Chapter XXXIII

The enemies come in groups. Sometimes in pairs.

For some wretched reason, they keep coming, pouring into the city and surrounding Heaven's Arena even at the dead of the night, despite the harsh snowstorms. Some manage to get past the lobby and murder employees in their wake. Others are unfortunate, when the Grim Reaper himself meets them at the entrance and does away with them with only his cards.

Hisoka has lost count of the people he killed in the past few days.

Eight.

Seventeen.

Thirty-two.

Sixty-nine.

One hundred and seven.

Well, no one ever hears him complain. It keeps him pleasantly occupied while Valtiel spends most of her dark days sleeping, recuperating from the injuries she sustained from a fight Hisoka could not imagine. While she is indisposed, he declines the many challenge offers, but still finds a way at the base of the tower, fight groups under the snow, come back to the room and find her still sleeping.

Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

He has even lost count of the days.

Tonight, he finishes his nightly duties−as he starts calling them to amuse himself. Another group of twenty-three Nen users, with scorpion tattoos, appeared tonight to have themselves killed. He runs a hand through his hair and saunters across the hallways, hoping to rid himself of the blood and sweat on his skin.

On his way back to the room, he comes across a very familiar face.

"Ah! Illemonade!"

"It's Illumi," the black-haired young man corrects, standing by the elevator.

"Great! That's my second best guess, actually." Hisoka grins.

"What do you want?" Illumi all but sighs, his face another blank mask. He wears a suit ensemble, black with a white inner shirt, the jacket slung over his one shoulder. It looks like as if he is late for a formal dinner, not accounting the smear of blood over his lower left abdomen.

Hisoka stares, at a loss for an answer. Instead, he just says, "D'you want to fight?"

Illumi stares back, blinks once, and then turns to the corner, his black jacket billowing behind him with his hair. He moves without sound, carrying an ethereal grace. It makes the magician wonder if he is as graceful in battle.

"You wouldn't want to fight me," Illumi says at length. "In any case, you shouldn't. I'm busy."

"Oh, okay." Hisoka nods and picks at the dried blood on his shirt. "Ah! How's your brother, by the way?" When Illumi whirls around with a glare, Hisoka smiles innocently. "Asking for a friend."

"Killua has gone back home. I reckon you wouldn't see him anymore." Illumi starts walking away again, and his voice sounds faraway in the dim hallway. "Even if you or your woman comes across him, he wouldn't remember either of you. I erased you from his memories. Any thoughts of that woman making friends with him are futile. Tell her that." And he disappears in the shadows.

"Good talk!" Hisoka calls out behind him, chuckling.

He proceeds to the elevator and presses the button for their floor. When he crosses the threshold of their room, he blinks at the small figure seated at the bed. "Ah, you're awake, Val."

She cocks her head to the side, the moonlight spilling behind the window and throwing her shadow long before her. Her eyes are glassy and bloodshot, a shade of red-gold together, boring through him.

"Good morning," he greets and closes the door behind him. "How are you feeling?"

"How long have I been sleeping?" Her voice is still guttural from disuse over the days.

"Hm." He steals a glance at the calendar on the wall. He had whipped his cards on the numbers, so he could answer this precise question. He beams at her. "For nine days."

"Nine?" She sits up straighter on the bed, weak fingers clutching at the sheets. "What did I miss since then?"

"Me." He cackles when she wrinkles her nose in disapproval.

Inching closer, he still keeps a good distance away from the bed, away from the moonlight where she could see him. He feigns a petulant pout and whines, childish.

"You missed me for nine days, Val. What are you gonna do to pay for that?"

Despite the aching muscles, joints, and everything else, Valtiel shakes her head.

"I did not even realize I made it home in time, before I die," she says with a tired sigh. She looks at him closer, squinting her eyes, and then they widen at his appearance. She snaps like a twig. "Is that blood? What happened to you, Hisoka-san? Are you hurt? Who hurt you?"

