The figure rose from the shadow like a ghost stepping out of the void, an obvious Emission-type ability laced with spatial properties.
The broker, of course, knew nothing about Nen, so even in his final breath he never understood how it was done.
All he managed, in that last flicker of life, was to recognize the attacker's origin from the outfit…
A ninja!
But something felt off, almost wrong.
A ninja… wielding a katana?
His confusion sank into the dark along with his life.
The moment their boss was impaled, the broker's crew froze for half a heartbeat, then roared in fury and yanked out their guns.
Too bad guns mean nothing against a Nen user.
A few minutes later, the slaughter was over. More than a dozen fresh corpses littered the floor, brass casings rolling between them like spilled coins.
From start to finish, the scarred man never left his chair. He just watched coldly as his subordinate wiped out every last one of the broker's men.
Plenty of bullets had flown his way, but they all bounced uselessly off his Enhancement-type defenses.
Amid the sea of bodies, the tightly-wrapped ninja flicked his wrist, shaking the blood from his blade.
He glanced at Shinra in the scarred man's hands.
"Boss… the lingering aura on Shinra is gone. Does that mean…?"
"Yeah." The scarred man cut him off, already knowing the question. "Without the aura imprint, we can't use it to contact the spirit. But…"
He paused, thinking of that certain Onmyoji with his "spirit-channeling" power.
Even if that guy's ability was terrifyingly mysterious, you still needed raw material to cook. No imprint, no channeling. Simple as that.
The scarred man shook his head, stood up with Shinra in hand, and stepped over the corpses.
"No need to panic. This 'key' isn't the only one out there."
Stopping in front of the ninja, his stone-hard gaze pinned the man in place.
The ninja lowered his head, ashamed. "I lost my composure, sir."
The scarred man eased his stare and looked back at the sword.
He'd originally planned to take Shinra straight home, but now he couldn't help wondering exactly how the aura imprint had vanished.
Better to find out.
If there was even a chance of restoring it, great. If not, figuring out the method to erase aura imprints would be a perfect weapon against the Unseen Cloud Style ninjas.
And there was still that missing national treasure, the Dream Phantom Scroll from Ryusei…
That cursed "inheritance" lock kept them from touching it.
If worse came to worst, they could just destroy it later.
But first, he needed the truth behind the vanished aura.
"Shikahara."
The scarred man suddenly turned to his subordinate.
Shikahara snapped to attention, eyes burning with fervor.
Missions were his entire reason for living.
The home-invasion massacre that killed the collector had flushed dozens of priceless items onto the market.
Shinra was only one of them.
Its only real standout features were the glaringly obvious aura clinging to it… and the danger that came with owning it.
Moro remembered it clearly.
The colleague who'd first tipped him off about Shinra had jokingly, maybe enviously, mentioned the blade might carry some kind of curse.
Now?
Moro was inclined to agree.
Not a curse in the supernatural sense, just the plain old risk that came with the sword itself.
He'd been mentally prepared from the start.
The reason he wanted to unload it fast wasn't greed; he simply didn't want to become a walking target.
He was fine taking a loss, even half the value, if it meant disappearing from the radar.
And by lowballing himself so aggressively, he'd neatly shifted all the heat onto the broker.
"Poor bastard…"
When news reached Moro that the broker had been eaten alive in a double-cross, he spared the man a silent moment of pity.
He'd actually planned to keep using the guy for future flips.
Life's unpredictable.
But in this world, or at least anywhere Yorknew City's business tentacles reached, getting black-eaten-black wasn't exactly rare.
Before Moro had learned Nen in his first life, he'd nearly died to the exact same trick.
Only after awakening his aura did those incidents drop off.
That experience had taught him two things: this world was brutal, and Nen was non-negotiable if you wanted to survive it.
After the brief mourning, Moro returned to his daily training.
With the leveling system as his safety net, he focused entirely on solidifying the basics.
Top priority? Mastery of Hatsu.
That single technique governed the overall strength of any Nen ability.
[Deceitful Shooting Star]
Moro raised his palm. Bright aura gathered, then, one second later, fired as a glowing emerald sphere the size of a lead shot-put.
A streak of light tore through the air.
At the end of its arc, a standing target exploded into splinters.
Moro watched the debris scatter and exhaled slowly.
"Still too slow…"
"I can't have both power and speed yet."
"Once my Emission level climbs higher, maybe that'll change."
"For now… keep hammering the foundation. When it's solid enough, I'll start on Zetsu techniques."
While resting, Moro planned his next steps.
Deceitful Shooting Star wasn't a pure glass-cannon ability; it carried strong tactical mechanics.
In fact, its core leaned more toward trickery than raw destruction.
Just like the name implied, deception.
So instead of obsessing over damage, he should focus on creative application.
For example: under the premise of decent speed, increase the number of controllable stars, then use Zetsu to hide their trajectories completely.
Right now, those ideas were still distant dreams.
But with a sword hanging over his head, he had no choice but to push harder.
Break over. Back to training.
Until the basics were rock-solid, advanced techniques were off the table.
There was, however, one practical skill he absolutely had to master.
Moro extended his palm toward empty air and fired a star, setting a one-second delay before it returned.
Then he immediately closed his eyes.
In midair, the emerald sphere reached its max range, snapped back like a rubber band, and rocketed toward Moro's face at double speed.
Eyes shut tight, the star hurtled straight for him.
Just before impact,
Moro tilted his head, guided purely by his sense of timing.
Whoosh!
The star grazed past his eyelashes.
He slowly opened his eyes.
He hadn't looked once, yet he knew exactly where it was.
This was one of his current training goals.
Whether it ended up pure instinct or cold calculation didn't matter.
As long as he could drive the error rate down to near zero…
This technique would become the cornerstone of his entire combat style.