HxH: I Will Be Supreme

The flames quickly died, revealing the charred, twisted frame of the bus.

"Stay alert!" A mobster shouted.

"Relax, he must have been dead for a while, hahahaha" The man tasked with investigating laughed as he approached the wreckage.

Whoosh!

Several sharp whistles cut through the air. Small projectiles hit the figures outside the bus with deadly precision, each finding a vital point. The man who'd just stepped into the bus's doorway hadn't even lifted his back foot before blood spurted from his skull and his body instantly crumpled.

Thud, thud

In a matter of seconds, six mobsters lay dead.

The murder weapons, blood-stained pebbles clattering to the ground

Swish!

The remaining Mafia members raised their weapons in alarm.

Despite witnessing the deaths of their comrades, the leader, the man with the gold-rimmed glasses, remained unmoved, his expression calm. He flicked away his cigarette butt and said, "As expected, it wouldn't be that easy.

He'd noticed that the three cars behind the bus had gone dark.

Their men must be dead!

Through the harsh light, accompanied by measured footsteps, a figure emerged from the darkness, one hand in his pocket, the other casually tossing a pebble up and down.

Oboro, completely unharmed, surveyed the smoldering bus where he'd been pretending to sleep, noticed the acrid smell of burnt metal in the air, and sighed.

The moment he'd spotted the Mafia, he'd known his cover was blown!

They'd tracked him down.

In less than two years, he'd amassed a fortune of tens of billions by rigging games in Heaven's Arena. Though he'd spread his winnings among various casinos to avoid detection, the probability of detection had increased over time.

The casino industry was largely controlled by underground organizations, each holding a monopoly in its territory. Even if he placed bets in different establishments, his winnings ultimately came from the same sources.

Tens of billions was no small sum. He'd essentially been fleecing the same sheep over and over again.

Oboro's method of winning could avoid trouble up to a certain amount and for a limited time, but he'd become too greedy.

Who didn't love money?

Besides, he hadn't taken the Mafia seriously enough.

For the past few years, Oboro had focused solely on training, especially in the Heaven's Arena, without really getting involved in this society, this world. His understanding of the Mafia had only come from his knowledge of the Canon, but now he was experiencing it firsthand.

This was their 'welcome gift', his introduction to the real world.

"Though you were clever about it, the casino's capital outflow is significant. The ledgers make it clear, all tied to your games, a 100% win rate is impossible to ignore." Seeing Oboro alive didn't faze the bespectacled man. An obvious chain smoker, he pulled out another cigarette, tapping the pack against his palm before lighting it. "We welcome ordinary gamblers to the Fells family establishments, but for people like you, we only extend a shotgun salute!"

Whoosh whoosh whoosh.

Before the mobsters could open fire again, Oboro struck.

As he ran, the pebbles in his hand shot out like bullets, faster and more powerful than real ammunition. Nearly every gunman in the front line fell, precise shots finding their mark.

"Kill him!" The bespectacled man ordered.

They had the advantage in numbers; losing a few wouldn't stop their assault.

Pistols and rifles all burst into flame.

The street became a corridor of gunfire as dense waves of bullets raced toward the man who was steadily advancing through their midst.

Ping, ping!

The gangsters' bullets hit Oboro and fell harmlessly to the ground, not even denting his suit.

A man with a rocket launcher licked his lips, preparing to deliver a devastating blast, but the moment he crouched, a pebble struck his face with deadly force.

As Oboro closed the distance, the Mafia's losses mounted and the bespectacled man's expression darkened.

"Stop! You can't handle him alone!"

A voice cut through the chaos. The mobsters ceased firing and parted to clear a path.

A man with wild hair and a prominent facial scar stepped out of a vehicle, a butterfly knife dancing between his fingers. The weapon blurred into a deadly ball of silver light from his deft manipulation.

"Beasts like this require the touch of a professional hunter."

The scarred man took position.

" This complicates things." The bespectacled man exchanged words with him before signaling his men to retreat.

Oboro paused, boots crunching on spent shell casings.

He'd used up his supply of pebbles.

He'd caught the man's earlier statement.

Looking at the individual determined to stop and kill him, Oboro's lips curled slightly, "You seem quite confident in your ability to eliminate me?"

He had sensed the presence of a Nen user in the vehicle long ago.

