Once Bisky admitted she could find no fault with his Ren, Gon took off without so much as a by-your-leave. Even Kite recognized this as out of character; from the moment they'd met, Gon's politeness had underscored everything he said and did. If he'd thought to say goodbye, he definitely would've done so—and in good humor, to boot. But the fact of the matter was that Gon did not think, nor did he look back, nor did he slow down. So all Kite could do was chase after him on his way out the door.

"Going to sign up for the fight?"

"Yeah," Gon replied, his voice rough from the week of disuse. People gave him strange looks as he passed them on the street, followed shortly by them wrinkling their noses at the overpowering smell of sweat. A few old women shot accusatory glares at Kite, as if he were responsible for the boy's dishevelment; Kite bravely did not make eye contact.

They got to a more crowded section of the sidewalk, and as he watched everyone else rearrange themselves to not go anywhere near them, he decided to say, "You could've at least took a bath, first."

"Hm? Oh, maybe. Am I bothering you?"

"I'm used to it," Kite sighed, wondering if the innkeeper would charge them extra for the room detox.

When they got to village center, Kite slowed to a stop by the entrance while Gon raced around the length of the room in search of a stick of chalk. Eventually, he found one, but as he raised his hand to the space beside Netero's message, a previously unobtrusive bystander caught his wrist in the act.

"This one's not fer messin' with, brat. Go draw somewhere else," said the man (teenager?); the white gakuran and pompadour screamed schoolyard thug, but his physique was anything but pubescent. Had he been held back a few grades, or something?

Gon blinked owlishly at the confrontation. "But I need to write my name, please. Can you move for a second?"

"I thought I already told ya to do it somewhere else."

So this was what they were up against. With a twinge of dejection, Kite's shoulders slumped a tad lower—faced with the possibility that he might be the oldest out of all the applicants. But honestly, how was he supposed to work with all these kids and half-adults? It was unusual for a team like this to be filled with teenagers, right?

Interestingly enough, Gon caught on to the situation before Morel's student. "Wait… You wouldn't happen to be a part of Chairman Netero's contest, would you?"

The man hesitated, instantly on guard. "What's it to ya?"

"I'm Gon Freecss! One of other Hunters!"

"… What?"

"Uh… I'm Gon Fr—"

"THEY SENT IN A LITTLE KID?" he abruptly bellowed. "THEY EXPECT ME TO FIGHT A LITTLE KID?"

"Oh, yeah, I guess," Gon nervously affirmed. "So, if you could let me sign up, that'd be great…"

"BUT I'LL KILL YOU."

"Well, maybe, but we won't know until you try!"

Knuckle/Shoot firmly shook his head. "No, I know. You'll die. I might go easy on you, but between Shoot and that psycho, you're better off sitting this one out."

And Gon lost a bit of his composure.

"Please let go of me."

"Only if you're gonna scram."

"No," he refused a bit louder. "I have to fight. I have someone who needs me to fight. So I'm sorry, but you're going down."

And the man exploded in a vengeful bloodlust.

"So kids these days think they're pretty hot shit, huh?"

Gon stared him down undaunted. "You don't scare me."

The man's aura jumped even higher, surprising even Kite with the sheer bulk of it. "DON'T SCARE YA, HUH?"

"Hey, hey," Kite promptly intervened. "I understand your concerns, but the Chairman chose him regardless, and we have to trust his judgement. If you need a testimonial, then you can take it from me: Gon's not half-bad."

"Ehhhh? Then how 'bout we have him prove himself?"

"Pr—"

"FIGHT ME. RIGHT HERE, RIGHT NOW."

"All in good time," Kite said, a bit of Nen stewing behind his words. "Save it for the match."

"The match, ya say… so you must be Kite," the man crisply deduced. "Well, my name is Knuckle Bine, and I've got news for you, fool: THERE AIN'T NO REASON I CAN'T KICK YER ASS BOTH TODAY AND THE DAY YA FINALLY SQUARE UP."

