"Young master, it's Luke on the phone…"
In the speeding sedan, a ringtone trilled.
Gotoh gripped the phone and asked carefully. Roy, chin propped in one hand, watching the scenery slip by, had already sensed it. "Answer."
Click.
"Luke relaying the master's exact words—reminding the young master not to forget those three lashes."
The Zoldycks don't raise idlers. Butlers train hard; masters, harder.
Roy could practically see Silva's unsmiling face. He watched the view slide backward and said nothing.
Skree—
Soon the car pulled up at the airport.
Gotoh hopped out first, opened Roy's door, then popped the trunk and grabbed the luggage. Master and valet both dropped into Zetsu, reined in their aura, and blended in as ordinary travelers.
Airship to the United States of Saherta, with a layover in Glam Gas.
The crowd poured out of the terminal; the moment they crossed the threshold, the city's contrast with Bato hit them.
Streamers in the air, whistles, buskers, a chorus of delighted shrieks—far noisier than Bato…
Glam Gas truly deserved "Capital City of Enjoyment"…
"Young master, let's look around." With bags checked and a full free day ahead, Gotoh swapped to a small shoulder bag, followed Roy into a cab.
"Driver, do you know where the Moritonio Troupe is performing?"
"Royal Gram's got a show."
"Heh—here for the 'Sky Swimming' too, eh? That Moritonio fella's a marvel—don't know how he does it. No wires, nothing—just flies up there…" The driver chattered, and without prompting stomped the gas straight to the theater.
Gotoh paid; they stepped up beneath the marquee.
"Royal Gram" blazed over the entrance.
Gotoh wondered how the young master even knew this circus.
Roy didn't. He had no interest in the show. He was here for Life Energy.
Not knowing and not killing is one thing; knowing and not killing is another. Knowing Moritonio was a sadist killer, being here, and having time—there was no good reason not to act.
He didn't claim to be a good person, nor from normal stock. But doing what he wished, when he wished—nobody could stop him.
Besides, the sun drives out the dark. For a heart set on the sun… this would be easy.
"Wow—'Sky Swimming'—it's Moritonio!"
Tickets in; the act was in full swing.
They stood by the wall rather than sit and stared center stage. A middle-aged man in a top hat with a full beard held a cane far more ornate than Roy's—floating through the air as if swimming. The crowd roared.
"Nen?"
"Young master, this Moritonio's a Nen user…"
No rigging, and yet he flew—against all natural law. Gotoh had suspected as much in the cab. Now he focused Gyo on his eyes—the Nen line was clear, running to the ceiling, suspending Moritonio and letting him "swim."
"Nen users have to eat. Busking's no surprise." Roy saw farther. Besides Moritonio, other Nen users lurked on site—his prop girl Abachi, and not far from them, hidden in the dark, a red-haired clown savoring a spade Ace with his tongue as he watched.
"Heh-heh-heh… don't look at me if you're not here to enjoy the show," the clown murmured, as if sensing Roy's gaze. He cocked his head—about Roy's age, eyes interesting, full of stories…
Hisoka's eyes crescented; he and Roy locked stares across the lights. Roy withdrew his gaze, only skimming him, then returned to the stage. Hisoka's card paused between his teeth—his shoulders shook in an unreadable chuckle…
"Bravoooo! Moritonio—encore, encore—don't you dare leave!"
Thirty minutes later the act neared its end.
Unable to resist the crowd's heat, "the star" gave them five more minutes before retreating backstage to rest.
"Boss, water." Abachi packed props and followed him into the dressing room. Moritonio drank and exhaled. "Where's Hisoka-kun?"
"Were you looking for me? ♡" The curtain lifted and a face of star and teardrop peered in.
Arms crossed, Hisoka leaned against the vanity. With him, the Moritonio troupe was complete.
They only awaited the driver-muscle Belize to ferry them back to the hotel.
Moritonio shed his costume, stared at the westering sun and the night rising over the skyline. In the bathroom—out again—a whole other face in place:
Vacant. Wooden. A lost executioner wandering the dark.
Then out of the hotel, melting into the crowd, hunting at will. A lone schoolgirl caught his eye; he tailed her…
Caw… caw… Night deepened; crows called. Unlike the bright avenues, the alley was ink black—hand before face lost. The girl's twin tails swung; cram school had just let out; she was dreaming of no homework when a shape loomed—eyes went wide—hand clamped her mouth and slammed her to the wall!
"Surprised? What a fresh face… Good girl… let Uncle see it—your exquisite terror and despair… Now—wider eyes—yes… like that… Crying? Why cry… Smile. Smile for me."
Schlitt—
A white arc flashed—taking an arm with it—
Blood spattered the wall. Moritonio froze; the girl was gone—cradled by a young man with a neat beard… and in front of them stood a boy with a cane blade, face unreadable.
"Am I calling you 'Hundred-Face John Doe' or 'Superstar Moritonio'?"
"Discovered, was I?" He hooked a finger under his face and laughed low. "Brave of you, boy. Show me your look of shock?"
Cre-eak—
The cane blade in Roy's hand twitched… Moritonio pointed lazily—
The blade turned on its master, tore free of Roy's grip, spun in the air—and stabbed back at him.
"Blood Magnet": convert aura into magnetism, command metal at will. That was also the secret of "flying"—his Nen line didn't just hang from the ceiling; it held him, too.
~~~
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