AN: My apologies Heineken fans.

After numerous missed calls, when I finally answer, Ging hangs up.

"Ging—"

Dial Tone.

I call him back.

Disconnect tone. We're sorry, says a tinny woman's voice. Please check the number and dial your call again.

Three times I call and hear the same sorry message. Because my Japanese typing is slow, compared to Shal at least, I send Ging a text in Gortese, one he'll receive as soon as his phone reconnects: Netero sends his regards.

I count one minute and twenty-nine seconds before my phone rings.

"The hell—" The words barrel out the speaker, so alive Ging could have been standing next to my ear. I stretch my arm away, the phone vibrating from his emotive voice "—did that dirty OLD pervert want?"

"You have some explaining to do," I say.

"Heh? Isn't that MY line, you name-crook?! You name-bandit! Name-ghoul! Is that the squeaking sound of your spider training wheels—"

"You have a son?"

Those four monosyllables sock him in the gut and I fear he's going to hang up again—

"That SENILE FOSSIL cleared across the continent to tell you THAT?"

Serious impropriety but this is Ging we are talking about.

"What's the matter?" I say. "Beans said Netero and him are amiable with you."

"Not with snitches I aint."

"Netero didn't snitch," I say. "He made me curious. Heaven's Arena is crawling with Hunters and they were giddy, itching to tell me all about the epic narrative surrounding you. Want a refresher?"

"If you say another word," says Ging. "I'll tack on another 5 million—"

"Ging Freecs—the youngster from a nondescript village where everyone knows each other, the wild-haired rookie who passed the Hunter exam, who at 12 was the only one to pass that year, and on his first attempt. They called you a prodigy, a legend—"

Through the speaker, a scorned groan deep from his being that paints for my mind's eye his cartoonishly angry expression, eyes veined and red, caterpillar eyebrows tightly knitted, facial hair upright like porcupine quills. I hold back a snicker.

"Your abilities are a persistent mystery," I say. After Netero left, I bumped into two fighters in the lobby. They apologized but it was soon obvious that it wasn't an accident on their part. "Oh sorry about that! So...you're Freecss, huh?"

I explained that my relation to Ging was a cordial one and he's a transient presence in my life. I thought my vagueness would disappoint them but instead, it gave me credibility.

"To know the specifics about Ging is to out oneself as a liar," said one of them.

The two were Hunters, all too happy to flash their licenses with big grins. "What type of Hunter are you?" one asked, assuming I had a license in my pocket too.

"Ruins," I lied.

"No kidding," one said, and how Ging and I met needed no further explanation.

They showed me with a phone the HEATED arguments on Hunter forums (though they swore they were not active on those forums) about Ging's ability. Numerous posts: Ging is an Emitter. My trip to Greed Island and what that says about Ging's Nen. Theory on why Ging's a Specialist. Nope, he has less charisma than a soaked blanket. I'd bet my license he's not a Specialist! Then the thread had digressed into arguments about the validity of Nen personality typing, a trench between the hard believers and the detractors, who dismissed it as willy-nilly 'Nen horoscopes'. Though, there was a resounding agreement across all schools of thought, including the two Hunters I met, that Ging was, undoubtedly, a deadbeat dad.

From my skimming, there were numerous adjectives hurtled at Ging: arrogant, contentious, antisocial, but not one mention of how shy he actually is.

"So it's true?" I ask.

A drag of his palm down his unshaven face. "It's none of your damn business, but yeah, I have a rugrat."

"Who you're not raising?"

"He's being raised by my cousin on the 'nondescript village' where yours truly grew up, a peachy place called Whale Island. You've never heard of it. Nobody has. Before you ask, it's not called Whale Island because of fishing, or the founder was named Whale, but because it is literally shaped like a whale tail breaking the ocean surface. Imagine growing up on a damn whale."

"Why is your cousin raising him? Is the mother not in the picture?"

"It's. Complicated," he says, words leaking between gritted teeth.

"No mother, no father," I say. "But it's a legal battle, right? You're doing all you can to get him back under your care?"

The piece of me that holds Ging in high regard hopes so bad for him to defend himself, guns blazing. Safra, what do you take me for? The situation is dire and I'm doing all in my might to get my child back— But instead, he shrugs, untouched by my attempt to affect urgency and passion in him. "Meh."

My head blanks. "Meh?"

"Meh! Sorry you don't like my answer. He's better off being raised by my cousin. Did the forums tell you that?"

"So you're not raising him full time...but...after each of your 'Hunter jobs' you go back to visit, right?"

