"Brr! The wind is sure chillier than usual!" commented Neon as she placed her bucket down by the well. Her eyes went to the leafless trees. "You are waiting for winter too, eh?"

Winter. It was a season she remembered that was most fun in her calendar. Her father would give her all the credit cards in his possessions and she could use them in whatever purchase she wanted to make. She recalled all her maids who carried all her shopping bags without complain. Bags that contained so many dresses and gowns made only of the finest silken threads, as well as pure gold jewelry pieces and other beautiful things that would catch her fancy.

Her eyes saddened. Of course she couldn't expect that this would happen this coming winter—she overheard her bodyguard telling his friends that the Nostrad family had already lost its proud influence, with the death of Right Nostrad and the sudden disappearance of his daughter-prophetess, which was the family's biggest asset. However, he was trying to fix the paper works to make sure that the remaining Nostrad wealth would be under her name and redeemable once she reaches the majority age.

But until then, she had to put aside the thoughts of her fabulous ballgowns and her collections of rare, unique treasure items. She knew that she could not walk forward if she would always look back. Her life now was in this simple, idyllic town, centering on the restaurant-bar of Aunt Mito. And she knew that in the presence of her newfound family, she found happiness that not even the best and most expensive of her wardrobe could give.

She snapped out of trance when she felt someone standing beside her.

It was Kurapika, smiling tenderly. "Good morning, Neon-sama. You woke up extra early."

She smiled back. "Hai! But the townsfolk woke up earlier than I did. Anyway, I want them to be greeted by the aroma of our breakfast when they drop by, so I will help Aunt Mito cook already."

"And why is it that I wasn't informed of the kitchen's new location?" His mouth twitched.

"Don't be silly! I'm fetching water--" Her words trailed off when he picked up the pail nonchalantly and tied it with the rope. He dropped it down, and then began to operate the lever. "OK, I'm watching YOU fetch water. Thanks, Kurapika-chan!"

He feigned a frown. "How many times should I tell you…"

"…never to call your bodyguard with such asinine suffix." She burst into laughter. "But then, how many times did I tell you…"

"…not to call you with a stiffly formal –sama suffix," Kurapika looked at her sideways, eyes smiling. "Then I guess that makes us even."

"There's a thought. Why don't you just call me 'Neon'? Is it against the law?"

"No."

"Then—"

"I feel more comfortable calling you that in the same way you like calling me 'Kurapika-chan'."

"Where's the comfort in that? You don't treat me as an equal!"

"Because we can never be on the same pedestal," he said quietly. He gave one last pull on the lever, and up came the pail brimming with fresh water.

"B-But…" she sputtered. Acting quickly, she took off her shoes, not caring if the mud would stain her rosy ankles. "Look! Look at my feet, Kurapika-chan! Look at where they're standing—it's on the same ground as yours. We're equals! I am not entitled anymore to being called 'mistress' because…because…I don't want you to."

"Neon…sama," he said gruffly. "Put your shoes back on, please. Do not resort to childishness to make me do what you want."

"I don't want to!" she said stubbornly. "But if you promise not to call me 'Neon-sama'…"

"I will not promise anything. Now please put your footwear back." He knew that he wouldn't compromise this time, because he knew it in his heart that if he allowed her this privilege of intimacy—the suffix issue—then he might find another brick to seal the growing emotional attachment he had for her.

Fondness.

Which was not right. He couldn't keep her forever, so he might as well start to let go now, before things would get complicated.

Complicated in what manner? His mind asked mockingly.

 He had no answer for that.

"If it's bothering you that we're not equals…well then, from now on, you're not my bodyguard anymore!" she screeched. "You're fired!"

"Huh?" He didn't expect that from her.

"There! I'm not your boss anymore. Now are we equals?"

"Put your shoes back on." He was all to soon discovering the limits of his legendary patience.

"I think we already are. You're ordering me already!" But instead of looking mad, she even looked triumphant.

"It was your father who employed me, and thus, he is the only one who has the right to displace me of my job."

"Does that mean…I can't fire you?" she asked slowly.

"In a manner of speaking, yes." He fought the urge to smile at the pure bewilderment on her lovely face.

Lovely?

Now where did that come from?

"Then I'm RESIGNING! From now on, I will not be your mistress anymore. I'm firing myself!" she declared proudly. "And don't tell me that it was Papa who's in-charge of me. I'm the boss of my own decisions!"

"True," he said. "But unless you give me a reason—a GOOD reason—why you should resign, then I won't honor it. I will still be your bodyguard, and you will still be my boss under my care."

She stood there, aghast. Plain as daylight, he defied her.

No one ever had the guts to do that. Ever.

"I hate you! I hate you, I hate you, I HATE YOU!" She threw her shoes away and marched off barefooted. "Don't come near me! Don't breathe near me! I hate you!"

He sweatdropped. "Neon-sama!" He jogged behind her. "Use my shoes. We don't know what kind of ground you might step on." He was slightly grateful that the soil was muddy in this part of the yard.

"I will not use anything from you!" she said firmly.

Once more, he struggled to contain his patience. How could it be that his celebrated fortitude, one that enabled him to wage a war against the whole of the notorious Ginei Ryodan, would fail miserably when it comes to this rose-haired childish young woman who happened to have the sweetest face he had ever seen, but the temper and mood of a violent hurricane?