"Kite, it's okay. I'll take him on."

"THAT'S RIGHT, FOOL."

"Don't be stupid!" Kite hissed. "You're exhausted, and there's no telling just what he can do to mess you up. What if you get too injured to fight for real, huh? So just let me handle this."

"No," the kid stubbornly rejected. "I'm the one he has a problem with, so it's my responsibility. You're not involved."

"I'm not inv—? Gon!" he hollered as the kid yanked his arm from his opponent's grasp.

"Can we at least go out of town? I don't want anyone else to get hurt."

"Yeah, sure. Though somebody's gonna hurt by the end, fool."

So they walked off to a nearby forest and stopped in the first clearing they found. Seeing as he was being ignored, Kite silently tagged along, hands fisted in his pockets, biting down on his frustration. Fucking kids. Why couldn't Gon just listen? Why did no one ever listen to him?

A better question made him jolt: Why aren't you doing anything to stop this?

And the answer made his ire wilt with self-loathing: You just don't want to push him any farther away from you.

When had Kite become so lonely?

"Alright, brat. Let's go!"

Gon rushed him head-on, maneuvering around Knuckle's larger body with a springy deftness only someone as small as him could pull off, packing both momentum and Nen into every thrust—punches that, despite all of this, Knuckle dodged with time to spare. Already, Kite could see his fatigue take hold; the past week had been too much for even Bisky's Hatsu to negate. It weighed down his attacks like a rock on a wet paper towel, threatening to tear a hole at the slightest pull.

And Knuckle saw that metaphorical rock, picked it up, and used it to bash Gon's skull in. The man was as good as his aura promised, the flux of his rhythm not graceful, per se, but nigh impossible to counter—impulse and inertia balanced with a firm, practiced hand. It was obvious he'd been fighting his entire life, had hammered out a workable style through painful trial and error, self-taught the basics in every regard. Yes, this was a highly experienced brawler.

So it was no surprise when Knuckle effortlessly broke through Gon's guard. With a clean one-two punch, he had him flat on his stomach and paused for the boy to recover. Knuckle waited till he was fully upright before knocking him to the ground, and again, Gon found it in himself to get back on his feet. And again Knuckle struck him down.

And as Gon forced himself up once more, he started to sway like a windchime in a light breeze; the blood matting his hair flowed gently down the back of his neck and into his shirt. Kite wondered if the concussion was as severe as it looked.

Stay down, Gon. Just stay down.

"Stay down," Knuckle gruffly instructed. "We get it: you're tough. And now that we've traded blows, I can see… you ain't a bad kid. I'll let ya off the hook."

But suddenly, Gon's shoulders began to shake, his face turned toward the ground. Kite was afraid the whole encounter had actually made him cry, but then his ears caught it: the soft, tattered shrapnel of laughter.

"Trade blows?" he laughed. "I didn't even hit you once."

Knuckle crossed his arms. "Just accept that I've accepted you, dummy."

Gon's head suddenly shot up, and although Kite couldn't see his face from his viewpoint, he did see how Knuckle blanched at the sight of it.

"Hit me," Gon said.

"No. You're finished."

To prove him wrong, Gon went back on the offensive, riding high on a second wind.

"First comes rock…!"

Knuckle backed off in surprise. It was a lot of aura, after all—too much for Gon to expend but expended nonetheless. It seemed as though his limits were always brushed aside whenever the situation called for more than he could possibly give, like his body had accepted that it would always be pushed too hard.

"Rock… Paper… Rock!"

And Knuckle dodged it, of course, as well as the rest of the flurry that followed. After avoiding one last kick, Knuckle decided to be done with it and slugged him across the temple once more. And Gon did not get back up.

Releasing a long, pent-up breath, Kite strode over to Gon's side and inspected his cranium—a mess of hair and blood. What would be the best way to lift him? Over his shoulder? On his back?

