He teased his hair a little more before stepping out into the coliseum. As soon as the spotlights outlined his figure coming out of the fighters' waiting area, it began, the thunderous applause, the screaming. This was adoration, the crowd having paid orbital sums to see him. And they could afford it, couldn't they? This was the underground's high society; mafia bosses, businessmen with more than a few shady connections, politicians who indulged in voyeuristic violence. Occassionaly, acclaimed actors and supermodels would find their way into this crowd, if they knew all the right people. In the Celestial Tower, there was a thin line between organized crime, politics and glamour.
It was rapture. He loved every moment of it, the world's most powerful putting their lives on hold to watch him do what he did best. He would kill a fighter during a match just as they were one or two wins away from becoming Floor Master.
His eyes scanned the crowd, noting the steel gaze of an elderly, well-dressed man in one of the rows closest to the ring. This businessman had wagered half of his family's estate on Hisoka's victory.
"They say you're the next big thing around here", says his opponent, a tall and lean man in his mid-fifties. He had been a farmer who discovered his nen abilities defending his land from poachers. His sun-browned face had deep creases across the forehead and around the mouth. The wrinkles around his eyes indicated a gentle sense of humor. "But three victories aren't anything. Only a quarter of Tower fighters live through their fourth match. I'd say you're wet behind the ears, boy", he said with an easy smile, and deftly scratched the stubble on his chin.
The crowd roared. "Tell me that after I put you in a wheel chair, old man", Hisoka said. He liked it when his opponents came off condescending; it created tension on the ring. Any dramatist will say that conflict is essential to a good show. "Has-beens have no business fighting new blood", he added. His left hand reached for the pack of cards hidden behind his right sleeve, and the fight commenced.
More than an hour later, Hisoka would not remember any details of how it happened except that it was sheer ecstasy, the feeling of going higher and higher until he thought he couldn't take it anymore, and finally, the release, his opponent's scream as his cards sliced through the man's neck, nearly decapitating him. He had a vague recollection of creating an illusion on the floor with his Dokkiri Texture, and asking the opponent whether the world was indeed round or really flat, as a distraction. The man, having been a farmer, god rest his soul, answered in earnest. Then there was that nicely-dressed business man getting up from his seat with a smug look on his face.
Adoration. Fans trying to push their way to his dressing room. Security managed to keep them at bay, letting them shout praises ("My kid looks up to you, man!") and pregnancy claims ("Remember York Shin?") without letting them get too close. He was still too dazed with pleasure to say anything witty. He could only afford them a brief smile, one of a content man who had the world at his feet.
After one of the doctors did a check on him and found two broken ribs, they put him in a medical corset and sent him on his way.
That night, the Tower sent a limousine to pick him up from his quarters. He had on a black, pin-striped suit, and polished leather shoes. He gave himself a pleased look in the mirror. Two years ago, he didn't even know what cuff links were for, or aftershave. But these were things that the Tower's shareholders lavished on him. He generated profit for the Tower, and they took note of his bankability. He was strong, but more than that, he had charisma. People wanted to see what he would do next. He could break into a song-and-dance number, and they would still buy tickets for the next match.
Some of his shareholder patrons reserved a fancy restaurant uptown in celebration of his victory. When he got there, the guests were already chatting among themselves. They stopped briefly to acknowledge his arrival, with some of them approaching to shake his hand and compliment the match. Most of these were people he had never met before, and the only ones he knew by face have been to all of his matches. But that made no difference. They talked to him like he was an old friend, treating his success as if it were their own.
"Congratulations, Mr. Hisoka." It was the businessman who placed bets on him earlier. Clark, was it? "Your fighting style is impeccable. My business associate lost his Jaguar to me earlier."
"Is that right?", Hisoka said, flashing him a smile. Please don't let this be another conversation about sports cars, he thought. Sports cars, he believed, were just like teddy bears. Darling things, but useless. Besides, he preferred balloons to teddy bears.
"I have someone here who wants to be introduced. She's a big fan", Clark said with a wink. He led Hisoka to a woman sitting by herself at a table. She was in her mid-forties, but she was wearing a juvenile, black tube dress. She looked young for her age, and anyone who knew the tricks of the trade would notice the perpetually surprised look on her face, as well as the slightly protruding upper lip. She beamed when they neared her.
"So, this is the man of the moment. You look more handsome without face paint." She offered her hand for him to kiss, but Hisoka wasn't well-versed in upper-class pleasantries. He shook her hand instead. He'd seen shareholders do that a lot with each other. The woman, however, took this for coyness. "Please, sit with me. I don't get a lot of interesting company these days."
"I don't see why not", Hisoka said with a smile, and sat next to her.
"This is Mrs. de Luca, Hisoka. She owns half of Europa's fashion empire. She's a former model and a good friend of mine", Clark said with fondness.
"Oh, call me Alex. You shouldn't be afraid to get familiar with me", she told Hisoka.
"Never", Hisoka purred. He could tell she was all too willing to get familiar. She had the air of a woman who got everything she wanted out of life, that is, except for a happy marriage. "Why, I feel like we can get to know each other very well". He might as well amuse himself.
"Why don't I leave you two alone?", Clark said with a mischievous gleam in his eye, and went to greet some colleagues.
"Tell me, how does it feel to be a brawler? Putting your life on the line like that. It must get so hard", Alex said, as if she were talking to a puppy. She let her fur stole drop lower around her shoulders.
Hisoka took offense to this, but nothing gave it away save for a slight furrowing of the eyebrows. He kept his hands folded together on the table. "A brawler? You're mistaken, dear", he said, affecting the same tone of joviality he mustered earlier, "I'm not a brawler, I'm an entertainer. I make people happy. And there's an art to everything I do." How dare this washed-up woman liken him to common, back-alley brawlers. If she saw any of his matches, she would know that they were pure drama - his deceit and the look on his opponents' faces as the show came to a harrowing conclusion. It was always catharsis for the audience.
Alex smiled; she thought this man was very precocious. "Oh? Tell me more about this... this art of yours", she said, playing with the pendant around her neck, oblivious to the damage she had just done.
"Well, it's a little complicated, you see", Hisoka said, putting a hand on his chin, "I can't really put it into words. But I can demonstrate."
"Show me", Alex said. Hisoka took a table napkin and blindfolded her with it. She laughed. "So soon? I didn't think you'd be a man of such, how do you put it? Inclinations?"
"You have to surprise your audience, Alex. Grab them by the neck", Hisoka said. If she could see his face, she would see his large, chesire grin. He wrapped another napkin around her right arm, and created an illusion with it. It wasn't his best work, he mused, but it would have to do for this occassion.
"You can look now."
When she removed the blindfold, she saw a large, festering wound on her right arm. There was yellowish-white pus inside the deep incision.
"How do you like it?"
A thin scream disrupted the party. By the time concerned party-goers reached their table, Hisoka had removed the table napkin. "Look at the commotion you've caused. Is this any way to behave with the man of the moment?", he said, as if scolding a child. Alex stared at him with a bovine look on her face. She might as well be seeing a holy apparition.
Whispers from the guests The quartet of violinists had stopped playing and looked in their direction.
"Is everything alright?", Clark asked, taking his friend by the shoulders.
"You'll excuse me if I leave early, won't you?", Hisoka said, rising from his chair, "my real match starts tonight."