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FLAWED PERFECTIONISTS
The Fallen Angel and the Last Kuruta

A Bookstore, A Basement, and Two Post-Apocalyptic Survivors

Chapter 1

The Dead-Silent Reader in Black

In the months Kuroro had spent living what people called a 'normal life', he had expertly evaded boredom. To be honest, that was not very difficult with people around. Humans are truly entertaining. Kuroro thought to himself, his mouth set in a skewed line of studious curiosity. What was the meaning of life? Probably to give it a meaning. Some spectacular paradox of futility!

It was often said that although individuals are rational intelligent beings, groups exhibit behavior that could be described as self-destructive at best, stupid at worst. Kuroro liked reading about it in the field of behavioral finance. Every single market crash, economic crisis, and financial meltdown could be adequately explained by this concept. These people have the financial supervision they deserve, and the leaders they deserve. Just look at— Kuroro was about to refer to yet another incompetent president, an official embarrassment for the nation, but he decided against it. In fact, he couldn't care less, and he was getting distracted by… politics for Pete's sake. He might have read one too many social sciences books this week, Kuroro admitted to himself.

To rationalize the inherent uncertainty in the behavior of social beings was one reason why he enjoyed social sciences. In the course of his study, Kuroro was hoping to find redeeming qualities, but it only became painfully apparent that human behavior was completely stupid: a comedy so full of dramatic irony that even the actors were unaware they were on stage.

Kuroro caught himself looking out the window, watching the passersby. As he collected his textbook and moved to another, more isolated desk, he thought about the act of observing unsuspecting others. Suppose someone was observing him; judging his behavior to be haughty and oblivious; an enemy, or a fan, why exclude the wild possibility? Or simply someone reading about his life in an account written by an author who had absolutely nothing better to do than to write about him. Scrap that possibility. He dismissed the entire idea, since he was sufficiently self-critical to serve as an adequate observer of his actions. Q.E.D., he thought with amusement.

'Quod erat demonstrandum': one of the most satisfying punctuations in mathematics, which meant 'What was to be demonstrated' in Latin, and which indicated the end of the proof for a theorem. There was this weird sickness, widespread among mathematics aficionados, which entailed using Q.E.D. in non-mathematical contexts to emphasize a point of logical deduction. And Kuroro had just exhibited the first symptoms.

Even with no one around, there were many things to do. Kuroro enjoyed his own presence more than a healthy narcissist, and he was comfortable with that fact. His self-love, filling his heart, had left no space for anyone else, and the resulting lack of attachment had been instrumental for his survival. Self-entertainment aside, Kuroro Lucifer also had many books to read. Since the activation of the chain around his heart, Kuroro had lost use of his Nen; and all communication with the Spider had been cut off. He took the Kuruta's Curse as a vacation. The type of vacation 'normal people' enjoyed in their 'normal lives'. Whenever he started thinking about people other than himself, it was an indication he needed a break from his Phantom Troupe.

The Troupe banded together on big occasions to pull off legendary heists. Being Danchou, their boss, for a month was more than enough stress and responsibility for a year. Yes, Kuroro had stress. He still had to deal with Hisoka, but Kuroro was in no hurry to get in touch with the clown.

He sighed. Kuroro liked his team more than anything else but being their leader 24/7 was too much to handle. He thought of Jesus with twelve apostles expecting miracles on a daily basis. What he liked to call 'Nobunaga's management' was time consuming. Convincing Machi to act against her instinct in a diplomatic manner, or getting Bolonerov to express an opinion which would decide on a course of action were exhausting tasks. Then there was Feitan. Kuroro fundamentally disagreed with his approach to, everything, really; but there were cases where torture had proven effective. It was just too messy; it lacked elegance. Blood was supposed to remain inside people's bodies, that was basic anatomy. He had seen Feitan's white fingers on sharp metal all too much... Kuroro looked around to think of something else: the books were stacked in an orderly fashion all around him. This was no surprise; it was the math section. No one ever came here. After all, who would read this for fun? He got back to his book, which he was reading for fun.

