He underestimated them.
He overestimated himself.
The bitterness Kalluto was feeling since the attack on the Chimera Ant nest grew every day, like the pungent tang reminding him of his oversight. From the earliest age, he was taught the importance of judging opponents' strength, yet he failed on this first, fundamental step. The Phantom Troupe turned out to be far beyond his reach.
However, giving up was not an option. He had to achieve his goal, and to do this, he had no choice but to improve. And to improve, he had to change. He had to reject the ideas of naturally gaining the experience or finding the own pace, as they only slowed him down and couldn't bring him the results he needed. As the strained muscle grew stronger, he should go beyond his limits to gain power. Increase his efforts, clear his mind from insignificant, distracting thoughts and feelings, never waver. If he wasn't trying hard enough so far, he was going to do better. He had to do better. A few years — two, maybe three — he believed might be enough to get close to the Spiders, to Killua.
Although these few years of his training could be a few years of their training too. As the youngest among both the Zoldycks and the Troupe, he was already in the worse position. He lacked their experience, the time they spent on polishing their powers. But even if helplessness crept into his heart and all his struggle seemed futile, he couldn't let himself be left behind. He had to surpass them to compensate for his shortcomings. If the old methods failed, he had to find a new way in order to make progress.
A few days ago the idea arose. The idea that burned his sense of pride and was making him sick. He had never asked for help, he had never been taught by anyone outside of his family. And maybe that was the key he was looking for. A tutor who could change his way of thinking and eradicate bad habits. With the images of the fight still flashing in his mind, begrudgingly, he had to admit he knew who could be the candidate.
This idea was really making him sick.
After neutralizing Ants' lair, the Phantom Troupe decided to divide. Phinks and Shizuku left earlier to help Nobunaga as he came across the group of smugglers and, taking an interest in their goods, now was in need of cleaning aid. The rest stayed in Meteor City for a while, taking care of the remaining Ants roaming the nearby wasteland.
As days were passing, Kalluto killed when he was supposed to, ate when they were offered meals, slept in the area they were directed toward. Keeping himself out of the way of others, he remained withdrawn and didn't talk.
He observed the foreign surroundings, the inhabited debris crammed with piles of litter, obsolete electronics, abandoned belongings. Almost getting lost in the never-ending maze of rubbish and sludge formed into soaring structures. Everything so different from the comfortable luxury he was raised in.
He observed the Spiders and followed them like a shadow, struck by their instinctive actions and their maneuvering in this eerie world, with the confidence of an animal moving through its natural habitat. Alienated from their conversations full of memories and references, as if they spoke in a secret language he wasn't allowed to know.
He observed the odd relationship between the Phantom Troupe and the Meteor City residents. Even though they were always treated with respect, no interaction seemed truly sincere. Conversations, appearing casual at first, stiffened with reverent distance, and words full of esteem veiled fear, sometimes hostility.
The Spiders were stitched into the core of this place, Kalluto wondered, yet even here, in the home of all outcasts, they seemed like the outliers.
Time flew in his distress and indecision. The Phantom Troupe was getting ready to leave their decaying homeland, and they were going to scatter over the world once again, staying in hiding until a new craving would bring them together. Kalluto couldn't wait any longer. He knew well where he had to go, always trying to be aware of the Spiders' steps, following them with his eyes and with his paper. He waited for a time when the man's asocial nature turned out convenient for him and they could be alone, so he wouldn't need to humiliate himself in front of the whole group.
Despite his efforts, his heart started beating faster when he was coming towards one of the provisional huts and the familiar silhouette became more distinct. He was sitting on the pile of discarded electronic devices, engaged in reading. The aftermath of his recent fight visible in the newly found black coat, timeworn and ragged, but in the one piece in contrary to his old clothes, and the sling on his arm, still not fully healed from the breakage.
With each step, Kalluto was slowly rescinding his Zetsu not to cause an alarm with his sudden appearance. Even when he got close, Feitan didn't lower his book, however he sensed he was noticed. He swallowed to soothe an annoyingly dried throat.
