Chapter XX

When Valtiel wakes in the afternoon, Chrollo still has not arrived.

Not that she minds his absence; this must be the first time in months since he left her alone for too long. She likes how it feels, being alone for once, walking in their home without someone else's presence tracking her movements. She makes herself a chocolate drink and steals Chrollo's leftover caramel pudding, and then snatches one of his books on the bedside table and curls up on the swing in the porch.

Her eyes are on the man-made lake, quite small really, though she is amused to see a mother duck leading her babies across the rippling water. The next-door neighbors are loud in their laughter, catching her attention. She watches them laugh and wonders if she could ever laugh like that, too. Suddenly, she realizes, that without Chrollo, she does not like being lonely.

The book she has on her lap is one of Han Feizi's many works. Chrollo made sure he stole the entire collection, bribed and threatened the original owners for a copy. She remembers the first night she laid her eyes upon Han Feizi's works−one of the worst nights in her life. She remembers the prince, his warm smile but the glazed look in his eyes, hiding a certain menace. She would give anything not to cross paths with him again.

Opening the book, she finds that Chrollo has made little scribbles and notes on the sides−his ideas, his second thoughts on the topic, some random ramblings. She laughs to herself, warmed at the thought of the Phantom Troupe leader making notes and questioning an 800-year-old text. She reviews the topic, detailing how a sovereign should rule over his ministers, and immerses herself in reading sixteen pages of the essay, each paragraph ending with a note from Chrollo. She adds some of her own, scribbling on the brittle paper, like a student with a report due on the next day.

She is too occupied in her reviewing that she does not notice someone else's presence.

"Han Feizi mentioned a story where a sovereign rules more efficiently if he keeps his ideas to himself," a familiar voice says. Chrollo, leaning against the porch's glass door, smiles down on her. "I believe he only wanted to cite an example of bad ruling, so that a sovereign would not grow too entitled with his opinion."

"A good sovereign communicates with his ministers, yes," she agrees with him. "Though in his example, the sovereign was surrounded by many people who would want him dead. Naturally he would want to protect himself, including his ideas."

"Either the sovereign was a coward or he underestimated his allies."

"If you are sovereign, then expect that not everyone around you is a friend. Some could be assassins."

"He was afraid to reveal himself to give his enemies an opportunity to strike, forcing him to exclude his ministers and allies when it was their place to have his ear, his very confidence. The sovereign made a mistake in seeing only himself. Not the very makings of a leader."

"And you?" She looks up at him with a bright smile. "What about the leader of the Phantom Troupe?"

Chrollo laughs and joins her on the swing, one arm across her shoulders as he kisses her temple. "I would rather devote myself to ensure the well-being of my friends," he says. "The objective is to earn loyalty, not demand respect or incite fear. Fear does not end well in leaderships. Fear makes a rift."

In the corner of her eyes, she could see their neighbors observing them. Time to play the role of a loving wife. She leans against his chest, her head on his shoulder. "And you don't rule through fear?"

"Of course not. That would be offensive to me."

"So where have you been? I was hungry."

"My apologies, dear wife." He smirks and pulls her up with him.

They enter the house again. Valtiel stops upon seeing another familiar face.

"Feitan-san?"

"I told you not to call me that," the dark-haired thief snarls at her.

"But why?" She turns to Chrollo, searching for answers. "What is he doing here?"

"Your progress in your Nen training is not at all bad," Chrollo starts, joining Feitan across the living room. He pats his friend's shoulder and gives him a little smirk. "Though I am concerned with your lack of physical training. I admit that I am not my best when it comes to sheer strength and power, so I requested Feitan to join you in your training."

Valtiel swallows the lump in her throat. The very thought of training under Feitan's supervision is already overwhelming her. She could feel the wild pounding of her heart by simply imagining herself training with Feitan. And who knows how long she would learn? She might suffer the snarling thief for half a year if she does not learn fast enough.

She nods, gulping. "Oh, joy."

Chrollo finds her discomfort entertaining. "Not only Feitan," he adds. "Of course I would want you to have the best teachers in your training. So I invited someone else to join us. Feitan brought him along."

As if on cue, Feitan fetches someone from outside the house. He drags the poor man by the hair and forces him face first onto the carpeted floor. When the man tries to stand, Feitan growls. "Sit," he hisses, like commanding a whipped dog.

Her blood runs colder in her veins. "Who is this?"

