Chapter XXXVI

"Danchou?" she breathes, the word rolling so strangely on her tongue.

"I am sorry to have barged in like this," he whispers in the darkness, fingering the little locket of gold.

"No, no." She shakes her head, trying to get her bearings. Is this a dream? Some kind of cruel Nen ability? She steps forward to make sure that it is him−Chrollo Lucilfer in the flesh. How many months? How many nights has she imagined of this happening?

A familiar tug in her heart brings her back to the room, and she puts a hand to calm herself down.

"No," she repeats, aware how pathetic she sounds. "You surprised me, that's all."

A ghost of a smile spreads across his face.

Valtiel sighs and reaches out to turn the lights on. To her increasing surprise and horror, Chrollo looks like a walking, bloodied corpse: his black overcoat is tattered everywhere, the white of his inner shirt also torn and dark with blood, his sleeves and pants are slashed, with the flesh underneath swelling with cuts and abrasions. Even his face is wounded, a bruise on his left jaw and a long cut across his left cheek.

Out of instinct, she runs to him and glosses all over his body. "What happened? Who did this to you? Where are you hurt? Danchou−"

He silences her with a finger to her lips. Then his hand cups her cheek, thumb brushing across the apex. Breath hitching in his throat, he murmurs, "It's not mine."

"Wh-What?"

"It's not my blood."

"Then whose?" she gasps.

"Yuan's." Chrollo lifts his dark gaze to her lighter one.

In that split second, he closes his eyes again and bows his head. He could not meet her eyes without seeing the confusion in them. He could not bear to remember what happened. Instead, he focuses on his hand on her cheek, basking in the warmth of her skin. He flinches when he feels her hand on his own cheek, returning the gesture.

"I am sorry," she whispers under her breath, fingers rubbing over his pale skin. She cranes her neck to observe his appearance again, noting every bloodstain and possible wounds. She counts many cuts and minor scratches, and notices that his raven hair has gone longer and wilder than the last time. Even the bags under his eyes are deeper, his complexion becoming pallor.

It is unlike the Danchou she remembers. Not like this.

Cupping his cheek, she whispers, "You should sit down. I'll get you something to eat and change your clothes with, okay?"

She tugs him towards the small grey couch. He follows without much energy, slumping to the seat and tossing his head over the back. His eyes are closed, lips pressed thin and tight. She leaves him there to rest while she rushes to the kitchenette to prepare him something, anything.

Chrollo tries focusing on the sound of her movements in the small apartment, but every time he does try, his mind goes back to when it happened.

It was so fast, so unexpected, and so full of rage. He had felt the assassin coming, him and Yuan both, and prepared for the assault. But the assassin was larger, quicker, and more cunning than both of them combined. Chrollo had in mind not to kill him for his insolence, but when things became more difficult and he knew Yuan was in trouble−everything went downhill.

His lashes flutter as he tries to concentrate on Valtiel's presence. Even without Ten, he could feel the warm, soothing feeling of her self. He wants to focus on her, but the damned mind keeps winding backwards−to blood and death. He would have lost his life if not for the last second, exhausting the use of his many stolen abilities. In the end, he walked out alive, and Yuan did not.

Valtiel studies his countenance for a while, and then inches closer. She eases herself beside him on the couch, and even as the couch dips from her added weight, he never opens his eyes or moves. She puts a basin and cloth down on a stool, takes his right hand, and starts washing the blood off him.

His fingers twitch in her grasp. She bites at her lower lip as she wipes the stains between his fingers, on his palm, and under his nails. Gently, she pries the sleeve of his coat higher, so she could wash away the blood on his wrist and arm. So much in her concentration that she does not feel the weight of his gaze on her, dark as void yet soft under the golden glow of the lamp.

Chrollo helps her by unbuttoning his coat and peeling away the remnants of his white shirt. He lets the clothes fall into a heap on the floor, and then turns back for the young woman.

