinning hair. Expensive suits. Dead eyes in every picture. The look of someone who'd burned through every pleasure the world had to offer and found nothing left.
"Can you divine his location with this?" Liam asked.
Kurapika stood beside him, staring at the screen. He summoned Revelation again. The book flipped open to a blank page. Kurapika held his hand over it, focusing.
A faint outline appeared. Then faded. The page stayed blank.
"No." Kurapika dismissed the book. "Too much conflicting information. If I could meet him in person, I might be able to narrow it down to a city. But without any direct contact, there's nothing concrete for the divination to latch onto."
Liam clicked on another search result. "Sensui Mountain Art Exhibition."
He stared at the screen. The phrase tugged at something in his memory.
Why do I know that name?
He pulled out his phone. Scrolled through his messages. Found the one from Heavens Arena.
"Invitation to Sensui Mountain Conference. June 16-26. Attendance encouraged for 200th floor fighters."
Liam typed "Sensui Mountain Conference" and "Sensui Mountain Art Exhibition" into the search bar.
Same event.
"Why are martial artist and artists going to the same place?" he muttered.
He opened the top result and started reading.
Sensui Mountain Conference was a martial arts gathering that started over a hundred years ago. Named after the mountain where it was held annually. The original purpose was to bring together masters from different martial arts schools worldwide. Exchange techniques. Test skills. Honor the traditions.
The organizer? The headmaster of Shingen-ryu.
And the headmaster of Shingen-ryu was also the founder of Heavens Arena.
Of course it is.
But over the decades, Shingen-ryu had declined. The current headmaster rarely appeared in public anymore. His disciples were few. The sect was fading. As the martial lineage weakened, Heavens Arena became more commercial. Less about the art. More about the spectacle.
The Sensui Mountain Conference followed the same trajectory.
Fifty years ago, it was pure martial arts. Now? The schedule showed nine days of art exhibitions, concerts, and cultural events. The actual martial arts tournament was squeezed into the final day. A footnote.
Most people thought the tournament would be canceled entirely within a few years.
"Guess the old guard isn't what it used to be," Liam said. He closed the browser. "So. What do you think?"
Shizuku raised her hand. "I didn't get an invitation."
Kurapika nodded. "Then the invitations are either for 'little Floor Masters' like Liam, or for fighters who've shown exceptional performance on the 200th floor."
"The actual Floor Masters are too busy to attend," Liam added. "Most of them are traveling Hunters. They don't have time to sit through a ten-day expo just to watch an exhibition match on the last day."
He turned back to the keyboard. "So, Kurapika. You've got two options. One, go back to Heavens Arena. Climb to the 200th floor as fast as possible. Put on a show. Get noticed. Earn an invitation."
Kurapika crossed his arms. "What's option two?"
Liam smiled. His fingers flew across the keyboard. He accessed a different section of the Hunter website.
Thousand-Ear Society.
The page loaded. Liam skimmed the description.
The Thousand-Ear Society was a mercenary clearinghouse. A middleman organization. The Hunter Association headquarters handled the big, official jobs. Government contracts. Corporate security. Disaster relief. But private citizens who needed Hunters for smaller, more discreet tasks went through the Thousand-Ear Society instead.
It was a sub-organization under the Hunter Association. Technically legitimate. But it operated in the gray zones. Anonymous postings. Cash transactions. Jobs that official Hunters wouldn't touch because of legal complications or moral ambiguity.
Amateur Hunters used it constantly. Even Professional Hunters picked up side work through it when they needed money.
"Option two," Liam said. "You find a job through the Thousand-Ear Society. Something that'll get you into the Sensui Mountain Conference. Or the art exhibition. I'm guessing an event like this attracts bodyguard requests. Rich collectors bringing expensive art. Paranoid VIPs who want security. If there's no direct opening, we go to option three."
"Which is?"
"Shizuku and I infiltrate first. You stay in contact through the ring. Once we're inside, we create an opening for you to sneak in."
Kurapika thought for a moment. His eyes scanned the Thousand-Ear Society listings on the screen. Locations in different cities. Contact information. Job categories.
"I'll take option two," he said finally.
Liam raised an eyebrow. "You sure? The Thousand-Ear Society isn't a training ground. Real jobs mean real danger."
"I know." Kurapika's expression hardened. "I need experience. If I'm going to recover all the Scarlet Eyes, I can't rely on you for everything. I need to learn how to operate alone."
"Experience is good," Liam said. He stood up from the computer. "Just don't get yourself killed. That would be inconvenient."
He raised his right hand. A small sphere of aura formed on his fingertip. Rose-gold light pulsed inside it. The Flying Star Mark.
"Want some life insurance?" Liam held the sphere between his thumb and forefinger. "Of course, it's up to you whether you accept it or not."
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