"What's the deal with that guy?" Knuckle asked.

Their massive height difference required that Kite carry him in his arms. "He lost someone very dear to him."

"Jeez, if I had known that, I…"

He didn't stick around to hear the rest.

"What are the fucking odds?" Bisky swore.

They made it back to the inn without any trouble. There was a large, red splotch blooming between Bisky's eyebrows—where she'd smacked herself after seeing him drag in Gon's beaten form. Kite simply laid him down in bed and started bandaging his head-wounds.

"Well, I guess it's for the best. His training wasn't over, anyways, but he ran out before I could get a word in edgewise. I didn't chase because I thought you were gonna stop him, actually," she revealed. "But you were just trying to chaperone him? First of all, you totally failed, and second, you're just as dumb as he is. Knuckle and Shoot are no joke."

"Do we have any tweezers?" he murmured after spotting a few wood chips stuck in there.

"Here," she sighed.

"Alright. And how about something with hydrogen peroxide?"

"Yup," she said as she placed the antiseptic in his outstretched hand, which immediately used it to douse the red sheen. Gon twitched at the sting but didn't wake up.

"And how about—"

"The first aid kit's right next to you, y'know. I'm not your damn nurse."

So Kite finished the job by himself. After taping down the final layer of gauze, he pulled his hands away, and the two of them looked at the boy for a long moment. The moments between Bisky and Kite while Gon was unconscious had come to usually take this form—quiet and somehow easy to settle into, like the stolen hours of peace between two parents after putting a rambunctious child to bed. It wasn't often Kite met someone he felt comfortable relying on, even less often that person was also one he could honestly relax with. In spite of Bisky's many… interesting foibles, he had really come to appreciate her.

"What exactly is Gon and Killua's relationship?" Kite eventually asked.

Bisky snorted derisively. "Isn't it obvious? They love each other."

Love? What kind of love? "Meaning…?"

"I mean, I once walked in on them canoodling up a storm."

… Oh.

"It was pretty hot, actually."

And Kite definitely could've gone without that image in his head.

Bisky lapsed into a fit of gleeful cackles. "God, I love shy guys like you. So friggin' cute. But really, all you have to know is… well. You see how well Gon's taking it."

The not very well went unsaid.

"I'm not the one who brought them together, you know. They were already like that when I found them," she reminisced. "Together, that is. Stuck to each other like glue on… more glue. Best friends, quintessential. I remember them trying to avoid me, at first, because I was a girl and 'cramped their style.' Actually, they kind of avoided everyone, back then. They didn't want anyone else intruding on their space; all they really cared to have was each other's company. Which is weird, because you've seen how friendly Gon is, right? He loves meeting new people! But when he had Killua by his side… he wasn't really interested in any of that—not enough to go out of his way, at least. They both were just fine staying cooped up in their own little world."

And now that she put it into words, Kite could see it clearly.

"That kind of familiarity is built up over more than a few life-or-death experiences," Bisky sagely pondered. "Helped along by a bit of… desperation… for whatever it is they offer each other. That's a good recipe for attachment, right there."

Kite swallowed stiffly.

"Anyways, I'm gonna go," she said over her shoulder.

"Go? Go where?"

"To NGL, obviously. To find Killua."

He had to stare at her for a moment; Bisky didn't crack, straight-faced and hand on hip, a bizarre mix of patience and impatience.

"W… what?" Kite questioned dumbly. "You mean—right now?"

Her lips quirked up in something like amusement. "Yup. Gon doesn't need any more training specifically with me and my Hatsu—not for the purposes of this tournament, at least—and you can handle everything else he needs work with. No more reason for me to stick around."

Had this been her plan from the very start?

"But the country's on lockdown!" he countered, as if that were the only reason for him to take issue with this. "You're not on the extermination team, are you?"

Bisky just gave that weird, haughty laugh, again. "No, but do you really think I don't have ways to get around that? I'm motherfucking Bisky, for Christ's sake; I know people. This seems like a pretty dangerous job, though, so I'm not bringing novices like you or Gon with me. So don't ask if you can come."

