PUB and Ciggaretes
Togiri closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, he was floating in a familiar dark void—silent, endless—where another figure awaited him.
"It's been a few days, but your face is still as annoying as ever."
Togiri's eyes narrowed at Seven's irritatingly handsome, prince-like appearance.
(Refer to character images. There are two chapters where Seven's picture is shown in the paragraph comment.)
"Sure, sure. And you're a delight to look at,"
Seven said lazily, lounging in the air with a book half-open in his hand.
"So, got questions or are you just here to admire me again?"
That same prepubescent voice—smooth, slightly nasal, and dripping with arrogance—immediately ticked Togiri off.
"The body of a young man, but the voice of a pipsqueak," Togiri muttered with a vicious grin.
"Unlike you, I don't age like a human. And just because your voice dropped an octave doesn't make you hot shit," Seven replied flatly.
This was their usual routine—harmless at first, but liable to devolve into a verbal war that could make even battle-hardened sailors blush.
"Enough with the clown show. I'm here to test a few things," Togiri said, his voice firm.
"First, increase the time dilation by one hour."
Seven flipped his golden hair with a dramatic sweep, somehow making his already unfair face even more stunning.
"Are you sure, oh mighty pauper? With your glorious 50 million EP, are you really ready to spend a whole ten Points?"
Togiri sighed. "Do it, you defective cousin of Siri," he said with a smirk.
"Okay, cringelord," Seven replied with a nod.
A moment later, an invisible weight crushed down on Togiri's mind. His face stiffened, then quickly regained composure.
'It feels like a hundred hands pressing on my skull... This must be the mental fatigue. Uncomfortable. Like an itch I can't scratch.'
Seven watched with amusement, a dazzling smile spreading across his charming face—the kind that would send fangirls into cardiac arrest.
"Oho. My dumb master feels something Shocking. I thought your head was just filled with insults and garbage."
"Deactivate the time dilation," Togiri muttered. Instantly, the pressure vanished.
"I've got a question," Togiri added. "If I spent time in here creating Phantom Pages… can I take them outside?"
Togiri was rather curious about the limitations of the newly acquired upgrade for the Training Simulator.
"Of course you can, they too are considered as growing your strength" Seven replied, floating lazily nearby.
"But only ten percent. And before you ask—yes, an incomplete Page will dissipate. Not because of the system, but because of the way your Hatsu works."
Togiri opened his mouth... then closed it again. He stared into the endless black void around him, lost in thought.
"What if… What if I only created the core of the Phantom Warrior? Look, you once told me I can't store Phantom Warriors in my inventory because I gave them autonomy."
He paused, collecting his thoughts.
"If I spent my time inside the Simulator creating the core, and then my time outside crafting the shell... how much time would that cut down on?"
Seven's eyes widened. Not because he was impressed by Togiri's genius, but because of how dumb the question sounded to him.
"Are you an idiot? That would take over 20 times longer. You can only take ten percent out, remember? And your mental strength would collapse because of the difficulty in creating cores"
Togiri smirked. "Yes... but I meant when I can take out one hundred percent."
Seven blinked. "...That's actually—" He paused, calculating.
"That would cut the time down by three hundred percent. So, four times faster."
"You need thirty minutes to make the shell—your appearance and twin swords. Two hours for the core.
Another thirty minutes to fuse both. And ten more to bind the finished Phantom Warrior into the Book storing it"
Seven didn't recall this from memory. The System fed him this information. And since he wasn't human, he never forgot a single byte of data.
"I knew splitting the process into parts would save time… but not this much." Togiri nodded to himself.
"I'm sure if I removed the command function where I write with blood, I could cut another twenty minutes."
He muttered quietly, stroking his chin like he had an invisible beard.
A few minutes passed.
Then Togiri looked up, locking eyes with Seven. He waved his hand in a dismissive shooing motion.
'Go. Go. I don't need you anymore.'
Seven drifted back, vanishing from view. The void around Togiri warped—and in the next moment, he stood in a not-too-unfamiliar room.
"My training room is still the best."
He glanced around at the pristine, all-white chamber, reinforced walls gleaming under artificial light.
