"Killua, have you played this kind of game a lot before?" Gon asked.
Killua nodded. "There was a period where I played quite a few." He paused, then added, "Actually, the one who played the most games was Milluki. I'll call him and ask."
After speaking, Killua pulled out his phone and dialed Milluki's number.
"Who?" Milluki's voice came through, mixed with the crunching sound of potato chips. Killua instinctively felt a bit of disdain, but recalling Milluki's past attitude toward him and having now come to understand Nen better, his impression of Milluki had improved considerably, so he refrained from making any sarcastic remarks.
"Brother, it's me—Killua."
"Killua?" Milluki raised his brow. "When did you start calling me on your own? You're not calling to borrow money, are you? I'm telling you upfront—I'm not lending anything."
"...That's not why I called," Killua replied. "I just wanted to ask about something."
"Information, huh? My intel doesn't come free. If you want it, you've got to pay."
Killua's eyelid twitched. "How much?"
"Depends on what you want."
"Have you heard of a game called Greed Island?"
"Greed Island?" Milluki vaguely remembered the name but wasn't too clear on the details, so he quickly turned to his computer and began searching.
"A multiplayer network game, extremely limited release—only 100 units produced. Each one sold for 5.8 billion jenny. There are none circulating in the current market, not even in secondhand sales. It's completely out of print."
Both Gon and Killua's eyes widened at that. The sheer rarity and cost of Greed Island were astonishing.
"I remember trying to buy a copy back then too, but I couldn't get one. It wasn't even about money—nobody was selling."
Milluki paused for a second. "Killua, why are you asking about this? Don't tell me you got your hands on a copy of the console. Sell it to me—I'll give you six billion."
"You really have that much money?"
"That's none of your business!"
Milluki's assassination jobs weren't as high-profile or well-paid as Ron or Illumi's, but he made up for it in volume. Over the years, he'd accumulated considerable wealth, especially since he lived at the Zoldyck estate and had minimal expenses—just snacks and some inexpensive electronics.
"Unfortunately, I don't have the console." Killua shrugged. "But Gon got his hands on a Greed Island memory card. I was hoping you could help us get the console."
"A memory card? Let me see it. Maybe I can reverse-engineer the game data from it."
After getting Gon's consent, Killua mailed the memory card to Milluki. However, no matter what methods Milluki used, he couldn't extract any data. It wasn't a conventional game memory card at all but a Nen construct meant to store aura-based information.
After struggling with it for some time, Milluki gave up and called Ron.
"Ron, it's me—Milluki."
"Milluki, what's up?"
"Do you know anything about Greed Island? I got a memory card, but I can't crack it. I remember you had some serious computer skills."
Ron's eyes flickered subtly. He quickly realized the memory card must be the one Ging Freecss had left for Gon—the timing matched. He also vaguely recalled this arc, where Killua and Gon sought Milluki's help.
"Greed Island can't be cracked, at least not through ordinary digital methods," Ron said. "Milluki, give it up. If you're thinking of restoring the game using that memory card, it's completely impossible."
"This isn't a normal video game—it's a Nen user's game."
Milluki was stunned. "Do you have a copy?"
"Not at the moment, but I've studied it."
He hung up without another word.
Ron had a wiry smile. It seemed his cousin really was an Otaku—right down to his questionable social skills.
But Ron wasn't lying. Greed Island was indeed a game, but not in the conventional sense—it was a real-world interactive environment, built through the collaboration of Ging Freecss's entire team using Nen. Even if Milluki understood the game's true nature, he wouldn't be able to reproduce it. His ability simply wasn't sufficient.
Reproducing the game would require the entire Zoldyck family to commit time, energy, and coordination to develop the corresponding Nen abilities—and their current abilities weren't up to the task. The Zoldycks specialized in assassination, not game construction.
"That means Gon and Killua must be close to reaching Yorknew."
Ron had no intention of stopping them. Gon's choices weren't his to interfere with. Besides, Hisoka was already in Yorknew, and even if other members of the Phantom Troupe wanted to harm Gon, Hisoka would likely intervene. As for Killua, Ron didn't believe that anyone in the Troupe would dare move against him—not with Illumi involved and the Troupe under contract with the Zoldyck family. As long as Chrollo had any sense left in his head, he wouldn't risk turning the entire Zoldyck family into an enemy. Chrollo certainly didn't have that kind of confidence right now.
Ron walked into the ingredient market to make his purchases, while also scouting for crops and livestock suited for farming and cultivation. There was still a large amount of unutilized space in Sumas's space.
The forest region mainly housed magical beasts. The grasslands Ron had entrusted to Parker, who had already managed it well—raising many livestock animals and cultivating fruit trees and staple crops. It was a lifestyle Parker was content with. Parker didn't need social interaction. Having grown up as an illegitimate child with a single mother, he carried a natural aversion to socializing. As long as he had books to read, that was enough. Even so, Parker's aura had been growing at an astonishing rate. After all, he was the most successful test subject from Oster.
Ron also planned to transform the desert and empty zones into self-sustaining environments like the forest and grassland regions—habitats where animals could be raised and crops cultivated for food and resources. Only the pyramid zone and the Trial Grounds were reserved purely for combat training.
With his arms full of fresh produce and supplies, Ron stepped out of the market—just as a figure in the distance caught his eye.
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