"Look," he says. "I know what you're trying to do. To a decent person, your attempt to humanize them would mean the world to them. But that's not me. Trust me, he's better off."

"You abandoned him," I say. "I don't believe what I'm hearing."

"He's, better, off," says Ging. "I was stagnant on Whale Island. You know what it's like to be caged on an island. One country is bad enough but an island? A microcosm of what this strange world has to offer? You'd be nuts to stay forever."

"I'd go back and stay forever."

A scornful scoff. "You sure about that?"

"I have two siblings there. I'd return in a heartbeat."

"It's easy to sound tough over the phone. If you want, instead of smuggling two people, I could smuggle you in."

"I'm supposed to be dead, remember? You know why I can't go back."

"So steal someone's name and slide back into society."

"I'm serious."

"Me too! So if it weren't for that pesky prison sentence, with all the riches you've enjoyed of the outside world, you'd fly back into the cage and lock the bars behind you? Can you swear nothing else is holding you back?"

"You mean like a cell phone?"

"I'm talking the real riches. The autumn foliage in Turkei? The glorious warmth of Phoenix Temple? The baby phoenix who gifted you a tail feather? Pft! If that's how you feel, next time I won't bother. Let ya freeze on the cliff."

Someone who can't forgo their desires for someone they love wouldn't even begin to understand—I don't utter before Ging continues.

"Mah, then again, I could be wrong. Maybe you had cool prospects before your life was flipped upside down. Education lined up at the finest institution, connections aplenty to secure a prestigious job, a hot fiance—"

Perhaps I deserve a roasting after relaying his epic narrative and revving his ire. "Where are you going with this?"

"I'm reconciling my Northern bourgeois perspective." Ging's tone is always self-assured I can hardly tell when he's being sarcastic. "In a nation of three million people, I'd wager some are plenty content to be there. You must have been since you would choose whatever you had before over the freedom you have now."

"The freedom to…?"

"To fulfill your potential to be the best name-thief you can be."

I moan and roll my eyes so hard I'm surprised they don't remain stuck. "Heaven's Arena required a surname for registration. I was put on the spot and Freecss was the first name I thought of."

"And what were you thinking of me for, huh?" In his gruff voice, the slightest playful turn grips me anew with nervousness.

"Maybe I was still ticked off because of Yorknew," I say. "One good thing came of it, I got to meet Netero and Beans. Hunters are a curious bunch, to say the least."

"Hunters are a selfish bunch," he says. "Heh, you know what? Like the name so much. Keep it."

Far away, on the phone, even I get whiplash from that heel turn. "Strange nonchalance after you called me a name-ghoul and blew up my phone for two days."

"Don't overestimate how much I cared," he says. "Why would I care about what you do? Pft. You're so full of yourself."

"Since you lack a visual, I'm rolling my eyes," I say.

"Besides," he says. "Meeting Netero and entertaining the boredom out of him is punishment enough for you. If I could, I would pity you."

"Does amiable mean something different to you, Hunters?"

"What?" he says. "You think I'm disrespecting the gnarled geezer?"

I rub my temple; speaking with Ging dizzies my brain. "You know what, I agree now. Your kid is better off not being raised by you."

Ging is about to retort but instead lets out a croaky laugh.

"Can I be honest?" I say. "I wish you wouldn't take for granted how easy it is for you to visit your kid. You're free to come and go as you want."

There's a moment where neither of us says anything.

"Listen," he says. "Don't think for a second that I agree with tyrannical governments separating families with ideology, borders, and war, OK?"

"There's no tyranny in your way. You just don't want to."

"I'll be the first one to tell you I'm not a decent person," he says. "I gave up being a parent to cater to my whims. Instead of changing diapers and wiping up baby vomit, I'm an asshole who'd rather explore this oyster of a world."

"How old is he?" I ask, trying to picture what Ging's kid would look like.

The answer should come easily to a parent but Ging's a deadbeat so he pulls numbers outta thin air. "He's eight, err, he's younger. Three? Geez, it's been way longer since I've been back. Four years. He should be six."

About Killua's age.

Parents who weren't driven by natural parental instinct to nurture their children, I know they exist and yet, to not care at all, I find unfathomable. Inhuman even. "I could never abandon my kid like that."

A finger snap. "That reminds me! Speaking of abandoned kids and deadbeat dads, why didn't you mention your pops too was in Heaven's Arena?"

