Coleman: Another Day of Being a Normal Person

"How rare, have you developed a hobby of self-mutilation lately? Won't Illumi have something to say about that?"

Hisoka's mocking voice rang out from across the way.

Accompanying it were the incessant, rising and falling screams of a man.

"Please, I beg you, let me go! Let me go! Oh, for the love of God, spare me! I'll never do this line of work again! I beg you! Ah!!!"

With one hand severed by a playing card, Hisoka completely ignored the man's shrieks.

He leaned in close to the man's ear and whispered softly.

"Those who live by the sword must eventually pay the price."

You should have known the moment you killed your first victim that the sin had already descended, and God would strike your name from the list of the redeemed.

The crime of slaughter had already nailed you to the pillory.

The bloody resentment would cling to your soul forever.

Until you fall into hell.

Therefore, the moment the blade falls, you should know that one day, you too will die by another's blade.

Perhaps even more miserably.

So, what are you still praying for?

He who kills shall also be killed.

It is merely a matter of the victor and the vanquished.

Hisoka smiled, raised his hand, and pressed it against the man's chin.

He grinned, looking terrifying and hideous.

If this man had been a little more resigned, a little more carefree, Hisoka might have even thought a little higher of him.

"Remember in your next life: don't provoke me again."

As he spoke, his sharp fingernails pierced the man's neck.

With a forceful tug.

Blood vessels tore, and skin came away with shreds of flesh.

The bone had already been severed by Hisoka's thin thread.

It was effortless.

Head and neck parted ways.

Blood gushed like a geyser.

Spraying in all directions like a fountain.

The body, collapsed on the ground, still held the final posture of its master as he departed this world.

The slightly raised hand, the knees pressed firmly into the dirt.

The messy soil at his feet.

The ground soaked with sweat.

Terror, fear, mixed with despair.

What was written in the trampled, chaotic grass along the path?

It didn't matter; nothing mattered anymore.

Bright red dye repainted this 'canvas.'

Covering everything that had come before.

Nothing but crimson in sight.

It was the scent of life.

And the signal of death.

Yet the perpetrator felt not a shred of remorse or fear.

In his dark golden pupils, madness and satisfaction ran wild.

Along with a faint, lingering sense of wanting more.

Thump, thump, thump.

The spherical object hit the ground.

Its surface, crisscrossed with scars, was etched with terror and speechlessness.

As if surprised by the executioner's efficiency.

Slowly straightening his body, Hisoka covered his face with his blood-stained hands.

His pupils trembled, filled with excitement and thrill.

He tilted his head back, gazing at the dim sky.

This was the first time Hisoka had ever felt such empathy for Coleman.

Sharp laughter echoed slowly through the boundless sky.

The eerie, excited laughter startled the few crows perched in the distance.

They flapped their wings, cawing harshly.

"Caw," "caw," "caw."

A breeze swept through, dispersing the stench of blood in the area.

Yet, it could not blow away thoughts mired in madness.

Gradually, the laughter turned low and hoarse.

"So, my dear sir, could you tell me what kind of trouble you are stirring up again?"

At this moment, Coleman, having simply stitched his severed arm back on with thin threads, had already walked out of the Zoldyck estate.

That rudimentary connection was not enough for Coleman to control his hand.

But it was convenient enough to free up his other hand.

He lit a cigarette for himself.

Frowning, he flicked his hand, and the lighter cap flipped open.

A blue and red flame danced in the air.

He brought it close to the cigarette dangling from his lips.

A scarlet ember illuminated the dark forest.

He took a deep, nonchalant drag, feeling at ease.

He tucked the lighter into his pocket.

Coleman waited for the answer from the man across from him, who was suddenly acting out.

"Oh my, nothing much, I just felt that your art was quite interesting."

"Hmm, how many people have you killed in this short while?"

Coleman raised an eyebrow, holding the cigarette between his fingers carelessly, and squinted into the distance.

The bright moon hung amidst the clouds.

It was a perfect night for art.

Though he sighed inwardly, as a "friend," Coleman was still quite concerned about Hisoka.

Even though Hisoka was never normal to begin with.

At his core, he was merely obsessed with strength.

He couldn't really be called an "artist."

However, for someone like him, teetering on the edge of insanity, as long as he killed enough people in a short time and the methods were sufficiently bloody, he would, at some moment, erase the last shred of reverence he held for life.

It would bring a person like him closer to a "gentleman" like Coleman.

Therefore, hearing such rampant laughter, Coleman didn't need to think to know.

The man must have seen something that triggered him.

Only then could he share a moment of empathy with Coleman, who had always been immersed in a bloody stage.

"Fifty? A hundred? I lost count. Anyway, I went to play at a small casino near your place, and now, I suppose everyone there has been killed."

Staring straight at the stream already dyed red with blood, Hisoka froze.

He gazed blankly at his reflection in the water.

He slowly squatted down.

Clamping his phone between his shoulder and ear, he plunged his blood-stained hand into the water in that position.

It was bone-chillingly cold.

He washed his bloody hand in the bloody water.

Bit by bit, from his palm to the gaps between his fingers, leaving no spot untouched.

"Okay, fine."

Nodding, what else could Coleman say?

It was just a madman going mad.

That was perfectly normal.

"Where are you?"

Glancing at his numb left arm, Coleman spoke: "Stop indulging in your killing game and take me to see a doctor first."

What is the best way to deal with someone who has retreated into their own world?

The best method is to beat them up.

So, Coleman was now going to see just how far this fellow had evolved.

If possible, putting a stop to it would be quite nice as well.

After all, Coleman was a completely rational madman.

Hisoka was not; he was easily controlled by nerves pushed to the point of extreme excitement.

Leading him to do some truly outrageous things.

In order to keep this hired hand alive for a little while longer, Coleman had to, to a certain extent, prevent his bizarre evolution along the path of perversion.

"By the stream next to the mountain in front of your place."

Hisoka smiled, his expression looking incredibly strange.

Like a pervert who had already thought of something interesting.

"Stay put."

With that, Coleman hung up the phone.

He took a drag of his cigarette.

Slowly and fully, he exhaled a ring of smoke.

How comfortable.

It really is better outside.

At home, he couldn't even smoke.

Walking at a leisurely pace, Coleman sighed to himself once more: why couldn't Hisoka read more books?

When you possess a wealth of theoretical knowledge, you find that you are much calmer and more rational than most people when handling situations.

So, why didn't this guy read?

If he read, he wouldn't have to worry about him!

Sighing, Coleman tossed the cigarette butt aside and stepped on it.

Only after seeing the tiny sparks extinguish did he continue on his way.

Scratching his head, Coleman quickened his pace.

I really am the best.

I always act with a sense of proportion, never making others worry, and I never suddenly lose my head!

Thinking of Illumi, who had suddenly become obsessed with making money a few days ago and hadn't even returned home for several weeks, Coleman sighed silently.

He really was a reliable gentleman!

Nothing like Illumi or Hisoka.

As expected, out of the three of us, I am the normal one!

Oh no, I have always been normal.

I am just an ordinary, elegant gentleman.