"You know what? You're the sweetest."

"Answer me!"

He chuckles and steps into the light. His light blue-and-green jester outfit is smeared all over with fresh blood, carrying with him a sharp iron tang. Blood sticks under his nails, on his biceps, and over the white skin where his top has a slit that exposes his sternum. Even his hair looks a bit dishelleved. At a closer inspection, it might even be the blood of his victims that makes his hair gleam redder under the light.

She gasps, horrified, but the magician just sits on the corner of the bed and runs a long-fingered hand through her tangle of pale blonde locks. "Don't worry," he murmurs. "I'm not hurt."

"What happened?" She reaches out for his bicep, the swell of it hard under her palm. Her thumb brushes across the bloodstain there, still damp and runny. It has only been a few minutes. "…Who?"

"I was out training in the gym," he says and winks, pulling away.

"What kind of session would make you this bloody?"

"It makes a good look on me, wouldn't you agree?" He stands at the foot of the bed, poised and graceful as a dancer. "Suits the so-called Grim Reaper of Heaven's Arena." Then he laughs and points a long claw at her. "You should try this look, too. For the Lady Death. We'll make a good image for the Diabo−"

"Please don't say that." She caresses her temple. Two minutes of consciousness and Hisoka is already making her head spin again. She sighs and he answers with another hearty laugh. "So, when I am out cold for nine days, what have I missed, Hisoka-san?"

"Not much." He shrugs and fetches the cards he embedded on the calendar. The last card falls upon a Friday, January 13th. He rounds towards her and whips a card at her face.

She moves her head an inch, the card impales on the window behind. "Hisoka-san…"

"Maybe I will tell you," he teases. "But first, I need to shower. You, too, Val." He points again at her bedraggled appearance, from the flimsy nightdress and bed hair. "You can join me if you want, to conserve water. I care so much for the environment."

"I have no intentions of showering with you."

"Are you sure?" His voice croons, singsongs even. "Does that mean you don't remember that night when we bathed together? In this very bathroom?" His smirk spreads as her eyes widen. "I quite seem to remember that we shared the same tub, and that I had to wash you from all the blood and dirt. You were even in my arms, and you rested your head on my chest and then−"

"You lie," she hisses, indignant. "I remember nothing of the sort."

"Shall I remind you then?" His hands go to the waistband of his pants, ready to pull.

"Gods, no!" She squirms and buries her face with a pillow.

"Okay, then I'll shower first. You, next."

"Yes, yes, yes, yes. Just go!"

"Are you sure you don't want to join me? I'm about to get nakey…"

"Hisoka-san, please. I've seen you a hundred times already…"

"Then let's make tonight a hundred and one−"

"Please, no. Just go."

Laughing, Hisoka turns his back on her and shuts the bathroom door behind him.

Valtiel sighs and collapses on the bed. Count on Hisoka for making her exhausted immediately. She shakes her head and smiles. When Hisoka steps out of the bathroom, naked but for the towel across his shoulders, he peers down on the bed and finds her smiling even as she sleeps.

In her dreams, she was back in the snowy mountains, beset by the strong winds and thick snows. Her body limped across the white field, knee-deep into the snow, her boots slowly ripping from heel to sole. The blood on her dress was already dried and a sad shade of brown, and her hair whipped to and fro as the winds keep gusting. She was hungry, she was cold, she was exhausted.

I have to go home.

Somehow, she reached a small village with a train station. She could not remember the exact details, always on the edge of unconsciousness, but a laundrywoman and her child had found her in an alley, fed her a stale bread and some leftover soup, and let her board the train. She repeated the process over three or more villages−she really could not remember−and somehow still ended up in this city, with the indigo skies framing the Heaven's Arena.

When she wakes again, the twilight is deepening on the horizon, a shade of orange fading into purple. The room is cold and quiet, devoid of the magician's presence. Valtiel moans deep in her throat as she moves from the bed, legs carefully swinging to the edge. Bandages cover every inch of her body, with black splinters on both thighs and a thick padding on her shoulder.

