NenMaster
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Chapter 72 (2k words)
🕑 Added 2024-11-30 19:27:29 +0000 UTCInitially, the two greasy young men who saw someone blocking their way to ask for directions were about to impatiently shoo him away like a fly. However, when they spotted the bill Morin took out, their expressions immediately brightened.
"We know. Just turn right at the next intersection, then go straight ahead, and you’ll find it."
"Thank you!"
Morin gave a polite nod, handed the bill over, and left.
"Haha, we scored big."
The one who took the money laughed gleefully, stuffing the bill into his pocket.
"Hey, hey, I deserve a share of that too, don’t I?!"
His companion, not pleased with what he saw, instantly objected.
The one holding the money ignored him entirely, shrugged him off, and walked straight ahead.
"Get back here, you jerk!!"
His companion, now furious, immediately gave chase.
"Why should I give it to you? This is my reward for giving directions!"
"Bullshit! We were both talking, which is what caught his attention in the first place. Hand it over!"
"No way!!"
Thus, another routine squabble broke out in the "peaceful" city.
Bosangi was a martial artist who had moved to this city many years ago.
It was said that he had offended some big shot in Yorknew City, which forced him to relocate here.
According to his students and opponents, who had either trained under him or sparred with him, his combat skills were exceptional—enough to pass the Hunter Exam with ease.
Though these claims were likely exaggerated, and most of those people had never experienced the true difficulty of the Hunter Exam, there was no denying it:
Bosangi was indeed a capable martial artist.
Moreover, his teachings had borne fruit. Some of his students had risen to local prominence, while others had gone on to places like Heaven’s Arena to fight and earn significant wealth.
All in all, Bosangi was an undisputed local powerhouse in this city.
Many people sought to learn from him—not only to gain martial skills but also to access his extensive connections and influence.
Most of his current disciples were the sons and daughters of high-ranking officials and wealthy elites, creating a vast and intricate web of relationships.
This only made more people flock to his dojo in hopes of becoming his disciples.
However, those who came purely to improve their combat skills and pursue the path of martial arts had become increasingly rare.
Kastro, who had traveled here with a purpose, was one such person.
At only thirteen years old, he already had strikingly enviable silver hair and emerald-green eyes.
"Wow, he was already so handsome as a kid. He’ll definitely grow up to be stunning," thought Morin, who had arrived at the dojo and was now observing the scene from amidst a crowd of onlookers.
In the future, this young man would be described by Hisoka as a "waste of potential" and, aside from Chrollo, would become the only person to cause Hisoka significant harm.
At this moment, however, the young Kastro was still a teenager, kneeling in a respectful posture before the dojo’s entrance, presenting a sincere request to become a disciple.
Surrounding him, a crowd of onlookers jeered and sneered at him, their mocking gazes filled with ridicule.
Every now and then, people in the crowd exchanged comments, followed by bursts of sarcastic laughter.
Despite this, Kastro’s steadfast determination to pursue martial arts remained unwavering.
Until—
"Young man, stop kneeling there. You must be tired. Come with me, won’t you?"
A group of “kindhearted” overweight aunties approached him, their plump faces beaming with friendliness.
However, their "friendly" gazes carried a certain inexplicable intent as they sized up the boy’s youthful face and physique.
"No, thank you…"
Faced with these well-dressed women, who were old enough to be his mother—or even grandmother—Kastro looked extremely uncomfortable.
He was, after all, just a thirteen-year-old boy. He had never experienced such a situation and wasn’t sure how to handle it.
The thick scent of their overpowering perfumes was nearly suffocating.
The aunties continued to chatter away, bombarding him with questions and feigned concern. But when Kastro still didn’t respond after a long time, their attitudes changed in an instant.
"How ungrateful! And you think Master Bosangi would take someone like you as a disciple? Don’t be so arrogant!"
One of them spat on the ground, cursing as they left with sour expressions.
As peace and quiet finally returned, Kastro let out a sigh of relief.
He closed his eyes again, waiting silently for the dojo’s master to open the door.
"You’re wasting your time. He won’t open it."
Suddenly, Kastro heard a voice. Unlike the boisterous voices of the aunties, this one was male.
Opening his eyes, he saw a man standing in front of him—someone whose good looks were comparable to, if not better than, his own.
"You look like you haven’t slept or eaten properly in days," Morin remarked, resting his chin on his hand. "If you keep this up, your body won’t hold out."
"Thank you for your concern," Kastro replied, shaking his head. "But my resolve to pursue martial arts won’t waver."
"Martial arts?"
Morin smirked as if he had heard a funny joke. "Do you really think the guy in this dojo represents true martial arts?"
"Let me ask you this: in this world, which school of martial arts is considered number one?"
"Shingen-Ryu!" Kastro replied without hesitation.
This school, founded by Netero, the chairman of the Hunter Association, had grown in influence through the association’s teachings of Nen to its examinees.
It was universally acknowledged as the strongest martial arts school in the world.
"If you know that Shingen-Ryu is the best, why are you here, seeking to learn from some random hack?"
"Because I can't reach that level," said Kastro with a bitter smile. "Compared to the distant Xin-Yuan Style, at least Master Bosangji is someone I can see and meet in person."
"I see," Morin nodded slightly.
At that moment—
Click!
The doors of the dojo swung open, making Kastro perk up in anticipation. However, it wasn’t the renowned Master Bosangji who appeared, but rather a group of grim-faced disciples.