Kuroro's quest for knowledge directed his life. He would use any means necessary to advance his mastery. Stealing was not even a second nature, it was the story of his life. His most powerful ability, Skill Hunter, relied on how thoroughly he understood each stolen Hatsu. Many conditions had to be fulfilled before he could use his victim's Nen creation as his own. On every page of his Skill Hunter, a detailed and illustrated explanation dissected the Hatsu ability. To steal someone's ability, he had to know everything about it. First, understand the theory behind the Hatsu ability, why it was invented, and what it was meant to accomplish. Second, master its applications. Adapt the ability to new uses and objectives. Last, explore the mind that created the skill for increased association and further reference.

Nothing short of this knowledge compiled in a notebook worthy of Leonardo da Vinci could constitute a condition restrictive enough to use this repository of Nen. If God had made Man, who in turn developed Nen, Kuroro Lucifer made it into the greatest power known to Man and God, assuming there was a God, which to the best of his knowledge was not the case. Indeed, pride must have been his downfall in a former life, and he was comfortable with that. Hence the name Lucifer, the Archangel, Bringer of Light.

With Kurapika's Judgement Chain, he could not expose himself to Nen. If he observed Hatsu abilities, it was probable that his survival instinct would react to anything threatening or interesting, activating his own Nen and the Kuruta's doomsday device as a result. Being a resourceful man, Kuroro had found a safe training method. Safe. Kuroro laughed inwardly. Studying ancient cultures and their theories was just the same to him as completing the requirements for adding a page to his Skill Hunter. The Western civilization's mathematics of the post-imperialist period was among his all-time favorites for this exercise. Presently, his mind was engulfed in this new textbook on fluid dynamics.

The Benjamin-Bona-Mahony Equation (BBM)

also known as the Regularized Long-Wave Equation (RLWE)

is the n-dimensional Partial Differential Equation

Ut – Laplacian of Ut + div phi(U) = 0

For any sufficiently smooth function phi. Preferably analytic. He thought to himself. This felt precisely the same as stealing abilities for some reason. Is it perhaps that I can read other people like an open book? Kuroro had made too many puns about books recently. Even he was starting to feel the cringe. Thinking back to stealing abilities, Kuroro realized that the skills he needed were not widespread. Reading about this BBM Equation, for example, must be extremely tedious for a majority of people; otherwise the math section would be crowded like any other section in this bookstore. Kuroro almost added a QED to his proud realization, but managed to hold back.

In Euclidean space, using Cartesian coordinates, BBM becomes

Ut + Ux + UUx – Uxxt = 0

And ooooo look at that tail of interference! Kuroro was happy where he was, with what he was doing. Kuroro was an aesthete at heart. Good old Western mathematics was one of these fields which was guaranteed to satisfy his taste for beauty. Kuroro put down the pen he was using to take notes in the margins and well beyond the margins of the library book. Where is the mathematical derivation of the solution to BBM? No proof appendix? Right. It's a third order non-linear PDE. So that's chapter 10. He couldn't let go, even from the frustration. Every time he pushed himself to the limit, he could feel his heart aching. The Chain Assassin's Curse was warning him not to use his abilities. He would have to figure this out by himself. He was capable of seeing this through.

Kuroro did impose this on himself for fun, and he was having fun, swimming in somebody else's mind. There were five authors. He could distinguish three clear influences and personalities. Maybe the others were proof-readers.

Kuroro caught himself drowning in the breath-taking beauty of the tail of interference, and turned the page to assert his self-control. Picture books were the best. He missed his own conjured book, and his beautiful bookmark. He hadn't even gotten the occasion to test out the bookmark ability, and that Kuruta had taken it away from him. Kuroro Lucifer made a childish face to show the world how upset he was about it, then he decided to keep his head above the water and concentrate on the problem, pen in hand.

oooooo o oooooo
Flawed Perfectionists
oo o oo

Kurapika had finished his last shift before a well-deserved break. Did he even have any of those? They were breaks in name only, but his hopes for respite were up. Kurapika removed the black lenses he wore professionally. He neatly stored and locked away the knife he was required to have at work before sitting on his sofa, a piece of furniture which enjoyed a panoramic view of the ocean all day long. The sofa objectively had a better life than him, but Kurapika was not at the point where he would envy its inanimate existence. The sound of the waves below set a steady cadence for his breathing pattern: it soothed Kurapika's nerves in the exact same way Senritsu's flute worked its magic. He had not seen Senritsu since quitting his job at the Nostrads'.

