Chapter 7—

"Look out!"

The young man was a few beats off, and had he not relied on his reflexes rather than his brain, he would've been done for. His ears rung as the explosions came one after the other, and even if he couldn't feel his legs anymore, he could tell from the way his surroundings changed rapidly that he was still running for dear life.

Of all the times he had to fuck up, it had to be on one of his most important missions yet. How much of a failure can he be?

He makes a sharp turn, and leans against a wall, trying to catch his breath. His hand flew to his chest and began practicing those breathing exercises his health manager taught him.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

If he can still feel his heartbeat, then that's good.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

If it actually slows down its pace as you breath, then even better.

The boy hiccups, and he had to cover his mouth so as to not let anyone track him down. He could still hear voices, and whether or not they are enemies matters very little to him.

He didn't want to make the same mistake as before. It's bad enough he has revealed to the enemies that there was a beginner in his team's ranks, what more if he lets himself get caught?

His heart rate grows even slower, and from there, he allowed himself to take a peek of the path he had just treaded. There was no one. No teammates. No enemies. Nothing

But he could've sworn there was someone running after him.

Lack-Two takes another deep breath.

Even his senses were failing him.

"I have to find Brother," he mutters to himself, fishing through his bag for his radio. As he was about to pull it out and call for his brother's name to ask for help, a voice suddenly played through his head.

Don't even think about calling for me for help. From here on end, you need to learn how to work on your own.

Lack-Two sighs in despair as he lets the little machine go.

Of course, he can't call his brother. His brother was too busy serving in the elites rank. What was his little life compared to the responsibilities his brother carries?

The boy buries his face under his palms.

He's on his own now.

"What am I gonna do?" he mumbles. He's already used every trick he's learned from the academy—every move, every tool, every piece of knowledge—but nothing. The enemies seem to know they're every single move, and no matter how much he tried to counter, they'd just easily subdue him.

He was basically powerless against Team Plasma. He should've accepted what Kyousuke had told him before the mission. He shouldn't have agreed with the Chief when he said he had the potential.

He certainly did not have the potential. He only had his brother's genes. That's it.

"No, Kyouhei, pull yourself together," he finally mutters, slapping both his cheeks to wake himself up. "This is not the place for you to die in. You still need to prove yourself to dad and to big brother… You need to show to him you can do this. Just… Just be brave."

He straightens himself up, and leans back again. Trying his best to track down movements, he listened to every type of noise he could actually identify, and based from there which direction he should go to.

After a few moments of listening, he opens his eyes and begins moving out, but only to trip and fall down on his face. The ground muffles down his scream of pain.

His left leg was caught in one of the explosions and was now bleeding badly.

The boy tried his best to turn, and at least lie on his back, but he realized that he couldn't. He couldn't move a muscle anymore. The bombs the enemies were using must've contained some sort of poisonous gas, and he had inhaled some of it.

Great, he thought to himself. Just fucking great.

He tried again, hoping that that wasn't the case, but he just ended up falling again. His vision was getting blurry, and all he could see was smoke surrounding him, possibly from the rubble coming from the battle. He can't hear things anymore, and the only thing he could sense was the rough concrete beneath him. He looks forward, focusing his vision on his right knuckle, watching as he tried to no avail to move it.

His eyes grew heavier as he did, and as he was about to pass out, a hand shoots out from nowhere, and grabs his.

"This way," a voice called, and before Lack-Two can make something out of the situation, he has found himself being dragged to a direction. He couldn't tell the direction, and he couldn't name his surroundings, but his body seems to proceed willingly to the voice owner's force, so he chooses to allow it.

Not like he could do much in that state.

The owner had led him through the debris, and it wasn't long before he found himself in a peaceful room—he assumed it was a room, or at least, an enclosed space—and the owner grabs his shoulders and lays him down on the ground. The feeling of soft fabric brushes against his bruised screen, making him let his guard down for a brief moment.

Then he remembers he was in enemy's territory.

"Who are you?!" Lack-Two cries, swatting away the person's hand, his other, free hand, flying to his handgun. The person did not answer for a short moment, and for the whole time, Lack-Two was in an awkward and painful position of one arm in front of him as futile protection, and the other at the back as futile back up.

But still, he waited for an answer. And the person did, but not with words.

