Chapter 7: Hisoka Takes Action

The circus had declared a holiday as they prepared for the upcoming Royal Glam performance. Their growing fame in Glam Gas Land had earned them this prestigious invitation, and the troupe members were taking advantage of the break, venturing out in small groups to explore the city.

Predictably, Hisoka and Oboro were excluded from these outings. When Hisoka suggested they explore together, Oboro's response was characteristically cold: "Looking at your face puts me in a bad mood."

Hisoka adopted a hurt expression, but Oboro was already gone.

In the bustling streets, Oboro followed Abaki at a distance, using an imperfect version of Zetsu to mask his presence. Though he hadn't mastered the technique properly, it was sufficient to avoid detection by someone of Abaki's level.

"It should be today," he muttered to himself.

Abaki was the only troupe member tasked with purchasing supplies, and according to Oboro's future knowledge, this was the day she would encounter Morittonio in his John Doe persona. The confrontation would end with Hisoka intervening, leaving their leader with an injured eye.

As an observer armed with foreknowledge, Oboro found himself oddly anticipating the encounter. It would finally reveal just how far Hisoka had progressed with his Nen training.

Though they shared living quarters, Oboro had sensed Hisoka deliberately concealing his true capabilities. While Oboro's raw aura capacity and theoretical understanding of Nen exceeded Hisoka's, he harbored no illusions about their relative combat strength. In actual fights, battle instinct often proved more decisive than raw power.

"Morittonio..." a wry smile crossed Oboro's face.

The leader's Nen instruction had been deliberately limited, teaching them basics while withholding core principles. This wasn't caution about their progression, it was wariness of their potential. If not for Oboro's comprehensive knowledge of Nen from his previous life, he might have been as grateful as Abaki for these incomplete lessons.

Still, Morittonio had initiated him into Nen... though Oboro suspected the leader now regretted that decision. Neither he nor Hisoka had turned out to be another Abaki, their potential had far exceeded expectations. The change in Morittonio's attitude was telling; his former warmth had cooled to mere courtesy, though he remained unchanged toward Abaki.

The reason wasn't hard to guess: jealousy. Their existence made the leader increasingly aware of his own limitations, like an average student resenting prodigies.

As evening approached, Oboro continued trailing Abaki through markets and department stores. Away from the troupe, she displayed glimpses of ordinary teenage behavior, pausing to admire cute animals or scenic views.

Darkness was falling when she descended an overpass into an alley, muttering about her shopping list.

"Go back..." a voice suddenly emerged from the shadows.

"Hm?"

A sickening sound followed. Abaki peered around the corner and froze. A tall man in a windbreaker, his hair slicked back, was methodically torturing someone. The victim's torso was grotesquely deflated, blood painting the walls, though they still drew ragged breaths.

"Help... me..." the victim wheezed.

John Doe the serial killer.

Abaki's pupils contracted as she dropped her bags, channeling her aura into the jump rope at her waist. "Stop!"

The rope, normally flexible, went rigid with Nen as she attacked. John merely shifted slightly, avoiding what would have been a devastating strike. The rope's tip shattered stone, but before Abaki could retract it, John caught the weapon.

His strength overwhelmed hers instantly.

"Nen-enhanced attacks..." Abaki's eyes widened in horror. "This murderer is a Nen user!"

Her combat inexperience became painfully apparent as John closed the distance, driving his knee into her stomach with crushing force.

Blood sprayed from her mouth as she collapsed, her weapon clattering uselessly beside her. One hit had completely incapacitated her.

As John reached for the fallen girl, a blur of motion attacked from behind. The killer's instincts barely saved him as a playing card sliced across his left eye, drawing a spray of blood. A fraction slower and the attack would have split his skull.

Hisoka landed in a crouch, the bloodied card between his fingers as he smiled up at John. "Taking a walk? You seem... to be enjoying yourself."

Without waiting for a response, Hisoka launched himself forward, cards flashing. John retreated from the onslaught, studying the two teens briefly before leaping away into the darkness.

"Hisoka!" Abaki forced herself upright.

Rather than pursue, Hisoka examined his bloody Ace of Spades with unsettling intensity.

"He got away..." Abaki grimaced. "But with that eye injury, he'll probably be caught. Thank you, Hisoka..."

When he didn't respond, she called again, "Hisoka?"

"The sensation when I cut him..." Hisoka mused, his casual tone belied by his expression. "It felt... unusual."

Before they left, his gaze flickered briefly toward a shadowed corner.

"Tsk... he noticed?"

After they departed, Oboro emerged from his hiding spot, recalling Hisoka's knowing look. A chill ran down his spine.

"Has he already figured out Zetsu purely through instinct?" The thought was disturbing. Oboro's imperfect Zetsu should have been undetectable to a novice... unless they'd grasped the fundamental concept independently.

"That attack was flawless, perfect timing, targeting vital points. And this is Hisoka before he's fully developed. Once he gains more experience..."

"As for Morittonio... he's decidedly average."

The fact that the leader hadn't sensed Hisoka's approach spoke volumes about their relative capabilities.

Later that evening, the troupe buzzed with discussion about Abaki's encounter with the serial killer. Morittonio sat calmly on the sofa, giving safety instructions, showing no sign of injury.

Oboro exchanged brief greetings before heading to his room. Steam filled the space, Hisoka visible through the open bathroom door as he soaked in the tub, half his face submerged.

"Care to join me?"

As Hisoka rose, Oboro's heart skipped. The bathwater had changed consistency, becoming viscous like rubber as it clung to Hisoka's arm in stretchy strands.

"In such a short time, your Nen manipulation has reached this level?"

"I worked it out myself..."

Despite his antipathy, Oboro had to acknowledge Hisoka's inhuman talent.

"Close the door when you bathe. I'd rather not soil my eyes."

"Hehehe..." The transformed water returned to normal, splashing down around Hisoka. "You were there too?"

"We've lived together long enough. I know your aura well..."

Oboro's Zetsu had been imperfect, leaving traces of aura that Hisoka's heightened combat senses had detected. His theoretical knowledge couldn't fully bridge the gap between concept and execution.

"Did you enjoy the show?"

Oboro's only response was the sharp sound of the door closing.

...

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