Kurapika silently disagreed with just about every employer he could potentially work for, but Konstantin Arilyubov exasperated him. He was intelligent. He had the potential to do so much better with his power. The man had chosen Kurapika as his counsellor because the Kuruta challenged his ideas in a constructive manner, but Kurapika was starting to think that Arilyubov was a lost cause. He wanted to think of something less depressing: a situation in which he was not at the short end of the stick.

Kurapika thought about his incredible Nen powers. Kuroro Lucifer's Nen remained suppressed by his Judgment Chain, and the feeling gave him confidence and serenity. It was like gripping an object securely. He felt powerful; in control for once. More than anything, he awaited the day on which he would destroy the Phantom Troupe: his pain and torment incarnated. That man Lucifer would feel retribution, rage, and revenge with a capital R.

Kurapika got ready to leave. He checked the corridors before silently closing the door to his apartment behind him. He was finally going out to get that book he had considered buying for the last few days. He had opted for a light read this time. Something with illustrations and graphs. He didn't really know why he enjoyed reading. He wasn't using books as a means to escape his anxieties, was he? No, Kurapika had been reading for as long as he could remember. He just had an insatiable thirst for information.

Kurapika walked out onto the street, automatically checking his surroundings. Working for the mafia was one thing, but being targeted by flesh-dealers because he was the Last Kuruta brought an increased risk to every outing. Every movement he made was expertly controlled. He seamlessly navigated through the public, and entered the bookstore he had looked up. No one had noticed him. The sound of his chains rang with the bell at the shop's entrance, as his hand casually slid in his pants' right pocket. He was not nervous. Kurapika would ask for the ancient European cultures section, look up the mathematics book on the shelves by authors' names, retrieve it, pay for the item without showing his Hunter's License, and go home, no one the wiser.

He was not apprehensive. Kurapika walked up the stairs and followed the librarian's instructions. He sighed in relief when he found the area empty. Well of course it's empty: this is the mathematics section, genius. Nobody buys these books for fun, and even if you study math, they're provided by the university. After skimming past the first aisle, he noticed a guy studying at a side desk. Kurapika looked left and right. He was out of luck. The math section was all around the man; he would have to ask him to move. His black hair matched the black suit he was wearing, and there was a black pen parallel to the top edge of the book with which he had written on the pages. His handwriting was italicized, small, and neat, and everywhere. Kurapika recognized the textbook this guy was taking notes in. It was clearly not his, because it wasn't even for sale, only for reference. Kurapika frowned disapprovingly at the impossible reality before him. It felt like this display had been expertly crafted to trigger his many OCDs.

It wasn't clear whether he was awake, or even alive, with his head bowed over the book and his black hair down: he was absolutely silent, and the total lack of aura was uncanny. Being silent in a bookstore was far from shocking. It was the void in human life energy which put him off. The raven-haired man felt like a hallucination. Kurapika's eyes went wide at the sight of the white cloth wound around the man's forehead. Kurapika started arguing with himself, his mind muttering answers to his questions.

How did I fail to notice him earlier? Oh, right. My Judgment Chain completely nullified his aura. How did he get here? I stranded him in the deserted plateaus of—that was months ago: he could have walked here indeed. He thought. Never mind. Everything's normal. Lucifer is still alive and well, and no one cares! No one cares! Fine, I'm the only Hunter who cared in the first place, so maybe I should stop caring. How is he still alive? Why is he still alive? Well, nobody killed him and he didn't spontaneously combust, so it is only logical that I run into him, because nobody else cares about Kuroro Lucifer.

Kurapika had encountered his mortal enemy in the city center. Kuroro's presence among the public enraged him, and he felt like he was drowning in the painful light of their common interests. Kuroro had an A-class bounty floating above his head, yet he was literally walking the streets. Actually, reading in a bookstore. Kurapika knew he should have listened to his paranoia. His chains had materialized as soon as he had entered. They knew.

Kurapika had been standing there for more than a minute, staring as if he had never seen someone read a book before. He didn't know what to do next: killing Kuroro Lucifer there and then came to mind more than once, but Kurapika never let his intention show. Kuroro finally looked up at the newcomer, put his book back in place, stood up, pocketed the pen, and pushed his chair under the desk before jumping elegantly over the table. He bowed to greet the Kuruta. Kurapika already felt under attack. You're standing a bit too close to me, but I guess, whatever?