So Bisky was really leaving, then.

"Hold on," he urged. "There's at least one ant you should absolutely never face under any circumstance. It—"

"Yeah, yeah. Poison and mind-reading. I've heard," she interrupted, effectively dismissing him.

Something changed, then, in the way she faced him. Partly in her stance, more noticeably in her expression: the twinkle dropped from her eyes to leave behind a stone-cold stare, keen and unfamiliar, like how a jewel becomes a rock in the absence of light. It threw a shadow over the space between them; suddenly, there was the tension of being two non-allied Hunters in enemy territory, silently evaluating the other for all they were worth, good and bad. Bisky had never acted her age—not in her treatment of Gon and certainly not in her treatment of Kite—but this was the first time she felt older than him, somehow. Old, weathered, and uncannily perceptive.

"Listen. I know you're Ging's lackey, and I know he doesn't really do long-term relationships, but you have to stay here for Gon, okay? If you don't look after him, no one will."

So that's why she had stayed this long.

"I was going to do that anyways," he retorted. "And I'm not his 'lackey.'"

And that was the right answer, it seemed.

"Whatever~" she sang. "Also, don't tell Gon what I'm doing. He's got enough on his mind as it is."

Because of course she would dump this on him last minute. "Roger that. I'll just say you got bored and wandered off."

"That's the spirit!" she said with a wink.

And just before the door closed behind her, Kite thought of one more thing.

"Wait, Bisky," he called out. "Just… be safe."

The girl behind the door stopped in her tracks. Then, in the span of half a second, she burst back into the room, jumped up to grab his face in her hands, and planted a big kiss on his lips.

"When I get back, we're going on a proper date," she told him, grinning ear to ear. "So don't fall in love with anybody else in the meantime."

With that, she ran off, waving him goodbye. Through the window, Kite watched her leave the inn, watched her fly past buildings with a Nen-enhanced sprint, watched her disappear behind the treeline.

He wiped his lips on his sleeve, and her lipstick left a pink smudge on the fabric.

Kite looked up from his book when Gon roused at long last.

"What day is it?" the boy croaked.

"Relax. You've been out for twelve hours."

"No good," he whispered. "That's… a lot of time."

"You got beat pretty bad," Kite admitted.

Gon laughed—a dry, brittle sound. "I had no idea there were so many strong people in the world."

"You and me both," he murmured as he moved to sit on the bedside stool. "Do you want some water?"

"No. I wanna beat Knuckle."

"… Have some water," Kite insisted and propped the boy up to tip a glass to his mouth. Carefully, he watched his swollen throat start to bob away, and even when the drinking paused, he kept the glass pressed to his lips till the boy gave in and drank it all.

A bit of water trailed down from the corner of his mouth, and Kite sort of wanted to wipe it away, but he thought that might be going too far.

"And the thing is," Gon continued, "he's not anywhere near as strong as that ant. I can tell. I can tell."

"If all goes well, no one in NGL will have to face that ant alone."

Gon's wrist finally came up to scrub the wetness off his jaw, and Kite felt himself relax a bit.

"I don't have time for this. There's just no time. And yet…!"

And yet.

"Damn," the boy cursed. "Damn it all."

Yeah.

"During the match, I can take on Knuckle, alright? Don't worry about him anymore. You can deal with… Morel's other student. Leave the others to me," Kite said.

Gon immediately shook his head.

"I'll be the one who faces Knuckle."

"Gon," he stated. "Physically, Knuckle seems almost as good as me. You won't stand a chance."

"That's why Bisky's gonna train me some more! I'll go to six hours Ren endurance!"

Kite exhaled slowly. "First of all, Ren training gives diminishing returns after four hours. Second, Bisky's gone."

"Huh?"

"She said something about… the Hunter Association… needing her guidance back at Headquarters. I don't know. It seemed urgent."