She dips the washcloth into the basin, wrings the water out, and starts with gentle sweeping motions across the length of his right arm. She feels him exhale upon the contact, and for a moment there, she flinches and stiffens, afraid that she has done something wrong.

She looks up at him, searching for his eyes. They are blank. He neither smiles nor nods. She continues then, adjusting on the couch so she could reach his neck, the blood there dried and profuse. To her internal relief, he is not injured there. She could not imagine what she would do had the Danchou been wounded so gravely.

When she reaches the cut on his cheek, only then does she notice the intensity of his gaze. It has been so long since the last time, yet the sensations are the same, how she feels nervous and so small before his staring. She avoids his eyes and moves away, but his hand darts out, striking as if a snake, and pulls her back towards him.

He puts her hand on the slope of his neck, where she should continue washing−or so she interprets, for why else would the Danchou put it there if not for washing?

Her eyes are forever on the movements of her hand−going up and down, up and down, so sensually slow−ignoring the way he tries to catch her gaze. She reaches for his cut and wipes the bloodstain; the gash is not particularly deep, thank goodness, or else she already dreads the tableau of the Spiders angered at their Danchou's injuries.

Suddenly, he takes her hand and cups it firmly over his own cheek. His big hand remains over hers, as if to stop her from snatching her hand away. Their eyes meet, and he moves the thoughts of death aside to focus on her.

How long has it been? How long since he looked into those eyes and admired the golden flecks in them? How long since he ran his fingers through her pale blonde locks? Everything about his Kurta has been so painfully long.

Chrollo turns his head to the side to kiss her palm. "I missed you so much," he breathes against her skin.

She could feel the warmth of his breath on her hand. Her color rises. But she smiles modestly and takes her hand from him as gently as she could. "It's very nice to see you, too, Danchou."

As she reaches for the washcloth again, he reaches out for her, stubborn, and stares into her eyes.

"That is not what I said."

Valtiel has fought in Heaven's Arena, and so she knows when she is defeated. She smiles into his face and whispers, quite obedient, "I missed you, too, Danchou."

Those were not his exact words, but they would do. Chrollo nods and leans back to the couch, head resting on the back, while the young woman proceeds with the stains on his collarbone and chest. His eyes close again, with him sighing, at the gentle touch and her presence. Enough to keep his mind from wandering to darkness again. He keeps one hand on her knee, making sure that she is not going anywhere, the feeling of physical contact with her better than remembering Yuan's demise.

After a few moments, she finishes with his broad chest and torso, and discards the basin and washcloth. She says something to him, but his attention has gone elsewhere, now that she is faraway and there is no one to anchor him from his inexorable melancholia.

He was prepared for death, anticipating it even, but for Yuan to have it instead of him, and for Chrollo to fail in his promise−it was a mess. Despite the years of eloquent seduction, he has no better words.

He could kill someone to pass the time, ravage a nearby shop or bank to calm himself. The mixture of rage and sadness boils so maddeningly inside him that he wants to kill, that he could not stop his aura from leaking out, rattling the nearby furniture and flickering the light of the lamp.

When she touches his face, he realizes that he has been crying. His eyes fling open to stare at her through the hot tears. Valtiel's face swims in his vision. He clears his throat and lowers his head.

"I borrowed some clothes from the neighbor," she whispers, running her fingers through his tangled raven locks. "She has a son about your size. I was hoping they would do for the time being."

"Thank you," he mumbles, voice soft yet aura filled with malice.

"You should take a shower." She touches his shoulder, peering down at his bowed head.

Even at this angle, at his posturing and hands covering his face, she could see the gleam of a tear slipping from closed lashes. He is still holding that little locket, dangling from its gold chain from his between his fingers. She could hold him in her arms if he wants, make the pain stop−but the last time she had been brave, it earned her nothing but his spite. Now she has learned the consequences of being brave in his presence. She knows where and when the line is drawn.