I only told the Spiders that and they wouldn't have— He need not see my face when my voice delivers my surprise. "How on Earth would you know that?"

"You're not the only one who can dig up dirt!" he says. "I jumped on the forums as soon as I heard there was a 'Freecss' in Heaven's Arena. Users don't believe we're related. With how you're clearing the arena ranks, they think I mentored you."

"You should be so honored."

"Heh. YOU should be insulted," he says. "I'm the one who learned a Nen ability from you, remember?"

A sudden, but good swell in my chest. "What forum talks about me and my dad?"

"None of them," says Ging. "Saw him on TV. His style echos in yours. I can spot the resemblance. You probably took more from your ma's side, but your eyes are his."

My cheeks sting. "Completely wrong color. And you wouldn't say that if you saw my natural hair color."

"Funny how genes work like that. I know you didn't defect together so I'm guessing that's where your abandonment issues originate?"

How quickly and carelessly Ging can set ablaze any fondness I feel for him? "Do you want me to hang up?"

"Before you do, from what I can tell, your dad is wayyy better than I am."

"I'm not trying to uplift a self-described asshole, but you have no idea what you're talking about."

"Heh, I don't," says Ging. "But this is what I know. People rarely change, becoming a parent hasn't changed me. Not by an inch. I don't want my kid to find me and that won't change. If I knew my kid was somewhere close, I'd make myself scarce—"

"If you want me to hate you, that ship has sailed and docked at its destination."

"If this is how you listen, no wonder your old man abandoned you—Don't hang up. I'm going somewhere with this."

Farewell to Arms, our Nen-handshake will detonate on his arm if he breaks the contract, but what if I break the contract—?

"For your old man to present himself so publically at Heaven's Arena," says Ging. "It means deadbeat wants his kid to find him. He wants to see you. And I doubt that has ever changed."

I have nothing to say on the topic of my father, nothing that bears repeating. "...even if your kid tried to find you, driven by purpose, to see you, you'd scram?"

The piece of me that stubbornly thought fondly of Ging is ready to declare defeat, but then Ging's voice deepens, rich in something, call it anticipation and maybe, deep down where he'll never admit, a glimmer of hope. I picture his expressive hazel eyes, molten as he says to me, "When he's ready and able, he'll find me."

He's gonna make his own kid hunt him down to the ends of the Earth? "Ging, you are a deadbeat."

"ALL OF A SUDDEN THE FIGHT IS UNDERWAY, FOLKS!"

I pause and turn to one of the many jumbotrons in the lobby. Through a gap of onlookers, I catch the excited yellow banner framing the bottom: DAILY MATCH HIGHLIGHTS!

My stupid face stretches across the 15ft screen and if embarrassment could lead to immediate organ failure...

Wallahae, the blackheads on my nose, captured in merciless high definition, are moon craters as I argue with the referee. The camera shows long perfect shots of me, conveys every see-saw inflection in my tone, but Killua…

Save for furtive glimpses of white hair, his round shoes, and an up-close shot of his nose slope in profile, the boy had been exiled from the footage.

On the replay, I'm removing my glove, promising Killua I wouldn't hurt him, but static distorts my mouth and the sound crackles when I utter his name.

"Mah…all Old-hag and nothing of me," says a voice to my right hip. Killua—flicking a yoyo. "So overprotective."

Back to screen-me, one second I'm removing my glove, even more static, next the firm arm wave from the referee, delivering his verdict, and the roar of the crowd. Huh. My use of Nen was also chopped from the reel.

"Heeeeh!" cries Killua. "They censored that too? I wanted to see it!"

"Who censored?"

He winds up his yo-yo. "Whatever technique you used, they didn't like it." A raised inflection in his voice, Nen being categorized as contraband enticed him all the more.

"Who are they?" I ask but his eyes are sly.

There are sound explanations for why the match was so censored. Shalnark has told me that Nen is a secret and perhaps someone in the Arena knows that. As for Killua? He's a child so maybe they edit footage featuring children for privacy. Nice try Killua.

I snort and exhaustion sneaks up on me as I start to walk away.

"So," he says, his sneakers squeaking on the waxed tile in his rush to follow. "Think now you can tell me your real name?"

"Hmmm?"

"We're out of the rink now. Can't hurt, don't ya think?"

"You can call me Nanashi."

"Oh come on!" he says, his smile beguiling. "Besides, if my family was chasing you, you'd be dead by now!"