Feet flat on the carpet, her muscles scream in protest as she forces herself to stand, one hand on the bed's headboard. An unbidden wince slips from her lips, but she keeps walking, one step after another, hoping to reach the other side of the room at least.

She makes a total of five steps. Not half bad, she thinks.

The door bursts open, catching her and her mind off-guard. Her knees buckle underneath her, but strong hands catch her before she topples. She doesn't need to look up to see who it is. She's already dreading his shit-eating grin that he always wears.

Somehow, she still looks up. Her gold upon his amber. Two shades of the same color, though one is darker, sharper, hiding a certain bloodthirst underneath. The amber gleams at her, as if smiling.

"You shouldn't move too much." Hisoka clicks his tongue as he scoops her off the floor, effortlessly carrying her back to the bed while kicking the door behind him. "The doctor said you broke 47 ribs."

"I didn't know I had that many," she retorts, sarcastic.

"Well, not exactly 47, but you get my point."

Four fractured ribs, two on each side. A cracked right clavicle. Both femurs cracked. Twisted tarsal. Internal hemorrhage in left wrist.

Hisoka remembers the doctor's words, each one of them drilled into his skull. He would not have called for a doctor in the first place, but Valtiel's first night at home was almost a nightmare, her bones soft and mangled under his hands. He did not risk calling for the Arena's doctor; no one outside should know what happened. He did not call anyone from the Phantom Troupe either; they'd kill him before he could even get the chance to lay his hands on precious Chrollo Lucilfer.

Instead, he asked for a faraway specialist, paid him his fee, and killed him before he could leave the tower's territory. No one else should know.

The doctor said it would take half a year for recuperation, though he certainly did not take Nen into account. Hisoka could see now that Nen does have its advantages, not only for battles, but also for healing.

Valtiel's habit of lapsing into Ten and Zetsu when exhausted perks his utmost interest. It somehow fortifies her body from breaking any further, it keeps her aura around her body, strengthening what it could, and maintaining the good condition of whatever else is left. Whoever taught her Nen must be appraised, for sure he was meticulous and perfect in his calculations. His very calculations saved her life.

He fights the urge to lick his lips. Perhaps in a few years he could fight her. Ten years. Maybe even twenty.

"Are you hungry?" He hums and fetches something he left on the table by the door. He holds it up−two boxes of pizza−and beams at her. "Our dinner. I hope you don't mind."

"I'm so hungry I could eat anything."

"Even me?" he asks in an undertone.

"I'm sorry−what?" She blinks, innocent.

"Nothing!" He chirps and sets their dinner on the bed, two boxes of pizza with leftover steak from Hisoka's dinner last night.

They dine on anything there is left in the cupboards, and the magician thoughtfully heats a mushroom soup from a can and calls it masterpiece. Then he rummages through the massive fridge and gathers the leftover drinks as well, all manners of half-finished sodas, juice in cans, and sparkling water.

Valtiel laughs despite the meager dinner preparation. She is used to the high-end meats and over-garnished meals from restaurants, but this is far more entertaining. Simple yet endearing. She could get used to this for more months, stuck in this simplicity.

Hisoka orders for something else and answers the room when a server knocks. Valtiel all but squeals, her mouth watering, at the sight of a molten chocolate cake topped with vanilla ice cream inside another shell of chocolate. The magician chuckles from his spot−cross-legged on the other side of the bed−wearing a normal shirt, sweatpants, and pink socks for the cold weather.

The last time she lapsed into a very long silence was with the Danchou. This might be the first time the magician is quiet, taking big bites of his pizza slice.

She sips her water and clears her throat. It still feels dry, constricted. "So, what did I miss, really?"

"Hm." Again with the humming. He rests his chin on his palm, his hair down and falling over his eyes. Without the makeup and jester outfit, he could pass for any handsome young man. He purses his lips, curling it into a thoughtful smile. "They are fans of yours, I think," he says. "Groups, everyone Nen users."