"How is your arm?" He tried to sound natural.
"What you want?" Feitan glanced at him unamused, seeing through his attempt at small talk. The acute black eyes were piercing, seemed to vivisect his every thought.
Kalluto frowned. His deliberately prepared plan for the conversation, slowly leading Feitan through the subject and guiding him in the right direction to make him feel he was actually the one to suggest this idea, collapsed before it could even commence. He took a deep breath.
"I saw your fight with the Chimera Ants' queen and I have a high respect for your techniques and abilities," he started, trying to keep his voice unfazed. "I was wondering if you would have the time and would—" His words mingled as the cold stare was sucking confidence out of him. "If you would be willing to share your expertise w-with me." He mentally cursed himself for the momentary stutter." I would be most appreciative if you could consider tutoring me. Of course, I'm ready to adequately compensate you for your time."
The distressingly long silence followed his words, drilling into his head and making him question his decision even more.
"I look like babysitter?" Feitan scoffed.
Kalluto forced himself to retain composure and not to show that such low insults could have any impact on him. The words were consciously chosen to irritate him. He knew that. He knew that, yet he couldn't stop his fists from clenching.
"I know I'm young." He subdued an offended tremble in his voice. "But I swear I won't be useless. I trained under the guidance of—"
"I think you forgot." Feitan didn't let him finish, his eyes full of frighteningly glacial hatred, the source of which Kalluto couldn't entirely understand. "You not in your mansion anymore and I no Zoldyck servant that do everything for you. Here, you either die or learn how to fight to survive. If you can't, maybe it not place for you."
Feitan took pleasure in observing disappointment and humiliation growing in the child's eyes before they switched their expression to the forged indifference and bowed stiffly.
"Sorry for bothering you." Their voice was impassive, but his senses attuned to detect any trace of misery could see the covert resentment flowing from their mouth as they turned around and disappeared. The body seemingly translucent, the aura perfectly shut off.
Feitan watched them for a moment, then returned to his book, lazily turning the pages. However, words were slipping away from his comprehension, sentences lost their meaning when his thoughts were wandering off, disrupted by an itch at the back of his mind.
A change in Zoldyck's behavior intrigued him. Up to now, he didn't have much contact with the youngest Troupe member, but he had noticed their restrained manner and their off-putting, empty expression. Always flawlessly dressed and well-behaved, they resembled the porcelain doll more than human, and just like the porcelain doll, provoked to break them. Exposing their weakness so openly was an uncharacteristic yet interesting crack on this image, the matter asking for further investigation.
Feitan smiled. It was hard to ignore the temptation to tear off this mask and cut through the facade. This teaching idea they had could be a great opportunity to do this and see what the kid was really made of. He had seen people like the malleable material prone to being molded at a whim, and the ones shattering at the slightest misuse, and a few specimens that could flexibly bend like a reed, adapting to the trials and avoiding the breakage. Although the child's feeble look wasn't very promising.
Or was that just an act? A manipulation meant to lure him?
Maybe they were the betrayer, carelessly welcomed into the Phantom Troupe's ranks. This thought was already stinging him for a while.
Of course, Feitan respected and followed Chrollo's rules, but it didn't mean he fully agreed with all of them. He was sure each of the Spider's legs was worthy of its position, at least power-wise. However, he wasn't concerned if they were worthy but if they were beneficial for the Spiders. Current methods ensured the strength, simultaneously allowing potential backstabbers with ulterior motives to join. Just like Hisoka or that Zoldyck child. Well, Hisoka was his own case as he was always a bother, even excluding his motives, but the latter was a headache.
Their contribution was undeniable. They appeared unexpectedly at the right time, when the Spiders were agitated after Chrollo's departure, with the right ability that let them find the exorcist. So convenient. Too convenient for Feitan's liking. It would be better to determine if their request really came into being because of a fight with an Ant, or if they deliberately chose the acting leader of the Troupe to spy on.