Weightlifting equipment and custom training machines rested neatly in the corner.
The room was roughly the size of a tennis court—an unnecessary drain on his mental endurance, sure, but… It was worth it.
This was the one place where Togiri felt completely at ease.
Togiri sat down and closed his eyes. He began focusing on his breathing, purging the unnecessary noise and clutter from his mind.
Normally, meditation would've been impossible for someone like him—a chaotic storm of thoughts, broken memories, and volatile emotions swirling nonstop within.
But the moment he entered that state, everything became still. As easy as breathing.
'The power of the fully unsealed Reviewer System is no joke.'
What Togiri was referring to was that moment—The moment he opened his eyes again after meeting the Venarch.
(A.N.: Venarch is a new word I created from "veneration" and "monarch." Better than using the word god or supreme being all the time.)
Later that same evening, the strange protective force that had guarded his mind since arrival vanished and when it did, the emotions hit.
All of them.
Crushing waves of despair, grief, rage—
Emotions so dense and heavy they nearly tore his soul apart.
But the system had prepared for that. It had imprinted a meditation technique directly into his hippocampus—one designed to lower his heart rate and stabilize his brain activity.
There was no need to practice the technique, because as soon as the system imprinted it into his brain, he mastered it in a second.
If not for meditation technique, Togiri would have died that very night.
Since then, whenever he edged toward madness, whenever the pressure threatened to crack him open—his mind, as if on instinct, began channeling the technique.
'I can feel it.'
The gradual slowing of my heart. The energy within him flowing like a tide—coursing through his limbs, bones, organs, and vessels, like a sacred rhythm reconnecting him to something primal.
'Seven, end the Simulation after three hours.'
Togiri spoke silently, through their shared link. Seven heard him. Of course he did. And with that thought dismissed, Togiri let the world fall away again—
And returned to stillness.
*
Inside the simulated chamber—white, seamless, and sterile—Togiri sat cross-legged on the cool metallic floor.
The room gave off a faint glow, not too dim, not too bright. It neither buzzed with electricity nor carried a trace of wind.
There was no scent, no sound—only breath, and stillness. His eyes were closed.
Suddenly, a wave of vivid orange Aura erupted from his body, expanding outward like a living flame. Calm, but still fierce and dangerous
—Ren.
His energy surged forth, a slow, powerful tide of raw presence.
It pulsed from every pore, spreading wide before collapsing in again, wrapping his body like a tight sheath of invisible pressure.
It wasn't chaotic. It was alive. Controlled. Each breath synced with the expansion and contraction of Aura—his heart a drum, his lungs the bellows.
Inhale—compression.
Exhale—release.
It circled, spiraled, flowed in harmony. Through muscle, through bone, through blood.
There was no pain—only presence. A profound weight that reminded him he was still here.
He could feel the marrow of his bones tingling, his blood flowing warmer, heavier, like molten iron carried by his will.
His senses sharpened. He could hear his heartbeat vibrate in his chest and spine. He could feel gravity hug the sweat on his skin.
He wasn't perfect.
But in that moment—centered, burning, alive—he felt like he was closer.
'I'm getting there… slowly.'
Togiri opened his eyes. The white metallic room remained unchanged, but something inside him had shifted. Then—
"Oh, I was just about to wake you. The three hours are over,"
Seven said, appearing casually at the far end of the room. He strolled over, hands in his coat pocket, smirking.
"Hm, it felt like ten minutes," Togiri replied, standing up. "By the way, do I get to choose now or after I leave?"
"Whichever you prefer."
Togiri tilted his head, brushing his fingers across his chin in thought. "Alright. Show me the options."
A soft chime rang out, and a familiar panel unfolded before him.
[Totally-Not-A-Training-Montage Mode™]
10% Rewards:
Body Cultivation: +0.001 STR & VIT & AGI
Aura Units: +34
Mental Endurance: +0.01
Ren Proficiency: +0.006
Togiri stared at the panel in front of him, blinking in disbelief. He had actually trained his mental endurance in just three hours?
In tree hours he actually gained 0.1 stat increase in mental endurance. Even if he could only take 10 percent out right now, this far surpassed his expectations. He read further down the reward list and his eyes narrowed.
