Under table dealings
Killua, sprawled lazily on a plush couch, a bag of ChocoBalls cradled in his lap. The familiar taste of chocolate brought a rare smile to his face as he savored the treat, his mind abuzz with anticipation for the upcoming fight.
His fingers danced over the TV remote, flipping through channels with practiced ease. The fights replaying on the screen were a backdrop to his thoughts, a violent ballet that was both soothing and exciting to him.
The sudden shrill ringing of the phone sliced through the room's relaxed atmosphere. Killua's smile waned slightly at the abrupt interruption. His eyes shifted to the antiquated landline phone sitting on a small table nearby. Its design screamed chunky and big.
He sighed, setting aside his bag of ChocoBalls to pick up the receiver. "Hello?" He answered, his voice noticeably less cheerful.
"Killua, dear," a familiar voice chirped from the other end, "how are you doing?"
His parents, despite their disinterest in his life most of the time, had an irritating habit of checking up on him at the most inconvenient moments. Killua replied with as much enthusiasm as he could muster, but his eyes strayed back to the television.
The Zoldyck family patriarch, Silva, sat at the end of a long conference table, his icy eyes focused on his wife Kikyo, who cradled an clunky phone receiver in her delicate hands. The room around them was shrouded in shadows, the only light coming from a massive screen displaying footage of the Heavens Arena.
"Killua has done well, he's reached the higher levels much faster than we anticipated," Kikyo relayed with a gleam in her eyes, a mix of maternal pride and a strange hint of madness that seemed to always cling to her.
"That's my boy," Silva responded, the corners of his mouth curling up in a smirk that spoke of approval, yet held an undertone of cold calculation. The pride in his voice was evident but it was the pride of a craftsman for his creation, rather than a father for his son.
Kikyo's voice trembled with excitement as she continued, "But there's a catch. He seems to be wary of his upcoming fight, a boy named Ikke."
At the mention of a potential threat to their son, Silva's smirk only widened. "Good, a worthy opponent. He'll either overcome this challenge and grow stronger, or perish. Either way, the Zoldyck name remains untarnished."
The conversation had been skirting the usual topics, reminiscing about old assasinations, discussing various poisons, when Killua's tone turned uncharacteristically serious. "Alluka," he said, the name slipping out like a soft prayer, tender and filled with a depth of emotion that stopped the flow of conversation.
There was an uncharacteristic silence on the other side, a brief moment where only the faint static filled the line. Then, like a harsh screech tearing through the tranquility, Kikyo's voice erupted, "Never mention that monster again!" Her words were laced with a venomous hate and palpable fear, like a deep-rooted infection that had taken hold of her.
Killua's fingers tightened on the phone, a grimace passing over his features. The image on the TV screen reflected in his eyes, but he was far away, lost in thoughts that held him hostage.
"Monster?" He echoed, his voice a calm counterpoint to Kikyo's tempestuous reaction. His words held a silent challenge, his inherent stubbornness peering through the edges. "You've always seen her that way, haven't you? But she's not a monster, mother. She's my sister."
Silva's expression did not change; his face was still as stone. His voice, when he finally spoke, was deathly calm, "Tell Killua if he wishes to survive his upcoming fight, he should forget about that creature and focus on what lies ahead. We're Zoldycks, not babysitters."
Even after the call ended, the pair continued to watch the previous footage of their child with an unsettling intensity. They would enjoy seeing how their prodigy son handled this new challenge.
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In a dimly lit room that screamed of power and affluence, two formidable figures occupied opposite ends of a mahogany table. At one end was Don Vittorio, the esteemed head of the city's most influential Mafia family. His presence was as commanding as his reputation, a figure cut from an era of tradition, respect, and brutal efficiency.
Facing him was El Jefe, the mercurial leader of a notorious cartel that had clawed its way to notoriety. He was a stark contrast to his counterpart, his aura screaming unpredictability, and a flair for the dramatic - a wildfire to Don Vittorio's steady flame.
The two bosses had been locked in a fierce dispute, their eyes on the city's control. Violence was brewing, an inevitable storm under the veneer of calm. However, tonight's gathering was different. Tonight, they had agreed to a gamble, a different sort of resolution. Their battleground? The Heaven's Arena.
With a wicked grin playing on his lips, El Jefe gestured dramatically towards a large, ornate wheel that occupied the center of the room. Adorned with names of various fighters from Heaven's Arena, it was the wheel of fate for the city. The room held its breath as he gave it a spin, the ticking of its rotations echoing ominously.
The wheel slowed, landing on two names: Killua and Ikke. The room seemed to gasp back to life at the revelation.
Don Vittorio, famed for his strategic brilliance, immediately immersed himself in the files of the two fighters. He noted with interest how rapidly Ikke had ascended through the ranks compared to Killua. It was a risk, but one he was willing to take. Leaning back, he declared, "I'll wager on Ikke."
