Joey ran through every second of the fight in his mind.
From the moment it began until now—barely four minutes had passed.
But for Joey, ever since the Palace battle and his use of Dust of the Defeated, time had become something he could feel in his bones.
He remembered the moment the first cursed bullet hit him.
3:17:34 AM.
The second—the one Golden Experience blocked—
3:18:33 AM.
Exactly 59 seconds later. A fraction of a second short—probably from the cat's lunge delaying impact.
Meaning that bullet would have hit at 3:18:34.
One minute interval.
Not a coincidence.
The third came at
3:19:34.
Another exact minute.
And from the time he destroyed that bullet and Killer Queen erased the Wolfkin, about 30 seconds had passed.
So—second bullet at 18:34.
Effect at 20:04.
Third bullet—19:34.
Next effect?
3:21:04.
That meant he had 47 seconds left before his next sense would be stripped away.
And 17 seconds before the fourth bullet was fired.
What if I dodge it?
Can I break the sequence?
But dodging wasn't so simple.
The enemy was a sniper—a master marksman.
Each shot was predicted—calculated.
Even his evasive intent would cause nen to flow… and the shooter would read that.
Every thought, every flex of aura—he tracks it.
Pain pulsed in his forehead.
A graze.
His Ken had held, but the bullet had still touched him.
He knows I'm blind.
Maybe even planned it that way.
If this was his opponent's designed sequence, then vision was always the second to be stripped.
That means next…
Instinct.
Then touch.
Instinct. The "sixth sense." That murky, subconscious warning.
Gone, Joey would be left with only smell and touch.
Smell? In this smoke and ash?
Touch? Only when the enemy got too close—which they wouldn't.
He was already deep in the enemy's trap.
Joey grimaced, raised his hand, and caught another bullet—right out of the air.
He gripped it in his palm.
Warm. Scalding. Almost burning.
And he counted.
One.
Two.
Three—
Thirteen.
Only four seconds left.
Still, he didn't move.
Didn't dodge.
Just stood, aura hardened.
3
2
1
BOOM!
An explosion detonated—not from the enemy, but behind Joey.
He was flung forward, landing hard.
The light returned.
His vision—restored.
Killer Queen's Sheer Heart Attack had detonated just in time.
Joey hit the ground, rolled, and opened his eyes.
The battlefield came rushing back.
There.
Not far—
A chubby young man with two pistols.
One plain.
One wrapped in nen.
You.
Joey's fingers snapped—flipping a coin.
It shimmered in mid-air, morphing into a swallow, wings fluttering toward the shooter's skull.
But the man didn't flinch.
Instead, he raised a finger to his ear.
Don't do it. Blow me up, and you'll never hear again.
The swallow hovered, poised to strike.
Joey glanced at his watch.
"You've got 56 seconds," he said—though he couldn't hear his own voice.
He dropped the hot bullet to the ground.
What the shooter didn't know was—this was Joey's plan all along.
Each bullet he'd caught, he'd used its heat to draw Sheer Heart Attack back to him.
The Stand was sensitive to thermal energy.
Even blind and deaf, even disoriented—
Joey could still use temperature as a leash.
And now?
That one, lucky explosion
—saved him.
Visual recovery confirms it.
Dodging is the key.
Not blocking. Not absorbing.
Avoiding the shot altogether.
That meant the birds he used before?
Still his aura.
Still him.
Blocking didn't work.
Dodging was the only way to survive.
Next up: 3:22:04.
One minute to dodge again.
Or—end it here.
Let's test it.
He stepped forward.
Behind the shooter, Gon had just finished off the Wolfkin.
Figures.
Their side had come out on top—clean and complete.
Joey spoke again—still unable to hear.
"So. What'll it be?
Surrender your curse?
Or go out with a bang?"
He saw the man mouth something.
"Wanna bet… if I've got one more bullet?"
And then—
The pistol lifted.
Barrel to his own temple.
Joey watched in silence.
Bang!
The body dropped.
Joey heard it.
Heard it.
The soft, final thud.
His hearing returned.
"Damn," Gon said, sheathing his rod, "Guess we won't get his name."
Joey didn't respond.
Not yet.
He scanned the street.
"There should've been one more."
Another presence.
One they hadn't seen.
"Someone was watching us," Joey muttered.
Moments later, multiple figures emerged from the dark.
Nob. Kite. Others.
Joey's shoulders relaxed.
"Anyone else in the area?"
Kite's En spread wide—40 meters at least.
He shook his head. "Nothing."
Joey narrowed his eyes.
So the third party retreated.
Or never came in the first place.
"You're thinking someone monitored your movement, right?" Nob adjusted his glasses.
"The three amateur Hunters I hired to drive you—
They vanished.
We found them.
Their eyes were gone."
Joey froze.
"Meaning… they extracted info from them? About me?"
"Most likely," Nob said. "They saw your team split up. Didn't know your names.
But someone had a power to extract that intel."
Joey understood.
He followed Nob's gaze.
If they could see memories—especially through removed eyes—then…
Every corpse here was a liability.
He didn't hesitate.
Swallows, hummingbirds, falcons—
One by one, Killer Queen erased the bodies.
Nothing left.
Not a trace.
Gon started to object—
But seeing Kite and Nob's cold silence, and Joey's unshaken efficiency—
He simply turned to the hospital in the distance.
"…Has Killua made it there yet?"
"He has," Nob said.
Then began updating him on the situation.