Satisfy My Wish

His professional ethics and will to survive tore at him relentlessly.

In truth, there was nothing wrong with it in principle.

But the key issue was that he had once signed a notarized contract with this employer.

If he broke it on his own, the private notary service would hunt him down to the ends of the earth.

Tch, he didn't want to invite trouble.

Besides, keeping his word was the bare minimum he expected of himself.

He couldn't imagine what kind of person he'd become if he broke the last rule he'd set for himself three years ago.

With only a moment to decide, Carls knew this wasn't the time to overthink it.

He raised his hands and stepped aside, revealing his employer behind him.

"Fine, fine. You win, young sir."

As if some lock had clicked open, Carls abruptly dropped his usual act.

What mattered more than his life?

He didn't think he'd done anything wrong.

It was just a job.

As the young sir had said, it wasn't worth dying over.

"You... you can't!"

The man watched Carls step away, his voice trembling.

He couldn't believe the man acclaimed as "the most professional" would make such a choice!

"That violates the Alec Contract..."

Before he could finish, a blade flashed through the air.

It was the dagger in Carls's hand, flying straight toward the man's chest.

Unfortunately, someone moved faster than he did and knocked the dagger aside.

Clang!

The blade quivered as it embedded itself in the wall.

The man had narrowly escaped death. It had been a close call.

Carls raised an eyebrow, unable to understand the boy's actions.

You wanted to kill him, didn't you? Why save him?

The boy's voice rang out slowly, answering his question.

"Oh, sir, you mustn't do that. You'd ruin the artwork."

Hey, weren't you just protecting him?

Why were you so eager to kill him the moment you changed sides?

Even if you were worried this man would leak your secret, there was no need to rush.

Besides, this "protagonist" couldn't escape anyway. How would he tell anyone about your "betrayal"?

Coleman shrugged and approached the two men.

He smiled, every bit the gentleman.

"Besides, as the one wielding the blade, shouldn't I at least let the dead rest in peace?"

Coleman thought it was one of a gentleman's finest qualities.

Respecting everyone.

Even if that person was about to die.

Under ordinary circumstances, Coleman gave everyone the respect they deserved.

An elegant and noble person never looked down on others, no matter the circumstances.

They treated everyone equally.

What did that mean?

If Coleman had to explain it, he'd say:

It meant treating people like ingredients.

You wouldn't lower the price of a pig's meat because it was ugly, or cook it into an unsightly dish to show your disdain.

Likewise, Coleman wouldn't deny an artwork's protagonist the right to take that role because of bad character, rude behavior, or an ugly face.

No matter how lowly or noble that person had been in life, to Coleman, he was nothing more than an "embellishment" in the artwork.

That scarlet blood wouldn't lose its destiny as a peerless pigment because of the person's race or skin color.

Everyone was equal.

Coleman believed he did that very well.

That was why he always called himself an elegant gentleman among artists.

"Is there anything else you'd like to ask?"

Ignoring Carls's strange look, Coleman gave a gentlemanly bow and smiled at the "protagonist."

The man looked around, then sank into utter despair.

He realized that there was only one outcome left for him.

There was no chance of surviving.

"Who are you? Why are you killing me?"

It didn't matter. He only wanted to die knowing the truth.

Revenge?

How could he take revenge?

This child could even defeat a Hunter with Nen Ability.

He had even cut off one of the Hunter's hands.

The little Colai Family couldn't afford to hire a more powerful Hunter.

How could they possibly get revenge?!

Coleman tilted his head but didn't answer the first question.

He smiled and said calmly, "Do you remember hiring a swarm of bugs to attack the Zoldyck Family a while ago?"

"What... so that's it..."

Panic flickered across the man's face. The next second, it gave way to dazed despair, then he smiled in acceptance.

His voice was bitter. "I knew it!"

"Child, may I ask you one last question?"

The man slumped to the floor, no longer willing to resist.

He'd deliberately hidden his estate deep in the mountains to avoid disaster.

Who could have guessed—

That would become the very obstacle that made survival impossible!

The perfect natural barrier for those killers.

No help could reach him, and there was no way to escape.

"Mm-hm."

Coleman slowly pulled on his black leather gloves, making his final preparations before painting.

"Were you sent by the Zoldyck Family?"

The man asked a strange question, an obsessive gleam in his eyes.

But Coleman understood.

He was asking whether Coleman was a servant of the family or a member of the Zoldyck Family itself.

