The Troupe Leader's Shadow

Late at night, the lights in Yorknew's commercial district were sparse. Clouds dimmed the moonlight, leaving only streetlamps casting rings of murky yellow light across the wet asphalt. Ryan lay prone behind the parapet of an abandoned office building, his cheek pressed to the cold concrete, his body maintained in Zetsu. In the distance, a Nostrade Family warehouse stood silently, like a massive ship moored in a black sea.

Last night, Nobunaga and Feitan had launched their third nighttime raid on the warehouse, only to be forced back by a sniper Nen bullet. But that had merely delayed the storm. Ryan knew that the person who would truly determine what came next was neither the hot-tempered Feitan nor the hot-blooded Nobunaga, but the leader of the Phantom Troupe—Chrollo Lucilfer. In the original story, Chrollo had not truly cast aside his observer's stance and devoted himself to revenge until after Uvogin's death. But now that Shalnark had been sniped in advance and their reconnaissance chain had been broken, Chrollo had even less reason to wait for news. He would certainly inspect the scene himself and learn the full details of the chain user who killed Uvogin and the hidden sniper.

The time reached five past midnight. Yorknew's night wind carried the scent of the tide as it swept across the rooftop and lifted the hem of Ryan's clothes. Suddenly, a low yet distinct Nen pressure silently seeped into the air, as though someone had forcefully pressed down on the night itself and briefly stilled every stray sound. Ryan's heartbeat lurched—the pressure was not wild suppression, but a calm, orderly steadiness, like a blade sheathed in its scabbard. It spoke precisely of absolute confidence in its owner's strength.

He slowly adjusted his focus and looked in the direction from which the Nen