"Hehehe Heaven's Arena is just a playground for amateurs. Don't think that those pretenders are anything compared to someone like me, who has survived in the underworld for years, living on a knife's edge! We are true hunters, living in the jungle of death, following nature's food chain," the man declared, raising his blade in preparation.

"From your aura and killing intent, you're not wrong. You do have some skill."

Oboro smiled faintly.

The man's face split into a predatory grin, "So which piece shall I cut off first?"

The moment the words left his mouth, the hand holding the knife trembled.

Scar's pupils narrowed sharply.

He hadn't blinked once, keeping his target firmly in sight, yet somehow his opponent had materialized in front of him. No warning, no visible movement - Oboro had simply appeared.

Cold sweat broke out on the man's forehead.

"I merely acknowledged that your strength is remarkable, that was no praise."

At close range, Oboro didn't strike immediately. Instead, he leaned in until their faces were inches apart, eyes locked.

Studying the man's trembling gaze and the expression that struggled to hide fear and uncertainty, he spoke softly.

"Ahhhhhhh!"

The scarred man screamed, his blade transforming into a silver arc aimed at Oboro's throat.

Snap!

Oboro's palm shot through the afterimage, fingers finding the man's wrist without needing visual confirmation. A quick squeeze and the bones shattered.

"Argh!"

The man howled again.

His face contorted wildly.

"Strange, a hardened killer walking on the brink of death screaming from such a minor injury? That seems inconsistent," Oboros eyes narrowed in amusement.

His other hand swung out.

Raw force separated the Nen user's head from his shoulders, the skull bursting from the impact.

A messy end, if you ask me.

Some Nen users who'd spent years in the underground were truly different from Heaven's arena fighters. While not all arena fighters were "sheltered," most came from relatively stable backgrounds.

From this perspective, underground operatives, assassins, mercenaries, and their ilk had some basis for pride.

Every confrontation was a matter of life and death. They regularly found themselves in desperate situations against ruthless opponents. The power one could muster when survival was at stake couldn't be underestimated; this level of danger far exceeded the challenges of the 200th floor.

However, this scarred man clearly wasn't of that caliber.

His abilities were barely above the average 200th floor fighter.

Blood still pulsed from the man's severed neck, spreading across the asphalt in a crimson pool.

Oboro wiped the blood from his hands, his gaze moving past the silent mobsters to settle on the calm, bespectacled man.

He maintained his calm demeanor, much different from his subordinates, who had begun to show clear signs of fear.

He still watched Oboro with calm eyes.

For the Mafia, such bloody scenes and death were more than commonplace, they were simply part of life.

"Yes, he's dead."

"Sorry boss, I couldn't stop him." The bespectacled man spoke into his cell phone.

"Understood."

After a moment he put the device in his pocket.

With measured steps, he approached Oboro.

The look in his eyes was almost playful, finding something amusing in the situation.

Most people faced with death would succumb to terror, it was instinctive. With so many casualties, he'd expected panic or desperate resistance, but nothing. The discipline and psychological strength of these Mafia members far exceeded his expectations.

"Congratulations, you earned your life!"

The bespectacled man approached and spoke softly.

How fascinating!

Oboro felt a twinge of surprise.

"Even if you killed everyone here, including me, it would change nothing".

Exhaling smoke, the man continued coldly, "There are rules in the underworld. Once your story spreads, it becomes a matter of the Fells family's reputation."

"Come with me. The boss wants to see you."

Before Oboro could answer, his phone rang.

He checked the caller ID.

"Hello."

"Master."

A familiar voice came through.

Charles.

The persistent would-be student who'd never achieved his goal.

He'd also been Oboro's first assistant in running the casino.

Charles had left Heaven's Arena over half a year ago. After Oboro had taught him some basic training methods, Charles had left to make his own way.

With this call, Oboro already knew that Charles had been captured and was in their custody.

"Let's go."

The bespectacled man crushed his cigarette under his shoe and turned toward a waiting vehicle.

Oboro ended the call.

"I see."

"The Mafia is more thorough than I expected."

He considered the situation.

A mobster held a car door open expectantly.

Observing this, Oboro followed unhurriedly.

Passing a gangster, he casually wiped his bloodied hands on the man's expensive suit.

The gangster's face twisted in anger, but he didn't dare protest.