Still, she cannot stomach the sight of him in tears. This is not the Chrollo Lucilfer she knows. This is not the feared leader of the Phantom Troupe−but a young man, almost like a lost boy in her eyes, mourning for his lost friend. She cannot take it anymore, and so she scoots closer and rests her head on his shoulder, still peering down at his face.

"Danchou…"

He stirs and turns to face her. As in his usual way he smiles down, weaves a hand through her platinum-blonde hair, and presses a tender kiss on her forehead.

"Thank you," he murmurs.

She squirms in his hold, uncomfortable, having missed that for months. "Will you take a shower? That'd make you feel better. Do that while I prepare something for you to eat."

With an obedient nod, he stands from the couch and strides towards the bathroom. The apartment might be small, and he could not have been here for more than a few minutes, but he already knows where to go and where to put the rest of his destroyed clothes.

Valtiel averts her eyes as she busies herself in the kitchenette, hoping to make something for him at this late in the night. She checks at the small clock by the counter−11:11 P.M.

Midnight finds them both refreshed, having showered one after the other, dressed in clothes that are more comfortable and curled up on the couch. Chrollo sits at his previous spot, by the lamplight, his pale face illuminated under the soft glow. Valtiel, in her nightdress with silk ribbons at the shoulders, curls up on the smaller couch adjacent to the Danchou.

She prepared coffee for him and hot chocolate drink for herself, and a meager platter of reheated doughnuts. She watches in silence as her guest barely touches anything she offered.

In the deepest part of her mind, she is aware that time is ticking. In this kind of awkward silence, she feels it is being wasted, slipping through her fingers like sand. It would seem the Danchou does not share her predicament; one look in his face tells everything.

She shifts on her couch, mug cupped between hands. "Would you tell me how it happened?"

"Assassin." She never expects him to answer, but he does, tearing his sightless gaze from the untouched coffee and faces her. At this light, with this angle, he looks as if he has aged a few years overnight. He does not have his usual charm and allure. "A Zoldyck."

Again, she shifts, discomfited.

Even in his melancholia, he is sharp and calculating. "You've heard of them?"

"Met two of them in Heaven's Arena." She smiles at the memory of the silver-haired boy, so confident and haughty, a real fighter in the battlefield. Then she shudders from the second Zoldyck, the terrifying black-eyed elder brother. She glances at him and knows he wants her to elaborate. She shrugs. "I befriended one and had a minor spat with the other."

"You…" His voice crackles, aura bursting out from him. "What?"

"It was nothing," she says rapidly in her defense. "Just a minor misunderstanding. I know I am a thousand miles out of league and he would have definitely killed me−" She stops her ranting as Chrollo narrows his eyes threateningly at her wrong choice of words. "Anyway, Hisoka-san dealt him for me. It was nothing."

"How foolish can you be to engage with Zoldycks?"

"I did not mean it." It comes as a terrified whisper. "I am sorry, Danchou."

Chrollo settles back on the couch and returns his gaze on the coffee. He leans forward, elbows on his knees, and lets his bangs cover his eyes. "We lost Yuan because of my incompetence," he confides, and Valtiel sits straighter at his confession. "We knew we were being followed, we knew it was no ordinary pursuer, yet we were overly confident. We were supposed to protect each other, but it was I who did not meet the end of the bargain."

"Who could have hired an assassin for Yuan-san?"

He rubs at his eyes, as if that would stop the tears. "I suppose that it also another mistake of mine," he says. "During the last mission, one of Yuan's former slave masters managed to escape. No one ever thought of giving chase. I certainly did not think it would backfire." His voice drops into a whisper, laced with a snarl in the back of his throat. "The bastard must have hired a Zoldyck assassin for that."

"We fought the assassin together, Yuan and I," he continues in his narration, heart heavier with each passing moment. "He had a strange ability and I wanted it for myself. I never once thought of killing that one for my own selfish desire." Another dab at his eyes, and Valtiel could see the trembling of his hands, the anxious tapping of his foot on the carpet. "In the end, I got what I wanted, but Yuan was gone."

