Chapter 7
The moment Kurapika catches sight of the Bandit's Secret in Kuroro's hand, the ground drops out from underneath him.
Kurapika crashes into a heap of discarded refuse and metal, the impact hard enough to leave him breathless. Debris clatters down on him as he lies insensible among the rubbish, his head spinning from what he recognizes as Kuroro's teleportation ability—the disorientation familiar from when Kuroro first subjected him to it on the Black Whale. The sudden change in their surroundings is too confusing for him to get his feet under himself.
A shadow blocks out the sun and obscures his view of the sky, belonging to none other than the person responsible for his descent. When Kurapika looks up, his vision wavering before him, Kuroro is standing there with his hand extended in an offer of assistance. He looks out of place against the massive junkyard behind them, his appearance pristine and untouched by filth, when Kurapika is covered in dirt and debris as if he's the one who belongs to Meteor City.
Kurapika shoves himself upright, fighting the accompanying wave of dizziness brought about by the movement. He rises to his feet by himself as if he didn't just fall embarrassingly hard earlier. "Next time, it would be nice if you gave me a warning."
"I'll consider it," Kuroro answers with a small smile, amused that Kurapika caught onto his ability so easily.
He wouldn't be smiling if he knew that Kurapika was capable of emptying his stomach over Kuroro's shoes. He recalls how Kuroro finally stopped messing with him on the ship the last time that happened.
Kuroro moves several steps back, giving him a moment to orient himself with their newfound surroundings. Kurapika takes this opportunity to recover his balance and steady himself on his feet. A hot gust of wind sweeps through the junkyard, stirring the hair from Kurapika's face and billowing the back of his suit jacket.
Instead of standing in the shadows of vast skyscrapers overlooking any other city, they're surrounded by mountains of refuse jutting up into the sky, appearing as if they would come crashing down at any moment, unable to support the weight of the accumulated detritus of Meteor City's inhabitants and the rest of the world. Beneath them, the ground is completely covered in debris, incapable of greenery without a single blade of grass in sight.
This is Kuroro's sanctum and stronghold, so Kurapika needs to stay on guard when he doesn't have the environmental advantage here. Kuroro goes over to the edge of the garbage mound they found themselves on, nodding towards the ground as a gesture for him to follow. He slides down the slope, and Kurapika follows him in his descent.
Kuroro lands on the ground effortlessly. He strides a short distance away and faces him from the opposite end. His Bandit's Secret rests in one hand, the book open to a blank page, and he draws the Benz knife from his hip with his other hand, the handle bound with the turquoise ribbon.
"Both physical weapons and Nen are permissible for this fight," Kuroro tells him, the ribbon in his grasp reminding Kurapika of his objective. He shifts into a more serious stance, making Kurapika materialize his chains in anticipation, but nothing suggests that he plans on making the first move. "Now let's see what you're made of."
For a moment, the only movement between them is the passing wind. They appraise each other with a tentative calm—
And Kurapika goes on the offensive.
He lashes out with his Dowsing Chain with the force of a punishing whip. The chain dislodges a scrap heap that explodes violently into metal fragments when Kuroro evades with remarkable speed, making it clear that his younger age hasn't made him less formidable.
"Chains, huh?" Kuroro leaps over the remains scattered beneath them and avoids the incoming chain again without retaliation. "I didn't expect you to have that kind of taste. Do you use them for anything else?"
It's a suggestive question meant to fluster him. Obviously, Kuroro is observing and questioning him to clear the conditions of his own ability.
Kurapika decides to let his chains speak for him. "You'll have to find out for yourself."
The chain hurtles through the air, missing Kuroro's head by a hairbreadth as he takes a dancing step back, his black hair flowing around his face. Kurapika chases after him—the irony of the situation not lost on him considering how much of his life has been spent in pursuit of this very man.
Kuroro leads him through mountains of scrap metal, using the surrounding environment of metal structures and twisted pipes to conceal himself, but Kurapika follows after him in close pursuit. Turning over his shoulder, Kuroro grabs a detached car door and launches it directly into his path.
Kurapika's chain snaps out to meet it. A swift severance, and the door cleanly splits apart in the middle. Judging by Kuroro's reaction, he didn't anticipate his chains to be capable of such strength—powerful enough to decapitate if necessary. Kuroro ascends a scrap mountain to distance himself, but Kurapika refuses to allow his escape. Ensnaring a metal pole with his chain, heavy enough to support his own weight, Kurapika whips it through the air towards Kuroro.