Feitan returned to reading, a text shared the next spread with an illustration. Petite figures twisted in unnatural positions, muscles tensed in something between ecstasy and agony.
Either way, keeping an eye on the youngest Zoldyck could be useful as well as entertaining.
Kalluto's insides burned from anger. He didn't know if it was targeted mostly toward Feitan's mocking attitude or toward himself for having any hope his, nonsensical in hindsight, plan would succeed.
Fleeing to the outskirts of the city, he found an unfinished, abandoned building, the shapeless mass with two unsteady floors, to hide inside. He stood on the roof and mindlessly, driven by an ingrained habit, he began his training. Despite the turmoil inside him, every step he took was full of elegance, resembling a dance more than the assault.
His mind could be weak and susceptible to outside influences, but his body was well conditioned. He needed to get rid of the remains of willfulness that his young age could only inadequately excuse. At best, emotions were only an annoying distraction; at worst, they could affect his actions, derogating the work his mother and brother put into him. And he couldn't allow it. First and foremost, he was Zoldyck. He was created to serve his family, and he had no right to be concerned by the obstacles.
The repeatability of the well-known moves, the rustle of paper and the cool evening breeze were slowly soothing his senses.
"Maybe it's not a place for you."
Words stabbed again and his throat tightened. Despite everything, he wanted to show Feitan his strength, defeat him, crush him, prove his worth. But there was nothing he could do in his current state. In the Ants' lair he barely avoided the attack that wasn't even targeted at him. How could he compete with power so monstrous, yet still not fully uncovered?
Something inside him stung, but his moves were steady and the fan didn't quiver in his firm hand.
Maybe in fact it wasn't a place for him. Maybe he should shamefully return home and forget about this endeavor. Maybe it was his fate to go down in history as the most mediocre Zoldyck. He fiercely shook his head when his eyes stung and scolded himself for these pathetic thoughts and wallowing in self-pity.
Kalluto never cried. He had never needed to. That was a childish behavior useful to no one, especially not the professional assassin. He just had to concentrate on the training, on the Nen enclosing his body, on the ache of overexerted muscles, and these unpleasant feelings would pass. As they always passed.
He focused on a smooth passage of aura across his every limb, felt a weight of the fan in his stretched out hand. Every piece of paper gliding around him, palpable as if it was an extension of his body. Slowly releasing his Nen, he sensed the surroundings, with closed eyes seeing the shapes of unevenly stacked bricks and breaks in the structure. And the distortion. A sharp shiver ran down his spine at the abrupt presence behind him. He shuddered, for a split second losing balance in his stance. Embarrassing.
"Hey." Hearing the husky voice, he gritted his teeth and turned around.
Feitan stood at the top of the staircase to the roof, his dark eyes observed and presumably judged Kalluto's every move, burning his skin.
"Why did you come here?" He managed to keep his tone emotionless, not wanting to give the man any more opportunities to pick on his weaknesses.
"I'm bored." He was still drilling him with his gaze. His bandana had been destroyed, but the turned-up collar of his coat obscured his face, making his expression unreadable. "I think if you can entertain me."
Kalluto wasn't sure if he could fully unravel what might be hidden in the man's words, but involuntarily his heart thudded with hope. A hint of iron taste grew in his mouth when he bit the inside of his cheek to quell it. In the tense silence, he waited for more clues.
"But first off, I want know if there any brain behind that empty eyes." Nails dug deep into Kalluto's clenched fist as Feitan sneered. The words weren't even what upset him; it was the full-of-ridicule nonchalance with which he was treated, the constant toying seemingly lacking a clear goal, that kept him on edge. "Question one. Most Spiders were here, and you have contact to rest — you must bother me?"
Machi once mentioned Feitan was the Phantom Troupe's interrogator, Kalluto remembered, when the air around them was turning more smothering and oppressive.