"...Oi. Seven. Why is Ren proficiency on the reward list?"
Seven sighed. Then, with the expression of someone who had just watched a toddler eat sand, he looked at his master with pure, silent pity.
He didn't say what he was thinking—'I guess life must be hard when you're that dumb'—mostly because he didn't feel like getting his data core pummeled again.
"Do you seriously think you trained your Nen in here?"
Seven raised a hand, and a holographic 3D projection flickered to life above his palm. In the image, Togiri stood in a virtual field, slashing repeatedly at a tree with a sword.
"This is you. Hypothetically." He pointed at the projection.
"Now, imagine you're training swordsmanship. In here, you'd gain experience, yeah—but your muscles won't remember it. It's just simulation. No real feedback loop for your actual nerves or body."
He tapped his temple with a smug look.
"Same goes for Nen. You didn't train Nen. You trained the idea of it. Muscle memory. The more you use Ren in here, the more familiar it becomes once you use it outside. But your body still needs to catch up."
Togiri opened his mouth to argue. Then closed it again. He hated how Seven explained things like he was dealing with a five-year-old—but the bastard wasn't wrong.
"And no, you didn't notice it before because you used to train both inside and outside the simulator," Seven added with a smirk.
Togiri clenched his fists, jaw twitching.
'The reason I was improving so drastically during fights was my body catching up to my experience. Makes more sense than me becoming a shōnen protagonist who grows significantly stronger after each battle'
"Do you need more explanation?" Seven asked, eyes wide with mock concern.
"No! I get it!" Togiri growled. "Wake me up and let me choose the reward outside."
—Swoosh
A strange pulling sensation tore through him. The void vanished. Numbness hit. Then—He opened his eyes.
'Ugh… I still hate that feeling.'
His limbs felt heavy. Like he had been submerged in molasses. He slowly sat up, blinking at the dark ceiling.
Kuroha was curled up asleep, breathing softly. The window had been shut again.
Togiri groaned and dragged himself to the bathroom. A system panel blinked to life in front of him, mirroring the one from the simulation.
He tapped the reward he wanted, then leaned against the sink and closed his eyes.
A faint tingling brushed across his forehead. He opened his eyes again.
'...I feel exactly the same.'
He sighed, 'Well, what did I expect from a +0.01 increase in mental endurance? A second brain?'
Still groggy, he turned toward the door. "Back to sleep then… but not before I empty my Shenron."
***
—Smash
A cup slammed into the table, the sharp sound echoing like a gunshot in the hushed pub.
"Shh, really? Another month?" A deep, irritated voice rang out, cutting through the quiet chatter.
"What is another month? It's already been a year! Another month won't kill you," came the sharp reply, a voice laced with arrogance and edged in frustration.
The woman who spoke drew the attention of every man in the room.
Her beauty was undeniable—long brown hair cascading like silk down her back, brown eyes sharp as blades, and a presence that silenced even the boldest drinkers.
But those same brown eyes, cold and filled with restrained fury, swept across the bar, and every lecherous gaze turned away in fear.
The icy disdain in her stare was enough to make grown men shudder.
"Damn it," she cursed under her breath, the profanity clashing with her otherwise statuesque grace.
"Every time we go out to drink, this shit happens." She cursed loudly enough for the guests in the pub to hear.
"Selyna, calm down," said the man opposite her, his voice steady as he hastily drained his beer.
"You're right. It's just another month. Let's go get dinner and leave this plac-"
"No, Darian. If they don't learn now—when will they?"
An invisible force suddenly surged through the room. A crushing pressure filled the air. The chatter died instantly. The glow of her brown eyes intensified and small tints of pink accompanied them.
Chairs scraped the floor as men and women collapsed to their knees. Some clutched their chests, others whimpered in pain.
Waiters fell where they stood, bleeding from their noses, ears, and eyes. Seeing this Darian's playful smirk vanished.
His black hair rustled in the rising storm of energy. His vibrant green eyes narrowed as he stood up, his expression deadly serious.
"These are innocent civilians," he said coldly. He met Selyna's eyes—and released his own pressure.
—BANG
The two auras clashed in the air, colliding like titans. The room trembled under the weight of it.