Kuroro dives out of the way as the projectile narrowly misses and smashes into the scrap heaps. The mountain starts giving way and collapses in a cacophony of screeching metal. A panel of aluminum roofing tumbles off the side of the mountain, slamming into the ground where he had been standing moments before. Kurapika avoids getting caught in the momentum, pieces of debris hailing down on him as he runs, the path behind them disappearing in a landslide of refuse.
Kurapika lunges after him with the devastating swing of his chain. Kuroro falls back and prevents him from landing a single strike, each missed swing destroying the scrap heaps around them instead of his opponent. Engaging Kuroro in a fight without the threat of death would have been unthinkable in the past. But he didn't accept this challenge because he had something to prove. Rather, he's testing Kuroro as much as he's testing him.
Kurapika has an entire arsenal of abilities at his disposal—more power and strength than he's willing to reveal at this time. He feels the weight of his chains resting steadily within his chest, the thin blade suspended over his heart from the covenant he made with himself a lifetime ago. He doesn't know when he'll need to restrain the Spiders again—he's prepared to do so if the situation necessitates it—but that time isn't now.
Even if he could end this by capturing Kuroro, he wouldn't be able to without casting suspicions over the limitation imposed upon his middle finger chain. Despite depriving himself of his greatest abilities, despite that he has the power to accomplish so much more with them, his restrictions won't stop him from winning this.
He concentrates on the turquoise ribbon on the handle of Kuroro's knife, rippling in the air with a color more vibrant than anything else here. Conviction surges through Kurapika as he aims at Kuroro's blade, intending to displace it from his grasp. Steel flashes in Kuroro's hand, and he deflects the blow.
The sound of metal clashing echoes in the air. Kurapika forces him back with relentless strikes, sparing none of his strength. Kuroro intercepts his subsequent movements, striking his chain aside without pause, and no matter how hard Kurapika tries to overpower him, he's unable to break through his defenses. From what he knows, Kuroro could hold his own against Silva and Zeno Zoldyck in collaboration, having mastered fighting without Nen. There's no satisfaction in this when Kuroro continues dancing around him, remaining on the defensive the entire time and sparing no reaction as if he isn't even trying.
Kurapika knows by now there's nothing that can subdue him better than the element of surprise. Instead of locking with the blade, the chain's pendulum strikes Kuroro's hand, winning Kurapika a second of opportunity to whip his chain around his wrist, binding Kuroro in place. A fleeting surprise flits across Kuroro's face, and there's a subtle satisfaction in catching him off-guard.
"I'll take the ribbon," Kurapika tells him with an air of finality. "You can try and stop me."
Kurapika wrenches Kuroro forward so that he comes flying within reach. He pulls back his left fist, poised to deliver a devastating punch, but before his fist collides with Kuroro's face, Kuroro vanishes.
"Behind you."
Kurapika whirls around, sensing his presence a second too late and—
A kick lands painfully on his back, sending him flying through the scrap heaps. Stinging pain tears into his shoulders and back as shrapnel slices through the fabric of his suit, sun-scorched to unimaginable temperatures that leave his skin burning and bleeding. The air whistles past him as he crashes through the mountains, each subsequent impact more devastating than the previous one. He doesn't have a chance to get his bearings, when Kuroro reappears behind him in midair with another kick that slams him into the ground.
Nen cushions his fall. The sight of Kuroro above him forces Kurapika to roll out of the way in time as he strikes the ground, cratering it upon impact. Dust and debris explode in the air from his landing, obscuring everything.
Kurapika tumbles over and regains his footing, his defensive Ken flaring around him in a protective barrier. In his current state without Emperor Time, he can only reinforce his body with sixty percent efficiency. While Kurapika never expected Kuroro to hold back, he was unprepared for the unexpectedly hard blows Kuroro landed at his side. He concentrates on breathing while recovering, his Holy Chain mending the lacerations in his skin and muscle with its gentle green aura.
A displacement of the air interrupts his healing.
Kurapika throws up his arms in time to block the incoming kick, skidding several feet back when his Nen enhancement absorbs some of the damage. A shock of pain—his bones would have splintered without his Nen barrier—but it's manageable compared to being thrown around in the air. Kurapika counters with a deadly swing of his chain, but Kuroro disappears, before another brutal kick sweeps out from the dust and knocks him to the ground.