"Yes, I have to." Seeing the raised eyebrow, he began explaining. "I only saw you in the serious battle, and the fight with those mutated people didn't reveal much about the others." He paused, but silence urged him to continue. "But there were a few other things I thought about. Even though Shalnark is a manipulator like me, his style of fighting is much more passive, targeting one enemy and then, using their body, while staying in the back himself." Words started coming out on their own, as if he wanted to assure himself of his decision and push down a feeling of losing control. "Shizuku's conjured vacuum cleaner makes her abilities very specific to her and impractical to me. Both Phinks and Bonolenov rely on their bodies in fighting, which is not my strong point, and in that case going against natural predisposition could only hold me back."
He stopped for a second, wondering if he didn't forget any important information from the mass of thoughts cramming his head for the past few days.
"I assume you are not a Manipulator, but you use Nen more offensively, and you fight with a weapon like me. Even if your techniques wouldn't be suitable for me, there is the biggest chance I will be able to adapt them to my capabilities."
There was no reaction to his words.
"Question two." Feitan maintained an incessant scorn. "What you offer in return? I no need assassin, I can kill. No need some rich kid's money, I can steal. So what?"
Kalluto hesitated. He knew near nothing about this man and what he considered valuable. Rambling about his skills and more or less attainable treasures could take hours, but there was no guarantee anything would hit the mark. In his mind, he retrieved all the memories he had of him in search of any common thread he could lean on. Interactions with other members, words he eavesdropped, today's conversations. The Phantom Troupe's ethics he observed or lack thereof, snippets from the confrontation with Ant's queen, joking with Phinks and Shalnark. The appearing on this roof.
He swallowed.
"You said you were looking for entertainment." His voice sounded distant and dull.
Once again, the man didn't grace him with a proper response. He went silent for a moment, during which Kalluto, with clenched teeth, clenched fists and clenched stomach, wondered how many other parts of his body he would be able to tighten. And if it could help him in keeping his emotions restrained.
"So you think you can give it." The flare in Feitan's eyes could be almost considered gleeful, but the rapacity behind it was hard to overlook. "You know what you sign up for, kid?"
"No," Kalluto saw no point in lying under that gaze. "But it doesn't matter, I will endure it."
"Bite, not bark." He was scoffed at. "Remember, I no nanny. You can be obedient, self-sufficient, not annoyance?"
"I will." His response was immediate. In some sense, those were the rules he always tried to follow.
"And will do everything I say?"
"Everything," he said a little louder than he intended, breaking his monotonous cadence and piquing Feitan's interest.
"Then prove you worth waste of my time." Even with the majority of his face hidden, his voice revealed he was smiling. He raised his healthy hand in a mockery of a surrender pose. "One hit and I agree."
No aura was flowing from his body. Kalluto attacked. Not the place where the man stood, but the one he should have moved on next. He was right, yet his fan missed by a hair's breadth. Feitan already shifted to the opposite corner. He rushed there but stopped as he noticed the shadow disappearing in the stairway entrance. Kalluto didn't waste a time and jumped off the staircase, his fall cushioned by a dense whirl of paper.
More scraps of paper cascaded from the slits in his clothes. Moving to the closed area played to his advantage, as he could fill the hall with the mist of confetti. With his expanded aura, he sensed the paper's every motion, hence traced Feitan's position. Although, in consequence, the strength of his Nen thinned out and couldn't break through the man's Ken.
Kalluto shifted his focus to strengthen the attack, the swirl of paper followed his direction like a snake. Quickly, the previous problem returned — Feitan's speed. Keeping up with the chase while providing adequate force required constant and fluent switching concentration of his aura. The task infuriatingly teetering at the edge of his capabilities. His attempts always left him with the cloud of paper easy to shake off or the intensive cluster, too slow to even touch the target.
"By the way—" He heard from somewhere behind him. "You boy or girl?"
Kalluto sighed. He had never cared about similar remarks, and he heard them too many times to start now.
"Your attempts at distracting me won't work."
"Just asking." A voice on the left, the surge of confetti. Their auras scraped, but there was no direct hit. He wasn't sure if he believed those words.
"...boy."