"How?" She hears herself say in a small voice. "How did it happen?"

"Fast. Through the heart," he says tersely, sparing themselves of the gruesome details. "Claws like yours and Feitan's, but laced with a fast-acting poison. His face contorted and his skin turned black before his corpse even hit the ground."

"And you did what?" she whispers. The first tears prick at her eyes.

"Caught his body. Tried to save him. And the assassin escaped."

At that moment, he snaps−all black aura engulfing the apartment. The lights flicker on and off in earnest, curtains and tables rattling as if beset by an earthquake. Valtiel squirms in her seat as the nightmare ensues. The chocolate drink in her mug turns black and brackish, a water from the filthiest sewers. Across from her, on the table, Chrollo's own coffee bubbles with the same black water. The unpleasant smell of garbage and rotten egg mixed with other chemicals invades the small room.

Valtiel's voice sounds faraway as she shouts, "Danchou! Enough!"

Chrollo blinks and the horror dissipates. He stares at her terrified expression and studies the spilled coffee on the table and over the grey carpet. Not coffee, he observes, but sewer water.

She flies to the nearest set of windows and flings them open, coughing. "That was dangerous!"

"Forgive me," he says in a rather unapologetic tone. "I was not meaning to kill you."

"No, that's not what I meant." She coughs and cringes at the unpleasant smell, so severe that she could pass out on the floor. She finishes the windows and ties the curtains upwards, to let the breeze in. "I am not worried about your bloodthirst right now," she says to him over her shoulder. "I'm worried about you."

"What?" He looks at her as if she speaks to him in a different language.

"Oh, Danchou." Inhaling deeply−and then regretting it immediately afterwards−Valtiel returns to him and kneels before him on the carpet. She stares up at him with her golden eyes searching for his dreary dark ones. She clasps his hands, rough from years of fighting and turning pages. "I am very sorry to hear about Yuan-san, I really am. He was very kind to me and to everyone else. I wish I had known him longer, but that cannot be anymore…"

He opens his mouth to protest, but she silences him with a finger to his lips.

"From the way I am hearing it, you are blaming yourself for what happened. Why so?" She blinks at him, her face bright with challenge. "I know you did your best. You always do you best."

"We don't do anything by halves," he murmurs.

"Yes, and so you did your best," she pursues, giving him no moment to counter her words. "I am so very sorry about Yuan-san. Perhaps it is meant to happen, like fate meant it to happen?"

"Do you believe in divine interventions now?" A slight chuckle escapes him. He wraps his hands on either side of her upper arms and hoists her from the carpet, and pulls her to sit next to him, her legs resting over his lap. He pushes a hair out of place to look at her eyes.

"Well, no." She pouts, petulant like a child. "But you understand what I mean, right?"

"And because of this I cannot mourn for Yuan?"

"I never said anything thus. There is no shame in crying over a lost friend, Danchou."

"Have you ever lost a close friend, Val?"

She blinks at the strange question. "Other than Yuan-san, there is no one I can remember."

His ghostly smile returns, made more ghoulish by the combination of his pallor cheeks, dark eye bags, and the orange lamplight. "Yes," he agrees, enigmatic for her. "I suppose there is no need for you to remember."

They fall into another stretch of silence, Chrollo leaning back on the couch, comfortable in his borrowed navy shirt and grey sweatpants. He trails light fingers over her legs, still resting over his lap as she sighs and allows herself to indulge in his company. So many months apart. It makes him wonder what has changed, for certainly, something changed in his Kurta.

With a sideways glance, he could tell that she has grown over their time apart. Her Nen is more refined, the way she moves has the makings of a cautious fighter. Despite the separation, her smiles are warm and always come easy. Her touches are as comforting as before.

He lets the silence hang, until the she could no longer bear the silence and falls asleep beside him. So nothing has changed in that department. Still so easy to fall asleep, and anywhere. He shifts themselves on the couch, laying her vertically while he joins her, one arm wrapped around her waist to keep her close and to keep himself from falling. The couch is small at best; one wrong move and he could go rolling on the carpet.