"This is Akamu, a monk who has gone down the mountains to seek a normal life," Chrollo explains. "He has served years upon years on learning a martial art exclusive to his group. He will teach you everything he knows, including what Feitan teaches you, in exchange for his life. Now, dear−" He says the endearment so gently, yet she shudders at the threat laced behind it−"if you fail within the time limit of one month, I will kill him. Do you understand?"

"You don't have−"

"I have to," Chrollo interrupts, voice firm. "Otherwise you would dawdle in your training."

"His life is in your hands," Feitan says.

Valtiel looks at the monk; Akamu has fierce green eyes, thick black hair, and a beard that falls to his chest. He is dressed in a grey roughspun wool robes and goes barefoot. When she studies his face, he gazes right back at her, his eyes filled with terror but also of determination. Does he think he could get out of this alive? If he does, then Valtiel already pities him. There is no escaping the clutches of the Spider when you are already tangled deeply in their web. Not when Feitan is the Spider, or Chrollo Lucilfer himself.

She diverts from the monk to Feitan. Black meets gold. His sneer against her nervous smile. They have each other, including the unlucky monk, for one month. If she fails, it is not her blood on the floor, but Akamu's.

Feitan glances at their leader. "We start today, yes?"

"Yes, Fei." Chrollo nods and fetches Han Feizi's book from the porch. "You can start the basics here in the house, before Akamu can start with the advanced techniques."

"Hear that, little girl?" Feitan croons at Valtiel as he undoes his skull bandana. He lets it fall on the table and he sits cross-legged on the carpet. He pats the space before him. "Sit. Make it quick. You don't want to miss your first lesson."

"Uh, yes, sir−Feitan−Fei-san." She scrambles onto the carpet, cross-legged, hands on her lap. She could hear the faint snicker from Chrollo's direction as he lazes in one of the couches.

"Fei is fine," the thief mumbles, rolling his eyes at her. He rolls the sleeve of his right arm and extends his hand towards her, so she could see him well. "The martial art Akamu teach you employs the use of hands and arms in combat. That good in itself, but I make it better."

Then the nails of his fingers grow into sharp claws with needlepoint ends. He opens and closes his fist, showing her the claws in every possible angle. "Martial art uses hands−good; martial art uses claws−better, maybe even best."

"And I can do that?" she wonders, eyeing the claws. "How sharp are they?"

"I can tear off limbs," he says. "Want me to demonstrate? You don't need ten fingers, do you?"

"I need them all, thank you very much." She tucks her hands under her thighs.

To her surprise, Feitan actually chuckles. His dark eyes gleam out of unconcealed malice. "Very well, keep all your fingers. You might need them."

The nails of his left hand turn into claws, and he shows both hands to her, feeling rather silly for educating a woman who is supposed to be dead, if not for their Danchou's strange fondness of her. "You turn your fingernails into claws first, before Akamu can teach you martial art."

"How can I do that?" she asks, already nervous.

"This requires extreme muscle and joint control," he explains, grinning wickedly. "We can start by breaking all your fingers and dislocating them from their joints−"

"Feitan," comes Chrollo's quiet admonishing.

"Right, Danchou." Feitan deflates, defeated, and blows at his bangs. "Okay, maybe no breaking. But you get the point, little girl. Master claws first, then martial art. You have one month. If late, I will kill Akamu without even using my claws. Understand?"

"Yes," she whispers, pale and sweating.

This would be a very long month indeed.

As she expects, Feitan turns out to be a harsher, stricter teacher than Chrollo. The short thief gives her no breaks and scolds her to no ends, throwing harsh insults one after another, to the point that in her extreme exhaustion and stress, she is almost breaking into tears. Yet she dares not cry in front of him, for fear that he might−and he certainly would−see it as weakness and shout more insults. Chrollo never once tries to interrupt Feitan's rhythm in teaching, choosing only to stay in his quiet corner and read his books, while Akamu is locked in a closet until his time has come.

Her first successful breakthrough with the fingers is after four days.

One hand, her right: claws. Perhaps not as sharp as Feitan's, but still claws.

She could almost cry for joy, but she is far from finished. She has Akamu to worry about, locked inside the closet for four days with little food and less water. He has not seen the sun in four days, and she plans to change that.

Claws in her left hand are harder. She is not left-handed, and the use of her left comes as a shock. From dusk to the early hours in the morning, she would force her nails into claws, to no avail, much to Feitan's disappointment. Her reward is nothing but a sneer or an insult, more often a combination of both. Where Chrollo had been strict yet reassuring and gentle, Feitan is a complete opposite.

