Chapter 93: Trap

TN - Did you know Kuroro means the same things as Chrollo, check it up on the internet if you don't believe me

...

Franklin suppressed his anxiety as he listened to the man describe Phink's murder. The killer was sitting right in front of him, but Franklin dared not act rashly. This was part of Chrollo's plan, and more importantly, any rash action could expose other members of the troupe.

The three Nen beasts laughed mockingly at Phink's fate. The sickly dog even called him a trash who had overestimated his abilities. When the porcupine next to him almost uttered the word "brigade," the alert owl quickly covered his mouth and suggested they leave so Oboro could rest.

After the dishes were cleared, only Oboro, Owl and Franklin remained in the room. Oboro, seemingly completely unguarded, lay down and fell asleep. Fearing that they might disturb his rest, Franklin and Owl remained silent. The station grew quiet.

Franklin's thoughts turned to contacting Chrollo and Feitan. Something must have happened to them, otherwise they would have found a way to answer his call, even if they couldn't get away.

Time crawled by.

The next morning brought the change of personnel. Franklin left with Owl, who gave him no opportunity to contact his companions and followed him everywhere, even to the bathroom. Franklin's calm demeanor and quiet nature seemed to win Oboro's favor. He even gave Oboro massages, his large hands displaying a surprising softness that seemed at odds with his appearance.

Franklin's attentiveness was calculated to strengthen his relationship with Oboro.

"When I was young, I had to take care of a lot of younger siblings," Franklin told Oboro a few days later as they chatted on the station.

"Life on Meteor Street is pretty hard, isn't it?" Oboro smiled slightly, knowing full well that the "siblings" Franklin was talking about were the children from the church.

"We adapted to it," Franklin replied, massaging Oboro's leg muscles. "For us, survival alone was the best outcome we could hope for."

"In fact, the family has always maintained trade relations with Meteor Street. We provide metals, supplies, and weapons, while you provide us with a steady stream of new talent. It's because of you that the family's influence has grown stronger in recent years." Oboro nodded slightly. "What's most important is that you people of Meteor City have such a strong consciousness; perhaps it's your 'unique' living conditions that have shaped this aspect of you, and the Nen users among you are especially formidable".

Changing the subject, Oboro asked, "What is your Nen ability?"

"I am an Emitter. My ability is 'Double Machine Gun.'" Franklin raised his modified palms for Oboro to see.

Meeting Oboro's questioning gaze, Franklin seemed to anticipate his thoughts. "Yes, my ability doesn't require this modification, I could fire the bullets without it, but I believe this way produces greater power."

As he spoke, his knuckles separated, revealing gun-barrel-like holes.

Oboro's smile remained unchanged. If you were really determined, you wouldn't have waited until now. Franklin, you have too many ties. You're not a lone wolf, you care about your companions.

Behind his sunglasses, Owl's eyes narrowed and his body tensed.

Franklin could feel the weight of the moment. The man in front of him was completely defenseless. At this range, a single shot would end it all.

The opportunity was within reach.

Franklin's throat bobbed unconsciously, but looking at Oboro's smiling face, he couldn't bring himself to act. Killing Oboro would mean his own death, a small price to pay, but Feitan and Chrollo would be in danger without knowing why, along with other members of the troupe.

If other members died as a result, the price would be too high.

"Not bad, the modification at least matches the form of your Nen ability," Oboro remarked, studying Franklin's palm with amusement.

Owl's fist slowly unclenched in his pocket.

Someone like Uvogin or Nobunaga would probably have attacked at first sight. Each member of the troupe had his own personality.

Franklin's patience was excessive, sometimes a virtue, sometimes a liability.

"Help me take a walk," Oboro asked.

"Yes."

Trust yourself," Franklin thought. Oboro's actions convinced him that he'd been accepted as a trustworthy family member, otherwise such carelessness would be unthinkable. Maybe it had been a test.

One he had passed.