El Jefe's smirk grew wider at his words. "In that case, I'll delightfully take Killua," he responded, raising his glass for a toast, "May the best fighter win, Don Vittorio. Let's not forget, the city is at stake."
Matching his toast, Don Vittorio held his gaze, "Indeed, El Jefe. May the best man win."
El Jefe, in a blatant display of power, turned to one of Don Vittorio's men who had been eyeing him suspiciously. "You seem to have a problem with our arrangement?" he taunted, a predatory gleam in his eye.
Don Vittorio's man seethed but remained silent. Don Vittorio shot him a stern look before addressing El Jefe, "My apologies, El Jefe. Some of my men still need to learn the value of diplomacy. He will be dealt with accordingly."
Their territories were delineated, yet the city was their shared battleground. A simmering dispute had brought them to the brink of a violent power struggle. But tonight, they chose an unconventional path to resolution, a gamble that bypassed bloodshed. Their arena was Heaven's Arena.
As Don Vittorio and his entourage left the room, El Jefe's smirk broadened. "I love it when everything falls into place," he remarked, swirling the remnants of his drink.
His subordinate, a thin, wiry man who had been lurking in the shadows, stepped forward. "You rigged the wheel, didn't you, Boss?" he asked, a glint of admiration in his eyes.
El Jefe merely chuckled, "I merely ensured that I got what I wanted, that's all."
A wolfish grin took shape on his face as he leaned back in his chair. "You see, I've had... encounters with that kid, Killua. Tried to mess with him a few years back during a minor deal. Thought I could strong-arm him a bit, make the piece fall on its own ." He sighed dramatically, the grin not leaving his face. "Well, let's just say I woke up the next day with two of my best men's heads in my bed."
His subordinate paled slightly, swallowing hard. El Jefe's encounters were rarely just 'encounters'.
El Jefe continued, the relish in his voice clear. "That kid's a monster, no doubt about it. I swore to steer clear of his path, but," he glanced at the subordinate, his grin widening, "nobody said I can't use him to win my battles."
His laughter filled the room, a chilling reminder of the ruthless mind hidden behind the flamboyant persona. The cartel boss might not play fair, but he always played to win.
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Silently, almost like a shadow, a figure slipped out of the meeting room where El Jefe and his subordinate were discussing their schemes. The figure, dressed in the formal attire of a butler, moved with an ease that was uncanny. They made their way through the labyrinth-like hallways of the building, finally stopping at a secluded corner where a high-tech communication device had been set up.
The butler tapped a sequence into the device, and the screen flickered to life, revealing the face of a woman with a haunting beauty and a chilling smile. Kikyo Zoldyck, the matriarch of the Zoldyck family and the mother of Killua.
"Report," she commanded, her voice as frosty as her gaze.
The butler nodded in obedience. "Everything is going according to plan, madam. El Jefe is under the impression that he has manipulated the situation to his advantage. He has chosen Killua as his champion in the upcoming match."
Kikyo's chilling smile widened. "Excellent. Everything is falling into place just as we planned. Our little Killua will have quite the card to play."
The butler paused, then ventured, "It appears that El Jefe has had... previous encounters with Master Killua. He has taken quite a dislike to him."
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In a hidden corner of the luxurious mansion, the loyal butler of the Zoldyck family sat in front of a high-tech communication device, attentively listening to the chilling commands of Kikyo Zoldyck, the matriarch of the family. Gotoh, as he was known, was an epitome of service and loyalty. However, his stone-faced obedience concealed a well of concern for the young heir of the family, Killua.
The room, while mechanically pristine, held an air of melancholy that seemed to reflect Gotoh's inner thoughts. He carefully reported the developments to Kikyo, detailing the mafia and cartel bosses' underhanded scheming and how they'd chosen Killua for their upcoming confrontation. As he relayed the information, his mind couldn't help but wander to the young boy he'd watched grow up.
"I worry for young master Killua," he admitted, though his voice remained steady. "He has been thrust into this world at such a young age."
Kikyo's chilling smile widened on the screen, her eyes gleaming with a ruthless determination. "That is the way of our family, Gotoh. Killua must learn to navigate the world's underbelly, to manipulate and control those who would stand in his way. It is all part of his training."
Gotoh knew better than to argue. The Zoldyck family's ways were indeed harsh, their methods often cruel, but they were undeniably effective. Killua was being moulded into a formidable player in the underworld, and Gotoh could only watch from the shadows, aiding his young master where he could.
As he ended the call and the screen flickered off, Gotoh allowed himself a moment of respite, his thoughts filled with the silver-haired boy. Killua, despite his upbringing, had a spark of kindness in him, a potential for compassion that was rare in their world. And that made Gotoh's task all the more crucial – to safeguard that spark, even as Killua was thrown into the world of shadows.
Steeling himself, Gotoh stood up. He had a role to play in the upcoming events, a duty to fulfill. And he would carry it out with all the loyalty and dedication that defined him, for the sake of the family, and for the sake of bocchan.