Aftermath

The next morning, sunlight slanted through the porthole.

Outside the third-deck vault, the floor was a wreck.

Shell casings lay scattered everywhere. The walls were scored with blade marks and bullet holes, and the smell of gunpowder and blood still hung in the air.

Leorio hurried from one wounded person to the next with several medics.

Bandages and medicine disappeared fast. Sweat never stopped beading on his forehead.

Gon rested against the wall, then braced himself against it to stand.

He put some strength into his right hand.

Crack.

A small patch of wall caved in.

Gon froze. He looked down at his hand, then at the dent in the wall.

"Killua," he called, turning his head. "Look at this."

Killua came over, glanced at the dent, and raised an eyebrow.

"You've gotten stronger lately."

Gon scratched his head.

"Have I? Maybe the training's paying off."

Killua said nothing.

He had felt it too.

It wasn't just strength. His reactions were faster, and his wounds healed more quickly than before.

It was as though something inside his body was quietly changing.

He couldn't say what it was.

Nor did he connect it to anything he had eaten.

Kurapika stood at the vault entrance, lightly tapping his chains with a finger.

He was reviewing last night's battle.

Pariston's private soldiers, the Mid-Stage Infected, the Disaster Specimen, the Troupe...

And that mysterious door.

There were too many clues, too tangled to piece together yet.

He took a deep breath and stepped into the vault.

He passed rows of shelves and reached the far end.

The door was still there.

It stood silently against the wall, utterly out of place.

The light in its seams was much fainter than last night.

It was almost invisible.

Kurapika walked up and pushed.

It didn't budge.