On the ninth day, the claws of her left hand extend and sharpen. She gasps, studying her both hands turned into claws. She searches for Feitan and he stands right there, hands in his pocket, and nods in approval.

In her excitement, she squeals and throws herself to the thief. She knocks him off balance and they fall to the floor. Realizing what she has done to Feitan, the grumpiest of all grumpy people in her world, she winces and scrambles off him.

"S-Sorry… I might have gotten excited," she mumbles sheepishly.

"No shit." Feitan sits up, glowering at her.

"But did I do it right?" Valtiel shows him her hands, claws outstretched like a cat's.

"Yes, but not good enough." He scoots closer and makes a point at each end of the claws. He presses his index finger on each, until it draws blood. "See? Not sharp enough. Should draw blood in the first claw, not fifth. Objective is to kill, not tickle your opponent." He notices the downward pull of her smile, the brightness in her eyes fading. He sighs. "But, yes, you did well, little girl."

"Oh, thank goodness." She sighs as well, relieved.

Chrollo emerges from the bedroom and observes them from the threshold. "Everything okay?" he says, cocking his head to the side. "I heard screaming."

Feitan grins. "Screams of the dead when we send them to hell."

Valtiel shakes her head and bounces towards Chrollo. "Danchou, look! I have claws!"

"That's wonderful, darling." He takes one hand and kisses her knuckles. He turns to Feitan, still seated on the floor. "This means she is ready for Akamu, right? Time for the second part of the training."

"Why, yes." Feitan stands and dusts himself off. "Let's retrieve the little dog and see if he can teach."

Chrollo fetches the monk from the closet and helps him up on his feet. Akamu looks more bedraggled than he appeared more than a week ago. He is thinner and paler, the mess of his black hair wilder and thicker. Yet his green eyes still have the same fire of determination. Chrollo, at best, admires that feat. At worst, that stubborn determination would be a problem. He would hate to kill another man in front of Valtiel.

Feitan stands short before the monk. "You train her, as we agreed."

Akamu steals a curious glance at her. Feitan growls, and the monk nods. "Yes, I train her."

"You have three weeks," says Feitan. "And three weeks left to live."

"Yes," Akamu repeats, the weight of the sword heavy above his neck. "Three weeks." He looks at the young woman he is supposed to train. He does not sense the same malice and bloodthirst that her two companions have in plenty. In his eyes, she is no more than a child, trapped as he is, in a deathly game in which the tall dark-haired youth has prepared for them. He gulps, troubled for both of their fates.

"The training starts today," Chrollo rules. "Do whatever is necessary."

"I can't train her inside the house," Akamu whispers as the young man rounds towards him. He meets the dark eyes, gauging his true feeling despite the warm smile on Chrollo's face. "Not inside. I will train her in a martial art, not arts and crafts."

"You watch your tongue," Feitan rumbles.

Chrollo holds up a fist, silencing his outburst. "Of course. You would need an open space for that." He pauses, thinking for better alternatives. "There is a beach at the end of town. No one really goes there. Perhaps that would be good enough place, sir?"

Akamu nods. "A beach is fine," he says, and then points a dirty finger at Valtiel. "She needs to change clothes. She can't learn in a dress. Something light and fit should do."

"New clothes, of course," Chrollo agrees. "Feitan, you and Akamu proceed to the beach. Val and I will follow."

"Sure, Danchou." Feitan shrugs and grabs the monk by his roughspun robes again.

"Must I steal, too? Or can I watch you do it?" Valtiel asks Chrollo once the pair is gone.

"It is too early for you to try stealing." He smiles and takes her hand, leading her outside the house. It is almost sunset, but the skies are already overcast for a summer season. He takes a deep breath, letting the breeze stir his raven hair. "I will teach you how to steal, but not yet."

Valtiel stares across the sea, watching the play of the silver moonlight on the dark blue waves. She has changed into a tracksuit, which earned her a scoff from Feitan and told her that she reminded him of Phinks. Her hair has been pulled up into a high and tight ponytail, the shorter locks framing her face. Her teacher is an old man in dirty rags and bad hair, but he stands like a fighter, carries himself in an air of absolute determination that it is hard not to admire him. Even Chrollo, she could see it in his eyes, is amused to watch the old man stretch and say a prayer under his breath.

When it is time to begin, Akamu sheds his rags and leaves himself with a pair of grey pants. Despite his appearance, he has a well-toned chest and muscular arms, a testament to his years of training. He nods once to her and she follows, standing across the beach.

