Human Nature

The cage bars were rusted, their hardness weakened.

Under the amplification of Nen, Moro bent the vertical bars apart, creating an opening large enough for him to escape the cage.

Ignoring the terrified stares around him, Moro ducked through the gap. Hearing movement from outside the compartment door, he sidestepped, then reached back to grip the bars.

He wanted to snap them, but lacked the strength.

Pressed for time, Moro noticed the bars weren't welded at the top or bottom. He yanked the bent rod free from the frame.

Just then, the compartment door swung open. Sunlight flooded in, revealing a tall silhouette—and—

A pistol!

Moro's expression shifted sharply.

At his current level, having just opened Nen, even a small-caliber pistol could deal him real damage.

Moreover, a Nen user's control over "Nen" came from years of practice, ingrained as instinct, letting the body memorize the flow.

So even after successfully opening Nen, Moro needed time to adapt, to let his body grow familiar with the circulation of Nen.

Under these circumstances, the threat of a gun was obvious.

The instant he saw the pistol, Moro didn't hesitate. He hurled the bent iron rod straight at the man.

Thanks to his Emission-type training, the direction and aim were flawless.

The rod spun through the air with a sharp whistle, striking the man who'd opened the door.

A scream rang out as the impact sent him flying backward.

But at that moment, with a faint sound, a flying knife wreathed in Nen shot through the air, aimed at Moro's leg.

An attack from another person...

And a Nen user at that!

Caught off guard, Moro could only twist his body.

Shiiing.

The knife grazed his knee, drawing a spray of blood.

Moro's face tightened. Ignoring the pain from the wound, he retreated decisively into the depths of the compartment, putting distance between himself and the iron door.

He knew there were two men handling the transport, so he'd been mentally prepared from the start.

But the sudden stop of the truck, and the fact that one of them was a Nen user, caught him off guard.

More importantly—

Judging by the timing of the knife attack, the other man had likely already assessed the situation inside the compartment before the truck stopped. That was why he'd let his gun-wielding companion open the door.

And since the companion hadn't shown any heightened alertness when opening the door, the other man clearly hadn't shared key information with him.

In other words, he'd deliberately used the gunman as bait, letting him open the door to draw out the threat while serving as a distraction.

The man...

Was utterly cold.

Moro pressed himself against the side wall, his expression grim.

He glanced up at the dim corner of the ceiling, catching a faint red glow.

A surveillance camera.

He looked away, frowning.

Not anticipating these factors was a failure on his part—he hadn't covered all the bases.

Especially the possibility that one of the transporters might be a Nen user...

But Moro never dwelled on regret or frustration. Learning from mistakes and failures was the principle he always followed.

That was the very reason he'd managed to turn an antique shop around and achieve steady profits in less than half a year.

In the antique and handmade art trade, deception, setups, and forgery were rampant.

Moro had been cheated before, and more than once.

But those experiences had forged the crucial expertise he now relied on to handle all kinds of situations.

Moro looked toward the compartment door.

The other man still hadn't shown himself since making his move.

And one thing bothered Moro.

He was certain that when the man struck, he'd had a clear opportunity to seriously wound or even kill him.

But he hadn't. Instead, he'd aimed for the leg.

A cold-hearted bastard who could sacrifice his companion in an instant, yet he'd held back.

"So... the 'cargo' matters more to him than the risk of his bait dying..."

Moro realized this.

The so-called "goods" naturally referred to them, the human cargo.

From this, Moro deduced that the other party must bear the responsibility of ensuring the goods remained intact as much as possible, and he couldn't help but think back to the attack on the transport vehicle that had led to the deaths of most of the piglets...

Was there some hidden reason behind this?

Could this, in turn, indirectly confirm the importance and value of their batch of goods?

Unfortunately, although he had been lucky enough to survive back then, he had quickly lost consciousness.

When he woke up, he was already on the spaceship heading to the Kakin Nation.

At that time, he had no memories of this world, and to make matters worse, he couldn't understand the language, so he had no way to immediately learn the cause and effect.

Afterward, he hadn't bothered to look into it.

Otherwise, if he had known more, he might have grasped more information now.

What he could confirm at present was that the priority of ensuring the goods' integrity for the attacker was even higher than the lives of his companions.

Perhaps he could exploit this...

Moro first quickly checked his wound—it wasn't deep, but without taking measures to stop the bleeding, it would remain a hidden danger.

He didn't have much time left.

"Hm?"

At this thought, Moro's pupils contracted as he stared intently at the carriage door, which remained utterly still, then turned his head to glance quickly at the flying knife embedded in the wall.

Time...

The other party was undoubtedly the one in control, yet showed no sign of pressing the advantage, not even revealing themselves.

Was it excessive caution, or were they waiting for something?

Moro fixed his gaze on the flying knife, unable to discern any clues for now, and had no intention of rashly pulling it out to use as a weapon.

Still, he vaguely felt he couldn't let this stalemate drag on—he had to make a choice.

Let's gamble.

Moro suddenly charged toward the carriage door.

Beyond his line of sight, Zazan heard the commotion and instinctively raised his left hand. Nen surged as a flying knife materialized out of thin air, and he was about to hurl it toward the sound.

The entire sequence of movements, along with his on-the-spot reaction, was rooted in his combat instincts.

But the rationality that followed made him forcibly suppress the urge to throw the knife.

Because under the influence of the blind spot, his predictive attack might very well kill a piglet by mistake.

It was this split-second hesitation that allowed Moro to leap out of the carriage smoothly, landing over ten meters away, and then see Zazan standing by the side of the transport vehicle.

He guessed right.

Seeing that the other party hadn't struck, Moro steadied himself, subtly glanced at the spot where the flying knife was lodged deep in the carriage, and then tensed his nerves, ready to adapt on the fly.

Zazan gripped the flying knife tightly, his gaze toward Moro barely concealing his astonishment.

This brat... too strange.

"Are you always this brave?"

Zazan fiddled with the flying knife, his expression blank.

Moro said nothing, using the time to let his body acclimate to the flow of Nen.

Seeing Moro's silence, Zazan frowned and said coldly, "If I had struck just now, you'd be half dead at best."

"You could have done that from the start, couldn't you?"

Moro's face was calm.

"..."

Zazan's expression shifted.