He (or she) placed both hands on his shoulders, and from Lack-Two's blurring vision, he found the person shaking his (or her) head at him. It was the last thing he sees before he passes out.

-…-

Lack-Two wakes up to the feeling of someone tending to his severely injured leg. He opens his eyes carefully, and looks around.

It was a small, blue room, filled with what seemed like toys.

"Wha…?" he begins, attempting to sit up, but a hand gently places itself on top his chest, keeping him down.

"Don't move," a voice tells him. A soft one. A gentle one. It was the same voice from before.

Lack-Two turns his head to the direction of the voice, and finds a shaded face, smiling kindly at him with his dark, green eyes.

The boy blinked once at it before letting out a groan of pain.

"See? I told you not to move too much," the voice cooed tenderly, pulling back its face and went back to tending his leg. "It's a good thing I caught up with you when I did."

Lack-Two cringes as the stranger peeled off the fabric that has stuck itself to the wound.

"Otherwise, you could've died."

"W-Who are you?" he asked hoarsely. "Why are you helping me?"

"I'm N," the voice replied, now applying something cold on his wound. "I saw you almost get caught in the explosions—I was supposed to help out, but I saw that you were the only one who survived… So I followed you and tried to see if you needed help."

The only one who survived…? But there were more than five of them dealing with those Plasma grunts.

Don't tell me they…

Another hiccup escapes his throat, and is followed by soft whimpers.

He was crying.

"There, there…" N told him, not lifting his attention from his leg. "The explosions came from an accidental move. It's nobody's fault…"

Lack-Two turned to him. Who was this man? And whose side was he on?

Somehow, despite his voice, he felt like he couldn't trust him.

"Don't be scared," the man voices out, as if he heard the boy's thoughts. "I'm on the side of those who are getting hurt—which means I am on your side…"

He finishes the knot on the makeshift bandages he used, and helped Lack-Two sit up.

"How are you feeling?" he asks him, not lifting the kind look from his face. Lack-Two couldn't help but feel even more wary.

"Better," he says, looking at the man suspiciously.

"T-Thank you."

The man smiles as he puts his stuff away, and pulls out a deck of cards from his pocket. Lack-Two watches him shuffle it smoothly between his long fingers. He lifts his gaze up, and finds his eyes focused on nothing in particular, as if he was in deep thought.

Then, N smiles at him and presents the deck.

"Pick a card," he says. Lack-Two looks at him dubiously.

N laughs.

"What's with that look?" he asks. "I'm not going to do anything funny. And there's nothing wrong with these cards. You saw me shuffle them, right?"

Lack-Two's expression did not change.

"I'm going to try and get a card higher than yours," N explains with a smile. "The ranking is as follows, lowest to highest: Clubs, Diamonds, Hearts, and Spades. Highest value is Ace, and lowest is a Two. Go."

Silence.

N sighs good-naturedly as he lowers his hand.

"How about this, then?" he suggests. "If you get a card higher than mine, I'll leave you alone. You can do whatever you want in this room. If you want to get out—then by all means, go. But if I get the higher value…" He smiles again, and presents the card to him once more.

"Go."

Lack-Two gives him another look, but he gives in anyway, and reaches out and picks the first card on the pile. He holds it up in front of him, and stares at N. N nods and picks one as well, from the end pile, and gives it a glance, and then presents it to Lack-Two.

It was a King of Spades.

The boy's face fell.

"You win," he announces, holding up the card for the man to see.

A Ten of Spades.

"So, you're a spade, too?" he observes, retrieving the card and bringing it back to the deck. "How interesting…"

"Although, I've never seen anyone like you who chooses from a deck the way you do… Are you a risk-taker?"

Lack-Two could only blink.

N shuffles the cards again, a wistful look in his face. "You don't pick… You draw…"

"E-Erm… What do you mean?" Lack-Two finally pipes up. N raises his head at him.

"Hm?"

"What do you mean… 'a spade, too'?" Lack-Two's eyes fall on the deck of cards.

"What on earth's a spade?"

N smiles at him, obviously relieved that Lack-Two was talking to him. Lack-Two realizes it as well, and he had to shrink back, returning his dubious look, to which N laughs.

"If you must know," he begins. "A spade is one the two symbolisms I use to describe people. The other one is a heart." He turns his deck, and shows Lack-Two roughly all the cards it contains. It was comprised with only hearts and spades and nothing else.