"The martial art that I am about to teach you is called Death Strike," Akamu explains. His fists curl to resemble an eagle's claw, tight yet open. "Its main use is for grappling your opponents, force them into joint locks, takedowns, and after more rigorous training, disabling through breaking their joints."

"Which culture uses this martial art?" she asks, out of curiosity.

"Uh, the Nurchen people from the northern mountains," he answers, off-guard by the question. "They live in the mountains, among mountain animals. Death Strike was influenced by studying an eagle's preying tactics. You would understand more as we go on. For now, we focus on the basic techniques, which is grab-and-strike. This technique, in the sense of the word, requires you to grab an opponent, pull them closer, and strike them in their joints."

"And do I get to use the claws I learned from Fei-san?"

"Yes." Akamu could feel the intense aura emanating from the two men watching from the sidelines. While the taller one does not seem to mind−occupied in his reading and everything, the shorter and more aggressive one glares enough for the both of them. One wrong move, Akamu knows, would result in a punishment harsher than death. "Your claws," he tells Valtiel, "are most compatible with this martial art."

The training commences then: Akamu starts with the proper stances and attack patterns, which Valtiel easily learns. When the monk tries one grappling strike against her, she cries out in pain and collapses on the sand, gritting her teeth from the sharp pain in her arm. Akamu would then glance toward the Spiders, worried that they might take offense on the girl being harmed, but judging by the flip of a page and a yawn, they are not much worried.

Valtiel and Akamu are locked in their own world; matching strikes to another, anticipating each other's next attack, Akamu grabbing her arm and punching her in the stomach. She coughs out blood and falls to her knees. He curses under his breath and looks at the side; the taller man is narrowing his eyes at them.

"I'm fine," Valtiel manages as she forces herself back to her feet. She spits more blood and assumes the stance Akamu has taught her. "Please… If you keep holding back, I won't learn."

The monk nods in understanding.

They continue for the next hours, dusk turning to midnight, and then to the wee hours of the morning. By then, Chrollo urges Valtiel to use Zetsu for at least an hour, to recover from the fatigue. One hour later, she is back on her feet, exchanging blow per blow against the monk, and is receiving the brunt of each one of his punches. She flies across the beach for more than half a hundred times, yet she stands up again to train, to receive more damage. By the time the sun is rising, she has earned countless bruises in her arms and legs. She collapses on the ground in a dust of sand.

Chrollo deems the first session over and carries her back to the house. As per their agreement, it is Feitan's duty to watch over the monk, stashing him back into the closet until the Kurta is fit to train again.

"If she's lucky, she won't die from over exhaustion," Feitan comments unhelpfully.

She sleeps uneasily for an entire day, burdened with the bruises and the muscle pain. While she sleeps, she does not know the measures Chrollo takes to care for her, to relieve the swelling with an ice pack or anything else that Feitan suggests. While she sleeps, she does not see the concerned look in his face, how he abandons the pleasure of reading a book to sit beside her and tend to the bruises.

When she cries in her sleep, as she often does these days, he would swipe a thumb over her cheek and tuck her under the blanket. She is fragile as a porcelain doll, she could break any moment, and now he wonders if subjecting her to a harsh training is the best choice for her. She is the only living Kurta in the world, and he hesitates if such a rare treasure should be treated thus.

"I think she's fine," Feitan mumbles idly as he reads a book in a corner.

"What do you mean?" Chrollo furrows his eyebrows at his old friend.

"I mean, she wants to learn, so let her." Feitan shrugs, uncertain of his choice of words. "Train now. Worry and second thoughts come later. If she continues to be weak, she will die faster."

"You worry so much if she lives or dies, don't you, Fei?" Chrollo observes, smiling.

Feitan lifts his gaze from the book and glances at the sleeping Kurta. Again, he shrugs. "We already put too many efforts on her−the food and the clothes, introducing her to Meteor City, the rewritten memories…" He steals another glance, cautious if she wakes. "She's gone too far to die so easily. It be a shame if she dies like another of her people…"

"I suppose you're right." Chrollo brushes the hair off her face, adjusts the pillow she's embracing.

"What your plans for her?" Feitan asks the very question the other Spiders wanted to ask. He puts his book down and leans back on his chair. A single lamp from the bedside table illuminates the entire room; in his corner, his face is in the shadows, his dark eyes glinting. "Do you plan on send her back into the world when you done with her? Kill her when you get tired of her? Make her join the Troupe?"