"I said," Darian growled, "calm down." His pressure intensified.
The tables began to tremble, and the sound of shattering glass echoed all around them — bottles bursting, and various alcohol glasses splintering on impact as the pressure increased.
Selyna gritted her teeth. Her hand rose slowly, trembling not from fear—but rage.
"You—!" She slowly lifter her hand pointing it at Darian's chest. Both interlocked their eyes, neither backing down, neither giving the other an inch.
For a split second the pressure drastically multiple folds and Darian's eyes shined an even more vivid green as the same pressure erupted from his body too.
Selyna frowned, and certain coldness flashed in her already cold eyes, but before her outburst could finish, a gentle hand grabbed her wrist.
"Miss Selyna," came a calm, teasing voice. "Do you really think this is the right place for this?"
She turned her head. A young man with slit eyes and an unbothered smile looked at her as if nothing had happened.
His presence was relaxed, but his timing—impeccable.
Selyna's eyes narrowed. He turned to Darian, still holding Selyna's wrist.
"And Sir Darian… yes, these are civilians. But a bodyguard shouldn't lay hands on the one he's sworn to protect."
The young man gave off an aura that was calm—harmless even. His gentle smile, the softness in his voice, the warmth behind his words—none of it set off any alarms.
And yet, both Darian and Selyna felt it.
They couldn't explain why.
It was faint—so faint it almost passed unnoticed—but for the briefest sliver of a second, something cold coiled in the air between them.
Like a breath caught in the throat. Like a shadow slipping across the soul.
—Death
That was the word that carved itself into their minds.
The presence was gone just as quickly as it had come, but the moment had already left a scar. It wasn't just the killing intent. It was the absence of hesitation behind it.
He had truly intended to kill them, even if just for a moment. And though the young man quickly masked it behind an easy grin, they both recognized the truth in his eyes.
He had meant it.
Behind the soft voice and smiling eyes was something else. Something patient. Something cold.
A dormant storm hiding in plain sight—the kind of man who could take your hand with kindness and sever your throat the moment after.
And he knew they had seen it.
He didn't flinch. He didn't apologize.
He simply smiled again—pleasant, polite—like death hadn't just brushed past them and whispered a warning in their ear.
Darian clenched his jaw. Selyna's hand trembled in the air and then—both their pressure's vanished.
The room fell into silence once again.
"Wonderful," the young man smiled. "Now that you two are friends again, how about we leave this lovely establishment?"
Selyna stared at him with pure disdain. "Move. Your hand or lose it."
"Oh. My bad," Bijuki said cheerfully, stepping back and pulling out his wallet. He tossed a handful of crumpled bills onto the table.
Around them, the pub's patrons slowly began to recover, groaning, pale, trembling as they watched the three figures head for the exit.
Selyna's eyes swept the room one last time, cold and unforgiving. Then she muttered, just loud enough for those still conscious to hear—
"Boring."
*
Several policemen stood scattered throughout the pub, scribbling hurriedly into notebooks as victims recounted the surreal event with shaky voices.
The stench of alcohol still clung to the air, but it couldn't mask the lingering scent of blood or the heavy tension that still weighed down the room like fog.
Detective Ryouchi Kael—black hair slightly tousled, black eyes sharp like obsidian—moved silently through the space, his gaze dissecting the aftermath.
Broken furniture. Blood-speckled walls. Shattered glasses and spilled alcohol—some could think a granate hit this place.
He stopped as a junior officer called out behind him. "Detective Kael! Multiple witness reports match word for word."
Kael turned slowly, his expression unreadable. At twenty-four, he was the youngest detective in Momo City's Serious Crimes Division—but his reputation exceeded his age.
He was also one of the only people outside of Togiri's inner circle who had ever witnessed the infamous "Blue Demon" kill firsthand.
He hadn't forgotten. That day had left something in him unsettled. Yes, the man Togiri had killed was a gangster and beat the piss out of Ryouchi—but the way Togiri had done it…
without hesitation, without mercy, and with something bordering on cruel satisfaction.
It was murder. Not justice.
But… Kael had no proof.
