Chapter Title: In Which I Have a Tantrum
Rosetta Restaurant X Bloodlust X Kid's Menu
"But as a genius, she's sometimes impulsive." ~Sototsu, the First Examiner
My fingers wrapped around the handle of the gold-plated door for the Rosetta Restaurant, and I tugged, expecting the door to open enough for me to slip through. My arm jerked but the door didn't budge.
A warm, embarrassed flush spread on my cheeks.
So the door was heavier than I anticipated…and I looked like an idiot. But I'd look like a greater idiot if I kept standing here, blushing, with my hand on the handle.
Bracing my heels against the cement, I gave the heavy door a hard yank and stumbled back, nearly tripping and falling on my ass as the door obligingly opened. Cool air rushed out, blowing the long blonde strands of my wig behind my shoulders. Shyly, I stepped in on the deep crimson rug which led from the doorway to a dark, wooden semi-circle reception desk.
Beneath the blood-red rug, the flooring was black-and-white checkered tile much like a chess board; the white marble walls seemed so clean, so white that I would've sworn that they glowed softly. An elegant electric chandelier hung from the ceiling, its lights turned low. Realistic, beautiful marble statues stood poised in corners, in coves, and along the walls. Holy shit, were the wall crown moldings covered with gold leafing?
I admit my mouth fell open a little. My target sure had expensive taste!
A soft sniff caught my attention.
It had come from a pompous-looking host behind the reception desk. Even dressed in a black tuxedo, he looked like a greasy rat. His beady green eyes watched me with disdain, and his abnormally long, thin nose reminded me of a rodent's. Height about five foot seven. Weight approximately one hundred and forty…oh, two? Give or take a few pounds. The host was fairly gaunt and hawkish. Oh, he had slicked back chestnut hair and a pathetic, thin French mustache.
I approached the desk, stumbling once when my heel caught on the carpet. "Um…Seven o'clock reservation for Matsumoto." Well, that was the last name Tsukasa had told me to use to introduce myself at the Rosetta.
"Ah." His nostrils flared slightly and the contemptuous look did not lessen. "Please follow me, Miss Kohana."
I blinked. Did he just call me…?
Rat-Face misunderstood my surprise. "Would you prefer that I address you as Miss Matsumoto?"
Way to make me feel old. "No thank you, sir," I replied politely and softly like a well-mannered rich brat. On the inside, however, the urge to kill Tsukasa resurged. That asshole! Giving me a name meaning 'little flower' was as bad as calling me a pixie or fairy! And there was no way I could get back at him!
By the time we ascended the ornate, white marble grand staircase, my temper had cooled. Screw Tsukasa. I needed to calm down, play my rich-brat role, and pay attention like a professional Blacklist Hunter should. After all, this was a contract and I wanted to eliminate the target as quickly as possible. Red-haired male…who would the lucky man be?
Rat-Face stopped beside a white-clothed table, pulling out a chair. I hardly noticed the gesture. Stopped dead in my tracks, I was too busy staring in disbelief at my unwelcome companion—a colleague dressed in a navy-blue tuxedo, his arms crossed. He scowled. "You're late."
Yukio Genji.
We had taken the Hunter Exam the same year and had passed but during the entire Exam we'd tried to kill each other. No joke. He didn't like me and the feeling was mutual. He was rude, arrogant, insensitive, and had a thick vein of luck going for him.
I poked my tongue at him and lightly replied, "Couldn't be helped. You know, with traffic and all." As I said this, I perched on the chair Rat-Face had pulled out and allowed him to push the chair in. I looked up at Rat-Face and, keeping my green eyes wide, said, "Thank you" in a polite, soft tone.
Generally, after this display, adults would smile back and comment on how well-mannered and cute I was; grandparents even pinched my cheeks, but not Rat-Face. He simply handed me a menu, saying a waiter would return with a glass of water. I think he sensed something was up between Yukio and me.
Why the hell was he here?
"Looks like you still haven't graduated from junior high," Yukio mentioned when Rat-Face was a few tables away. His silver-gray eyes watched me with lazy observance.
Keeping my hand low to the table, I shot him the bird before grabbing a napkin and placing it on my lap. I smoothed out the wrinkles. "So…I guess this is what most people would consider a date?" Of course, Tsukasa had failed to mention anyone else would be at the Rosetta Restaurant while I scouted out my target. I really had to pay more attention to that guy and what he said. Or what he didn't say. "What's your name this time?"
Yukio's head dipped in a slight nod. "Kana Inoue."
