098 Ronnel, a Member of the Phantom Troupe?

A young man, his face marked by several scars, sat casually near the entrance to the next level. His fur vest swayed slightly as he blocked Hisoka's path, his gaze cold and unyielding. His voice, dark and chilling like a whisper from the depths of Meteor City, sent a shiver down one's spine.

"Huh? Who are you?" Hisoka asked, his eyes scanning the surroundings, clearly puzzled. He didn't seem to recognize the man, though something about him felt vaguely familiar.

In front of a large screen, Lippo—unable to view Ronnel and the others—focused on Hisoka's movements, trying to pass the time.

"So that's his plan," Lippo thought aloud, chuckling to himself. "Trying to take revenge on a former examinee, huh? He even begged me to set this guy as a hurdle along the way. Such dedication."

Lippo had heard stories about examinees attacking the examiners the previous year. For someone who enjoyed a bit of chaotic entertainment, granting such a request came naturally.

That's why he placed this scarred, wild-eyed man in Hisoka's path.

"It's not quite as thrilling as Ronnel's imminent peak performance, but it's a decent appetizer before the main event."

Lippo smirked, turning his attention to the screen. "Are the backup systems ready?"

"Still debugging, Prison warden!"

The man with the animal-skin vest tightened his grip on Hisoka, his voice rising in frustration. "You don't remember me, do you?"

Hisoka glanced at him with mild amusement, but the man's glare only sharpened, burning with hatred.

"Since the last Hunter Exam, I've only had one goal… to kill you!"

With a swift motion, Togari drew two curved blades from behind his back, spinning them menacingly in the air.

"I've trained for six months just for this moment!" he snarled, his blades gaining speed, spinning like a deadly whirlwind.

"Oh?" Hisoka's lips curled into a faint smile. "The last Hunter Exam…" Now he vaguely remembered this guy.

But to Hisoka, the man was still weak—his aura hadn't grown much, nor had his abilities.

"I don't see any real improvement in you," Hisoka taunted.

"Shut up!" the man shouted, fury in his eyes. "The wounds you left on me… I'll repay them today! Take this! Unlimited Four-Blade Style!"

With a flourish, the man whipped out four scimitars, juggling them in rapid succession. The display was wild, chaotic—almost amusing to anyone watching from the outside. It looked like he'd spent a year practicing circus tricks instead of honing his combat skills.

Despite the spectacle, the technique had merit. The scimitars moved swiftly, their angles sharp, and the average Nen user would have a tough time countering it. Even Hisoka wasn't entirely unscathed—one of the blades managed to nick his shoulder.

But Hisoka was far from average.

He watched the man's attack pattern with detached curiosity, analyzing the rhythm of the flying blades. Soon enough, Hisoka, with his usual sadistic flair, began to catch the scimitars mid-air using his Bungee Gum. He played with his opponent, pushing him further into desperation.

"No... impossible…" The scarred man gasped, disbelief etched across his face. "I've trained so hard… you… you're a monster!"

With a final, agonizing cry, his resolve crumbled completely. Hisoka's counterattack landed with precision, crushing both the man's body and spirit. Tears streamed from the scarred man's eyes as he collapsed to the ground, defeated, without even having the chance to curse Hisoka with his dying breath.

"Well, that was pointless," Hisoka murmured, casually wiping the small wound on his shoulder. The injury vanished almost instantly, as if it had never existed.

The unsettling smile returned to his lips. "A little amusing, I suppose… Ah, if only Gon were here. This reminds me of the first time we met."

Hisoka's voice echoed in the empty corridor as he continued his slow, deliberate walk towards his next destination.

Back in the ring, Ronnel's words hung in the air, casting a heavy silence over the crowd.

"Now, do you see the proof?"

All eyes were fixed on his right shoulder, where a vivid spider tattoo marked his skin. In the center of the spider was the number 8.

Phantom Troupe… member number 8.

A murmur spread through the audience as they grasped the implications.

Ronnel… a member of the Phantom Troupe?

At the cliff, Leroute's legs gave out. She collapsed to the ground, her body trembling with fear. Horror and despair filled her eyes.

"He's a member of the Phantom Troupe… that murderous group. No wonder his eyes are so cold, so lifeless. No wonder he knows so much about them… No wonder he smashed all the monitors!"

The realization hit her all at once. Ronnel had been revealing his true nature all along, but only now did she understand the full extent of it.

And then it dawned on her—the real reason why Ronnel had destroyed the surveillance equipment.

He intended to kill everyone present.

He'd revealed his identity because no one here would be left alive to tell the tale.

As the weight of this truth sank in, Leroute's despair deepened. She cursed the moment they had ever crossed paths with Ronnel, cursed her own foolishness.

During Leroute's internal breakdown, the noise of her collapse stirred others from their shock, pulling them back to reality.

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