No recordings, no witnesses. Just a shattered arm in a cast, bruised ribs and a story no one believed—that a twelve-year-old Hunter had killed a gangster to save his life.
To everyone else, it sounded like the fevered rambling of a man desperate to justify his own failure.
Not soon after an unknown hero appeared in Momo City calling himself the Blue Demon and killing gangsters.
In Kael's eyes, there was no doubt. Togiri was the Blue Demon. But even that remained speculation as he couldn't prove it.
And if there ever was evidence, Kael knew—it would vanish before anyone could act on it.
Because the Blue Demon wasn't just a name. He was a symbol. A ghost. A myth that moved through the alleys and undergrounds of cities, leaving bodies and silence in his wake.
The public adored him.
To the frightened citizens and overworked police, the Blue Demon had become a folk hero—a faceless guardian cleaning up the filth no one else dared to touch.
But to those who saw the aftermath…
The brutal, blood-soaked scenes, the whisper of death still clinging to the air… They didn't cheer him.
They feared him.
And the bitter irony?.Kael loathed Togiri, yet Togiri respected Kael.
From the depths of his heart, Togiri believed that the world needed more men like Kael—honest, stubborn, unwilling to compromise.
Men who held to ideals. Not monsters like him.
In his eyes, killing was never a permanent solution. It was temporary. A stopgap.
You could slay a hundred criminals today, but a hundred more would rise tomorrow. And once the Blue Demon vanished from the headlines, the underworld would strike back with arrogance and fury.
And that's exactly what happened.
The moment news spread of the Blue Demon appearing in another city… The rats crawled out of their holes.
.And now—Ever since Togiri publicly announced the upcoming tournament… Momo City had started to change.
Disappearances. Unexplained injuries.
Children vanishing from neighborhoods. Rumors of ritual killings.
A slow corruption had begun to seep into the streets.
"Tell me what the reports say," Kael demanded. The officer pulled out his notebook, flipping it open with nervous fingers.
"Three suspects. Two male, one female. The woman is named Selyna—age estimated between sixteen and twenty.
Long, ash-brown hair. Brown eyes with an icy stare. Model-like build. Witnesses call her beautiful, but they also say she carries herself like a noble with a blade pressed to her throat—cold, proud, and dangerous."
Kael's expression didn't change, but he was listening closely. "She wore a white t-shirt and blue jeans. The first male, Darian, was seated across from her.
Early to late thirties. Muscular build. Short black hair. Green eyes. Wearing all black, shirt read: 'Y-you love cats? Meow too.'"
The officer hesitated, his face flushing slightly red. Kael arched an eyebrow with an unwavering expression. "And?"
"Witnesses say he tried to de-escalate the situation, but I think—"
"I didn't ask for your interpretation. Stick to the facts," Kael cut in coldly. The officer swallowed hard and continued.
"Third suspect: Name—Unknown. Early twenties. Blond hair. Yellow eyes. Slim frame. Dressed in a black coat and old brown classical suit.
Witness descriptions vary—some described him as calm and warm, others said his slit-like eyes were unnerving and villainous."
Kael crouched beside a bloodstained metal table as the officer continued behind him.
"Witnesses claim the woman—Selyna—released some kind of gas or wind. Everyone in the pub collapsed. Bleeding from eyes, ears, noses.
Then Darian stood up and the it was easier to breathe. Selyna and Darian seemed just about to fight, but the blond man stepped in and talked to both.
He whispered something in their ears and then they left… after leaving a few thousand Jenny on the table...T-that's all Sir!"
"Secure the CCTV footage. Bring the witnesses to the station, bring me sketches as fast as possible and place an APB on all three of them," Kael said without turning.
"Yes, sir!" The officer saluted then he turned his heel away from detective Kael and started scribbling fast as he moved away further away. 'I can't forget anything... what came after the sketches?'
Kael remained crouched beside the overturned table. He ran his gloved hand across the metal leg—bent at an unnatural angle, twisted like a pretzel.
Another officer approached and pointed. "Sir, reports say the blond man was seated here."
Kael narrowed his eyes. The steel had been warped with no external damage. No signs of tools. No fire.