"Did they say what they want?" Her body tingles with pain, the memories of her confrontation with the last group another dark memory in her head.

"No, they just wanted me to stand aside, let them take you or something."

"And you did what?"

"Killed them." Coming from him, it sounds like the easiest answer in the world. No flinch. No flicker of remorse. As if inquiring about the weather. He catches her wide eyes and winks, coquettish. At that her cheeks flush, whether from embarrassment, he could not tell.

"And this has been going on for how long?"

"Nine days." He glances at the chocolate cake, the vanilla slowly melting away. With another smile, he lifts his gaze to her face and murmurs, "Ten days."

Valtiel perks up. How could she have missed it? The very wind outside the tower has changed. A familiar malicious air hangs heavily around the tower, but most of it is directed towards them, their room, to her and Hisoka. Again, her body spasms, muscles and joints exhausted still. She could barely flex her fingers without another wince. She could not walk more than five steps without panting.

But they are already here. Another group of twenty-three Nen users.

She has to do something. She has to stand and fight and−

Hisoka stands, stretching his arms high above his head, his shirt rising and revealing the downward curve of his hips, forming a V-figure. He catches her curious eyes roaming over him, and chuckles.

"What's so funny?" she asks, one eyebrow raised.

"If you're so curious, why not just take my shirt off yourself?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, come, come, Val." He clicks his tongue, teasing. "Specialists are not good liars. Transmuters are. Whimsical. Deceitful. And I can see through you better than you do yourself."

He dips a finger in the vanilla and licks, eyes still locked on hers. She frowns at him; he grins back and heads for the door.

"And where are you going?" Her meek voice rises to an octave, demanding yet laced with terror.

"I will scare them away," he says. "Just sit back, Val. Don't excite yourself. You'll break more bones that way. Eat your cake, the vanilla is melting."

For the first time since the Phantom Troupe, Valtiel listens to his order, trying to calm herself with the thought of food, but still worrying over the magician. He fought Omokage, he is the latest member of the Spiders. He is at the level of Uvo-san and Phink-san. He can take care of himself. The words repeat over and over inside her head, making another dull pain amidst the sea of fractures and faded bruises.

The magician could not have been gone for more than twenty minutes.

Hisoka saunters back into the room, his blue shirt turned crimson. "Ah, I feel so fresh."

Her eyes immediately rake through his body, searching for wounds. "Are you hurt?"

"Nope. Just something numb in the left arm."

Arms on the hem of his shirt, he tugs upwards, over his head, and chucks the cloth to the bathroom. He removes his pants as well, leaving him with black shorts. He fetches a damp towel and starts wiping away the blood and grime, washing under the orange lamplight where she could see. Smirking, he turns his back on her.

"When did you get that?" She holds out a hand. Dutifully, Hisoka sits on the carpet, back still on her. She lets her fingers brush over his bare shoulders before trailing downwards to the black tattoo of a spider.

"Do you like it?" He stands up before she could prod any longer. "I received it after the last mission."

"It's nice," she murmurs.

"Reminds you of someone?"

"Not really." She shakes her head and turns away from the half-finished food. With her indisposed, it is left to him to clear the boxes and drinks, but the chocolate cake remains on its platter. She does not have the appetite to feast on it, given the circumstances. "What happened to the enemies?"

"Called themselves the Karasu Family. With bird tattoos. Sent by a prince?"

"Oh, yes. I heard that before."

"Will you tell me the story?"

Valtiel shoots him an accusing glance, as he turns their usual bedtime routine to suit his unending curiosity. She shifts on the bed, another moan sticking in her throat, and lies down. The lamplight casts a shadow on her face, and Hisoka takes his place on the carpet, chin resting on the bed's edge.

Should I tell him? she wonders, though there is a nagging feeling in her heart that she should. He fought these people for days, without knowing why. A story is the least she could do.