"A 'spade' is the opposite of a 'heart', for a 'heart' works for the purest motivations in the purest way. They are those who are clear with what they want to do, and they do it in clear and concise ways—they are the people who do things out of love in the most loving way possible."

He puts the deck back in his pocket, and sits properly in front of Lack-Two, levelling his face to the boy's.

"Unlike the 'heart', a 'spade' works in a twisted manner. They are those whose motivations are never clear, and whose ways are just as confusing. They act in accordance to what their hearts truly desire—out of love—but they act upon it through such erroneous mean, and thus, they are often driven to the consequences of that mistake." He smiles ruefully as he focuses on Lack-Two's injured leg.

"But that's only because they realize those things when it's all too late." He then returns his stare to Lack-Two's eyes.

"They are inverted hearts…"

The younger boy's eyes contorted into a cross between confusion and fear. He couldn't understand what he meant. He didn't know why he helped him. He didn't know what to make of the situation.

But, at the same thing, he couldn't bring himself to deny this man of his trust. He seemed to be harmless.

Though, Lack-Two can never be sure.

An explosion comes from outside, and both their heads sharply turn to the door, both pairs of eyes stricken with mild fear.

"I used to be a 'heart'," N suddenly mutters, the wistful look back in his green eyes. He looks as if he was tracing an image at the metal door, as if he was drawing a picture of someone walking through it, towards him.

Lack-Two knew of that look more than anything else. He's seen his own eyesmake them every now and then.

The look of loneliness.

"W-What happened?" the boy asks softly when he realized that N wasn't going to continue.

N returns his gaze to him again.

"I wish I knew," he muses with a hum. "All of this began when I started seeing these battles, and it got worse when I, too, was thrown into them. What a waste it is… Mei and I could've been the same for the rest of our days…"

The boy's head shoots up. "Mei?" he repeats.

N beams, pulling out the locket hanging around his neck hidden underneath his shirt. He doesn't open it, but he looks at the pendant as thoughtfully as one would look at a picture.

"Mei… she is my 'heart'," he explains, a look of longing in his face. "My reason to keep going in achieving my 'dream'."

Lack-Two was about to open his mouth to ask him about his 'dream', but the boy realized he's been asking too much. This man was still someone to be wary of. He could be an enemy.

N faces him, and Lack-Two had to quickly erase away his face of suspicion.

But still, enemy or not, he didn't want to offend the man who saved his life.

"You were asking me why I saved you, right?" he asks. "Another reason is because you remind me of her. If I'm not mistaken, the two of you could be of the same age…"

Lack-Two's eyes widen. He was only twelve going on thirteen. If that was the case, then that means…

The boy chooses not to react. Perhaps that whole 'age doesn't matter' crap he's been hearing around was true.

"…I heard you mutter a few words to yourself just before I found you… Something about being brave and proving yourself to someone? That's something I hear a lot from her... People your age, I swear. Always feeling the need to prove something. Always finding the necessity to be brave. They're all very laughable."

He looks down again at the pendant, and brushes it tenderly with his thumb.

"She could've not joined us… She could've been living a safe life by now…"

"I-Is she…?" The boy stops himself before he could finish the sentence.

But N already knew what he wanted to say.

"No," he replies. "No, she isn't. She's alive and well… But she's involving herself in a fight that was not supposed to be her business in the first place, much like you… And I'm afraid it might turn her into a 'spade'… Just like us."

The boy blinks. What did he mean "much like you"? "Much like us"?

Again, the question fails to escape his lips.

"Mei is my responsibility," N continues, pulling the pendant closer to his face. "No matter what people say, I was the one who exposed her and more or less dragged her into this mess; therefore, I am at least one of those who will be at fault when something goes horribly wrong with her. But she's stubborn—she'll never listen to the people she loves. I've noticed that. And I keep on noticing that. It just isn't like her to lend an open ear to the people who are close to her heart. And there is no one else in this world who can talk sense into her. Make her choose the better decisions and look out for her well-being. That's how loving she is..." He then frowns.

"And that's how self-destructive her love is. She can turn into a spade without my knowing."

He faces Lack-Two, and the boy once again erases the dubious look in his face.