He stiffened. Was that how he saw Nostrad Neon really? Then why did it seem that embedded within his description was a certain degree of affection for her?

He pushed the thought out of his mind, dismissing it as irrelevant. He caught up with his mistress. "Neon-sama, wait!"

He managed to walk beside her. "Alright, you insist your pig-headedness." He took off his own shoes and tossed it aside.

She watched him from the corner of her narrowed eyes. "What are you doing?"

"I can't let you do something stupid alone…not when I'm around." He sighed when he felt his sole step on something strangely squashy.

"Do what you want!" She walked on, not even glancing behind her.

"Neon-sama!"

"I'm not listening!"

"Watch out!"

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"What's this, a Romeo-and-Juliet version of cold war crossbred with a mud wrestling contest?" asked Leorio when the two arrived, barefooted and not speaking with each other. Neon's outfit was muddy, but Kurapika's was an unspeakable disaster. His immaculate linen outfit under his blue top had turned into an ugly, unfathomable shade of yellowish brownish stain. His face carried the same condition.

"Neon slipped," explained Kurapika when he felt his friends' inquisitive gazes at him.

"That explained a LOT." Killua looked at his clothes. "You're dirtier than her."

Kurapika shrugged. "I broke her fall."

"Figures," muttered the Zordick, rolling his eyes.

Gon arrived in the bar, eyes wide. "Kurapika, what happened to you?"

"It's part of his newfound beauty regimen," explained Leorio wryly. "Mud bath. Good for the skin."

The boy looked stumped. "B-But this early?" he sputtered.

"Never too early for beauty rituals," smiled Kurapika through gritted teeth.

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Neon, who had now cleaned up, was wiping the counter wile humming. Just then, their first customer for the day came in. She faced him, a bright smile pasted on her face. "Ohayou! Welcome to Aunt Mito's eatery! Breakfast, Sir?"

"Beer. Three bottles." The old man sat down on the counter wearily.

Her face fell. "Beer…in the morning?"

The customer grumbled something, which seemed incoherent to her.

"Sir, come again?" she asked.

"I said, don't meddle with my order! You're just a waitress here! You have no right to act like that!" he yelled. "Now give me my beer! NOW!"

However, Neon was far from being intimidated. She was sure that she could scream louder than he could anyway.

"Sir, I demand that you change your order! Beer for breakfast is not recommended, you know? It's bad for the stomach!" she explained.

"Who asked you?" he asked sourly.

"It was an unsolicited advice, Sir, one that I gave freely. I am not just a waitress here—I am a food server. Food, meaning not beer for breakfast!" She crossed her arms. "Anyway, only people who drown in problems drink beer in the morning."

"None of your business!"

"Look, we can talk things over. No need to sacrifice wonderful breakfast just for your problem." She sat down beside him and cupped her chin. "Why don't you tell me about it?"

The man paused, startled by the determination on her face.

"If you tell me what's bothering you, I will serve you beer…with breakfast, of course," she coaxed.

"Bribing me, eh?"

"No, I was giving you motivation to share." She smiled sweetly. "Don't worry, I will listen."

Silence.

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"Wow, what's happening there?" Killua asked, eyes wide.

Kurapika looked up from his book. "Huh?"

The white-haired boy gestured for him to come closer and peek through the kitchen door. The Kuruta couldn't think of anything interesting that could be found in the bar—save for his Neon-sama, of course…

Neon!

He got up, alarmed. "What happened to he—"

Killua pointed to the occupied tables at the left corner, where almost all the counters surrounding the cheery pink-haired waitress were occupied. She was talking to the customers as if she was a leader of a charismatic fellowship group.

"The problem of Mister Han the Farmer here is nothing to be depressed about. If the crops were ruined, then we can do nothing but plant again. If his wife ran away, well…well, she's a bitch!"

Boisterous laughter.

"Anyway, let me tell you, Mister Han, it's her loss, not yours. Even if you want to drink beer for breakfast, you are a good man—one who loves his crops dearly. It's not different from the way Mr. Farmer Number Two here loves his goat. We cherish things in life, and that's what makes life a life…and later on, a good, happy life." She nodded. "However, along with that love and willingness to cherish is the willingness to let go. Things happen, and it is always for the better. If you let go of a rosebud, destiny will hand you a beautiful rose in full bloom."

"Kurapika, am I seeing what I am seeing?" Killua was every inch the proverbial doubting Thomas.

"Ssh!" he said, then turned his attention back to his unaware mistress.

"If you lost your crops, maybe because the crops won't grow healthy. Maybe the environment is working out a way to make the ground more fertile. The fallen crops will fertilize the soil, and I am sure that in the next harvest, you will gain much, much more!" She smiled. "And as for your wife…I'm sure you would find another one! Don't lose hope!"

"Right!" The now inspired farmer smiled. "I'll keep that in mind, Neon!"

"That's the spirit!" She lifted a bottle of beer up. "Now we're going to have one toast…for your new day!"

"For my new day!" echoed the man, joy ringing clearly in his voice. Around him, people watched in amusement and interest.

"Hip, hip, hooray!" She clinked glasses with her customer, and then burst into delighted peals of laughter.

Kurapika smiled slowly. He was right—Neon Nostrad was not a spoiled brat; she was a child that no one gave enough attention to. But her mind and heart, although most people think were beneath maturity, was a genuine vessel of her identity. She was real—she acted on what she felt.

And damn him, but this endeared her more to him.

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to be continued