'Nen. There is no other explanation. If not for that psychopath, I would have never discovered it'
He stood slowly, eyes scanning the shattered silence of the pub. The scene was unpleasent too look at, it didn't look like a crime scene, but like a natural disaster hit the pub.
'Since the psychopath announced the tournament… Momo City has become a beacon. A dark star pulling every kind of monster toward its center.'
He stared at the blood smeared on the floor, and the bodies of civilians still trembling on the floor. And deep in his gut, he knew—
This was just the beginning, but..
Ryouchi clenched his fist and a white energy shrouded his whole body—'I'm ready.'
***
July 19, 1999 - The Next Day
Togiri slowly opened his eyes, stirred awake by the soft rays of sunlight peeking through the curtains and the faint breeze caressing his skin.
The morning air carried with it a strange but familiar scent—bitter, smoky, yet oddly nostalgic.
Half-conscious, Togiri's first groggy thought was, 'Cigarettes?'
As a former smoker, he recognized it instantly. He turned his head, eyes still adjusting to the light, and saw Kuroha standing by the open window, the city skyline spread out behind her like a living painting.
She held a cigarette loosely between her fingers, the smoke curling lazily into the air.
Her red dress, simple yet elegant, clung gently to her frame, contrasted by the black leather jacket draped over her shoulders.
Her long, silky black hair fluttered in the breeze, strands dancing in the sunlight. The way the light kissed her slightly tanned skin and sculpted her jawline made it hard to look away.
Togiri caught only the side of her face, but in that moment—framed by morning light and city noise—only one word echoed in his head.
Beautiful.
She seemed almost otherworldly. A goddess cloaked in mortal irritation.
As he remained still, mesmerized, Kuroha turned slightly and offered him a bright, casual smile.
"Good morning."
Togiri blinked, still caught in the trance. Kuroha noticed the strange glint in his eyes and raised an eyebrow.
"...What's with that look? Oh, this?" she gestured with the cigarette before taking a puff. "It's a bad habit."
Smoke streamed from her lips like mist from a dragon's mouth. Togiri snapped out of it and immediately sent a thought through the link.
'Seven. Did she use any Nen on me? Or toxins?'
@...Really? Face it, stupid master. Even you can't escape the hormones of puberty. Your body cultivation didn't just make you stronger and taller. It launched you straight into adolescence. Enjoy, virgin master~@
Seven chuckled from the black void, watching through Togiri's eyes like a director behind the camera.
'She's prettier than Rika… by a long shot,' Seven muttered to himself, flipping through a semi-translucent book while a glowing screen floated before him.
Meanwhile, an awkward silence stretched between Togiri and Kuroha.
"...."
"...Smoking? Seriously? How old are you to be puffing away in the morning?"
Togiri walked over beside her, letting the warm sunlight wash over his face. Below them, traffic murmured beneath the hotel balcony, distant and forgettable.
"Sixteen! I already told you that!"
Togiri squinted at her. "Is it legal for sixteen-year-olds to smoke?"
Kuroha gave him a flat look. "...Yes? Don't you know that?"
Togiri didn't. Despite having lived in this world for nearly six years, basic knowledge often escaped him.
Some days it felt like Earth, with its modern cities, stores, and infrastructure.
Other times, it was completely absurd—rock-paper-scissors tournaments, gacha chocolate vending machines, arm-wrestling parlors, restaurants serving magical beasts.
The line between realism and fantasy was razor-thin in this world.
"..."
"I see... can I have one?"
Kuroha hesitated. She pulled the pack from her jacket but paused just before handing it over.
"How old are you?" she asked.
"Heh. Guess."
"Fifteen... Sixteen?" She squinted. "Why are you grinning? Hey—!"
The pack was gone. In his hands now. Togiri already had one lit. He inhaled—
—Cough. Cough.
Kuroha smirked. "Beginner."
"...Ugh, it's been years. I forgot how disgusting this tastes. I need to brush my teeth."
Her amusement faded. "Just how young were you when you started smoking?"
"Cough... Thirteen. That's my guess anyway about how old I am."
Kuroha blinked. Her expression broke.
'I'm sure Fang is a little older based on our height... but now I'm taller than him,' Togiri thought.