In the end, she tells him everything: from the first meeting with the prince, the attacks on Meteor City, Gerald's own group of mercenaries. Talking exhausts her, but she keeps on, pleasing him and satisfying the questions in the magician's mind.

Hisoka hums through it all−more amused. "I understand now. I am surprised you made it through the trouble, Val. You could have died that night."

"I managed," she says. "Nen made it possible. My ability−" She clamps her mouth shut. It was not my ability. It was not my power that saved me. It was the Scarlet Eyes.

Another voice whispers in her head, repeating the mantra. It was the Scarlet Eyes. The Scarlet Eyes.

She gulps, terrified. "My ability helped a little."

"Anyone else could have died still from those injuries," he observes.

"I suppose I'm lucky." But she never believes in luck, not in such circumstances.

Scarlet Eyes grant immense strength, the faraway voice whispers. It was the Scarlet Eyes that kept you alive.

The voice pounds into her head, drilling the words, drowning out Hisoka's voice. It drowns out other voices, too. Gerald. Uvogin. Machi. Yuan. Even Chrollo. The Danchou's voice sounds small and weak compared to this stubborn voice of an old man.

This is our way of life. The Scarlet Eyes, Val.

He notices her sudden change in demeanor. "Are you okay?"

Valtiel rises on the bed and rests against the headboard, with the magician blinking up at her. "I was thinking that perhaps it is time for me to go," she mumbles.

"Go? Go where?"

"Out. Leave Heaven's Arena."

She expects him to lash out, become offended. Instead, he only nods and runs his fingers through his crimson hair, coming away with blood on his fingers. He smiles at it, then at her.

"Why so soon? It is barely two months. We have a long way to go through the 200th floor. In any case, I doubt you can leave at a moment's notice. Your body still needs healing for at least another month."

"My real objective is to earn money and battle experience. Seeing as I have both now, I think it is time to go. Competing for the purpose of maintaining a constant image here in the tower is very low on my long list of worries."

She nods, as if trying to convince herself. I have the school, the construction, the children of Meteor City, the overwhelming amount of weapons instead of books.

Heaven's Arena would not even make it to top fifty in her list.

"You're worried about those groups." As he mentioned before, he sees through her. "You think they are troublesome enough that you have to leave? You're that worried about me?"

"Don't flatter yourself too much, Hisoka-san. They are my problems, and mine alone. I never should have put you to so many troubles." She averts her eyes from him, wondering what color they might be now.

Does he still see through her? Is he some sort of a clairvoyant? A diviner? But I have to leave, I have to find out. Scarlet Eyes. Are they real?

"So you don't want my help, that's fine in itself." He concedes himself with the idea, and rises from the carpet. He stretches his aching limbs and reaches out for the lamp.

The orange glow dies down. Only the moonlight remains, spilling through the frost-covered window.

Hisoka falls back on his own mattress, minus the pillows and blanket. He can endure the cold, but not her.

She sighs and settles under the covers, glad of the many layers and the plethora of pillows around her. At least, in this way, she does not feel alone. She doesn't have to reach out to the other side and not feel someone else's soothing presence. How many times did she wake like that? Reaching out for an arm, or a face, but come back empty-handed. Wake up alone in the bed. How many times? At least now, she could reach over the bed and have Hisoka's hand ready to hold her.

The coldness in the room grows. Uncomfortable. Unbearable.

She reaches over. His hand is there, his thumb trailing lazy circles on her palm.

"How long?" comes his murmur. "How long will you stay?"

"A month." She smooths her cheek on the pillow and peers at him.

His eyes are closed, and his face is handsomely serene. Almost like an angel instead of a Grim Reaper.

She commits his face to memory. It might be another long while until she would see him again.

The arena could not have been more crowded that it is today. Thousands of spectators−cheering, shouting, booing−are occupying the seats in one of the arenas on the 200th floor.