My mouth dropped open and a noise of indignity escaped. "That ass," I grumbled. "Why couldn't I be named something nice like Kimi?" Why is Yukio assigned an alias that means 'powerful' while I'm stuck with 'little flower'? There's no justice in the world…
"Or perhaps something more befitting of your character like Inari," Yukio suggested nonchalantly.
"I prefer 'little flower' over 'shrimp' any day of the week," I shot back coolly. "You, on the other hand, should have been named Kiraina."
Yukio didn't react to the verbal barb. It was as if it had whizzed right over his combed black hair. This pissed me off. Very few retorts or snide comments I said had any visible effect on Yukio. Back during the Exam, I had theorized that Yukio's Nen ability was an invisible barrier that caused objects and words to bounce off. Either that or my aim had sucked back then. Kami, Tsukasa sure has a twisted sense of humor—setting me up on an imaginary date with my rival as a cover-up while I observe my target. Was it really necessary for him to send Yukio? Really?
But I wanted to make sure that was his real objective, not just me assuming.
Since Yukio didn't insult me back, I quietly hissed, "What are you doing here, you asshole? If you think you can cut into my-" I stopped abruptly, hearing someone's muffled footsteps. Glancing out of the corner of my eye, I saw a brown-haired man in a black tuxedo bearing a platter with a water-filled glass on it.
A waiter set a tall, ice-filled glass of water on the table before me. "Are you prepared to order, Miss?" Yukio had been saved by the impeccable timing of our waiter. For now. In the mean time, I had to play nice.
At the waiter's words, I blushed a little, embarrassed to be caught off guard.
Whoops. Hadn't even glanced at the menu yet.
But when I did look, I wished I hadn't.
On the other side of the table, Yukio or Kana quickly covered his mouth with one hand, not-so-quietly sniggering and chortling as I sat there, staring down at the menu in my hands. The kid's menu.
F. My. Life.
I was twenty-one years old, damn it, and nearly everyone I encountered assumed I was twelve or thirteen years old! It's not my fault that my aura nodes had opened at an early age! I hadn't even discovered I had unlocked them until two trainers had approached me with questions. Plus it's not my fault that Ten prevents this aura or Nen from leaking like that of a Nenless (or should I say Nen-ignorant) person, thus slowing the aging process!
Because I unconsciously discovered Nen early in my life, I'm cursed to look twelve for years and years!
Yukio's obnoxious snickering grated on my nerves. Ugh, today was not my day.
First, Blondie sprays French Vanilla tea all over my clothes and volunteers me for a contract I'd refused, then Tsukasa ruins my new leather jacket, after that, my make-up artist forces me into a pink sparkly dress and blonde wig, then Yukio appears out of the blue, and now I get handed a kid's menu.
Why couldn't I disappear? Why? Why couldn't the floor just open up, swallow me, and spit me back out on the first floor?
The waiter gently touched my shoulder. "Miss, is something the matter?"
I really wanted to chop off his hand. How dare this bastard hand me a kid's menu so carelessly and then have the stones to ask what the hell was the matter! I should cram this menu down his throat. In fact, I could do it. I was certainly capable.
Clearing my throat, I shook my head, more to clear it from the bloodlust than to silently say no. "Sorry, I spaced out. I'll have the steak—medium well-with the macaroni and side of salad. Caesar, please." Handing the menu to the clueless waiter, I silently prayed that he would leave before I became too tempted to kill him again.
I hadn't been kidding when I informed Blondie that I tended to kill people who mocked me, be it my childlike looks or the fact I was vertically challenged.
'Cute but dangerous' as my Nen trainers had often said.
While the waiter queried Yukio's choice of meal (the jerk had an adult menu), my green eyes focused on the table's centerpiece—a corked bottle of wine, a Pinot Noir, beside a lit tall, thin white candle, a vase with a red and a white rose, and the customary salt and pepper shakers. Rather romantic if one ignored the shakers. What a pity that this date was a pretense and I hated my date's guts…and the waiter's. In fact, I could do something creative with the waiter's guts…Then I realized what I was thinking and that my Nen had responded to my emotions by clouding the waiter with malevolence.
No, no! Fall into the rich brat façade, not hunting mode!
But the poor man had already sensed my ill will in my bloodlust and his sense of self-preservation was kicking in. "I will, uh, be bac—I mean, return with your-your…orders," the waiter stammered. He beat a hasty retreat, power-weaving around the tables to the safety of the kitchen. If I hadn't been in this restaurant on business, I could have leapt from table to table and jumped him if I wanted.