"And I thought you were at least fifteen or sixteen because of how mature and tall you are..."
Togiri smiled awkwardly. 'She's off by a decade. I'm mentally 25… though I didn't exactly mature much lounging at home all day back then and now training.
Maybe my mental age is 18? But it's bullshit and it doesnt matter anyway. Just surviving more spins around the sun doesn't make you mature or wise'
@Remember Julia's face when she saw you again after your body and face slightly changed? Haha—my boy! My little boy turned into a man!@
Togiri's cheeks flushed. He wasn't as immune to embarrassment as people thought.
—Puff. Cough. Cough. Cough.
"How about you stop? Wait, another three years and you can buy your own ciggaretes."
"...sure"
He stubbed the cigarette out. That was enough. "...Anyway. What are your plans for the future?"
"Follow you."
"No, I mean long-term. After all this gangster killing is over."
Kuroha looked down, then away. She flicked ash off the railing and sighed.
"I don't know. I quit school. My grandpa's gone. I've just... drifted. But ever since I met you, I felt like maybe I could find something. A reason. A purpose."
She smiled. Genuinely. Then her expression turned sharp.
"But don't forget our deal. If I see someone worth sparing, I'll make the call. And I'm not getting directly involved in fights."
Her tone was clear. Her eyes, unwavering which gained her a little respect, admiration and.. envy from Togiri.
'Almost word-for-word from when we first met…'
Togiri understood. In this world, hero and villain were just roles someone else wrote for you.
It didn't matter if a gangster was born into violence, forced into it, or reveled in it—he would still kill them if they stood in his way.
'If I need to become a devil to oppose the Venarchs, then so be it.'(A.N/: new word for supreme beings)
"Togiri-kun? Anything else?" He looked at her for a long moment, then shook his head.
"...No. Let's go."
*
*
Chapter finished, further down you will find my rant which isn't story relevant.
Author Rant – Togiri's Perspective NOT PART OF THE STORY
Togiri's real thoughts:
The system measures my strength stat by the average untrained man—1 point equals roughly 40 to 60 kg of pushing force. That's a baseline I can work with.
So let me get this straight…
A twelve-year-old kid with a body the size of a chicken skewer opened a pair of 16-ton doors in Hunter x Hunter like it was arm day at the gym?
Killua's little arms produced over 17,000 pounds of force—each. That's assuming perfect symmetry.
How did the floor not cave in? How did the cement under his feet not shatter like wet glass?
Did the entire world just politely ignore physics that day?
Let's give him the benefit of the doubt—genius-level talent, Nen use since the womb, assassin background, etc.
Even then, what kind of monster child physics are we talking about?
People call Dragon Ball ridiculous, but at least it owns it. Goku needed to go Super Saiyan just to double his 8-ton weighted training in the janenmba movie.
Meanwhile, Killua casually yeets open 16-ton slabs before his Nen is refined. And that's early series.
Later, characters surpass Killua physically without blinking. So what, are we just ignoring power scaling now?
How many people in the Hunter x Hunter world can tank nukes? Because from where I'm standing, Meruem should've been able to bench-press a continent.
The only thing that stopped him was literal radioactive nuke-juice.
Then there's the stat logic. With my System, my strength is 82. That means I can push about 3,300 kg—maybe more depending on technique and multipliers.
So how is it that a child with half my height and half my biceps can produce five times that raw output?
Answer: Passive Nen. Probably. Maybe. Who knows.
Let's be real—Togashi wrote some of the best fights ever, but his power scaling is like a web of spaghetti tied together with duct tape and hope.
It makes zero sense, but it looks cool as hell when it happens.
Honestly, at this point I've stopped trying to apply logic. The Reviewer System and Seven themselves might crash if it tried to run a consistent Nen simulation.
That's probably why my simulator has a warning label about "mental backlash when simulating contradictory anime logic."
Whatever. If a random Nen user can rewrite fate with a poem and another can jump start his heart with Nen that has the properly of both rubber and gum, then I'm done asking questions.
Let the world break its own rules.
I'll just keep training, keep climbing—and when I get strong enough, I'll rewrite the damn rules myself.
End
Do you guys agree with Togiri or not? Let me know in the comments