Boom!
In broad daylight, an explosion suddenly ripped through the top floor of the Food Tower, the city's most iconic building.
Clad in black, Xiang Nan leapt from the height and, using the tower's exterior wall, landed safely on the ground.
Pedestrians nearby were startled by the abrupt commotion.
Yet the moment Xiang Nan's soles touched down, several terrifying shock‑blasts rained from the sky.
Their range and power were simply outrageous.
Xiang Nan's figure instantly zig‑zagged in a sharp Z‑pattern, dodging blow after blow.
Where he landed, the pavement cracked apart, hurling dust into the air and leaving long trenches like deep ravines.
"Senpai… I never said you had anything to do with Chairman Netero. I was just curious why you react so strongly whenever he's mentioned. Did you misunderstand me?" Xiang Nan asked, swallowing hard as he retreated, eyes fixed on the short silhouette emerging from the dust.
He also glanced at his right arm.
Moments earlier it had been struck by the old woman's kitchen knife—not severed, but now strange.
The flesh had shriveled, as if deep‑fried, and was completely numb.
Even the sleeve had vaporized—Nen defense seemingly useless.
"I'm old, not senile. Your eyes told me exactly what you were thinking," Linne snapped.
"It was only a guess… hard to call it rude, right? Besides, Chairman Netero is a bit older than you, so it can't be that kind of 'relationship'… No need to blow up, is there? Can't I even think about it?" Xiang Nan replied with a smile.
He smiled on the outside—inside he was stunned.
From this old woman he felt a lethal menace like never before; every nerve in his brain screamed:
Terrifying!
A powerhouse from Netero's era—after only a brief exchange the pressure was suffocating.
The gap was simply too great.
Using Gyo, Xiang Nan watched the monstrous Nen flaring from Linne—far beyond Uvogin of the Phantom Troupe.
Her aura poured out like a sea‑fog.
Anyone from Netero's era seemed to possess absurd reserves: Netero's own 100‑Type Guanyin, the Shadow Group leader Jed's Grudge of 100 Demons and Rakshasa, even Zeno Zoldyck's Dragon Dive demanded a mind‑boggling amount.
…and now Linne's Nen surged just as fearsomely.
Was this the true level of those at Nen's pinnacle?
"Senpai!"
Menchi and the other Gourmet Hunters rushed onto the street.
Seeing the furious old woman, they quailed.
No one had expected Linne to explode—much less actually attack Xiang Nan.
"What are you all dawdling for? Apologize—now!" Menchi cried as she bounded toward Xiang Nan.
She disliked his cavalier attitude toward food, but she would not watch him be killed.
Xiang Nan ignored her. At this point, apology was useless—and Linne's sudden rage felt off, almost forced, completely out of tune.
"That aura…"
Xiang Nan's pupils contracted.
His own Nen was burning away, as though melting in extreme heat—his whole body felt inside a furnace.
Yet Menchi and the others, within the same aura field, seemed fine. Only he sweated and burned.
Her ability! he realized.
Best tactic: exit the aura's range—virtually impossible. Someone of Linne's caliber could pin him effortlessly, and her range was enormous.
Whoosh!
While he was thinking, the old woman charged—and in the blink of an eye was before him.
"Geez… at her age, how can she still move like this? I can't read any aura flow, can't see her intent or trajectory…" Xiang Nan stayed outwardly calm, inwardly cursing.
A blinding blade flashed—his cheek split open.
Sensing danger, he had expanded En to a fifty‑meter radius.
Normally maintaining even a few meters while fighting was tough; now he poured virtually all his Nen into En, leaving only a thread for Ten, his defense at rock bottom.
He needed that range to perceive her strikes—using distance and feedback to patch the vast skill gap.
Fifty meters sounded insane, but it was brute force: sheer aura volume piled into one technique.
In canon, Killua notes 50 m of En is the mark of first‑class users—but keeping it up under combat is rare.
More lethal still, Linne's aura actively consumed his. While his Nen bled away, he had to keep En at its maximum—pressure enough to make anyone crack.
Thirty seconds.
All he could do was dodge; counterattack was impossible. One misstep and he'd die.
He calculated: in thirty seconds his aura would be exhausted—no offense left.
His only sliver of hope lay in his own Nen ability.
Against Linne's towering reserves—like an RPG "mana bar" dwarfing his own—technique, attack, defense, every stat was outclassed.