A balled up napkin bounced off my cheek, and I glared at my date, Kana (aka the jerk named Yukio).
My fellow Hunter was unfazed. "Calm down. He's just doing his job." This translated to: control your emotions and your bloodlust; act like a professional.
"He doesn't have to do it so well," I growled irritably. Now that ordering food was out of the way, I could focus on searching for a red-headed man whose head was worth 162,760,000,000 zeni. Hopefully he wasn't handsome. Killing good looking men was such a waste. After a few deep breaths, my eyes performed a visual sweep over the area for red-headed males. That way I didn't have to stare at Yukio's ugly mug. Not many men or women were gingers which meant the target would stick out like—ah ha!
My eyes locked onto the first red-head in the room, and what do you know? A male! Continuing my visual sweep and spotting two red-headed women, it confirmed that there was only one guy in this joint with reddish-orange hair—the target.
The swell of triumph in my chest quickly went cold when I saw the man's face.
Hisoka.
No way…I-It couldn't be him! I mean, since when was Hisoka a ginger! Last time his long, gravity-defying hair had been cotton-candy blue!
But as I studied his pointy aristocratic features in hopes of discovering it was an imposter, I knew my hopes were in vain. The red-headed man wearing a red-and-black plaid suit seated several tables away was the one and only Hisoka. The psychotic magician actually looked civil with his usually unruly hair combed and hanging down.
What an impeccable time he chose to pull an appearing act!
B-But there was no way I would accept that Hisoka was the target! I swore an oath that I would never attempt to assassinate that nutcase!
Desperately, I surveyed the room again, praying for another red-headed man to come walking up the grand staircase. But no dice. No one came up. My green eyes painfully landed on Hisoka once again, and the gears in my mind began piecing together the jumbled puzzle of information.
How had this happened?
I had sworn up and down to never try to kill Hisoka, but if Hisoka was the target, then that meant—
Yukio finished my thoughts aloud, "Yes, we've been set up. Stop looking around and then staring at him. It's suspicious." After a considerate pause, he added, "I've never seen you lose your color so quickly, Miko." It surprised me he used my real name. Was Yukio concerned? Surprised?
I sighed. "That guy unnerves me. He has extraterrestrial senses and deadly intuition. Not only that, but he refers to people as toys and fruit. Who does that?"
"He does."
"I was referring to sane people, Kana."
My colleague had no answer for that question, but the waiter returned with our appetizers. Keeping my head downcast and eyes focused on the table, I ignored the waiter as he set a dainty salad before me and a steaming soup before Yukio. His hands trembled when he placed the salad before me like a sacrifice, but my killing edge had been effectively doused by Hisoka's presence.
Killing edge…
I swear I almost had a heart attack on the spot.
Hisoka had an extraordinary talent for picking up on Nen, especially when it was tainted with bloodlust. It got his senses tingling and 'excited' him. And by 'excited', I mean, his bloodlust was triggered and then he killed that person to satisfy his craving for blood and heighten his excitement. It was a wonder Hisoka hadn't taken notice of me!
But what if he had…?
Any color I had left drained from me completely, and the sight of my salad on the table made my stomach churn. My insides and skin felt cold, so frozen and hard like a thick block of ice had formed in me. Like I would never feel warm again.
If Hisoka had noticed me, I was as good as dead. My chances of surviving a battle against Hisoka were comparable to a snowball's chance in Hell. I wouldn't win. Although he was insane, the magician had plenty of advantages in his hand—superior physical strength, an incredibly annoying Nen ability, an equally frustrating fighting style, and did I mention he was a bona fide loony?
If he came after me, I was royally screwed.
I had to get out of here. Like now!
A pair of hands landed on my shoulders and kept my butt down in my seat. "Miss Kohana, please don't get up. Take deep breaths and calm down. Close your eyes and breathe in over the span of four seconds," someone—a man—instructed. Anxiety bled into the undertones of his calm voice. Why was my visual range so narrow like a tunnel?
I didn't want to listen to the voice of reason. I had to run, run and hide before that psychotic clown sliced me to ribbons with his card attacks. But my head—it felt so light and…and bubbly like sparkling champagne. Mmm, champagne.
The man counted, "One…two…three…four. Now hold it. One…two…three…four…" I obeyed, only because I was panicking when I realized that I was losing control.
This exercise sounded familiar…but I couldn't recall where I'd heard it before.
"Exhale. One…two…three…four…Hold. One…two…three…four…"
Oh, combat breathing. When my Nen trainers asked what kind of Hunter I planned to become and I replied Blacklist, they taught me this breathing technique.