He knows he should probably carry her back to the bedroom, and give her respite and a good night's rest. But something flares from within him, the same possessive streak of wanting her close and monitored all the time. In the back of his mind, he knows this is wrong−but she is his.

After their long separation, she still belongs to him−heart, mind, body, and soul.

Whenever Valtiel dreams, there is a part of her that wonders if it even a dream or one of her lost memories. It is hard to distinguish, having gone away from the Spiders, and it is frustrating to wake up every morning not knowing which is which. There was a time when she woke up in tears, and Hisoka had teased her relentless about it, getting into her face every two minutes and asking, "So, who's Tokuga?"

Neither of them really knew the answer. Hisoka had giggled and stopped harassing her two days later.

This particular morning, she dreams of Yuan, in the exact same manner how the Danchou described his death. She dreams of the young man's bronze skin turning black as he falls, lifeless, with his electric-blue eyes fading into nothingness. She chokes back a sob, and realizes, with a painful accuracy, that it is not her sobbing as she lays on the couch with someone's arms around her.

She opens her eyes, the apartment still dark and thankfully, the sewer-like smell from the Danchou's Hatsu has gone. In a moment of utter confusion, she finds herself trapped in his firm embrace, unable to move at all, her face buried to his chest. Her body freezes at the strange yet so damnably familiar sensation of someone holding her like this, as if she is loved and adored and cared for.

But with someone like Chrollo Lucilfer, she learned first-hand that such intimacies mean nothing to him.

She relaxes in his arms, left with no choice but stay there, feeling for his even breaths. He is dreaming, she could tell, from his twitch and the sudden tightness of his grasp, squeezing her against him. She lifts her face unless she wants to be smothered by his chest, her face pressed now on the slope of his neck. At least she could breathe better now, but smelling his fresh heady scent sends alarm bells in her mind.

In this new, closer position, one of his tears slips from his cheek and falls on her forehead. She blinks and moves into the embrace, one hand carefully reaching up to hold his face.

Chrollo jerks awake from the touch. His body stiffens, and then he rises on his elbows and heaves himself up from the couch, disentangling himself from her and leaving her there.

She yawns and pushes herself up on her elbows, her hair disheveled over her bare shoulders. She could barely register where Chrollo has gone until he emerges from her bedroom with a blanket on hand.

He rejoins her on the couch and sits at the corner, splaying the soft blue blanket over her body. His hands guide her gently, laying her head on his lap as he gives a little sigh and makes himself comfortable by just sitting in the darkness, staring at nothing, fingers playing with her hair.

Another yawn comes from her as she settles to the new position, smoothing her cheek against the velvety fabric of his pants. She feels him move, the hand on her head momentarily gone, and then returns a few seconds afterward. Then she hears the flipping of pages and smiles against his lap.

"What are you reading?" she inquires sleepily, eyes still closed.

"An East Thracean tale of their old warrior-king."

Her eyes snap open and she peers up at him. The glare of the lamplight assaults and blinds her. "East? East Thracean is a thing?"

"Of course." He flips to the first pages, skimming through the handwritten words. "Thrace was an archipelagic country in north-west Azia. Some centuries ago, a large part of the west submerged under the sea, leaving the eastern islands untouched. And so the people began calling them East and West, to differentiate the group of islands." He glances at her confused face and smirks. "It's all in first grade, Val."

"Well, I was not informed about that."

"Did you translate this text?" He traces the elegant strokes of a fountain pen.

"I had help, some volunteers at the museum." She yawns again and settles back under her blanket. "Will you tell me more about Thrace?" The very request quite reminds her of a certain magician.

"Perhaps next time," he says. "It's still four in the morning. Go back to sleep, Val."

Come morning, Valtiel realizes that the nightmares of Yuan's death is quickly forgotten, perhaps having been pushed from the Danchou's mind. She wakes up on the couch, the early morning sun peeking through the drawn curtains. She has a pillow underneath her head and another one for her to embrace. She presses her nose against it, gathering her wits about her, before rising and washing her face. She walks back into the space of what she calls the living room.