The task Chrollo had given him was finished! Now, they would wait and see.

Meanwhile, elsewhere, Feitan followed the Nen user of the Fells family to find their target, the minor head of the family David had mentioned. They found him enjoying himself in a casino.

After entering the building, they went directly to the restricted top floor. Upon exiting the elevator, they encountered the rival family's armed guards lining the corridor.

Feitan's eyes went cold. Without a word, his fingers twitched. In a flash, he burst through the crowd, snapping necks with his bare hands before a single shot could be fired.

In terms of raw speed, he was unmatched in the troupe!

Ignoring the other members of the Fells family, he walked alone toward the aura-emitting box. His anger at not being chosen to approach Oboro needed venting.

The other Fells Family killers, accustomed to such displays, seemed to understand the small man's temperament. They remained silent, Feitan's murderous gaze filling them with fear.

The casino's private room was actually an enclosed hall. Feitan kicked the door and heard laughter from inside. He would kill them all.

The door shook violently before opening. Feitan entered to find several gang leaders at the gaming table, unnaturally calm about his intrusion, as if they had been expecting him.

Whoosh!

Feitan's eyes narrowed as he dodged several meters to the side. A series of throwing knives pierced the ground where he'd been standing.

A figure fell from above and quickly closed the door. Pressing a hand against it, its Nen activated every crack in the walls and windows, fusing them into a seamless barrier.

The room became an inescapable cage.

The supposed gang leaders rose from the table one by one.

"You have no business here," one said to the only real mobster, Feitan's target.

The man glanced back at Feitan before leaving through a side door that materialized in the wall and disappeared upon his passage.

The man who'd sealed the entrance slowly stood up.

"One, two," Feitan counted six people in all, all Nen users and seemingly powerful ones.

A trap?

Targeting him specifically?

"Don't overthink it. We're not mafia, we're from the Hunters' Association, remember Aldama?" A short-haired man at the table addressed Feitan coldly.

Hunters' Association.

These words made everything clear. He had been deceived: The Fells family and the Hunters were working together.

"He's a spider? That little rascal?" A slender girl perched on a ceiling lamp juggled throwing knives, multiplying them from one to three like a magic trick. She looked down at the silent Feitan in disbelief.

"Be careful. Even a child who could kill Aldama and the others proves how dangerous these people are," another warned.

Little Carrot Top, little brat.

The words clearly hit a nerve, a vein pulsed in Feitan's forehead.

His fingers crackled as his aura erupted. "Only six," he said coldly, his voice dripping with contempt and murderous intent.

"So arrogant! We don't need six, three of us could kill you!" The girl fell to the ground, irritated.

"Don't kill him. Our mission is to capture and deliver him to the Association, then to the authorities," their captain reminded them.

"Tsk," Feitan spat, his body suddenly shooting up.

The battle began!

Thirty minutes later, the busy street outside the casino teemed with pedestrians.

Without warning, an explosion rocked the top of the building. Countless shards of glass rained down like deadly precipitation.

The crowd screamed and fled, the deafening blast causing several vehicle collisions.

Thick smoke billowed into the sky, forming an ominous black cloud.

People streamed out of the building amid fierce gunfire.

Eventually, Feitan emerged from the entrance, his clothes in tatters, his body covered in wounds. His torn clothes were stained with blood, much of it not his own.

His injuries were serious, but not life-threatening.

Walking step by step into the street, Feitan looked up at the flames and muttered coldly in Meteor City dialect. "Garbage."

Then, ignoring the chaos around him, he disappeared around a corner.

Above, black smoke and flames consumed the top floor.

All six members of the Hunters' Association had died the same way, lying in pools of blood.

Some were crushed under fallen stone slabs, others burned in the raging fire.

They died with their eyes wide open, their faces frozen in horror.

Their limbs twisted at impossible angles.

Not one body remained intact.

The girl had suffered the most.

Her eyes had been gouged out, her mouth split open, a grotesque sight that would haunt any witness.