"I am not sure yet, though I am certain I would not send her back out there," Chrollo answers. He understands his friend's sentiments regarding the matter, and even considers it. He stares at Valtiel's serene face and sighs. "For sure, I am not sending her anywhere else. She is mine. I would do everything I want to do with her as I see fit. If she dies−" He stops, unable to imagine such a thing. "If something ever happens to her, I might… do something about it…"

Feitan raises a dark eyebrow. Is this true? Their Danchou, at a loss for words? Impossible. The Kurta could not have influenced their Danchou as much as Chrollo has influenced her. Still, it makes Feitan quite irritated. Not only is a woman commanding such attention from their Danchou, but she is also amassing an affection she should not have in the first place. To Feitan, she should have died that night with her family, not playing house and acting to be husband and wife with a Class-A thief.

Chrollo senses his friend's agitation and smiles, gentle and kind. "You think too much, Fei."

"Is she all worth the trouble?" he hears himself say.

"For now, yes." Chrollo chuckles and crosses one leg over the other. The light from the lamp is bright on his handsome face. "She is difficult and hard to manage, but entertaining to say the least. And her eyes." The very thought of it brightens his face even more. It is almost endearing. "Did you know that Scarlet Eyes also react to happiness?"

"I hadn't heard," Feitan grumbles, not sharing his leader's cheerfulness.

"Well they do," Chrollo insists, like an excited child. "And they make a more beautiful hue than anger."

The training with Akamu starts again on the next day. And on the day after that. And another.

For three weeks straight, the monk and the Kurta suffer each other in their training sessions.

Unlike Chrollo and Feitan, Akamu is strict yet understanding. He has grown from his constant worrying of harming the young woman after a week and a half, when she could finally get the hang of the techniques and receiving the forces of his attacks. She is weak yet stubborn, flamed on by her eagerness and her natural passion to learn. She might have endured most of his attacks, but he could see that she bears him no ill will.

Instead of reading throughout the training, Chrollo observes them both. His Kurta's reaction speed and stance have improved; she could grab and strike Akamu back with just as much ferocity, but not strength. She lacks the physical strength that Uvogin and Phinks have. In his eyes, she is not even close to becoming an Enhancer. But learning a martial art that focuses on disabling opponents should be enough help if ever she is forced into a fight.

Her use of claws has become second nature to her, Feitan notes with strained approval. Though he still sees her as a dead woman, he could see now why Danchou wants to keep her around.

Valtiel matches her teacher's blows, wrapping her clawed hand around one wrist, digging her claws into the flesh, while the other hand is supposed to slash across his chest−but she closes her fist and punches him on the stomach instead.

"No." Feitan's rumble of rage is like thunder in her ears. He trudges towards them, a glare and a scowl already in their places. "No, no, no! You're supposed to make maximum damage, not pull your punches. You are training to kill, not leave him unconscious."

"But Death Strike is not meant to kill," she argues, frowning at the irony. "It's only supposed to disable."

"Not this time," he growls back, making her flinch from his rage. "I taught you claws to put maximum damage, to cut fighting time and effort. One slash is supposed to kill. Death Strike is just formality, a style in fighting. In real battle, you don't need style."

"I am not killing Akamu-san for that."

"Maybe not, but I can." Feitan turns his murderous intent on the monk.

Akamu immediately falls to his knees, his hands folded in prayer. His entire body shakes, and at that moment, he reminds everyone that he is a mere hostage put into play with another.

"Please," he whispers in a shaky voice. "Please, spare me… I did what you asked of me. I trained her for this long… Please, if you won't spare me, then spare my family…"

Valtiel's eyes widen as she whirls towards Chrollo.

"Secret's out, then." Chrollo scratches the back of his head and approaches the group. "I persuaded Akamu into joining your training in exchange for his family's safety. Feitan has Akamu's wife and son locked up somewhere, with a month's worth of food and water. Certainly, everything would end up well if only you finish your training in a month."

"And if I am late?" she demands.

"If you are, then Akamu dies for failing his end of the bargain and his family dies of starvation," Chrollo points out, not at all disturbed. Despite his charm, he does not try to mask the cruelty in his voice. "The way I see it now, you are far from completing your training. You only have one and half a week left to master Death Strike. You cannot hope to complete it in time and save Akamu and his family."

"I need more time," she says, desperate, clutching at his black shirt. She rarely begs, but if she does, it is not for her benefit. Her voice shakes, fearful for the monk. "One month. Give me another month−"

"The provisions for his family are only for one month," he says, unperturbed.