Gon's face fell. "So she's not coming back?"

He found the energy it took to shrug. "Who knows?"

Kite certainly didn't.

"Then you're gonna have to train me, Kite," Gon commanded.

Said man leaned his head against the wall. "Are you sure about this?" he asked. "I'm a pretty tough teacher; I won't go easy on you just because…"

Because you're Gon. Because I like you. Because I like how you look when you succeed.

But then, Kite met the boy's eyes and inwardly cursed himself for the stupid question. Of course he was ready.

"Well," he said after clearing his throat. "We'll start with that four hour Ren endurance. I'm not Bisky, so I can't keep you going with her 'Magical Esthetician' or whatever, so it'll probably take you five days or so. Then, we'll do some sparring and fine-tune your Hatsu, because—and I'm sorry to say this—that thing is a mess."

"Yeah, I know," Gon eagerly agreed. But then, as he jumped out of bed and started for the door, his progress was stopped by Kite's grip on the back of his shirt.

"Firstly, however, you're going to take a bath and wash your clothes like a normal person. You've tormented me long enough."

The boy considered this seriously for a moment, as if it were actually something to think about. To Kite, it was becoming increasingly clear that the only person with any less shame than Gon would have to be Ging himself.

"I don't have any other clothes, though," he finally said. "I can take a bath pretty fast, but I don't wanna sit around forever waiting for my stuff get done. So, uh… how long would cleaning them take, do you know?"

"To wash and dry? About two hours."

"Oh, can I borrow something of yours?"

"Gon. Open your eyes. You barely come up to my waist."

"Would you mind if I trained naked?"

"Yes."

"… Can you buy me another pair of pants?"

So there he was, one of the Association's top Pro Hunters and a bona fide Nen master, leafing through rack after rack of pants. He didn't mind it, truth be told, but it would've helped if Gon had any idea of what his size was; his Aunt had apparently sewn all his clothes by hand and thus never introduced him to any sizing system. So Kite was left eyeballing a bunch of kids clothes without anywhere to start.

Maybe it'd be best to get him a range of things, for now, and take him here later to actually try stuff on. Really, his wardrobe should consist of more than just one outfit, though Kite wasn't one to talk, given that he'd been wearing the same thing for the last… forever. At first, this had just been a side-effect of being dirt poor, but now that the Hunter business had set him up financially for the next thirty lifetimes, he found it felt weird to wear anything other than what he always had. Did Gon feel the same way?

"Kite!"

Spinner was there, running up behind him.

"Hi, Spin. How've you been?"

"Good, good. I wouldn't have thought to see you here, since you usually shop at secondhand stores and the like."

Yes, but he wasn't shopping for himself; this was for Gon. And somehow, the idea of Gon having nice, comfortable things was very appealing to him.

"Just thought I'd try it out," he said, not sure why he wasn't giving the actual answer. It was a spur-of-the-moment lie, unforeseen and unpredictable, a shard of human randomness embedded in his conduct. That didn't mean there wasn't a reason, though—just one he didn't see.

"So what have you been up to?"

"Training, mostly."

"Oh? What for?" she questioned. Clearly, she wasn't familiar with the compulsive self-betterment that occupied the free time of most Pro Hunters. All the same, there did happen to be a goal, in this case.

"A tournament for those who wanna fight the chimera ants," he explained.

Her face grew blank. "You're… going back? I thought you were just staying here until Gon got better."

"I changed my mind, recently. I'll be in town for the next few weeks until the match."

"Well," she breathed. "I guess that's understandable. Can I watch your fight, when it happens? To cheer you on?"

"No. It'll be dangerous."

"By just watching? Of course I'd stick to the sidelines!"

Kite shook his head. "It's a Nen fight; anything can happen. You know about the number of audience deaths per year at Heaven's Arena, don't you?"

"Heaven's… Arena?"

