As Joey turned, he found Meikō behind him—silent, poised, waiting.
Two others flanked her, forming a triangle around him, all within her blood-red En. Their intent was clear: if Joey moved, they would strike immediately.
From the corner of his eye, Joey glanced at Gerrard.
He was still seated, surrounded by guards—but now, dancing through the nearby chaos, was Hisoka, fending off a tide of puppets, every one a weaponized corpse from Chrollo's book.
As expected, Chrollo himself had vanished, submerged into his chaos like a shark into a storm.
Joey understood the rhythm.
Hisoka was dismantling puppets, but Chrollo wasn't trying to win by brute force.
He was setting tempo, tightening a noose.
Chrollo's puppets were crude: each one given the singular command—"Destroy Hisoka."
They acted on that directive, based on their residual memory of who Hisoka was.
But that left gaps. Unpredictability.
Chrollo could only fully control two puppets at a time—the ones linked by his Black Voice antennae.
Add to that his ability Convert Hands, and anyone could be Chrollo.
Or not.
Even Hisoka couldn't keep track.
And from Joey's distant seat, it was even worse—he saw only one thing:
Disorder.
The whole arena was bedlam.
Spectators had no idea what was happening.
Commentators shouted nonsense.
No one understood what they were seeing.
Even Joey, calculating from afar, couldn't follow how many abilities Chrollo had activated, how he was rotating them, combining them.
Only one group knew the full scope—Gerrard's.
They were all Nen users.
Not at the level of Hisoka or Chrollo, perhaps—but powerful enough.
Strong enough to form a defensive formation, and valuable enough that Chrollo wouldn't risk giving Hisoka a weakness to exploit by tangling with them directly.
But this created another problem:
Hisoka's evasions were leading puppets directly into Gerrard's circle.
And the guards—naturally—counterattacked.
So, unknowingly, they were assisting Hisoka.
Exactly as Joey had planned.
From the beginning, he'd baited the two monsters into noticing Nen users on the balcony.
His fog had discouraged Gerrard from fleeing.
If Gerrard didn't escape in the first thirty seconds, he would be forced to bunker down—trapped between Chrollo and Hisoka, unable to safely move.
Perfect.
That let Joey focus on his real objective.
Sheer Heart Attack, still roaming, still hunting, would keep harassing Gerrard's group—
Until Hisoka, pushed to the brink, came looking for a new piece on the board.
And when Hisoka moved to weaponize Gerrard—
Joey would strike.
His Golden Experience and Killer Queen shone best in chaos.
But—
Just as the situation aligned beautifully, Meikō stepped in front of him, and Joey's plans took a turn.
Meikō and Artikam. Gerrard's twin spears.
Now both had left his side?
Was Gerrard confident Joey was weak?
Or… was Gerrard himself not the real target?
Possibilities whirled in Joey's mind—
Until a sharp sting exploded in his shoulder.
His blood.
Siphoned.
From the grotesque face that had suddenly grown out of his flesh.
Joey's brow furrowed.
Killer Queen appeared instantly, reaching toward the parasite—
A tap.
Detonation.
The hideous face vanished—only for a second one to erupt from his forearm.
"Of course," Joey thought grimly.
"It's her."
Meikō's En, her crimson aura, the gory motif, the scarlet lips and clothing—
She was drenched in blood affinity.
Her aesthetic, her obsession, was likely a contract of some kind.
A Psychological Trigger, a Self-Imposed Condition to strengthen her abilities.
"Pointless," she said, her tone cool.
"Once inside my En, Blood Leech will cling to your body like maggots to flesh.
It feeds until you're dry."
She didn't approach.
Instead, her sharp eyes kept scanning.
Alert. Paranoid.
Even with her En wide open, she feared hidden threats.
She wasn't underestimating Joey—but she was confident.
Joey clenched a fist.
A coin buried into his palm.
Golden Experience activated.
The coin melted, becoming fresh blood, weaving seamlessly into his veins.
No grimace.
Joey calmly adjusted his cuff, checked his watch, and muttered:
"Leaving Gerrard's side so early… Are you sure that's wise?"
Meikō smirked, brushing crimson hair behind one ear.
"That's not your concern. I can let you live, you know.
Just break your own arms, strip naked, and swear loyalty to Gerrard.
You'll have a future worth killing for."
Joey didn't answer.
His mind was calculating.
She was cautious—watching for threats.
Her Blood Leech ability had a 13-second cycle.
3 seconds to drain.
10 seconds cooldown.
Each drain took exactly 80ml of blood.
He'd measured it.
He weighed 80 kilos.
Total blood volume: ~5.5 liters.
Shock occurred at 1 liter loss.
Even 400ml—blood donation level—was manageable.
And Golden Experience?
It could outpace her drain rate.
"If this is her trump card," Joey concluded,
"then this fight is already mine."
But there was more.
Children.
The number—80ml—was suspicious.
For a six-year-old child weighing 20kg,
80ml was the safe max draw.
A personal trigger?
Joey decided to probe.
"Let me guess… your childhood wasn't very happy, was it?"
Meikō twitched.
Just a second.
But it was enough.
She screeched—pulled a blood-red handgun from her waist.
"YOU BASTARD!
What's your connection to the Blood Thieves?!"
The other two guards—also female—pulled identical scarlet pistols.
"So it's a combo," Joey thought.
"A trio-based Nen technique."
He didn't care.
Her pain wasn't his concern.
And in battle, he wasn't here to save anyone.
But that outburst?
That was the opening he wanted.
"Perfect."
On his shoulder, a sky-blue Weather Beast appeared.
The clouds around Joey thickened, swirling with mist.
Three gunshots rang out.
Scarlet bullets, made of pure aura, tore through the air.
But when they struck the clouds, they froze midair.
CRACK.
Lightning dropped.
The bullets vanished in smoke.
Joey surged forward.
Tailwind at his back, three meters closed in an instant.
His fist swung.
Friction ignited the air.
Flames burst from his knuckles, spiraling toward Meikō's stunned face.
Her scream echoed.
Her beautiful features warped, hair ablaze, flesh blistered.
Then—
Killer Queen. Touch. Thumb down.
Silence.
Joey exhaled.
Turned.
Two more bodies lay behind him—the assistants.
Dead.
They were nothing without Meikō.
Just weak emission-types.
Their bullets?
Too slow.
Even if they hit, they'd be blown away the moment they entered his En.
"That wasn't a fight," Joey muttered.
"That was pest control."
And with Meikō gone,
he looked again toward Artikam.
Because Gerrard's circle had just lost its fangs.