He'd chosen his words carefully: "sent."

Coleman chuckled and didn't hide the truth.

"Of course not. Why would the Zoldyck Family need to send me?"

Coleman asked in return, confident that he'd already given the man his answer.

Would a Zoldyck Family member need the head of the family to send him out to take revenge for an attack on the family?

Wasn't that only natural?

The man smiled with satisfaction at the answer.

What had he done to deserve this?

A direct descendant of the Zoldyck Family had come personally to kill his entire family.

What an honor!

After all, hiring a Zoldyck Family assassin cost several million, or even over a hundred million, Jenie!

Coleman looked at the man, whose eyes had gone dull. Without a word, he grabbed him by the back of the collar and led him toward the prepared room.

"Oh, right. Sir, can you tell me what that technique was now?"

As they walked, Coleman asked the unexpected visitor.

He'd thought the man would take the chance to run away.

He hadn't expected him to follow along out of curiosity.

With the threat to his life gone—and his final boundary broken—Carls grinned as he followed.

He rested his right hand behind his head and answered at an easy pace.

"It's called 'Nen.' It's an ability some people can learn, but you're too young to awaken it right now. Besides, your family will keep an eye on you, so you'll learn when the time comes."

Carls looked around, as if searching for something. He was no longer the steady, composed man he'd been moments ago.

"...What are you looking for, sir? Perhaps I can help."

He was putting on airs, but Coleman seemed incapable of dropping the act.

The honorifics, tone, and attitude were all perfectly judged.

Just from his voice, one might mistake him for a warm-hearted, helpful young gentleman.

His manner seemed completely sincere.

And yet, there was something strange about him at every turn.

"My arm. The arm you knocked off."

Carls said it as if it were obvious. "If I don't find it, how am I supposed to get someone to reattach it?"

Come on, losing a hand on the job? What was that supposed to be?

What a terrible deal.

"Oh, dear sir, I wish you'd act a little more normally."

Coleman looked up, seeming rather helpless.

Hadn't this guy just seemed so steady and reliable?

How had he turned into this the moment they stopped being enemies?

Wasn't he afraid?

For example, what if I suddenly attacked and killed him?

"Hm? I've always been like this. What you saw before was just an act. Bodyguards have to seem reliable, or who'd hire them?"

Carls blinked and grinned. "But speaking of which, why are you so fond of this kind of 'art'?"

Carls knew that all kinds of oddballs existed in this rotten world.

But he'd never met anyone whose behavior was so contradictory.

And this was still a child.

How had he developed such a personality?

"Because killing is, in itself, an art."

Coleman answered as if it were obvious.

It was one of the few convictions he held on to.

It was also something his master in his previous life had taught him.

"Killing is an art, and we who work as assassins must become the greatest artists in that art!"

Everyone was a treasure God had given to this barren world. What could be more beautiful than using a treasure to paint?

His master's answer had been: nothing.

Coleman agreed. Nothing.

So he reveled in this art.

He also savored the overwhelming pleasure it brought him.

He couldn't break free.

Whenever time allowed, he would "paint on a whim."

That was why the people who hunted him had once called him a "fanatical killer artist."

Sick and crazed.

No one could stop him.

He was like an addict sinking into the abyss of drug abuse.

Lost in the beauty of that scarlet red.

Losing himself.

"And besides, don't you think it's beautiful?"

Coleman spoke as if asking a question and slowly pushed the door open. "They look as if they're still alive."

True human-shaped sculptures.

The room was the man's daughter's bedroom.

Eyes wide, the man stared at his wife, whose expression was vacant, and his daughter, who lay with her eyes closed in her mother's arms.

The two of them leaned against each other in a rocking chair.

In the woman's hands was even an open fairy-tale book.

The scene looked as though the woman were coaxing the girl to sleep.

And the little girl listening to the story had her eyes closed, enjoying her mother's embrace.

"Look, this picture is still missing you!"

Coleman let go of his collar and said it with a little bounce.

His gaze fixed on the man, the corners of his mouth lifting in a strange smile.

"It still needs a 'father.'"

Licking his lips, Coleman looked utterly satisfied.

What a beautiful, tender moment.

A family of three, living in harmony.

The man's terrified expression was reflected in those scarlet eyes.

"Generous sir, you'll grant a child's wish, won't you?"

Miao Shijiu, author of Hunter x Hunter: Ultimate Elegance.