"I know that you and I have only met, but there is something about you that tells me we'll meet again one day… Perhaps in a different setting. And maybe then, we'll no longer be on each other's side. That would be disheartening, but that is the reality of us 'spades'—we can never share the same side, since, like I've said, we're acting differently for what's supposed to be a different motive but in reality is just the same."

He reaches for the boy's shoulder, and grasps it firmly.

"When that day comes, I want you to remind me of what I have told you… Because, for sure, I will have forgotten it by that time…"

The curve in his smile becomes more evident.

"And, in exchange, I'll let you live…"

The rest of the events pass by in a blur, and Lack-Two finds himself fully aware of everything again when they were already on their way back to the HQ. He was lain down along with the other Interpol agents who were badly injured, and he could only make up a few voices, a few faces, a few images amidst everything that was around him.

But he can feel the pain. The pain resurging from his left leg, crawling throughout his body, making him cry out loud. It was stabbing him to pieces. It was breaking him.

Death has never been a better option.

"How is he," a low voice asks. Lack-Two lifts his attention from the pain to associate the voice with a face. A familiar face.

"Frankly, not so good, Officer Lack-Four," a female voice replies. "The injuries he's gotten from the explosion are very severe, especially the one on his leg. He would've suffered from immense blood loss that could've caused him his death. It's a good thing that the wound has been properly dressed, although I have never seen anyone who's used these methods before… It's very old-fashioned…"

"But, is it effective?"

"Effective enough, Sir."

The low voice makes a clicking sound as he mumbles "good". Then a shadow looms over his face.

"You're lucky you're alive," Lack-Four softly growls. "Although if you're going to give that same disgusting performance on your next major missions, then I suggest you file your letter of resignation as soon as you can write…"

Then he walks away. Lack-Two couldn't say anything—his lips were too weak to move, along with the rest of his body. And even if he could, he knew he wouldn't be able to say anything.

Lack-Four now hates his guts even more, and this time, he couldn't blame him.

His own incompetency caused them four lives to be obliterated into nothingness. Four people who may have probably been doing a better job than he was.

And he survived.

The woman whom he realized to have stayed touches his arm gently and spoke:

"There, there," she almost coos. Much like how N did.

N…

Lack-Two realized he didn't know where that man went after he landed a strike on the boy's nape. He blacked out, and when he awoke…

"…but, yeah. You have to understand that Lack-Four was also shaken by the deaths of your comrades, plus the fear he felt when our troupe found you unconscious in the hallways did not help, so…"

"Cristina!" he suddenly yelled, grabbing the woman's arm to help him get up. It was actually a strong grip, and for some weird reason, the girl actually allows him to, and sees how much force he still had.

But that grip was it. The pain overpowers his curiosity, and he had to fall back, exhausted and in pain.

"Kyouhei," she whispers, nearing her face to him. "Something tells me you're more damaged than you look."

The boy pants heavily as he lets her touch his face to examine him.

"Cristina," he tried again between heaps of breath. "W-Where did you say you found me…?"

The girl's eyes widen.

"A-Along the hallways of the enemy's territory. You were lying unconscious beside some rubble…"

"W-Was somebody there with me?"

Cristina blinks at him. "No…" Then her expression changes.

"Was there someone with you that time, Lack-Two?"

The boy just stares at her, wide-eyed.

No one…? Then where was N? Was N even real…?

"Lack-Two…?"

He should be, he told himself. Otherwise, who else would've patched up his leg?

"Lack-Two?"

If that's the case, then where was he? Where did he go?

"Lack-Two!"

The pain was crawling through him again, and he started screaming in pain.

"I need assistance here in Station 3!" Cristina was crying to her radio. "Repeat. I need assistance here in Station 3!"

Lack-Two tried to focus on Cristina's panic-stricken voice in order to keep himself conscious, and he was doing great until several people started rushing in and speaking all at once, making him feel dizzy again. And this time, he allows it to come over him.

He didn't want to think anymore. Everything was too mentally taxing. He didn't want to know anymore…

So the boy proceeds to closing his eyes, and he lets the panic-stricken voices and the sounds of metal hitting against another metal sooth him to a terrible slumber.

That night, he dreamed he was endlessly falling to a pit filled with hearts and spades, listening to N's voice saying his last words to him again and again.