"Hey, kid, who are you calling a run-of-the-mill amateur?!"
The one leading the group was a tall, skinny man dressed in a mustard-yellow training uniform, his face resembling that of a gaunt monkey.
"Do you even know who you're talking about? My master, Bosangji, created Bosang Martial Arts, which is famous throughout the city! His name is even known in Yorknew City!" He glared at Morin, his face full of anger.
"Never heard of it," Morin replied, casually cleaning his ear.
"You little—!"
The skinny man and his fellow disciples were instantly enraged.
"I think you came here on purpose to provoke and insult our dojo!" he roared, lifting his leg for a sweeping kick aimed at Morin's head. The force of the kick was powerful, with the accompanying wind whistling sharply through the air.
However—
Bang!
Before the kick could follow through, Morin easily caught his leg midair.
"The angle of your footwork and the posture of your kick have no redeeming qualities," Morin remarked, shaking his head. "If this is what Bosang Martial Arts teaches, it's fortunate that this young man hasn’t officially joined your dojo yet."
"You—!"
The skinny man was a mix of anger and panic. He tried to pull his leg free, but no matter how hard he struggled, his limb wouldn’t budge.
No—more accurately, his leg wanted to move, but Morin’s grip was like an iron clamp, completely immobilizing it.
Crack!
A faint sound of bones breaking was followed by a blood-curdling scream.
"AAAHHHHH!!"
The skinny man collapsed to the ground, clutching his leg as he howled in pain, his voice more grating than a pig’s squeal.
"You aimed for my head to take my life, so I took your leg in return," Morin said calmly, shaking his hand as if brushing off dust. "I’ve already shown mercy. If you provoke me again, I won’t hesitate to let you experience the depths of hell without ever passing through the gates."
"You...!"
The skinny man howled in agony, his eyes brimming with both hatred and insanity.
"Just wait and see!" he spat through gritted teeth before signaling his fellow disciples to carry him back into the dojo.
The surrounding crowd erupted into murmurs.
"Who is this young man? He took down Master Bosangji’s senior disciple in just one move!"
"Such a skilled fighter! Is he here to challenge the dojo?"
"Seems like it. From the way he spoke earlier, he clearly doesn’t think highly of Master Bosangji’s martial arts."
"It’s not that I don’t think highly of it," Morin interjected, hearing the whispers. "I’m just stating the truth. His martial arts have no substance whatsoever."
Morin then turned to Kastro, who was still frozen in shock behind him.
"Even if their martial arts had any merit, did you notice how that guy came at me with the intent to kill? Clearly, they’re accustomed to being lawless thugs. Even if the dojo’s master accepted you as a disciple, do you think you could truly grow as a martial artist in a place like this?"
He locked eyes with Kastro and continued, "To master martial arts, you must first master your heart."
"Master my heart..." Kastro murmured, his eyes flickering with uncertainty.
At that moment—
"There he is!"
A voice suddenly roared from inside the dojo.
"He’s the one who broke Senior Brother’s leg!"
A crowd of disciples clad in mustard yellow swarmed out of the dojo, escorting an older man whose appearance was even more ostentatiously garish.
The old man was utterly unremarkable, with a pair of scraggly goat-like whiskers and a bald, shiny head. His face, sharp and rat-like, was twisted in an expression of cold anger.
"So you’re the one who injured my disciple?" the old man asked, his sharp gaze scanning Morin. His tone was laced with arrogance, as if he were addressing a subordinate.
"You must be Bosangji, the so-called martial artist of this dojo?" Morin asked in return.
"How dare you address my master so casually!"
"That’s right! Answer him properly, you scoundrel!"
The disciples behind Bosangji roared furiously.
"Annoying," Morin muttered, cleaning his ear again. "Is shouting the only martial art you lot have mastered?"
"You—!"
The disciples erupted into a collective fury, though none dared step forward after witnessing their senior’s earlier defeat. Their eyes turned toward their master, Bosangji, seeking his lead.
"You’re quite the arrogant little punk," Bosangji said, his eyes narrowing dangerously.
"At least I have the strength to back it up. Unlike certain people who parade around as martial arts masters, deceiving others," Morin replied with a faint smirk, his gaze piercing through the older man.
He had already noticed—Bosangji’s body showed no trace of nen. His aura nodes were completely closed, meaning he hadn’t even learned the basics of aura control.
To think this man had the audacity to call himself a martial arts master and open a dojo... it was laughable.
It reminded Morin of the hunter exam and that so-called martial artist named Bodoro, who was similarly ignorant of nen and was eventually killed by Killua with a single move.
"You dare accuse me of being a fraud?"
Bosangji laughed in rage. "When I made my name in Yorknew City, you were probably still a glimmer in your mother’s eye!"
"And yet, here you are now, reduced to nothing more than a stray dog hiding in this backwater town," Morin retorted.
"You little brat..."
Bosangji’s face twisted with fury as if Morin had struck a nerve. His gaze grew dark, brimming with murderous intent.
"You’ll pay for that arrogance!" he roared.
Bosangji flung off his sleeves and assumed a combat stance, his hands clawed like a tiger ready to pounce.
"If you’re so eager to die, I’ll personally teach you a lesson you’ll never forget!"
He shouted righteously, preparing to charge forward.
But suddenly—
Whoosh!
Bosangji froze in place.
