"Book." Cyr checked his designated card collection.
He had never seriously collected cards throughout the game, yet at this moment, his designated card pocket already held eighty-one cards. The free pocket contained even more. As long as they took down the Bomber, their inventory would balloon instantly. And once they secured the final card, they would be able to clear the game.
The first person in ten years to clear the game—That was not a bad title. Reserved.
Now—Time to kill the Bomber.
"Use [Accompany] to go to the Bomber—" Cyr pulled out the [Accompany] card, his tone impatient, ready to activate it immediately.
"H-Hey! Hey! Wait! WAIT!"
A bunch of people shouted at once, their bodies lunging toward Cyr in an attempt to stop him before he could take the next step.
"…What?"
Cyr sidestepped back a few steps, effortlessly pulling away from their reach, his gaze filled with thinly veiled irritation as he looked at them.
Wasn't this the plan?
The final step was killing the Bomber, so why were they stopping him?
"Look at our condition! We're obviously not in shape to fight the Bomber head-on!"
Biscuit had one hand planted firmly on her hip while the other jabbed in his direction, her voice full of frustration and warning.
Cyr's half-lidded gaze locked onto her pointing finger.
He hated being pointed at. He hated being lectured even more.
It was an irritating gesture—Even if it came from someone far older than she looked.
Maybe he should cut it off.
The thought made his lips curl slightly, his index finger lifting just a fraction.
In the next moment, Biscuit's hand snapped behind her back, her expression instantly serious.
Did this brat just consider cutting my hand off?!
"You… you were just thinking something incredibly rude, weren't you?"
Her face was completely blank, but her stare drilled into him with sharp intensity.
Compared to this kid—Killua was way cuter.
"Was I?"
Cyr arched a brow, his tone both amused and provoking.
"Why don't you take a guess?"
"Enough. Don't start in-fighting."
Tzesguerra, the mature working man, stepped in before things spiraled out of control.
"With my current strength, fighting the Bomber is an absolute loss. As for Gon and Killua…"
He glanced toward the two boys.
They were still injured.
"If we go now—"
He shook his head, not finishing his sentence—But his meaning was clear.
"I heard you and some others teamed up to obtain the [Coastline] card?"
The voice on the other end was hoarse, the kind of villainous tone you'd expect from a typical antagonist.
"Genthru!"
The moment Tzesguerra heard the voice, he immediately recognized the person behind it.
"How do you know that?" he asked directly.
By all logic, the Bomber shouldn't have known about this. But even if he had heard something, the details were likely limited—Because… he hadn't obtained the card himself.
At best, he knew Tzesguerra was involved in the team-up, but nothing beyond that.
"You don't need to worry about that," Genthru responded coolly. "I only have one goal—Hand over[One Tsubo Coastline]."
"Of course, if you're willing, bring the card to the entrance of Masadora tomorrow. If you don't show up… we'll assume you're choosing war."
His voice dripped with amusement, a hoarse chuckle laced with thinly veiled malice.
He sounded even more like a villain.
"If you don't believe me, check the status of some of your former teammates—like Kazsul, Monheim…"
He listed seven names.
"They're already dead."
Cyr, standing to the side, raised an eyebrow.
Kazsul and the others had indeed teamed up with Gon and Killua before, but they failed on their first attempt—And at the time, Tzesguerra wasn't involved at all.
The Bomber's intel seemed a little off.
He must have gotten his information from those three cowards who fled mid-battle, huh?
Then it made sense that Genthru didn't know Tzesguerra never actually obtained the card. After all, those three ran away pretty damn fast.
Gon quickly pulled out his book, checking the names the Bomber had just listed.
The status displayed for all seven players—Deceased.
This guy…
The Bomber…
Gon's fists clenched tightly, his knuckles cracking audibly.
This was too much.
"GENTHRU—!"
He shouted in fury.
The Bomber's tone shifted—going from amused to cold in an instant.
"Who's that?"
Someone else was next to Tzesguerra?
Who? A teammate?
A kid's voice…
"Ahh… it's you guys. The three-brat team. You have [Lucky Alexandrite] on you, don't you?"
The realization seemed to click in his mind, and his voice turned sinister.
"Once we deal with Tzesguerra, you're next. Best be ready to hand over your cards."
His words were a clear threat.
Gon opened his mouth, ready to shout something back—
Only for Biscuit and Killua to clamp their hands over his face, muffling him into indignant grunts.
"Don't bother hiding. We have plenty of [Accompany] cards," Genthru sneered before hanging up.
Silence.
Then—
"Are you still going to stop me?"
Cyr pulled out his [Accompany] card again, his intent unchanged.
Strike first.
Speedrun the game.
"No!"
Gon broke free from Biscuit's grip, shouting:
"The Bomber is MINE to defeat!"
So stubborn.
And yet—
"Foolish. Lacking self-awareness."
Cyr's words dripped with scorn.
He rarely spoke to Gon and Killua like this. They were familiar characters, after all—They had a certain special aura that made his usual dismissiveness soften around them.
But now—
"…Even if you say that about me, I still…!"
Gon's determination didn't waver.
Kazsul had been their ally before.
The Bomber's complete disregard for human life enraged him.
He had hated it since the moment Genthru began slaughtering players.
This game was created by Ging.
It was supposed to be a game where people could enjoy themselves.
They had turned this into a murder game.
Absolutely unforgivable.
"Have I been too nice to you?"
The white-haired boy arched an eyebrow, his voice laced with mockery as he stared at Gon.
A faint red glow flickered beneath his icy blue eyes.
It couldn't possibly be his fault.
So the only explanation was that Gon had taken his kindness for weakness.
Gotten too comfortable.
His mood soured, and he made sure everyone in the room felt it.
Killua and Gon broke out in a cold sweat.
It was like that time in Heavens Arena, when they first reached the 200th floor and encountered Hisoka.
No.
This was worse.
An oppressive force weighed down on them, paralyzing their bodies—Every instinct screamed at them to run.
This guy…
He was serious.
And in a really bad mood.
Killua's sharp eyes stayed locked on Cyr, ready in case he suddenly snapped and went for Gon's throat.
If it came to that—
Killua's aching, swollen hands twitched slightly.
Even if his fingers were barely functional, he would still throw himself forward to stop him.
Silence.
Then—
Gon took a deep breath, forcing himself to speak through the crushing pressure.
"You… want the Bombers' cards, right?"
"I'll be the one to defeat Genthru."
"After that—All his cards will go to you."
Sweat dripped from his chin, hitting the ground.
And just like that—
The pressure vanished.
Everyone felt lighter.
Breaths came easily again.
"Fine. Deal."
Cyr nodded slightly.
"But if you break your promise—you'll die immediately."
"Oh, and if you lose, I'll finish off the Bombers myself."
His tone was light, as if it were nothing more than a passing thought.
"Fine."
Gon answered without hesitation.
And at that moment—
He felt it.
Something invisible forming between him and Cyr.
A binding contract.
As Cyr's power grew, so did the weight of his words.
If he wanted to—
Anything he spoke could become absolute.
[Constraint]
°°°
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