"May I ask what you're doing here?" Kurapika's whisper turned into a hiss entirely on its own accord and lashed out at the taller man's throat. He wanted to yell, to throw him out the window, to defenestrate him, or better yet, make an extra window, but this was a bookstore, and Kurapika was fully capable of controlling his emotions. Kuroro's neatness and good manners were getting under his skin, though. Kurapika had expected Kuroro, the leader of the gang that had destroyed his clan, and that had robbed him from his childhood to be a blood-thirsty brute. Here he was, looking like some hybrid between a student and a businessman, a weird allegory of the intellectual elite; contradicting the image which had fueled his rage.

Kuroro closed his eyes for a brief thought: I gave you a chance to ignore me and to get on with your life, Kuruta. He opened them again and assumed an affable attitude.

"Kurapika, what a pleasure it is to meet again."

Kuroro wanted to add in the same whispered shout Kurapika had used, 'I was reading!' As if it was a secret, but he resisted the burning urge to do so.

"My name is not for you to use. I am here to announce the end of your life is near," Kurapika continued in that same library-appropriate voice of fury.

"Ah I see. You're here to invite me to the funeral," Kuroro said with a straight face.

Kurapika was confused for a moment. Kuroro couldn't possibly be serious: he was utterly defenseless, and he was making fun of his death threat. "I don't like funerals that much. Alternatively I could take you out for dinner. We could resolve this diplomatically. I could sign a paper saying—"

Kurapika got out his handgun, pointed it at Lucifer's temple and pushed the man's head sideways with the armed weapon.

"Move."

Kuroro smiled. He was enjoying himself like never before.

"Here's my phone and my wallet. I can't take you out for dinner?" He ducked and heard the detonation. "Alright! I got it!" When he saw Kurapika had shot the ceiling, Kuroro relaxed back to his serious state. Kurapika stood his ground and rearmed. Kuroro could see that the blonde had gained experience during his employment as a bodyguard. Kurapika looked composed, but in fact he was still trying to decide what to do about Lucifer.

"That was a warning. Attempt anything funny and I'll shoot you this time. You're playing with my anger management here, and I'm afraid at the moment I'd rather tear you to pieces than stand your living person. I've got you chained, so you can't run."

"With such excellent company," Kuroro's face was inexpressive as ever, but he closed his eyes on the word 'excellent' to mock Kurapika a little more, "why would I run?"

Kurapika was unamused: he gestured him to the stairs at gunpoint. He walked close behind Lucifer, gun directed at the criminal. The blonde didn't want Kuroro to involve other people.

"Hands down. Act normal."

There it is again. That word. 'Normal', Kuroro noted.

"My hands were already down," he said calmly, then exclaimed: "and you're the one who shot the ceiling! Who does that?", turning to Kurapika for an explanation, his hands up in the air.

"Why don't you understand orders?" Kurapika asked in desperation as if he were asking why Kuroro was giving up his life so soon.

Oh I understand them; I just choose not to follow them. I give orders from dawn to dusk, around the clock, in person, or from the other side of the world, to anyone and everyone. That's my job description, remember?

Kuroro decided he'd say one word. No more, because clearly Kurapika was losing it.

"Look—" Kurapika's Eyes shot scarlet. "Rhetorical question? Rhetorical question."

Kurapika thought with amazement: I can't even decide whether I should punch him or shoot him first. His breath was shaking.

"Please don't give me another reason to end your miserable existence here and now." Kurapika shoved him forward. Commenting from behind, Kurapika freely expressed his thoughts out loud: "It would be such a shame for this young man to die before saying goodbye to his equally promising friends. Get this man a lover! If at least he were in love, he would be too busy to destroy other people!" Kurapika almost yelled the last words. "Oh but I forgot: he's a lost cause. He has this unfortunate tendency of killing people he's mildly interested in."

Kuroro loved the comments; he could not remember the last time he had gotten so much attention from anyone, expressed in such crude and convincing words no less. The blonde seemed pretty worked up already. In Kuroro's experience, an angry enemy was just as easy to deal with as a drunk one. All he had to do was dodge the fire and press the right buttons; and he would have free entertainment for days.

Kurapika wasn't just any old Hunter: he was the teenager who had gotten farthest in terms of the world's attempt to destroy him. Kuroro almost thanked Kurapika for taking him out of the bookstore to see some real human behavior first hand instead of just reading about it like a thirsty vampire.


Thank you for reading.

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