Time stood still.
The hall fell deathly silent.
Everyone's eyes were fixed on that pool of blood.
And on the silver-haired boy with blood on his hands.
Pokkle was dead.
Just like that.
Brutally.
The referee's voice trembled.
He looked over.
The boy was expressionless, as exquisite as a doll.
The referee's teeth chattered.
"Examinee Killua, for killing your opponent..."
"You are disqualified."
The verdict fell.
Gon sprang out of his seat.
His face twisted.
"Killua..."
His lips moved.
Why?
Why had it turned out like this?
At the other end of the spectator seats.
Illumi smiled.
Cold, perfect, satisfied.
The broken toy.
Fixed.
Now, it was time to go home.
Killua showed no reaction to the referee's verdict.
He opened his hand.
The heart dropped to the floor.
He looked at no one.
Not Gon, not Kurapika, not even the brother who had pushed him into the abyss.
He turned.
His movements were stiff.
He walked mechanically toward the exit.
One step.
Then another.
His retreating figure looked so frail.
And so lonely.
"Killua!"
Gon shouted and rushed after him.
A hand stopped him.
It was Kurapika.
"Don't go after him, Gon."
Kurapika's voice was heavy.
"Right now, he can't hear anything."
Gon watched that figure disappear into the darkness, trembling all over.
Not from fear.
From anger.
A fury that could burn everything to ashes.
The anger blazed up from the depths of his heart.
His gaze locked onto the black-haired figure.
Illumi.
He was about to leave.
It was this man.
With that twisted, sick thing he called "love."
He had destroyed Killua.
"Stop right there!"
Gon's voice was hoarse.
He charged at him like a madman.
Illumi stopped and turned.
His face was still expressionless.
As though nothing had happened.
"Anything else?"
He tilted his head.