In HxH with Doraemon Pocket

Morin wasn't about to let Kastro dictate the tone of their conversation. His voice grew serious as he spoke:

"This is an excellent opportunity to hone your skills. Eliminating that group will also bring you significant benefits.

"With just this accomplishment, you'd be eligible to become a One-Star Hunter."

Kastro timidly replied, "But I'm not really interested in star ratings…"

"What's this? Hesitating so much... Are you afraid of them?"

Seeing Kastro's reluctance, Morin decided to play his trump card:

"If you really can't handle it, just say so. Your master wouldn't blame you for being weak.

"After all, it's my failure as a teacher if you haven't grown strong—it's not your fault."

The moment Morin used his provocation tactic, Kastro, still under twenty and very much in his youth, felt his blood boil.

"Who says I can't?!"

His voice suddenly grew louder. "A man never says he's not up to the task! I'll take on this fight!"

And with that, the matter was settled.

After explaining everything he knew about the Kute Bandit Group, Morin hung up the phone.

As expected, the young are easily provoked, Morin thought with a small shake of his head. They still need more training.

Meanwhile, on the other end of the call, standing in the hallway of the Heaven's Arena, Kastro's face was calm—entirely devoid of the fiery passion he had displayed moments earlier.

"So, Master underestimates me, thinking a simple taunt is enough to get me fired up?"

A mature smile, one far beyond his years, appeared on Kastro's face.

His past hardships, relentless study, and vigilant experiences during his travels had tempered his mind to be far stronger than most seasoned martial artists.

As for his earlier behavior during the call?

"It's been a while since I've contacted Master," Kastro murmured with a touch of warmth in his eyes.

A little banter and pretending to be immature can help deepen the bond between teacher and student.

"The Kute Bandit Group, huh? Just an aging organization past its prime."

The warmth in his eyes faded, replaced by a confident gleam that reflected his trust in his own strength.

"They've been active in this world for far too long. It's time for them to rest in peace."

Kastro clenched his fists, his lips curving into an eager smile.

"This world no longer belongs to relics of the past like you. As remnants of a bygone era, there's no place for you in the new one!"

A flicker of battle intent shone in his eyes.

"But first, I'll need to gather more information on them. As Master said, never let your guard down or act recklessly.

"They've made quite a name for themselves, so they must have some remarkable skills."

"Even a lion uses all its strength to catch a rabbit. Know yourself and know your enemy, and you'll win every battle... or something like that, right?"

The faint sound of footsteps and murmurs disappeared down the corridor, leaving the hallway in darkness and silence once more.

After a while, another figure appeared where Kastro had stood.

"So, he's taken on a disciple without a word, huh?"

Not even the darkness of the hallway could hide the radiance of her lavender-pink hair or the serene beauty of her eyes beneath it.

"It's truly unexpected," Machi muttered as she stepped out of the shadows, gazing in the direction Kastro had gone.

After teaching a lesson to a casino with Blind Spot Star, she had returned to the Heaven's Arena—the best place to earn a lucrative income.

"Judging by their conversation, this Kastro, the new floor master, has been under Morin's tutelage for quite some time.

"Could it have been when he was traveling with Pakunoda?"

Machi's mind conjured up a scene:

A young Kastro kneeling before Morin, calling him Master, and addressing Pakunoda as "Teacher's Wife."

Morin and Pakunoda would help Kastro to his feet, the three of them appearing as though they were a happy family.

Teacher's Wife... Family...

At the thought of those terms, Machi's delicate brows furrowed slightly.

After glancing once more in the direction Kastro had gone, she hesitated, then began following him.

Morin had expected Kastro to act quickly and take steps within a few days.

However, he underestimated his disciple's enthusiasm.

Within a single day, Kastro used his Hunter License to access the Hunter website and underground black market information channels.

With these resources, he swiftly pinpointed the Kute Bandit Group's location in a city in the northeastern part of the Republic of Bartoria.

Aware that this was no ordinary fight but a true life-and-death battle, Kastro prepared carefully.

After identifying their temporary hideout, he silently lay in wait, watching for the perfect moment to strike.

When the time came, it would be the ideal opportunity to bare his fangs!

Unbeknownst to Kastro, however, someone was tailing him from a distance.

The largest casino in the city, located in the eastern district, stood out with its ostentatious, gilded facade. Inside, the luxurious decor was even more overwhelming.

This was the Kute Bandit Group's current temporary hideout.

Because of this, the usual gamblers were nowhere to be found. Instead, seven bizarre-looking individuals were scattered around the casino's main hall, lounging casually in different corners.

Snap.

A man with a scarred face and bulging muscles that seemed ready to burst crushed the neck of a lifeless professional Hunter in his grip before tossing the body into a corner.

"Is this the standard of today's Hunters?!"

The scar-faced man scoffed with undisguised disdain. "Pathetic fools with no self-awareness think they can step on us to rise to the top.

"What a joke!"

He spat on the ground in contempt.

The Kute Bandit Group never bothered hiding their activities, so over the past few days, more and more Hunters had come looking for trouble.

But based on their performance, it was clear they were just throwing their lives away.

"Well done, Third Brother!"

The other members of the group cheered, clapping for the scar-faced man's actions.

The Kute Bandit Group consisted of seven members, all addressing each other as brothers.

Their hierarchy was determined by strength, with the strongest naturally being the group's leader.

The leader, a middle-aged man with golden hair, blue eyes, and a square face, sat in the center of the hall, nodding slightly as his brothers cheered below.

On the surface, he exuded the authority and composure of a leader, every gesture full of gravitas.

But a closer look revealed a piece of paper clutched in his hand, alternately tightening and loosening, betraying his unease.

The paper bore nothing but a long phone number and Two words as the signature:

Zoldyck Family.

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