Valtiel sits among them, at the front-row where she could have the best spot of them all. Her one-month of stay has come to an end−and Hisoka, ever the enthusiastic performer, would not miss the opportunity to send her off with a proper goodbye. In the magician's vocabulary, goodbye means bloodshed. One look at him and his opponent proves it.

Hisoka approaches from the left end of the arena. Girls are shouting for his name, waving banners and tarpaulins that bear his face, name, and epithet. The Grim Reaper. He looks the part as well: resplendent in a black top and pants, with a red heart and diamond over the chest, silver armbands around his wrists and biceps. His hair is pure blood-red, catching the light in the arena.

On the right side is another man, about Hisoka's age, with long spiky blond hair that reaches to the middle of his back. From the large screens, his eyes are a deep orange with cat-like slits. He wears a silver chest armor, polished into a gleam, and dark blue hakama. The screen lists his name: Arezzo.

Whoever he is, Valtiel already feels sorry for him. Hisoka has no intentions of backing down.

"I find myself quite fortunate to sit next to you," a voice sounds from her right.

She turns, blinking at a white-haired young man with warm blue eyes. He wears an orange cape around himself, billowing around him as he sits. "Forgive me," she says, "but I believe I never had the pleasure of knowing your name."

The man laughs softly. "You must excuse me, but my name is Kastro, a fellow fighter like yourself." He offers his hand and smiles into her eyes. His skin is soft, well maintained for a high-ranking fighter. How amusing. He nods in deference to her. "Lady Death."

Her lips press into a thin line. She hopes the people would forget about that. "The Tiger of the South."

She supposes he also looks the part of his epithet. Orange cape. A tiger, indeed.

Maybe she should follow their steps. What does Death look like?

Over the boisterous announcement of the two fighters, Kastro leans to her seat to whisper in her ear. "I believe you are closely acquainted with Hisoka," he starts, just as the match starts below. He keeps one eye on the fighters, now exchanging blows. "I have in mind to ask you some questions."

"Came here to scout potential enemies?" She lets out a spiteful laugh and draws away, gaze back on the arena. Out of habit, she uses Gyo, already anticipating Hisoka's clever use of Bungee Gum.

"He makes an interesting opponent," he says. "Fast, clever, devious." His jaw tightens when Hisoka lands a powerful punch on Arezzo's chin, sending the blond flying backwards with such speed. "I had thought perhaps you could tell me what you think of him."

"What ever do you mean?" She glances at him.

"I only see him as a fighter. You see him in a different light. What kind of person is he, under that mask?"

"He is the same man."

In the arena, Hisoka is toying with his opponent. Arezzo frowns and his hand comes alive with flames, orange with black outlines.

Valtiel focuses harder on her Gyo. A Transmuter, she notes. Copying the properties of fire. Hisoka-san should not be troubled.

To Kastro, she says, "What man you see in the battlefield is Hisoka himself. He is naturally strong and talented. You would find him a very difficult opponent to confront, sir."

Kastro turns away from the fight and chuckles. "And what about yourself?"

She flicks her eyes at him, then to the fight. Arezzo is flinging black fireballs at Hisoka. "What about me?"

"Are you the same as the fighter in the battlefield, Miss Valtiel? Or are you who they say you are−the unpredictable, merciless Lady Death?" He nods to her blank face, devoid of violent emotions. He cocks his head to the side, a smile playing on his lips. "I suppose you're not. Your Ten says otherwise."

"I don't find fighting as fulfilling as Hisoka-san does."

"But you still fight?"

"For my own reasons."

"Ah. Another casual fighter." Kastro leans back on his chair. "I've met many of your kind. Only here to seek money and some experience, something to do away with their time. Tragic."