Kurapika lands on his hands, continuing into a handspring and reinforcing the heel of his foot with Nen, kicking out as hard as he can. Kuroro's hand catches his ankle in an immovable grip, his other hand still holding onto the Bandit's Secret book to presumably access his teleportation skill. Kurapika wastes no time while upended, lashing out with his chain, but it passes harmlessly through the dust as Kuroro teleports away again.
Kurapika returns to the ground, his gaze darting in every direction in search of him. There has to be some underlying pattern to Kuroro's movements, a subconscious sequence to his attacks, but Kuroro's teleportation ability is too unpredictable for him to defend against, leaving him no other choice. A shadow ripples amidst the billowing dust and from the Thieving Index Finger Kurapika sends out his Steal Chain, intending to take the ability for himself.
The syringe never connects.
Kuroro is beside him faster than he can follow. A Nen-enhanced fist slams into Kurapika's abdomen, forcing all the air from him in one unforeseeable movement, throwing him across the junkyard for a second time. He collides with a solid metal wall, his head snapping back from the force of impact. He coughs up blood, feeling the pain reverberating throughout his entire body.
Before Kurapika can recover, a hand seizes him by the throat. Kuroro's fingers are bruising as they press into his neck, restricting the air from his lungs. He holds Kurapika above the ground with one hand and slams him back against the metal wall.
Kuroro looks at him dispassionately, despite his vicious grip over Kurapika's throat. "Will you surrender?"
For the first time since meeting Kuroro here, Kurapika feels that his life is in danger. Kuroro's voice is the same as his memories of Yorknew, impassive and devoid of any tone. His fingers wrap around tighter and Kurapika chokes for breath. He can't allow his Scarlet Eyes to surface—he won't.
Kurapika swallows the metallic taste in the back of his tongue, his throat bobbing underneath Kuroro's hand. Darkness swarms at the periphery of his vision from lack of air. The crushing pressure is becoming too dangerous to ignore—he should have treated this fight more seriously if Kuroro was going to inflict this much damage.
Rather than meet his gaze, Kurapika searches for something to ground himself with, and finds the bright ribbon on Kuroro's hip reminding him of his objective. Concealing his chain with In, Kurapika allows his Chain Jail to fall free from his middle finger. He casts out the chain, a thin snake of invisible aura that succeeds in hooking onto the end of the ribbon.
Gyo burns bright in Kuroro's eyes as he stares down at himself. It comes as no surprise that he managed to divine the location of Kurapika's chain so quickly.
Kuroro releases him before he can take the ribbon. Instead of dropping to the ground, Kurapika falls.
The air pressure changes as their surroundings warp again. His stomach plunges with a sickening swoop as the ground disappears—
Only to reappear beneath him.
Kurapika lands hard against the wooden floor, dust filling the air from his impact. A familiar nausea washes over him as he pushes himself up on his hands and knees, his limbs throbbing painfully underneath him, still unused to Kuroro's sudden teleportation. He clutches his neck, coughing at the dust clogging his throat, his lungs burning from being denied air for so long. Recovering the wind knocked out of him takes time.
He gets to his feet, taking a staggering step and catching himself on a wooden crate when teleportation leaves him with anything but his normal balance. He can barely see anything in the darkness, but the musty scent from the shipping crates and containers around him tells him that they're in an old warehouse.
He stretches out his aura in their surroundings, searching for Kuroro's presence, and finds nothing but silence. His nerves are humming with tension as he continues moving forward, sensing for any sign of movement.
A ripple in the darkness is his only warning.
Kurapika turns around.
The skeleton of an Indoor Fish glows in the darkness, swimming in the air towards him. Kurapika takes off in a run.
Moving faster than Kurapika can predict, the Indoor Fish swoops down while he dodges between the wooden crates. His endurance is dwindling when his body isn't at full strength. Even if he tires, the Fish made from Nen will not.
He swings his chain through the high stacks of crates and pallets, snapping them in half and sending their contents crashing downward to impede its path. Dust from the destroyed crating clouds the air between them. He recalls that Kuroro's Indoor Fish can only survive in closed environments. If Kurapika can smash the windows, the Fish will dissipate—the only problem is that the windows are nowhere near his proximity.