Dead hits me, sharp as a billboard dart. For a six-year-old, he can really stare down an adult and I sense there's a stomping elephant in this conversation I can't see... If this kid awaits a specific response, confusion wasn't it apparently, because he bursts into ho-ho laughter that echoes up to the lobby ceiling.

"Mah mah!" he says. "It was a joke! You seriously want me to keep calling you Nanashi?"

Sly and persistent, this kid. "Why? Have you tired of calling me Old Hag?"

He flaps his lips. "Fine! I don't need to know your real name. I just want to learn the technique you used in the rink. So what else can it do?! Is it super strength? Is it always invisible or it is like laser beams! Doon!" He smashes a fist into his cheek.

"You have quite the imagination, Killua."

He bristles at my tone, again pouting with a puffy childish face that's about as intimidating as a baby rabbit. I snicker before I can help it.

"I ask because…" he says, voice shrinking. "I've felt an aura ability like that before."

"When? At Heaven's Arena?"

"My brother," he says. "But yours is different. I dunno."

"Tell me more."

A skinny arm fluffs his cloud of hair and suddenly he struggles to meet my eyes. "His aura makes me...dizzy. My sight spirals inward, the walls melt, the air becomes heavy. My body feels like it's not mine anymore." says Killua, his cheeks livid in color. "But not yours. Yours I still felt like myself."

That...disquiets me. His brother, I'm about 80% certain, is a Manipulator and I find difficulty in intellectualizing how much I dread Shalnark's manipulation Nen. That split second of awareness that a power you can't fend off has invaded and then your brain and will melts, pouring from your ears. And I'm a Nen user. For a non-Nen user, that's swimming through the ocean, then to be yanked into terrifying depths by a monster you can't see.

...would it be conscionable, if not my moral obligation, to teach Killua Nen so he could protect himself— Don't even think about it! Even IF I wasn't leaving Thursday, I don't even know how to awaken Nen. Yet...I can't ignore the frightened quiver in his eyes as he described his brother's Nen.

"I can't be the one to teach you but," I say, already kicking myself. "I will...think about telling you what it is called so you can find a Master who can."

His beautiful eyes twinkle and you'd think I had promised him a map to El Dorado.

"Want some?" From his pockets comes a kindergarten-colored robot carton. He pops the top and groans at the lonely half-melted chocolate ball at the bottom. "Fresh out. You can come with?"

Killua shares how he lives on Choco-Robo (5 boxes a day). I blanch and swear he's getting some real food if we're going to a store. Old-Hag is right on the tip of his tongue, but he holds back, lest I change my mind on telling him about Nen.

We travel for two blocks, a parade of shops and housing tenements, Killua saying he remembers a proper grocery store in that direction. From a stand that smells of tea, milk and honey, Killua orders the "largest size" and sweetness maxed at "1000%!"

He stabs a fat straw into the cup's plastic seal and sucks up lavender tea, little black pearls riding up inside in the straw. Already his pupils dilate with caffeine and before I can utter my concern, Killua offers the cup, cheeks stuffed with pearls, "Try some?"

I sip and nearly choke on a ball, surprised by the slimy texture and squishiness, like jelly, and the gluggy, tongue-numbing sweetness of his iced lavender tea. "Zo zweet it poison."

"Maybe I LIKE poison!" he says, snatching back his drink with an indignant hmpf!

Even as a six-year-old, there's something distinct about Killua. Adults can't help but regard him because of his self-possessed posture, groomed from lofty privilege, how he could point to any of us shoppers, and give orders. It's equally admirable and saddening. A power, distinction, unfortunate wisdom in him from growing up too fast.

"What does your ma get when you two go grocery shopping?" I ask, adding to my basket some soups Killua could heat up easily.

"If she did the shopping, it would all be poisoned," he says with a straight-faced canny that concerns me. "Butlers keep the pantries stocked."

First place inside the store, Killua leads us to the confectionary aisle. "Need anything from here?"

"Never had much of a sweet tooth," I say.

"What kind of a place you from?"

One thing that surprises me about the outside world is the abundance of everything and the abundance of variety. They take 2 unrelated things, mash them together and just see how it works. In the market, there's peanut butter chocolate, coconut chocolate, caramel chocolate, raspberry chocolate, orange chocolate, mint chocolate, chocolate with nuts, chocolate with fruit, chocolate with Turkeish delight, chocolate-covered raisins, chocolate-covered cherries, chocolate-covered almonds, chocolate-covered coffee beans, then the dark, milk, and white chocolate varieties...

"A place without forty types of chocolate," I say.