"Then give them more." Valtiel shakes him by the collar of his shirt, yet he only looks down on her. She knows that look; that is whenever he is amused and he wants a good argument. But she has none tonight; she has three lives laid on the line, depending on her capacity to learn. "Please… More time, Danchou."

Smiling, Chrollo removes her hand on his shirt and says, "No."

There's that smug look in his face again.

Valtiel takes a deep breath and slaps him across the cheek.

The sound echoes in the entire beach, only drowned out later by the calm waves.

Chrollo's head is suspended to the side, his dark eyes wide with utmost shock. His pale cheek starts to grow red, and before he knows it, a stinging sensation starts to linger there. He brushes his thumb where the pain is, while still speechless and even unable to comprehend what is happening.

Feitan is first to react: he grabs Valtiel's right hand and winds it tight behind her back. His force makes them both fall to the sand, the Kurta on her back while the thief straddles her hips, putting his weight on her. His one hand wraps around both of her wrists and pins them over her head, while the other turns into claws and presses daintily against the flushed skin of her cheek. Feitan runs one claw across the apex, trailing towards her eyelids. He wonders if he could make her eyes turn scarlet, if he could gouge out her eyes as he had done to so many of her people.

Chrollo towers over them both, glowering. "That's enough, Fei," he rumbles.

The other Spider snarls. "Is she worth it, Danchou?" he demands. "What is she worth?"

"Nothing," Chrollo starts to say, but then sees the look of anguish in her eyes. "Everything."

Acknowledging defeat, Feitan releases the Kurta and removes himself from her. He steps aside to let her breathe, to let her understand the danger she put herself in. No one, no matter who they are, has the right to raise their hand against Danchou−not if they want to incite the wrath of the entire Troupe. The young Kurta, in Feitan's eyes, likes courting death.

Valtiel sits up on the sand, but avoids everyone's eyes. She caresses the pain from her wrists where spots of blood start to appear, from Feitan's tight claws. The pain is inconsequential from the action she did against Chrollo. She feels the weight of his gaze on her. She lowers her head, both ashamed and furious.

"One month," Chrollo whispers. He sees her stiffen at his words. "You have one more month."

She nods quietly.

"Are you happy?"

"Yes."

"Yes what?"

She lifts her gaze to him. Instead of anger, she sees only warmth. "Yes, Danchou."

He cups her cheek, his thumb on her chin. "Good girl."

Author's Notes: Is it fair to say that the Chrollo-Feitan combination scared the heck out of me? I feel like these two together (maybe including Phinks) would make anyone's Nen training the worst nightmare ever. If I were in Val's place, I wouldn't be able to last long. Still, I loved having Feitan in the scenes again. I missed writing this short-tempered short thief. Haha! And our girl Val finally standing up against Chrollo, physically speaking, although it was short-lived thanks to Fei. Woohoo!

I have also already published the Valentine's Day Special that I promised you guys! It's titled under "Araneæ Diem". It would be around 13 chapters or more, depending on the consequences. Please go ahead and try it, let me know what you think of the prologue. Any comments or suggestions would be greatly appreciated! I just feel like I need to know others' opinions to make that side story better and more interesting.

Also, I've been having problems with accessing and editing my chapters through MS Office. It's already deactivated and I don't know how else to activate it without spending a hundred dollars for a one-year subscription with them. It may take another while before I can update my stories, but I'll do everything I can to update as soon as I can.

*xenocanaan - Thank you!

*HuangShaotian0005 - The prince will face heavenly wrath! And a kiss? Hmm... Soon maybe? ;)

*Amy - He was going to kiss her! Our boi Chrollo chickened out at the last second. Ugh. Val's Nen type would be revealed sooner or later.

*New fan - Thank you very much! It always makes my day whenever a new reader stops by and gives reviews. I'm glad you enjoy the story so far. You're right about the part that every line is important to the story. I do drop hints here and there that would reflect the story's main plot in the future. Good catch!

*Mia Mena - You left three reviews! I'd consider that cheating, but nah! No worries! Thank you for the reviews! Haha.

*Alice no tenshi - Thank you for reading and reviewing! I do hope you keep reading until the end.

*Dontcha - Chrollo, part-time Troupe leader and a full-time husband! His lips are indeed all over her! He's kind and supports his family, like a good husband would do to his wife. You know what else a husband does to his wife? *suggestive wink wonk*

*Eric - You're just in time for another update! Thank you for leaving a review!

Don't forget to read "Araneæ Diem" as well, friends! Thank you all for reading and have a great week!

P.S. Happy birthday, Kurapika! Please grow up faster and save Val from these Spiders!