He reaches the other end of the warehouse without any way out. He's cornered.
The Indoor Fish appears from the dust, suspended in the air above him, regarding Kurapika with deep and devouring black eyes. A cold chill passes as the Fish descends upon Kurapika suddenly, as if intending to consume him whole and—
Kisses him on the nose.
Kurapika opens his eyes after instinctively closing them, finding that the Indoor Fish's face is only a few inches away from his own. It makes an inhuman noise, nudging Kurapika's cheek affectionately. He's dumbfounded.
"It's a carnivore that enjoys human flesh," comes Kuroro's voice as he reveals himself, a slant of light illuminating his profile, "but it seems that it likes you more."
Kurapika pushes the Fish's head away, but it resists his strength. It latches onto his suit jacket, tugging at the fabric there. "Stop pulling—"
The sound of fabric tearing rips through the air. The sleeves of his suit jacket are gone, although he should consider himself fortunate that his limbs and muscles are still intact.
"Stop this nonsense," Kurapika snaps, gathering the remnants of his jacket over his shoulders. "It's going to strip me at this rate."
Kuroro only laughs, amused at his interactions with his apparent pet. Before it can devour the rest of his clothes, Kurapika ropes his chain around the Indoor Fish, restricting its motion with a leash.
The result is only temporary, when the Fish starts pulling Kurapika on the leash and dragging him on the floor like a large dog pulling its owner. His Stealth Dolphin is far more intelligent.
While Kurapika is preoccupied, Kuroro flips to another page in his book. The Indoor Fish disappears and Kurapika's chain falls to empty air.
Kurapika feels a premonition of free fall before his surroundings change again. He lands on his feet in a viridescent field of wildflowers, gentler than all the other times Kuroro teleported him. He curses himself for failing to escape Kuroro's control once more. But this time Meteor City's pollution falls away, extinguished by the scent of morning dews.
A strange, numbing calm surrounds Kurapika, forcing his heartbeat to slow and the tension in his muscles to loosen. He takes a deep breath, the clean air a respite from the constant stench of putrefaction in the air. Gentle wind passes through the grass, brushing against his ankles and cooling the dew on his skin. Birdsong serenades him and sunlight warms him from above, as if welcoming him home after a long departure. He could recognize this place anywhere.
But this calmness feels wrong.
The Lukso he remembers withered long ago with a constant sense of death and decay lingering in the air—the atmosphere cold even when the sun shone the brightest. There's no blood underneath his feet, the grass emerald green and the flowers bright instead of being seared away when his homeland burned to the ground. This isn't the Lukso he knows, absent of the blood meant to be staining it.
He's become a butterfly trapped in a spider's web. This is all an illusion, a false paradise spun by Kuroro's deception. This place will ensnare him if he moves even a step further. He needs to get out of here—
Then he sees her.
Beyond the wildflowers is a woman who Kurapika knows as well as himself, more familiar than anyone else in the world. Her features may have faded in his memories over the years, but she stands before him with such aching clarity that her existence is undeniable.
Her hair shines gold in the sunlight, framing a face unmarred by time or tragedy. Her slender frame is clad in the same dress from the day that the massacre had befallen them—he remembers holding her desecrated corpse in his arms the first time he returned. She has never been this bright, this beautiful in his dreams, when all he ever sees is her empty eyes and detached throat.
Kurapika's breath leaves him. The world falls out beneath him without the need for teleportation.
"Mom?"
The woman looks up with clear eyes, and it's the same as meeting his own eyes in the mirror. In the same way that recognition lights up her face, Kurapika knows with unshakable, bone-deep certainty that it's her.
She approaches through the tall grass with slow and steady steps, and while Kurapika wants to run, he can't bring himself to move from where he is. That same feeling of plummeting through space with nothing to stop his fall grips him despite the solid ground beneath his feet. She comes close enough to stand before him, an expression of wonderment on her face as she studies all his features that mirror her own, and then—
She smiles, bittersweet.
"Kurapika."
Hearing her voice makes something in his chest fold in on itself, collapsing underneath the weight of a decade of longing, and for a moment, Kurapika can't breathe. He knows better than this. Even if Kuroro managed to transport him to Lukso from ten years past, it's impossible for his mother to know who he is.