"Inhale. One…two…three…four…"
It forced your fight-or-flight response to cool its jets, and it forced your body to relax. Other professions like police officers, fire fighters, nurses, and Hunters were taught this technique so they could approach a hectic situation with a cool head.
"Hold…two…three…four. Exhale…two…three…four…"
The chunk of ice in my chest rapidly melted into oblivion, my visual scope returned to normal, and I could actually feel someone firmly gripping my shoulder. I tilted my head to look up, surprised when I saw the blonde-haired, blue-eyed waiter—not our waiter—who owned the calming, deep voice.
His frown was pretty pronounced. "Are you alright, Miss Kohana?"
"I think I'll live." My voice sounded quiet and raspy like a frog had nestled in my throat. My hand reached for the glass of water but I found it already held out toward me. By Yukio, of all people! Cautiously, I accepted it and downed it, my green eyes on Yukio the entire time. His expression was unreadable. Not even the corners of his lips or the edges of his eyes betrayed any emotion.
I set the mostly empty glass on the table. It made a faint, muffled clink when it hit the cloth-covered table with more force than I'd intended. But in that clink, my brain clinked too. The pieces of the puzzle fell into place, revealing a very fugly picture.
It all made sense now…
Blondie hadn't been fidgety because he was nervous. Au contraire, he had been freaked out that I would figure out the target's identity and kill him before he could report back to Intelligence Corporation and spit out a lie that I had accepted the deal. Which I hadn't.
"You seem like an ideal candidate for this assignment."
It explained Blondie's mini seizure or panic attack when I had implied I would murder him.
Had Tsukasa known in advance that my target was Hisoka? If he had, it justified the funny look he'd given me when he informed me that Blondie's organization claimed I had accepted the offer. Had he thrown my knife back at me as a silent warning to be on my guard?
And Yukio…Knowing Hisoka was the target, had Tsukasa sent my old rival to this restaurant as my guard? Was he here to throw off Hisoka in the event that the magician picked up on our presence via Nen? Was Yukio my back-up if a potential battle ensued? Or was he to protect me by preventing me from doing anything unusually dim-witted?
He did throw that wadded-up napkin at my face when I'd been on killing edge. Then again, because Yukio had seen Hisoka in advance and was aware of his presence, Yukio had probably tried to knock me off my edge to save his own ass rather than protect mine.
"Calm down. He's just doing his job."
I mean, if Hisoka had looked over and extended his senses, he would have been able to tell that Yukio and I were both trained Nen-users. Then Hisoka would have taken an interest and, since it seemed unlikely he would attack us in this high-class eatery, the mad magician would stalk one of us and initiate a battle.
And, because today had been particularly sucky for me, I wouldn't be surprised if Hisoka chose me using eeny, meeny, miny, moe.
That was worst-case scenario.
"Sir, I feel I must apologize for this unnecessary inconvenience," my would-be date suddenly mentioned. "It was completely avoidable. Kohana had warned me she felt under the weather but I insisted that all she needed was fresh air. I'm sorry."
Wow. Kudos for subtlety. Did this mean Yukio had taken the hint and we were leaving?
The waiter took the bait. "It is not a problem, Mister Inoue. If you would like, I can have your meals boxed and bring you the receipt."
Yukio nodded in approval, smiling. "A novel suggestion—one I believe I will follow." I would've stood up and gotten a head start toward the entrance, but my legs felt watery and were trembling. I doubted they could support me right now, not after that panic attack. My index and middle fingers overlapped, crossing. When the waiter returned with our boxed food, hopefully I could stand on my own and beat a hasty retreat out of this restaurant.
"The boxes will arrive at your table with the receipt," the waiter informed him, completely ignoring me. He smelled money. "Please pay downstairs at the reception desk."
"Alright. Will you place our boxes in separate bags?" Yukio was laying it on thick now, smiling and getting animated; he even gestured 'separate' by placing his hands near each other and then moving them far, far away from each other. What a loving 'boyfriend'.
With a quick nod, the waiter dismissed himself which left me and Yukio alone once again, me sipping on water. His fingers drummed on the table in an unusual display of impatience. He glanced over in Hisoka's direction and quickly averted his gaze with a quiet but harsh curse.
"You've piqued his curiosity," he informed me dryly. "I hope you're satisfied."
Lowering the glass from my lips, I stuck out my tongue at him. "I believe I piqued plenty of curiosity, especially since the waiter was reminding me how to breathe and you were holding out my glass." A likely possibility but that didn't stop my skin from crawling. That creepy magician had his eyes on us right now.