"Oh." Feitan stood in front of him, staring with knitted eyebrows. Kalluto eyed his broken arm, the weak point that should have been easy to aim at, yet kept slipping away. He attacked, the man disappeared in time.
"You shouldn't have asked if you're going to make a face like that now."
This imitation of a hunt prolonged as they kept flailing in the flutter of almost-hits. Kalluto didn't realize when he started panting, both from physical exhaustion and irritation. He knew he couldn't give up, yet involuntary resignation crept into his mind, weakening his muscles. A sting of hopelessness. The same he felt in the Ant's lair.
A sudden thought came to his mind. A risky idea, but he had no right to be choosy.
"What counts as a hit?" He settled on the ground, loosening the paper storm around them.
Feitan appeared in front of him once again.
"I'm merciful." His mouth stretched into a mocking grin. "Punch, scratch, even your little paper touch me and I can count it."
Everything Kalluto could have wished to hear. He folded the fan and calmed his breath. For all he was worth, he forced himself to look confident and restrain any tremble in his voice.
"Look behind your collar." His stretched out arm pointed at his opponent.
Feitan glanced at him suspiciously and reached to the back of his neck. His eyes widened slightly as he picked a piece of confetti shaped like an arrow.
"You have something in your head," he said with surprise, which Kalluto tried to ignore.
He caught a stiff piece of paper thrown at him, now infused with Feitan's Nen overriding his own. He glanced at it with a sigh. Losing the possibility to spy wasn't ideal, but he knew it was a necessary sacrifice.
"Passable." Feitan's voice didn't convey much emotion as he returned to his distressingly intrusive scrutiny, mindlessly stroking the umbrella, Kalluto didn't even notice he carried before. "You know some Emission, hm?"
"Yes," he said listlessly, secretly pleased that his efforts of combining different types of Nen were noticed. As the Manipulator, his choice was limited. Unable to develop into the Specialist and fated to never master Enhancement, Conjugation and especially Transmutation, he had to utilize anything he could.
"Show it."
He breathed out deeply, trying to focus despite his fatigue, more mental than physical. Concentrated Nen started flowing along his arm to the tip of the fan. Perhaps using his weapon could be considered a cheating, but not hearing any scolding, he continued. With the charge and a quick swing, he released the wave, which flew like a wind, disarraying the air inside the room. At the beginning, bright and firm, it was noticeably weakening the farther from his body it got, harder to control without a help of paper, fastening and strengthening the aura. When it got to Feitan, he brushed it off with the gesture appropriate for the irritating fly, not the fierce attack.
"Now Zetsu." Kalluto compliantly halted the flow of his aura, and the familiar feeling of concealed energy brought him momentary comfort. He knew the lack of a defensive layer was making him vulnerable, but paradoxically, he felt safer with his presence subdued.
"Gyo." Another order.
Kalluto focused his enhanced sight on Feitan. His Ten looked tranquil, but the feel it gave off was cold and coercive. The pressure he seemed to exert on everything around just by merely existing, now became more apparent. If that was the Zoldyck's training, Kalluto would be told to avoid people like that and not engage in a fight. Even if they were the target, father would likely forbid him from taking that commission.
He observed Nen slowly shifting across the man's limbs. He tensed when it cumulated around his right hand, ready for the attack, but he didn't dare to disobey and retreat an aura to the rest of his body. As the power was shrouding the umbrella, he kept an eye on its ferrule, which he knew could be an unexpected danger as well.
Feitan snickered, tracing his gaze, and before Kalluto could react, the man kicked his legs out from under him. He managed to release some of his aura on time, so his body didn't take the whole impact of the hit, but the hurt pride pained him more than any physical wounds could.
"You focus too long and you are left weak." Feitan fiddled with the umbrella's handle, looking down on him with a twinkle of entertainment in his eyes and lazily drawing his sword out. "Your Zetsu is not too bad, but not rely on it." The blade's broken tip shifted close to Kalluto's face. "Because tomorrow I use this."
