For Uvogin, it was already infuriating enough that a group of outsiders had broken into his territory and looted it.
But what truly grated on him was that not a single one had been caught—they'd all slipped away.
Just as his temper reached its peak, a scrawny kid appeared out of nowhere.
And the brat had the nerve to ask—naively, with wide eyes—"Are you hungry?"
Uvogin nearly laughed. Not from amusement, but from sheer disbelief.
"Hungry?" he growled, lifting his head. His eyes locked onto the foolish boy with predatory intensity, a slow, dangerous grin spreading across his face. "Of course I'm hungry. How could I not be?"
He leaned forward, voice dropping to a guttural rumble:
"I really want to eat you right now!!"
"I see~~~"
Mog didn't flinch. He simply nodded, as if Uvogin had commented on the weather.
"If you're hungry," he said calmly, turning away, "come with me. I have food that'll help you recover your strength."
Huh?!
Uvogin raised an eyebrow, staring at the boy's retreating back.
Thirteen years in Meteor City—and this was the first time someone had offered to share food without demanding something in return.
In this place, kindness was either stupidity… or a trap.
And stupid people didn't survive long.
Especially not strangers who popped up out of nowhere asking if you were hungry.
His expression darkened.
"What?" Mog turned, noticing Uvogin hadn't moved. He met the man's hostile glare without fear.
"I know what you're thinking. But I don't have any ulterior motives."
His voice stayed level, honest. "If you feel unsafe—or if you're scared—you don't have to come. It's your choice."
Without waiting for a reply, he walked off toward his home.
"…"
Uvogin watched him go, fingers tightening into fists.
Then, a small figure stepped forward—quiet, steady—and planted a broken wooden stick upright in the dirt between them.
"I didn't sense any danger," Machi said softly, her voice calm despite the grime smudging her cheeks. Her face was young, but her eyes were sharp. "Strange as it is… it felt sincere."
Uvogin exhaled through his nose. Beneath his brutish exterior was a mind honed by survival. If he'd been just a reckless brute, he'd have died long ago.
He glanced at Machi—the only person whose judgment he trusted without question.
"You really think it's clean?"
She gave a small, firm nod.
His scowl eased. A slow smirk returned.
"Your gut's never wrong." He slapped his thighs and stood. "Alright then—let's see what this 'silly boy' is really up to!"
He chuckled, striding forward with exaggerated swagger.
"They better not be serving mud and rocks, or I'm flipping the whole table!"
Machi followed in silence, eyes alert but relaxed.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Mog hadn't expected to run into Uvogin and Machi so soon—but given how loud and flashy the big man was, it wasn't that surprising.
Compared to the wary elders and hardened scavengers of Meteor City, Uvogin was almost… straightforward.
Right now, he was still just a thirteen-year-old boy—rough, proud, but capable of normal conversation.
He hadn't yet met Chrollo Lucilfer, who would later challenge him with Shalnark and Franklin, throwing nothing more lethal than a splintered stick to halt his escape.
He hadn't yet fought Franklin in that ridiculous, honorable one-on-one brawl.
And he certainly hadn't sat with wide eyes, watching an animated film projected onto a scrap-metal screen, finally understanding what it meant to follow someone like Kuroro.
But Mog knew all that was coming.
And if Uvogin did have other ideas today… well.
Mog's frail appearance hid real Nen. Not a bluff. Not a trick.
"Everyone here?"
At the doorway, Mog glanced back. Uvogin stood arms crossed, chin high, radiating bravado; Machi hovered just behind him, observant as ever.
"Come in," Mog said, stepping inside before Uvogin could protest.
Uvogin blinked. Two seconds of silence.
Then he barked a laugh. "Fine! What's the worst that could happen?"
He swaggered in after him.
After coming this far, turning back would make me look like a coward.
And Uvogin hated looking weak.
Besides—he trusted Machi's instincts more than his own rage.
"What the hell?!"
The moment he stepped inside, Uvogin's eyes swept the room—and found nothing.
No furniture. No supplies. Barely a blanket. Just four walls and dust.
"My grandma's shack has more crap than this!"
"…"
Machi shot him a look—you're impossible—then turned her attention to Mog.
She trusted her intuition… but that didn't mean she'd lower her guard. Not here. Not ever.