Killua cups his chin, thinking his little brain out before he snaps his fingers. "War! You grew up in war. Explains the fake name and no chocolate. Am I right?"

"Not bad, kid."

"That's...rough," he says, again avoiding my eyes.

His guess isn't wrong. The Gorteaus haven't fired a bullet in decades but an armistice was never signed. East Gortese propaganda never lets you forget our military must always be ready at a moment's notice to take up arms and bleed for the nation.

"My shopping is done," says Killua, his two baskets stuffed with Choco-Robos.

"We're adding some color to your diet," I say, walking us down tall aisles to the vegetable stands. "Seriously, your parents left you here? Don't you have anyone looking after you?"

"A group of butlers," he says. "I order them to keep away for the most part."

Before we line up at the cashier, I pluck from the shelves hot cinnamon candy for Feitan (he seems like the type), Choco-Robo for Shalnark (he would think it's cute), oolong tea for Franklin and...while tempering my revulsion, Heineken for Phinks.

I stick out my tongue in disgust even reaching for the carton, the mere sight of its green logo drags my poor palate back to dinner with the Troupe, when I sipped from Shalnark's glass what I could only describe as 'fancy dog-piss'. Phinks, who dresses in Gucci, dons a giant gold Nemes, exclusively steals luxury cars, and wouldn't let anything that costs less than 10,000 jenni touch his body, drinks Heineken. Between dying of thirst in a ruthless desert and having an ice-cold Heineken to drink, I'd still grimace before twisting the bottle cap.

Killua and I both waddle with our wares and somehow between the hot morning of today and now, autumn had taken hold of Heaven's City. The air blows of musky-sweet of falling leaves and chilled flagstone. I need sleep, but the day isn't over yet. After this, I can contact the Hunters Ging had known by name to help with my chain in the drain. "Who did you piss off in your past life?" he had said. "Meh, don't bother with the website. I know a few excavation experts. Make sure they overcharge you. They deserve it and you're earning plenty of pennies in the arena—"

"Ya know," says Killua, his clammy skin healthy hued from the orange sun. "All this time, I thought you were pulling my leg."

Between the chattering crowds and cars ahead I think I misheard. "Hmmm?"

"Thought you were a ploy, that you being nice was a tactic, to game those around you to lower their guard. Then I thought you were one of the new butlers or even my brother's spy," says Killua. "But you didn't even notice that guy tailing you since we left the arena."

As if mentioning it beckoned it, aura waves over me with a burst of wind, cold against my sweat-damp collar from my matches. Nen sans a signature, a face, a cadence, but on purpose, as if the Nen user relishes my uncertainty.

We keep walking. "Catch what he looked like?" I ask.

"Uhh, can't say," he says. "But I know he's out there."

"You go ahead," I say with a smile, handing him the bag of veggies and soup. "Go back to the arena."

Killua hesitates. "Do you need backup?"

I'm touched but shake my head. "Nothing I can't handle by myself," I say, to make him leave.

A few steps later, indigo eyes glimpse over his shoulder, asking again, you sure you don't need backup? His mind is racing, mental gears fuming. I nudge my chin upward, go. To my relief, Killua slackens and disappears with the tide of the crowd.

The tail doesn't unveil himself in the throngs of people but when I move, the aura follows, and the presence draws closer as if he had been awaiting Killua's departure and my solitude.

A gap between tenements—I enter an alley more narrow than the span of my arms. Dead-end spaces with stone on all sides should seem incautious, stupid even, and that should draw him out. I have just enough time to set my bags aside and pocket one glove before a silhouette fills the alley threshold. A face I remember by how well it scowled, but now he smiles down at me like he's greeting a friend.

Reexamining our last encounter through a new lens, so focused on my being, I had missed what's now as clear as day. "I didn't know you were a Nen user."

AN: We are breaching the thematic crest of this arc. Imagine being on the phone with Ging as he tells you he's meh about being a deadbeat and you know how Safra feels about family. Part of me believes he does care about Gon...in his twisted way. Safra's dilemma about Killua and Nen, would you do the same thing? I couldn't say no to Killua. And thanks to his problematic upbringing he noticed they were being followed 😬

THANK YOUS to SKMF, Bisque-ware, Bioyoshi, albany. sr, AwkwardBlackCat, xxANIES, LinIsSleepy, and rairiimakufui for reviewing the last update! Please know I'm still replying to reviews as we speak/type. LinisSleepy was so kind and drew the scene Safra sees Sessue in the orchards. That link you can find in my profile DO check it out peeps!