"My, my, did someone beat you up, Hisoka?"
Coleman wore a coat he had no idea where he had found, his hands tucked into its pockets and a half-smoked cigarette dangling from his lips. His voice carried that familiar affectation.
He was like the child of a carefree, licentious rogue and a dignified, reserved young lady from a prominent family—a thug's core wrapped in the shell of an elegant gentleman.
He spoke with the aristocratic accent of high society, yet everything that came out of his mouth made people want to punch him.
His behavior was neither here nor there, yet it carried an eerie sense of propriety.
Hearing this, Hisoka casually wiped at the slightly swollen corner of his mouth and replied indifferently, "Just a little accident. Got scratched by a cat."
"And you? Which corpse did you peel that outfit off?" Hisoka looked him over and realized that the man's outerwear had been completely changed.
His once-neat suit was nowhere to be seen. He was now dressed only in a dull gray casual coat.
Tilting his head, Hisoka maliciously speculated, "Don't tell me some lunatic stripped you of it?"
Coleman tugged at his clothes and shrugged. "The old one got dirty. Wearing it out might frighten children."
The moment those words left his mouth, Hisoka gave a cold laugh.
His gaze dropped, and just as expected—
The edges of Coleman's shoes were once again stained dark red.
Hisoka walked over and threw an arm around this cat that had gotten into who knew what bloody mess, asking teasingly, "So, did you make another work of art this time?"
Coleman did not resist and simply walked alongside him.
"Of course. A very interesting work of art. If you want one, I can make you a replica."
"I'll pass. This