In the arena, Hisoka has Arezzo's both hands locked together and on the ground−in a thick wad of Bungee Gum. He saunters over to the blond man, graceful as a cat, and goads him into using his flaming ability again. Arezzo is more than happy to oblige, his flames coming alive in his hands. The Bungee Gum seemingly melts and Arezzo starts to grin, but Hisoka flicks a hand upwards and up goes Arezzo, soaring through the air in a dizzying speed. The audience gasps as Hisoka brings his opponent down again, connected to him with another thread of pink aura.

Arezzo's body makes a massive crater at the center. Hisoka skips downwards, then skids to a halt. As the dust settles, the screen reveals that both of Arezzo's arms have been ripped off from the impact.

Valtiel closes her eyes from the gruesome display and even more gruesome tactic. Have Arezzo glued to the floor. Stick Bungee Gum on his back. Stick other end of gum to the ceiling. The force of the sudden pull ripped off the man's arms, two wads of Bungee Gum pulling him apart.

Beside her, Kastro pales. Perhaps he is thinking twice about fighting the Reaper.

Hisoka is still making a good show of smiling and waving his hands at the audience. For the girls, most like. They are shouting and raging, pushing at each other when the subject of their fantasies glances at their direction. It makes Valtiel frown. What do they see in this maniac? Perhaps his good looks and the well-toned body, the hard muscles of his arms and shoulders. If those are their reasons, then Valtiel does not hold it against them.

He spots her in the crowd, easy to pinpoint in her yellow dress and white hooded cape. He smiles and waves longer at her direction. Timid, she waves back and feels the glare of the other fans. Then he is gesturing for her to join him downstairs, at the arena.

"He's calling you down," Kastro mumbles.

What does he want now?

Growling, Valtiel abandons her seat and finds a narrow staircase that leads to the arena. The audience's cheering grows louder to see them together, the partners who decimated through the 200th floor in a short span of time. Half of the glory she owes to Hisoka, flashy as he is right now.

She reaches him and he pulls her flush against him, one strong arm around her waist.

That is a first. The first time he holds her thus. The sensation of someone holding so close her is painfully familiar, reminding her of black hair and a gentle smile.

Her voice trembles. "Hisoka-san?"

Without words, without so much as a permission, Hisoka leans down and kisses her on the lips.

And the crowd goes wild.

The sunset looms on the horizon, a dark blanket of red-orange above the skies of Heaven's Arena. There are few people coming and going from the train station. Among these few people are the two fighters from the tower, famous in their own way, though now made more famous from the stunt a certain someone pulled during his last match this afternoon.

Hisoka beams as he walks behind her, a good three steps away so as not to incite her anger further. A bright red hand-shaped mark seems permanently slapped to his right cheek, though the stinging sensation of it is already long gone. Despite that, he has no regrets.

How could he have regrets?

Valtiel, on the other hand, takes the most offense. Her face is still burning with both fury and embarrassment. She stomps away like a child throwing a tantrum. She tugs her white hood lower as if that would hide away the shame, hide the blush that incessantly blooms in her cheeks.

It's hard for him not to laugh. "So cute."

Her voice, when she speaks, whips like thunder. "What did you say?"

"Oh, nothing. Just how you seem to avoid me, that's all." He follows at her heels, on their way to the train station, where they would last see each other until who-knows-when. Hisoka is not one for sentimentalities, but he must at least admit that the room would be no longer fun without her.

A train conductor is ushering passengers to the trains, checking their tickets, helping with directions.

Valtiel's shoulders drop. Her extra month intended for recovery has gone well, though her bones and muscles are forever tingling with pain. Her right shoulder has healed, and so does the swelling in her left wrist. Sharp pain still in fractured ribs, and her legs and twisted foot still need more time.

Time, again. She frowns. More time. We always need more time.

She turns around to the magician. Glare already in place. "Thank you for escorting me all the way here, Hisoka-san. And thank you for your company for the past three months. It has been… bizarre."

"Oh, it was a pleasure, Val. And if I may say−a great pleasure." He winks provocatively.

"Forgive me for the troubles I caused."

"It's nothing."

"And for the offense I might have given you."