"You're Kurapika, aren't you?"
Kurapika's throat feels too tight for him to answer. He nods, despite himself.
She reaches out and pulls him into her arms, and she doesn't smell of charred flesh and blood. There's only the gentle fragrance of green leaves and the sweet perfume of wildflowers clinging to her hair and skin, and the familiarity of her scent sends a pang through his chest.
Kurapika doesn't remember the last time someone held him like this, the last time he felt safe in someone's arms. He finds himself leaning into her touch, burying his face into her shoulder and feeling the soft cotton of her dress beneath his cheek. His mother's embrace is a comfort long forgotten, and while he reminds himself that none of this is real, he still feels her nostalgic warmth all the same.
"My little sun," his mother says in the softest of voices, and suddenly, Kurapika feels like a child again. All of his homesickness comes rushing back all at once, threatening to overtake him when he tries to keep himself together. "You've grown up so well."
And something inside him falls apart.
Kurapika doesn't deserve this. He feels ashamed to come to her like this—carrying the lifelong regret of surviving the massacre in his heart, the phantom stain of blood on his hands. No matter how much he wants to cling to her and return her embrace, he keeps his hands still and steady at his sides. Longing for her is a dangerous thing when he has denied himself of any physical comfort for many years now.
His mother pulls back to look at him properly. She raises her hands to frame his face, and he finds himself unable to resist this too. He wonders how she sees him in her eyes, but she doesn't seem surprised at all to find Kurapika standing taller than her. Gone is the young boy with dreams in abundance, and in place of him is a stranger in an unfamiliar black suit. He's grown up now, and still, she holds him like a child even though he's nothing more than a stranger.
Kurapika bites his lip, holding back the swell of emotions. There's no one else who can make him feel this vulnerable in their presence. "I have so much that I want to say. So much I want to tell you, but…"
"But?"
"I can't," Kurapika tells her, bringing up his hand to rest it over her own. "This isn't real. None of this is."
Her gaze turns melancholy. "Kurapika..."
"There's something I still need to finish here, but once I do, I'll come find you," Kurapika promises with conviction, intertwining their fingers together in affirmation. "The real you."
Her lips part in surprise, but it only takes a moment for her expression to turn into one of understanding. "Alright, Kurapika." His mother beams at him with so much affection that it makes his heart ache. "Remember that I will always love you no matter what happens. And I know that the real me will love you just as much."
Kurapika nods, not trusting himself to speak. He doesn't allow himself to cry, doesn't even close his eyes because this might be the last time he'll see her face in a long time. He can't do anything else but look at her, not wanting to miss a single moment.
"There's somewhere else you need to be, so you should go." His mother leans in to press a light kiss to his forehead. Her smile is gentle as she steps back from him. "I'll be waiting for you."
It's an echo of the same words whispered to him the first time he woke up in this place. Kurapika reaches out one last time, but his hand passes through nothing when his mother's form bursts into a thousand flower petals, whirling around him in the gentle wind.
And she is gone, leaving nothing but the faintest scent of wildflowers, until that too fades away.
Kurapika feels everything return at once when the dreamscape bleeds away—the ache in his limbs from enduring the fight, the oppressive heat of the sun, the mephitic air filling his lungs. Even as Kuroro's influence fades, the phantom impression of a lone flower petal lingers in his palm.
Kuroro is standing there, as if he has been waiting for him.
"You look like you've seen a ghost."
Something inside Kurapika burns from his foolishness, shaming him for falling for Kuroro's trickery. Stealing his dead mother's visage is sacrilege of one of the highest forms—somehow, the illusion of her alive in a peaceful time is more painful than reliving the worst of his nightmares.
Kuroro's reappearance rouses something within him, something hot and sickening and vicious beneath his skin. Like he wants to kill him.
"What did you see? I heard that the illusion shows the victim their greatest desire, but it seems like yours was something terrible—"
"Shut up," Kurapika says.
And Kurapika's fist collides with Kuroro's face.
There's the sound of bone crunching beneath his fist as Kuroro's head snaps back, but it's not enough. Before Kuroro can stagger back, Kurapika seizes him by the collar of his shirt and pulls him forward, lashing out with another brutal punch. There's no finesse here, no elegance in motion, nothing but savage anger consuming Kurapika as if he's truly going to kill him, his knuckles searing with the satisfaction of each punch. Adrenaline surges through his veins—he can barely hear anything beyond the sound of blood rushing in his ears as he continues his assault—and Kuroro does nothing but take it all.