"Nevermind. Just believe me when I say it's impossible to determine where the battleground ends and the sidelines begin."

Spin sighed but did not argue. "Well, good luck, then. What's Gon been doing? Still asleep?"

"No," he almost laughed; that seemed so long ago. "Nothing can keep him down for long. He's training, too."

"For the tournament?" she hesitantly asked. When he nodded, her eyes lit up with alarm. "But… he's just a kid! And the chimera ants beat you, Kite!"

"I never said it was a safe decision," he muttered. "But he has to. For Killua."

"Killua's definitely dead, Kite. Don't give the poor boy false hope."

And that was the crux of the matter, wasn't it? It all came back to this.

"I wouldn't put it past Killua to have some tricks up his sleeve. It was a Nen fight. Anything could've happened."

The statement was mostly based on a faith in the rigors of his Zoldyck training. Kite had seen traces of it all throughout their time together—the inhuman level of control over his body, the vast array of tools at his disposal. Pro assassins like him were taught more than just how to kill; they knew an endless number of techniques for hiding and misdirection. If there was anyone who could've survived at such dismal odds, it was probably him.

Spin rolled her eyes, exasperated. "So I've been told."

"Really," Kite insisted. "And besides, Gon is strong and getting stronger. He wouldn't have been invited to the tournament if there was no way he could properly compete."

"… Fine."

But Kite knew she didn't like it.

"Anywho, me and the rest of the guys are going out to dinner, tomorrow, and we'd love for you to join us. You have enough time in your busy schedule for that, don't you?"

"… Okay," he assented. "Where and when?"

"Village center, 7:00 PM. Wait… It'd be 19:00 for you Hunters, yeah?"

"Yes, the Association works on a twenty-four hour clock," he confirmed. "But seven is fine."

"Mm-hmm. See you then."

She walked out without carrying any bags, Kite observed. He then proceeded to buy Gon four different sizes of the same outfit; it was a hassle to carry so much money on him, anyways.

Netero's spirits were high as he let himself be led through the Zoldyck mansion. He mildly took in all the typical extravagance on the way, probing the butler with only a few questions and observations, just enough to set the poor girl on edge; she was obviously an apprentice, judging by how easy it was to push her around. Eventually, they came to the chamber where Zeno liked to receive guests: a small parlor decked in thick, purple curtains and furnished with naught but two ornate loveseats and a crystal coffee table. The butler bowed and scurried away, leaving him to his old acquaintance.

"Drink?" Zeno offered as he raised his own goblet.

"Sure," Netero accepted, only to make himself feel as though he were congenial. Zeno was far removed from such sentimental trappings—the ancient companionship of breaking bread in company—so it meant nothing to him, either way. Still, Netero liked to go through the motions.

So another butler pushed a beverage cart into the room, and he wasted no time reaching for the humble sake he'd been drinking his entire life—the only kind of alcohol he'd ever imbibed, in fact. Netero knew that he was the only reason Zeno kept such simple mead in his bar's rotation, and the thought made him smile just a little bit.

"I hear you've been squishing ants in NGL," Zeno began. "Got too much work on your hands?''

Netero chuckled at the pun, both of them aware of just how many hands he truly has. "I wouldn't go that far. It is enough to merit some extra precaution, though. Better safe than sorry, as they say."

Zeno made a noise of agreement. "Of course. So who'll it be? My son's been itching for a worthy assignment."

"I'd like it to be you, actually."

"Heh, extra precaution, indeed," Zeno remarked. "I hope you're ready to pay out of pocket, because I doubt the Association Board will finance such an expensive purchase. Not until the situation really starts to deteriorate, at least."

"I'm prepared to shoulder the cost," Netero evenly replied. "However, I also expect you to contribute another family member to the cause. And I also expect them to be free of charge."

"And why would I ever do that?"

Netero's smirk grew just a bit wider; Zeno raised a leery brow. Hook, line, and sinker.

"How else are you going to save your grandson?"