"None taken."

"And for watching over me when I was indisposed."

"Of course. We're friends, Val."

She forces herself to look up at him. He is silhouetted against the deepening sunset. The glare of his red hair becoming darker. She feels small under his shadow, a meek mouse before a wolf. Yet she draws herself higher, despite the nagging pain in her lower body. More time. More time to heal.

"May I ask you something?" The words slip from her mouth before she realizes her curiosity gets the better of her. She blanches and almost slaps a hand to her mouth.

"Anything for you," he croons, enjoying the moment.

"Why?" Again, her face flushes, matching the red of the sunset. Still, standing in her pride, she could not bring it to herself to hide away from her shame. She meets his eyes and searches for the lies and tricks so natural for a Transmuter. To her wretched surprise, she finds none. Her lips curl into a sneer, then she remembers instantly how his lips molded into hers for one searing kiss.

Hundreds−no, thousands−of people were watching. The crowd was reeling with both shock and excitement. The girls were speechless in their surprise. Even Kastro, still in his seat, gaped at the scene.

"Why did you do it?"

"Why, indeed?" He asks the question for himself. He taps his chin with an index finger. "Well, for one thing: it is Valentine's Day today. I thought it's appropriate, don't you?"

She rolls her eyes, unconvinced.

He takes it in stride, grinning. "Hm. Well, I suppose it only felt right to do it, since you're leaving so soon. I did say I'm sending you off with a proper goodbye."

"So the match and Arezzo's death are not the goodbyes?" She hears herself say in a bewildered tone.

"Oh, no. I don't really care about him. Another challenger who got himself killed." His amber eyes flit back to her face, and for a moment, they soften. "You will be missed entirely by Heaven's Arena, Lady Death. It is a last good image you can show everyone, to remember you."

"I don't want to be remembered kissing you."

"Was it that bad?" He blinks, sounding hurt.

"N-No!" She is quick to deny, only to mend whatever hurt she did. "I did not mean to say that…"

To talk about this is just as hard and embarrassing as apologizing to Chrollo about what happened between them. Like then, she trembles like a leaf, her mind racking for excuses. Her words stumble and sputter out of her lips. She has nothing else, could think of no other means of escape except escaping herself−like she did before. She ran away from Chrollo instead of looking him in the eyes and accepting what happened.

And now, she touches Hisoka hand in a fleeting hold before turning her back on him and running for her train. Her cape fans out behind her, the yellow skirt of her dress flapping over her thighs.

The conductor admits her inside the train after checking her ticket.

She slumps to her seat, breathing heavily. Taking one last glance at the window, Hisoka smiles softly and waves his hand goodbye.

Despite herself, she smiles and waves back.

Who knows how long they would see each other again?

Author's Notes: Buongiorno! Bonjour! Bonsior! Bon-hello! Welcome back to this story! I hope this story finds you, your family, and friends all safe and healthy from the pandemic that's been going all over the world! It's been a really crazy last one and a half month (I've been in quarantine for the same amount of time-I'm not essential, lmao) so I absolutely have the time to write more stories, watch some new series and rewatch old ones as well.

But of course, I wouldn't forget to update my stories here. We have Valtiel and Hisoka ending their misadventures together in this chapter, with our friendly neighborhood clown/magician/creeper sending Val off with proper goodbye! Of course, he'd do such a thing. They're friends, after all. (Yeah, right, Hisoka)

Many, maaaaanyyy thanks for everyone who keeps reading this story! To the new readers out there, new followers... thank you very much for taking a few minutes from your quarantine time to read this story! To everyone who always leaves reviews, you guys are very much appreciated! Sorry if it takes a while between updates, but I'll try my best! Don't forget to wash your hands, take a shower if need be; wear face masks and gloves; stay home unless it's very urgent (like food, goodness I miss eating out in restaurants, haha!).

Stay safe all! Stay safe from creepy magicians lurking in the alleys. Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy this chapter! 💛