In the historical district of this town, her apartment is surprisingly stylish and modern, with her landlady being an interior designer and all. The place might be a little dreary with its white-and-grey accents, from the walls to the chairs and carpet. Even with the small flowers in their clear vases, the abstract paintings on the walls. Everything is so different from her previous home, with the old fireplace and pendulum clock.

Chrollo enters through the front door and offers a small smile. "Good morning."

"Good morning." She narrows her eyes at the boxes and plastic bags in his hands. "What are those?"

"Food." He lifts the plastic bags. "And clothes." He lifts the boxes. "For both of us, by the way."

"May I ask why?" Already she crosses her arms over her chest like an impatient mother.

"I am aware that I barged in last night without permission from you, and that I have caused enough troubles by troubling you to accommodate me," he explains formally, crossing the room and placing the plastic bags on the small dining table. "I had thought it only appropriate for me to treat you for breakfast."

"And the clothes?"

"I couldn't borrow your neighbor's son's clothes for the rest of my stay, could I?" He smirks and disappears into the bathroom to change his clothes, despite Valtiel's mental note that he looks rather normal wearing shirt and puffy sweatpants.

"You stole everything, didn't you?" she calls after him.

"Well, I stole a credit card and used it to buy these items," he says as he emerges again, now looking more like himself in a white button shirt and black slacks. He combs his raven hair backwards and lets the long strands over his forehead and cross tattoo. He catches her wrinkling her nose and chuckles.

Rolling her eyes, Valtiel sets to laying out the foods he has bought−stolen, really−and nods her appreciation at his choice of foods. Months of living by herself means simple fried dishes and take-outs from fast food restaurants. With Chrollo, she would be dining once again in fancy recipes: a traditional scrambled eggs dish with strips of meat and melted cheeses, paired with fat lobster claws, a warm crepe overflowing with honey and topped with blueberries, walnut muffins with coffee icing and chocolate sprinkles, and tall mugs of hot coffee and chocolate drinks to wash the food down.

Chrollo picks at his food while reading a small book on his right. Valtiel, mouth watering at the scrumptious foods, needs no second telling as she takes one out of everything on the table and munches delightfully, her cheeks round and rosy as she chews.

"Danchou?" she says through a mouthful of the lobster claws. "How did you find me anyway?"

He lets her bad manners slide and sips at his coffee. "It was nothing special. After I analyzed you during our time spent together, I anticipated that you are going somewhere remote that caters to your scholarly interests. Not exactly challenging, if I dare say."

She lifts her chocolate drink and sniffs. "What a stalker."

He laughs−a rich, hearty laugh. "You think so? Then again, it was entertaining tracking you down at least. Shalnark told about your worries with that prince of Kakin. I knew for sure you are not the type who travels through different countries in a week, but the type who would settle into a quiet lifestyle until the troubles catch up with you." Another calm sip of coffee. He licks his lips. "Always fight or flight, huh, Val?"

She snorts and gobbles the egg with the melted cheese. Oh, how heavenly. "What else did Shal-san report to you? I imagine Uvo-san and the others made some reports, too?"

"If you thought you were truly alone, then you are wrong. Of course they were reporting."

"Stalker."

"You already said that once."

"Because you are twice a stalker."

He offers a polite smile.

"What else should I know? Oh, wait. Let me guess." She holds up a hand and jabs a walnut muffin at his direction. "Hisoka-san told you that time when I was unconscious and he allegedly bathed with me back in Heaven's Arena? Did he say that, too?"

"Actually−no," Chrollo says in an uncertain tone. "He did not."

She blinks at her embarrassing mistake and munches on the muffin instead.

He raises a perfect dark eyebrow and leans closer to the table. "So−that happened?"

"I am not sure, but he−"

"Valtiel." His voice grows harder, more authoritative. She belongs to him. Not to some magician.