Despite the blood streaming from his nose, stinging his split lip, Kuroro gives him a roguish grin. There's that manic look in his eyes again—the one where Kuroro's regarding him as if he's a valuable worth possessing.
"You fight like one of us."
Kurapika almost sees red.
Almost.
The affirmation that Kurapika would belong with the Spiders keeps himself in check, but he pays for this moment of distraction when Kuroro's Benz knife slices through the air, the edge scratching across Kurapika's cheek when he tilts his head out of the way, catching his hair as it flows away from his face. Strands of blond hair are falling around him, drifting away in the wind.
Before Kuroro's blade can cut through the air once more, Kurapika throws another harsh punch but this time, Kuroro parries his fist with one hand and counters with the other. They exchange powerful blows, but neither of them falter in blocking and countering any movements from each other. It's infuriating that Kuroro is skilled in hand-to-hand combat too.
Kurapika finds his movements staggering, his reactions slowing, delayed by the poison of Kuroro's blade that has penetrated through his skin and into his bloodstream. Even when Kurapika manages to deflect his blows, the blunt damage reverberates through his body.
It's time to end this—there's no telling when he will lose consciousness from the toxins inside him. He has no other choice.
One second.
One heartbeat.
This is how long Kurapika calls upon the devastating power of Emperor Time. There will be time later to reprimand himself for depending on his greatest power—the cause of his inevitable tragedy.
Later, when his thoughts regain a greater sense of clarity, he can remind himself that this power was never meant to be awakened again. But in this moment, when his eyes are bright red and burning, honing in on Kuroro's area of vulnerability with utmost precision, the smug satisfaction of defeating Kuroro outweighs everything.
Aura rages around Kurapika's fist, threatening to detonate on impact. His fist slams into Kuroro's abdomen with the destructive cataclysm of a falling star, and Kuroro violently coughs up blood. As he loses his balance, Kurapika shoves him back with all his strength, sending them crashing into the ground.
Wrenching the Benz knife from Kuroro's grasp, Kurapika straddles him, flipping the stolen blade in his hands and pressing the point against the pale, unguarded expanse of Kuroro's throat. His hair falls into his face, and Kuroro's breath catches as he stares up at him.
"You," Kurapika breathes sharply, his chest burning for Kuroro's deeds committed past, present, and future, "lose."
It takes everything not to sink the blade into flesh, to see that red, red blood spilling over his skin—the same blood staining Kuroro's burst lip. It nearly happens when Kuroro slowly reaches a hand out, tucking Kurapika's outgrown bangs behind his ear.
A rush of wind displaces Kurapika's hair again, making the strands flutter around his cheeks. Gathering a fistful of hair behind his head, Kurapika turns the blade on himself.
He slashes up, shearing through his hair in one fluid motion. Kuroro stares at him with widened eyes as the strands fall around them in thin ribbons of gold, floating gently in the passing wind.
"I lose," Kuroro admits, his voice strained in his throat. He looks at the blade in Kurapika's hands, the ribbon still bound to the handle. "The ribbon is yours."
"You held yourself back," Kurapika says in accusation, still catching his breath.
"As did you," Kuroro answers with a quiet chuckle. "Although that last punch was rather painful… Since it's my loss, I'll oblige any of your requests as we agreed upon."
"I'll join you."
Kuroro blinks up at him. "What?"
Breathing out a sigh, Kurapika removes himself from their position to sit beside him properly. "I'll join you, Kuroro Lucifer."
A stunned silence passes. There's a violent sunset burning across the horizon. His knuckles are swollen and aching, but it isn't an unpleasant sensation.
"Then," Kuroro says, grinning with what Kurapika thinks is a genuine smile for once, bloodied and all, "I look forward to working with you, Kurapika."
Notes: I am never writing a shounen fight scene again...
About Kurapika's hair, the earlier chapters mentioned that his hair has gotten longer so he decided to give himself a haircut.
After the newest HxH manga chapters from last year, I think that this fic still holds up well, so I would be happy to incorporate more of Kuroro's canon backstory into this story.
Please leave a comment—I would love to know what you think.
You can also reach out to me on Twitter (ryuuseigai).
