NenMaster
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Chapter 19
🕑 Added 2024-11-26 22:24:03 +0000 UTCChrollo had chosen a meeting spot in the buffer zone between the outskirts of Meteor City and the garbage dump.
While the streets within Meteor City were kept clean, this area served as a staging ground where residents sorted through their haul from the landfills. Discarded steel beams and wooden planks lay scattered across the ground, forming heaps of “scrap mountains” in various shapes and sizes.
When Machi led Morin to the agreed location, several people were already waiting for them.
“Pakku,” Machi greeted the blonde woman standing atop a pile of wooden debris.
She then nodded toward the quiet, burly man sitting nearby and the pale-skinned, short-statured figure beside him, introducing them in turn:
“Franklin, Feitan.”
Her brief introductions also served as a way to familiarize Morin with these individuals.
Morin, however, was more focused on his surroundings.
“This place,” he mused, “reminds me of where the Troupe later gathers in Yorknew City. Is it nostalgia? Or maybe it’s because the Troupe was founded in a place like this, so Chrollo chooses similar settings for their reunions?”
Under the trio’s gazes, Machi pointed at Morin and said simply, “Morin.”
Even without her introduction, their attention had already settled on him.
“Is he the Morin Uvogin mentioned?” Franklin, whose face still retained a gentle and unscarred appearance, studied Morin curiously.
“The one Uvogin keeps praising?” Pakunoda, then just 10 years old, already showed hints of the stunning figure she’d grow into, though her current attire was far more conservative—a sleek black outfit that fully covered her neckline.
Uvogin rarely gave high praise to others, and the last person he’d spoken so highly of was none other than Chrollo.
“So, this is the man who gave Uvogin that strange power?” Feitan murmured, his narrow eyes glinting with interest. He clasped his hands together and pushed down with a faint crackle of his knuckles. At 16, Feitan was already radiating an unsettling aura despite standing no taller than an average middle schooler.
And judging by his frame, his height likely wouldn’t change much in the future.
It was clear from their reactions that all three had heard about Morin from Uvogin, at least to some extent.
While Uvogin wasn’t known for being chatty, his admiration for Morin, coupled with his excitement after unlocking his nen abilities, had led him to share stories about this “amazing guy” with his trusted companions.
As they examined Morin, he scrutinized them in return.
“Pakunoda?” Morin thought, surprised by her youthful, pure appearance. “Her nose isn’t as pronounced yet—no hooked nose at all. And she’s so much more covered up than she’ll be in the future.”
“Franklin looks as honest and unassuming as ever. The kind of person you’d never expect to kill without hesitation.”
“And Feitan… Huh, he’s already this short? Looks like his growth spurt ended prematurely. That’s unfortunate.”
The mutual observation between Morin and the others caused an awkward silence to settle over the group.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Suddenly, the crisp sound of approaching footsteps broke the tension.
Everyone turned to see a man in a sleek black suit walking toward them, hands casually tucked into his pockets.
The moment Morin laid eyes on him, he was struck by the aura this man exuded.
“He doesn’t even need to try—he’s already the center of attention,” Morin thought.
Every movement, every glance seemed to naturally draw people’s focus. It was as if he was born to stand in the spotlight, a true leader commanding the room without effort.
“At just 13 years old, he already has this kind of presence,” Morin marveled, watching Chrollo Lucilfer approach. “No wonder he could grow the Phantom Troupe into such a formidable force and still carry that magnetic villainous charm.”
Chrollo’s short black hair was neatly styled, and his skin was pale and smooth. There was no cross-shaped tattoo on his forehead yet, and though only 13, he was tall for his age, looking more like a high schooler in both height and demeanor.
But what stood out the most were his dark, steady eyes, exuding maturity far beyond his years.
Naturally, the others shifted their attention to Chrollo, their leader.
“How’s it looking, Chrollo?” Machi, the most concerned about Uvogin and Nobunaga’s safety, asked directly.
“Not great,” Chrollo replied with a faint smile, his calm demeanor unshaken by bad news.
“The Elders refused to release Uvogin and Nobunaga.”
“Why?” Franklin asked, frowning. His tone reflected his disappointment.
“They might’ve clashed with one of the Elder’s subordinates, but it wasn’t a serious conflict. No one was injured. Is that really enough to justify holding onto them?”
“That’s not the kind of conduct you’d expect from an Elder,” he added. “How could anyone respect that?”
Feitan and Pakunoda stayed silent, though their expressions mirrored Franklin’s dissatisfaction.
In their younger years, they still carried a hint of youthful defiance.
