In the darkness, a single beam lit the little girl.
Pink ribbon in her hair, eyes and tongue bulging, she reached for Moritonio—and from the black behind her surged countless hands. Some yanked his hair, some clawed his mouth, some choked his neck, some locked his legs—dragging him down into endless dark…
"The grudges of the wronged usually return to heaven and earth once the great revenge is done—hard to seize or use…"
"That Roy boy is different. He seems able to absorb the strength of the dead to fortify himself…"
The day after Roy left, Zeno came as usual to massage the old man. They talked about the kids at home; the elders inevitably pick at their grandsons. Maha lifted his chin so Zeno could reach his back and hummed, pleased. "Fate differs for everyone. If he can do it, that's his ability.
"Going out is good. Keep him penned up and he'll turn into a man-baby."
To "temper the heart," you must endure. Strong Nen users have firm minds; good or evil, they don't shatter at a touch.
"You're right, Grandfather," Zeno agreed. "That boy's visualization is the sun—to save all beings. It makes sense, in Buddhist terms, that spirits are drawn to him…"
Buddha?
Maha cut him a glare—was the brat teasing him?
Buddha? "Save all beings"? "Is that Netero brat coming again?!" Maha's tone went sharp, eyes dangerous.
Since Zigg's death, the brat looked for excuses every few days. Did he think Maha was nothing?
Zeno shut up—neither confirming nor denying. He knew well how his grandfather resented Netero for spiriting Father away. But on the twentieth anniversary of Father's death, when the man asked to see an old friend, a son could hardly refuse. And thus—
One kick—
sent Zeno flying.
"Go find your Buddha. I'm done with you."
Crash—glass shattered. Far away, Zeno dwindled to a black dot…
He'd nearly been kicked into post-mortem Nen…
That's how terrifying resentment becomes once it's piled high.
Glam Gas.
In the dark, the girl wrapped Moritonio's throat and whispered:
"Brother… I missed you… truly… so very much…
"It's been forty years. Tell me—why did you strangle me that night?
"You don't know how it hurt… how I couldn't breathe… I begged you to stop—and you squeezed harder… So, dear brother Moritonio—answer me!
"Am I your sister?
"Look into my eyes—and answer!"
A black column of spite ripped skyward; birds fled. Torn down to hell, a man who spent a life chasing astonishment finally discovered he could fear—could dread—and couldn't face his sister's death-mask. He kept darting looks at Roy as if to say save me…
Roy didn't move. He drew the cane blade free, a fountain of blood behind it, and said evenly: "Your sister's right here. Try asking her."
Moritonio: "…"
He had never imagined the blade he loosed years ago would circle the world and return to cut him.
A hand clawed out—more hands dragged it under.
The malice towered; among all the spirits Roy had seen, the girl's was the heaviest. He could scarcely imagine the pain of being murdered by kin for not looking astonished enough—then stewing forty years with nowhere to speak.
He simply watched.
Pop— Moritonio's soul burst like a bubble as it sank fully into the dark.
A night breeze slipped through the alley, lifting Hisoka's red hair. The clown boy lounged on the wall, interested.
The girl, bereft of mooring, stood dazed a long time. She looked to Roy and curtsied, pinching her skirt.
Through her bowed head Roy saw the pink butterfly ribbon in her hair.
He heard her, faintly: "Brother—thank you."
"You're welcome." He sheathed the blade and nodded.
A clarity followed—she was strong; her grievance heavy.
Unlike the weak souls he'd absorbed—unable to stand between heaven and earth and thus dissipating—she, born of hatred and bound by blood, could roam a while even without a tether—sky for quilt, earth for bed—if she willed it.
Night deepened; a few leaves settled on the corpse.
The girl straightened and rode the wind to see the world—neon and traffic, the churn of life. In a blink forty years had passed—everything changed; nowhere to stand.
Much she didn't recognize—too many masks and fake smiles. Fear crept in. Without hesitation she dropped into Roy's arms—perhaps the only warmth she still craved.
"No… brother, I hate this world. I don't ever want to be human again…"
[Notice: Life Energy +50]
Faintly, Roy caught her whisper. Leaning on the cane blade, he tipped his head back to the night, bangs lifted in the breeze—his mood a quiet sorrow.
Clap clap clap… Applause broke the silence.
Hisoka spread his arms. "What a spectacular performance. ♡"
Eyes drunk, savoring.
Gotoh cut him a glance and edged close to Roy. The girl he'd shielded was safely out of the alley—likely home by now.
Three in a narrow alley—two men and a clown. It felt… wrong.
"If I said you actually stole my prey, would you believe me?"
Hands in pockets, Hisoka hopped down, gaze locked to Roy's, tongue licking his lip.
"Drop the act." Gotoh slid his hands into his pockets—coins hidden in his fist—and stared back coldly.
Time folded; a fated encounter seemed pulled forward.
The young butler stepped to shield the young master. "Moritonio was your boss. As his ally you had countless chances to act. Why didn't you move sooner?"
To blame the young master now? Even a butler's patience has limits—especially where the young master is concerned.
"Heh-heh-heh…" Hisoka hooked his face, peeking through his fingers at Roy with a chill smile. "Because your master is more… tempting. ♡
"Aaah—subarashii—too beautiful, too perfect. I want to eat him…" His expression twisted, and a foul intent surged from him toward Roy.
Gotoh narrowed his eyes, coins ready—then a hand stopped him. A breeze skimmed his shoulder and—
Roy's suns lit. Remnants trailed where he'd stood. In Hisoka's widening pupils, the boy read everything—palm on the face—head and neck rammed into the wall. Only legs and arms stuck out; a twitch, then stillness.
So yeah—
"Why the hell are they always perverts?"