HxH: Ryomen... Satoru?

One hundred million Jenny, exchanged into chips of various denominations, was piled on the table in several stacks.

A young boy sat openly at the gambling table, drawing many curious and scornful glances.

This kid…

How spoiled and reckless must he be to end up here at such a young age?

What a shame his parents must feel for raising such a wasteful child.

The crowd whispered and gossiped, conveniently forgetting that they themselves were also sitting in a casino.

Yet no matter how much they mocked or sneered, when they saw the boy winning hand after hand, envy began to creep into their expressions.

"Just beginner's luck," someone muttered dismissively.

After all, didn't everyone have a streak of wins when they first started gambling? But once that beginner's protection wore off, it all came down to luck—or fate.

These seasoned gamblers, who had spent years in casinos, knew all too well that losses far outweighed wins.

But an hour later, those watching closely were astonished to find that the boy hadn't lost a single round.

The dealer's professional smile grew increasingly strained.

The boy's chips, which had started as a modest pile, were now stacked high into multiple towers.

"All in," the white-haired boy said with a yawn, pushing his entire stack of chips into one betting area. The precarious towers toppled, scattering chips across the table.

The gamblers at the table, noticing the boy's extraordinary streak of luck, followed suit and placed their bets in the same area.

The dealer hesitated, frozen in place.

"Hurry up and show the result," Cyr leaned lazily against his chair, his tone casual yet commanding.

Maro, standing beside him, handed him a glass of juice provided by the casino.

The gamblers' feverish eyes, the dealer's pale face, and the boy's relaxed demeanor combined to create a tense atmosphere.

"Don't waste everyone's time." Cyr sipped from his straw, gesturing with his free hand for Maro to massage his shoulders.

The dealer took a deep breath. Invisible energy extended from within him, ready to subtly alter the outcome. With just a touch, the results would change.

And those who were supposed to win? They'd all lose instead.

At this table, it was the dealers who controlled the gamblers' wins, losses—and even their lives.

But why…

The white-haired boy placed a hand on the table, raising an eyebrow with a dangerous smirk. "Don't try anything shady."

Seriously? He hadn't even won that much yet, and they were already panicking?

The energy poised to alter the results was abruptly dispersed by another, more powerful force. The dealer's face turned even paler.

It had happened before—every time, the same thing.

Every attempt to interfere… ended in failure.

The boy across the table was undoubtedly a Nen user far more powerful than himself.

When the results were revealed, the gamblers erupted in joy, while the dealer's expression grew increasingly despondent.

"Forget it… Chad isn't here anyway. Let's find another casino," Cyr said, sweeping all the chips into his arms and standing up to leave.

If he kept winning like this, the casino's owner would probably have a heart attack.

Could Chad really have gone to some obscure, back-alley casino?

Maro followed behind, carrying a tray piled high with chips, heading to the counter to exchange them for Jainy.

Suddenly, several men in black suits, guns holstered at their waists and radios in hand, approached them.

"Sir, there are some guests in the VIP lounge upstairs who would like to invite you to join them," one of the security guards said politely, though his demeanor was anything but gentle.

"The VIP lounge?" Cyr glanced at the guards, his tone laced with amusement. "I'd bet they don't have the best intentions."

Like, maybe luring him into a soundproofed room upstairs just to unload a barrage of gunfire on him.

If he ended up dead, there'd be no way to claim his winnings. And if no one could take them, the money would conveniently stay with the casino.

Ah, the same shady tactics, no matter which world.

"You're joking," the guard replied stoically, though his hand motioned firmly toward the stairs.

Feigning easy compliance, the white-haired boy pivoted and headed toward the so-called VIP lounge.

"Fine, let's go see what they want."

His tone was light, almost playful.

Maro, still carrying the chips, followed closely behind as they ascended to the upper floor.

On the 29th floor, inside the VIP lounge, there wasn't a single guest—only a line of security guards, armed and ready.

The head guard tossed a phone toward Maro.

Balancing the tray of chips in one hand, Maro deftly caught the phone with the other.

"Maro Pelisha, I heard you ran away from home. Never expected to see you here," came the voice of a middle-aged man on the other end.

"Is this old Pelisha's doing?"

The voice belonged to the head of the Dorinck family—a middling mafia boss. His rank was higher than most, yet he hadn't managed to break into the world's top ten mafia rankings, leaving him in a somewhat awkward position of power.

Also the owner of the casino.

"This has nothing to do with my father," Maro replied calmly.

"Oh? Then it's just your personal choice?" The man on the other end sneered, his tone brimming with anger.

If it were just this kid winning, that would've been tolerable—it would simply mean he was taking other customers' money. But this brat had influenced everyone else at the table to follow his bets! With no losers among the customers, who bore the losses? The casino did. The money being won was coming out of their pockets!

This was blatant sabotage.

"What the master wants is what I want," Maro replied with the same calmness.

"Fine, fine, fine. Old Pelisha would never have expected his son to become the lackey of some wet-behind-the-ears kid after running away from home!" Dorinck jeered coldly. "I'll be sure to pass the message to your father."

"Be my guest," Maro responded with an indifferent tone.

"I'll give you a choice: abandon all your chips, take only your original stake, and leave this place. Or… never leave at all."

"You talk too much, old man." Cyr, standing to the side, impatiently cut off the voice on the other end of the call.

"Let me make something clear: even becoming my lackey isn't something just anyone can do. And someone like you? You're not even qualified to try."

"I look forward to meeting you. When we do… I'll twist your head off and use it as a ball."

With a slight movement of his finger, a slicing sound rang out.

The well-armed security team in the room was instantly reduced to dozens of pieces.

The phone in Maro's hand was similarly shattered into fragments.

"Boring," Cyr remarked as he turned to leave the so-called VIP lounge.

Honestly, aside from the Ten Dons' Shadow Beasts, most mafia organizations weren't much to speak of. Few of them even had Nen users.

As the door opened, a thick scent of blood wafted out. The guards stationed at the entrance immediately realized something was wrong when they saw the two supposed victims walking out unscathed.

Upon smelling the blood, the lead guard quickly gave the order: "Fire!"

But Cyr's hands moved faster than their fingers could pull the triggers. With a casual flick, their guns fell to the floor—along with their severed arms.

Following the arms and guns, their heads hit the ground as well.

Blood sprayed out, soaking into the plush carpet beneath their feet.

Screams erupted from the other patrons as they scrambled to escape. The casino staff, including the seemingly harmless and beautiful maids, grabbed weapons to retaliate.

The smell of gunpowder quickly overwhelmed the lingering fragrance in the air, and the once opulent walls were now speckled with blood.

A few bursts of gunfire echoed through the halls, then silence fell over the casino.

...

"What? You're telling me… everyone at the casino is dead?"

"I understand."

In the Dorinck family's estate, the furious boss slammed his phone into pieces.

He glared at the remote surveillance footage showing the white-haired, blue-eyed boy, his face twisting further in rage.

"I want you dead! You *must* die!"

°°°

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