Yukio's response was a dubious yeah-right snort.
Minutes ticked by. I finished off the water in my glass and resorted to sucking on the ice. Yukio's fingers continued their restless drumming. Once again, I seriously considered leaping out of my seat and making a rush for the entrance. To hell with social rules and lying low! I wasn't ready to die just yet! The only thing that kept me in my seat were my wobbly legs. Even if I did jump up, I'd probably fall flat on my face and make a spectacle of myself, which would focus Hisoka's attention solely on me. I clenched my jaw. Nothing I could do but wait...
The moment my colleague spotted the waiter exiting the kitchen doors, he stood, made his way around the table, and offered me a hand. I chose not to refuse it. As I pointed out before, I wasn't sure how well my legs would carry my weight right now. I changed my mind when his arm looped around my waist, but by then it was too late. Yukio herded me toward the waiter and grabbed the bags, flashing a smile and throwing a "thank you" out there.
Our descent down the grand staircase was a blur. Releasing me, he headed toward the reception desk. A nervous glance at the staircase assured me that Hisoka wasn't coming after us. Turning my head, I noticed Yukio hand the receptionist money from a familiar, thin wallet. My wallet.
When had he…? How had he known my wallet was hidden on the back of my neck under my thick, long blonde wig? I scowled. Some things never changed. Like the fact he was a rude, insensitive asshole. Or that I harbored an intense loathing toward him.
Yukio briskly strode to me and wrapped his right arm around my waist. "Let's go," he murmured under his breath. I found myself herded out the exit and standing by the street curb. A few couples wandered along the sidewalk or a lonesome figure shuffled along while cars and taxis lined up on the blacktop, held up by a red light.
Yukio pulled his arm away and handed me my bag, dropping my wallet in my free hand. "Use that to get home."
"You're a real winner, alright," I sniffed. "Making me pay for everything."
His impassive façade slipped, and Yukio outright glared at me. "Why not? You should pay for almost getting us killed. He stared at us for the last five minutes and now he knows my face because I'm not wearing a fucking disguise!"
My eyes widened. Oh shit. He was right!
It didn't occur to me that Yukio hadn't bothered to wear contacts to cover his light silver-gray eyes. Or dye, cut, or conceal his long, black hair which he had worn in his customary ponytail, which was tied a few inches from the end. Even the two or three short strands of hair that hung down to his eyebrows appeared normal to me.
So normal that I hadn't considered the potential danger Yukio was in.
Hisoka could track him down with much more ease by searching the Hunter website or asking around. Blacklist Hunters aren't very popular, and in the assassination business, people of integrity are few and far in-between. Someone would definitely rat him out.
Then again… "It's not my fault you were a dumbass," I shot back. "Weren't you the one during the Exam who was always chiding me with 'expect the unexpected'?"
His arm shot out in a blur, his hand stopping on my throat as his fingers curled around my neck tightly. We stood there mutely, engaged in an electrified staring contest—silver-gray eyes locked with bright green. Yukio had no reason not to kill me. He would be doing himself a favor if he did knock me off—less competition. If Hisoka didn't get to one of us first.
"Who was the dumbass who threw a temper tantrum over a kid's menu?" Yukio asked, his eyes narrowing dangerously. "Is it above your level of maturity to politely ask for an adult's menu? You may have a child's body but that's no excuse to act like one."
Ouch.
I glowered back at him, and spoke in a cold, flat voice, "If you're going to kill me, do it now. If not, release me and let me be on my way because we're both giving Hisoka ample time to kill us both right here."
Yukio loosened his grip, giving my neck a slight shove before withdrawing his hand completely. My throat tingled; it felt as though his fingers were still wrapped around my throat. Scowling, he whirled around and stalked away down the sidewalk, emanating a deadly aura—bloodlust.
I stuck out my tongue at his retreating figure before hailing down a taxi. Climbing in, I gave the driver the address for a motel where I would change out of this annoying pink gown and stupid long blonde wig in a bathroom. From there, I would take another taxi to drop me off near my real base of operation—an apartment complex.
Little did I know that tonight was the last time I would ever see Yukio Genji alive.
Name meanings:
Kohana: little flower
Yukio: gets what he wants
Kana: powerful
Kimi: she who is without equal
Inari: shrimp
Kiraina: detestable
Side note: that breathing technique actually works and is called combat breathing. Learned it in psychology class. Go ahead and try it. I dare you.