"It's nothing," she says evasively. "Nothing of importance at all."

"I would decide which ones are matters of importance," he admonishes. He puts the coffee down and she could feel his aura radiating from his body. If he gets mad enough, their drinks could turn into sewer waters again. He glares as she avoids eye contact. "I asked you a simple question, Valtiel. Was that true? Did you and Hisoka share a bath?"

She squirms under his scolding, as if a child caught red-handed. "He claims it happened," she whispers, peeping at him under her lashes. He is still glaring. She looks down again. "But I doubt it. I am often exhausted from my matches and fall straight to sleep. And Hisoka-san couldn't have taken advantage of me like that."

Unfortunately, his voice sharpens. "And you think Hisoka wouldn't have done such a thing?"

She waves the thought of the magician away. "He is bizarre, but I trust him well enough."

"That is not what I asked you."

"He wouldn't," she snaps back, now annoyed at his insistence and unreasonable anger.

Why should he be so upset when it was his fault in the first place that she went with Hisoka? If he had only asked her to stay, then she would have, and none of this conversation would be happening right now. Incensed with the topic, she frowns and busies herself with her breakfast, before her appetite disappears.

"Fine." His intense dark eyes flash at her for the final time, and the argument is over.

After a while of silence, Chrollo focuses on her again. She is still flaring from the previous argument as he is, but he puts it aside for another round of interrogation. "Shal kept me updated with the school's construction."

At once, her face brightens and her smile returns. So predictable of her.

"Why, yes," she confirms, puffing her chest in pride. "I enlisted the help of some engineers and skilled workers to start the construction. My earnings from Heaven's Arena all went to the initial finances, then Shal-san, Franklin-san, and I have to steal for more money." She scrunches her nose upon remembering.

He nods and reaches out for his share of the muffins. He casually licks at the coffee icing. "So I heard. You left soon afterwards, did you not? Settled here? Well, Shal watched over the process and now he tells me that the main building is almost finished."

"Really?" Now that brightens her face even more.

"Yes. I sent Kortopi and Pakunoda to oversee the rest of the process. The other Spiders are prepared to provide for more financial support, if need be."

"Is that true?"

"I did promise, did I not?"

"That's a relief." She smiles against the rim of her cup. "It's hard for me to earn money here."

"What kind of work are you doing here anyway?" He taps the small book beside his plate. "I noticed you have an extensive shelf and a collection of ancient texts."

"Oh, I volunteer in a nearby museum," Valtiel answers. "It is owned by a Triple-Star Ruins Hunter and has one of the biggest collection of the treasures in the world. No one really works there; everyone is a volunteer. Most are young Ruins Hunters and even Amateur Hunters. The boss pays for everyone's rent and gives us extra allowances for food and other necessities. Now, in the museum, there are groups assigned to locating the ruins and treasures, remaking maps and restoring lost artworks, or translating and making copies of old texts. I volunteered on the last part."

"Sounds fun." He grins. "I'd really like to see how it is like."

"That's a great idea!" She beams at him, and he smiles at her childlike enthusiasm.

Not only would it be fun−as he puts it−but it is also a good chance to divert his melancholy from losing Yuan. She is already excited to show him everything in the museum.

But first she would have to remove all traces of her researches about the Kurta Clan.

Author's Notes: Welcome back, everyone! Sorry it took another long while for the update. Got too busy playing video games, ya know? I hope everyone is safe and healthy and keep staying safe and healthy during this time of crisis.

R.I.P. Yuan−you will be missed by the Spiders, but I'm excited to write Shizuku into the story! Feeling sad for Danchou's sadness, as losing one of his members has always been a painful experience for Danchou *cough*BlackWhaleArc*cough* But with Yuan's demise, Chrollo comes back for Valtiel. Better to keep your loved ones closer now that someone has already died. We'll regroup soon with the Spiders!

See you all in the next update! Have a great week ahead! Stay safe and wash your hands! ❤️