I want you to remind me of what I have told you… Because, for sure, I will have forgotten it by that time…

Lack-Two watched the after-events of the Interpol's first ever major skirmish with Team Plasma from the comfort of his hospital bed. Cristina was spot on when she said that he was more damaged than he looked.

Because for one thing, he was devastated. He actually forced himself to be good enough to be included in that mission. He wanted to prove himself to his brother—the only person whose opinion matters to the boy, and he also wanted to be a big part of the battle against Plasma. He wanted to be one of those who brings that wretched organization to its knees—it has taken too much from him and from the people near and dear to him.

Yet, all he could do was be a burden, up until the very end.

Lack-Two gently turns his head to his arm and tried to clench his fist. It was thankfully moving to his will after days of therapy. That was recovery. At the very least, it was for him.

Secondly, the young Interpol agent was confused. For the most part, he's done a good job of keeping his mouth shut of everything he's seen back in that room, making everyone believe that whatever he has told Cristina was nothing more than delirious talking.

He realized that he couldn't disclose what seems like important information, even if it was to his most beloved Interpol. Especially information involving N. He had a gut feeling that man—whoever that man was—is a key player in all this, and simply spitting out intel all willy-nilly might cost him his own life—and possibly, N's as well.

And, enemy or not, N was the one who saved him. Not Interpol. Not his colleagues.

Not ever his own stupid brother.

Lack-Two clenches his fist a little too hard, sending pangs of pain to shoot through his arm, making him wince.

Kyousuke… Lack-Two's been confined in that room for almost two weeks now, and not even once did his own brother show his face to him.

He was busy coming to and from the chief's office, and attending meetings with the board in between—that's what Cristina had told him. Apparently, he was now a 'hero'—the brave Interpol officer who led the team of elites in defeating the notorious 'King' of Team Plasma, and putting under arrest three of the so-called 'Seven Sages', the 'King's' right-hand men.

Lack-Two would only half-listen to the stories they'd tell him. He was only half-interested. Even he understood that putting down this so-called 'King' and arresting barely half of his right-hand men is not enough.

Team Plasma will come back—he was sure of it.

"…But if that time comes, we'll be ready." Cristina readily counters when she and Lack-Two were once again alone, the former replacing the bandages on his leg. "After conquering N's Castle, we can collect more information and track down the remaining leaders of Plasma… including their former King."

It was only then that Lack-Two chose to speak.

"The Plasma King escaped…?" he asks hoarsely, peering at the older girl through his half-shut eyes. "I thought that oh-so-high-and-mighty prick subdued the King?"

"Oh, he did," Cristina assures him, her eyes still on his recuperating leg. "According to the reports brought in by the team that faced him, they saw him fall almost lifeless to the ground. But when they went to recover the body, Ghetsis—the leader of the Seven Sages—made a petty yet effective diversion, and escaped along with the 'King'. Lack-Four and his men were already weary, and some were close to dying, so they had no choice but to retreat and come back with that they have reaped."

"So much for being a glorious hero," Lack-Two mumbles with a bitter smirk. Cristina just gave a heavy sigh as she continued tending to his leg.

Everyone has gotten used to Lack-Two's sudden character shift from being the wide-eyed, eager rookie, to being the cold and sarcastic pre-teen boy. Many thinks it's just his way of recuperating from whatever mental scars he's gotten from that mission.

Give him time, some people said. He'll get over it.

Lack-Two swears he won't. He'll never live it down. If he wants to get over whatever shit he is going to go through in the future, this is the face he'll use to face them.

"So, any information about this so-called 'King'?" he suddenly asks, looking wistfully at the ceiling. "Hopefully something useful?"

"I don't really know, Lack-Two," Cristina replies, her voice devoid of any emotion. "There's only so much information a simple medic like me can garner. I think it's quite laughable that an Interpol Agent, someone of higher rank, is taking info from me, don't you agree?"

Lack-Two gives her an annoyed glare, but, thinking it was a waste of energy to start a fight, simply kept mum.

"But if you must know, the King's name is in the mouth of every member and staff of this organization, so I guess it's safe for me to say it all willy-nilly…"

Lack-Two's eyes returns to the woman, watching her lips carefully as she recited the one-syllabled name for him.

"The King's name… is N."

-End of Chapter 7-

A/N: Both Cristina and Lack-Four are my characters. The rest are not mine. Thank you for reading! Until next chapter!