Chapter 130: The Performance
Ryan Glas was draped in a calm, steady Ten. This confirmed Ronin's suspicion: the man was a Nen user.
Ronin's Three-Tomoe Sharingan scrutinized the shape and distribution of the aura field.
While the Sharingan provided the raw visual data, Ronin relied on the analytical framework established by the manga's Hulikov to decipher the intel. To Ronin's eyes, the radius of Ryan's Ten was slightly wider and more diffuse than a normal person's. This subtle discrepancy was a "tell" that categorized the target as either an Emitter or a Manipulator.
The distribution was perfectly symmetrical. He clearly didn't prioritize Enhancement training, which often resulted in a denser, more "jagged" aura profile. This suggested a build focused on range and control.
However, Ronin saw no specific conjured items on Ryan's person.
If he's a Manipulator, what is his medium? Or is he an Emitter who simply hasn't revealed his projectile Hatsu?
Ronin retracted his gaze and scanned the rest of the venue. The number of Nen users hidden in the crowd was alarming.
"Something is off," Kurapika whispered, leaning in.
"Elaborate," Ronin said, sitting up straighter. Shizuku leaned in too, while Neon remained entranced by the stage.
"The security detail is too heavy. There are too many Nen users for a private show," Kurapika said lowly. "It doesn't feel like they're guarding the VIPs. It feels like they're locking down the theater."
"Could they be waiting for us?" Ronin asked.
He looked at the guards again. While most were concentrated near Ryan's balcony, he noted a Nen user stationed at every single entry and exit point.
In total, there were at least six Glas Clan Nen users in the room.
Experts weren't cheap. Even for a wealthy aristocratic clan, maintaining a hit squad of this size for a simple circus show was an over-investment.
They aren't just here to watch the show. They're here to end it.
Kurapika shook his head. "Unlikely. I used a fake identity to contact them. Based on their behavior, we're just another group of high-society guests. No one is monitoring us specifically."
"If they aren't here for us, they're here for the circus," Neon interjected. "I can smell a kindred spirit in Ryan."
"What do you mean?" Ronin asked.
"To a collector of body parts, every performer on that stage is a unique art piece," Neon explained with chilling detachment. "By killing them and preserving their mutations, he can create a gallery of 'One-of-a-Kinds.' It's a very basic, entry-level way of collecting, but it's popular with the nouveaux riches."
"I seem to recall you being pretty excited about those Bat wings last week," Ronin noted.
Neon shot him a glare. "That's different! Those were wings! Functional, aerodynamic wings!"
"Bat wings," Ronin corrected.
"Wings are wings!" she insisted.
"Back to the point," Kurapika cut in. "You think Ryan plans to slaughter the 'Macabre Menagerie' tonight?"
"Yes," Neon nodded firmly. "If I'm right, we won't need to negotiate for the Scarlet Eyes."
Everyone understood her meaning.
"I'll handle the heavy lifting," Ronin volunteered.
If Ryan proved to be a monster who murdered performers for art, it gave Kurapika the moral justification he needed to act as a "Chivalrous Thief." He wouldn't have to struggle with the ethics of robbing a legitimate owner.
Kurapika scanned the room one last time, then nodded solemnly. "Agreed. If Ryan's men move on the troupe, Brother Ronin will take Ryan out immediately. I'll take Neon and Shizuku to support the performers."
Kurapika touched the prophecy in his pocket.
The poem indicated that they would find what they needed here and encounter a "useful person."
He wasn't worried about Ronin securing the eyes—he had absolute faith in Ronin's strength. He was more focused on the identity of this "useful person."
Their team was already well-balanced. To be considered an asset to a group that already included a tank, a strategist, an oracle, and a specialist like Shizuku, this person had to possess either a very specific ability or vital intelligence.
Kurapika turned his attention to the stage. It was 8:00 PM. The house lights dimmed.
The warm-up clown pedaled his unicycle into the wings.
The music shifted to a haunting, ethereal melody. A spotlight hit the center stage, revealing a young girl in elaborate stage makeup. She was beautiful, but as she stepped forward, the audience gasped.
She was a Two-Headed Girl.
It wasn't a Nen illusion or a prosthetic. It was a genuine biological anomaly.
The two heads spoke in alternating rhythms, their voices harmonizing to tell the story of their life.
As they walked, the stage floor seemed to sprout white, powdery snow. It appeared out of thin air, a master-level application of Transmutation or Conjuration.
The story was a tragedy. In their mountain village, they were feared as a curse. To save the harvest, the villagers had decided to sacrifice the "Two-Headed Monster" to a "God's Apostle."
Artificial snowflakes began to fall from the rafters, enhancing the girl's look of shivering, hopeless despair.
Suddenly, the girl froze. She tilted both heads toward the back of the stage.
From the artificial fog and snow, a deep, bestial roar echoed through the theater, vibrating the very floorboards under Ronin's feet.
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