Civilians had collapsed the instant Linne's aura burst. Blade‑light swept the street; cars sliced in half, pavement cratered for hundreds of meters—every mark the old woman's kitchen knife.
"What now?" Buhara asked Menchi. They couldn't intervene—yet Xiang Nan was somehow still alive.
"Call the Chairman!" Menchi growled—but before Buhara could pull out his phone, icy dread struck them:
A figure appeared behind them without warning—Xiang Nan.
Yet his target was not them but another Gourmet Hunter.
"Diagnosis complete.
Surgery start…
Anesthesia.
Transplant."
Menchi heard the rapid mutter as Xiang Nan hurled the hunter aside and flashed ten meters away—then stopped.
Linne also halted: Xiang Nan had taken that hunter as a shield, a scalpel pressed to the hostage's forehead.
"You—" Menchi realized: Xiang Nan was using them to restrain Linne.
He peeked from behind the limp hostage, drenched in sweat.
He had already invoked "Hands of Love" and withdrawn En.
His Nen had many applications; this was the first time he used it on himself.
The arm fried by Linne was now whole; the scorched flesh had been transplanted to the unconscious hunter. As if their arms had been swapped.
The operation involved two "patients": the hostage and himself. When his gloves turn red, the procedure begins. Each surgical step—anesthesia, incision, transplant—has strict rules. Hitting head or heart induces full anesthesia; other parts, local. Incisions pierce any defense only on diagnostically relevant areas, and so on.
The goal: survival. As long as he could move and channel Nen, he could "revive," provided he wasn't one‑shotted and a donor was nearby.
But there was a price: no anesthetic for himself—he endured bone‑deep agony throughout.
"Hunter Rule #4: Hunters must not treat fellow Hunters as prey. Kill one and you violate the Code!" someone shouted, warning Xiang Nan.
Pale, Xiang Nan licked his cracked lips and sneered: "Tell that to her."
In life‑or‑death, all factors were tools. The dozen Gourmet Hunters were, in his calculus, the optimal leverage.
He had a temper too: if the old hag played serious, so would he.
Menchi and the others recoiled, sensing the madness and killing intent beneath his words.
"Pointless… I may not beat her, but I can still kill you or take you down with me." Xiang Nan's grin turned sinister.
A collective gasp—no one dared move.
"Unbelievable… A human reaching such heights. This world just keeps getting more exciting," Xiang Nan said, locking eyes with Linne—oddly exhilarated even now.
From the start she had foreseen he might seize a hostage—yet failed to stop it. That meant her predictions of her "prey" were imperfect, and he'd clawed out a sliver of chance.
The other hunters had zero danger sense, assuming they were safe because they weren't combatants—or perhaps they trusted Linne too much. As professional Hunters, their vigilance was abysmal.
If Linne focused solely on him, he could snatch a second hostage; if she split attention, his pressure lessened, giving him a chance to trigger his Nen directly on her. Even a 20–30 % success rate meant danger for her. The battle had shifted from total suppression to a fragile stalemate.
Linne finally spoke, eyeing his crimson gloves.
"Smart brat—pulled your aura in."
Her expression no longer seemed furious. Her ability drained opponents' Nen, but with Xiang Nan's aura minimal and channelled only into ability activation, its effect weakened. He had deduced a countermeasure in mere moments—keen insight indeed.
"At this level… he already surpasses most of the Zodiacs," she thought.
"Enough. Seeing you properly scared pleases me."
Suddenly she withdrew her aura; the kitchen knife vanished. She flashed a toothy grin.
"I'm a pro Hunter. I wouldn't casually kill a kid—I just found you annoying and wanted to teach you a lesson."
Xiang Nan kept his eyes low and smiled faintly. "A lesson? During our exchange I thought I was dead several times."
He did not relax; the scalpel still pressed to the hostage's throat.
"Tsk tsk—" Linne chuckled. "If I truly meant to kill you, I'd never give you a moment to think. For a Hunter, the first strike is the only strike; dragging a fight out is foolish. You should know that..."
"Arrogant brat."
With that, she turned and strolled back into the old tower—instantly the kindly grandmother once more.
Only when she was gone did Xiang Nan finally loosen. A wave of exhaustion nearly toppled him.
Was that… a joke?
He squinted at the shattered, nightmarish street.
A joke?
Are all these old monsters this crazy?