Joey moved fast—unimpeded, swift, like the wind.
By the time he reached the helipad, there was no sign of Geralt.
Only a sleek, private aeroboat idling in wait, its rotors humming low.
The moment Joey stepped onto the landing pad, the black-suited bodyguards turned, fluid and professional—
No questions asked.
They pulled their firearms and opened fire immediately.
The aeroboat's engines flared—rising, readying for escape.
But under the protection of Weather Report, bullets couldn't pierce the veil of wind and light that danced around Joey.
Gale-force winds surged beneath him, lifting him midair like a storm riding its own wrath.
He didn't fly high—but with his natural Emission-type affinity augmenting his mobility, the speed was enough.
His left arm, still missing from the earlier battle, left him without access to Sheer Heart Attack for now.
He'd need to retrieve that later—
Left unchecked, an autonomous Sheer Heart Attack might still be rampaging somewhere in the arena.
Still, without it, Joey wasn't about to waste time engaging the guards.
His target was Geralt—only Geralt.
Blowing up the aircraft was a tempting shortcut.
But he'd seen that story too many times—
Villain explodes, no body found, cue the sequel.
No.
He wouldn't let Geralt escape in a plume of cinematic dust.
So he flew straight toward the aeroboat's sealed hatch, placed his palm against the door—
Killer Queen's First Bomb activated.
Boom.
The door vanished into light.
Within the luxury cabin—
Four armed guards. Well-dressed. Well-groomed.
But no aura.
Just hired muscle.
Joey didn't hesitate.
He flicked coin after coin, each transformed by Gold Experience into pure explosive aura—
Each guard disintegrated into ash.
He walked through the carnage, calm and collected, and took a seat on the plush leather sofa—
across from Geralt.
Geralt hadn't moved.
But Joey's right hand extended.
Killer Queen reached out and tapped Geralt.
"Now can we talk?"
Joey's face had paled.
His left shoulder was still bleeding.
If not for the coins he'd transformed into blood via Gold Experience, he might've collapsed long ago.
Now, seated, he raised his right hand and began constructing a replacement limb—
Golden aura formed bone, sinew, artificial joints.
It was slow, but this was the most energy-efficient method, avoiding the risk of tipping into Zetsu from overexertion.
"Is there anything left to say?"
Geralt leaned back on the couch.
"You win."
Joey sighed.
So Geralt wasn't going to talk.
Not surprising.
But frustrating.
Still, Joey understood.
Had the tables turned, he wouldn't have spilled anything either.
"A shame."
Geralt didn't respond.
So Joey stopped wasting words.
Killer Queen's thumb pressed down—
Boom.
Even as death took him, Geralt's face remained composed.
But his eyes—
They looked north.
Past Joey.
Toward somewhere distant, unreachable.
There was longing.
There was regret.
Minutes later, the aeroboat returned to the helipad—
Only Joey disembarked.
Soon after, flames consumed the aircraft.
No guards in sight.
Evidently, with their employer dead, they'd chosen not to die for him.
Smart.
They weren't puppets. They had wills.
Staying would've just been suicide.
Joey's left arm had fully regenerated.
He wore a new, tailored black suit—slightly loose, but effortlessly stylish.
Unbuttoned collar, untucked shirt corner—
He looked carefree, sharp, deadly.
Bloodstains cleaned.
Face wiped clean.
Sunglasses on.
Even his dyed blonde hair had been changed—
Back to natural black.
He looked like a different person.
He had come prepared.
From the 230th floor, Joey gazed upon chaos—
Smoke. Screams. Stampeding crowds.
The Sky Arena had become a hellscape.
As he approached the arena's main structure again, a message from Pyion arrived.
"Received! (^_^)/"
The prior message Joey had sent her included a photo of the divine script found on Geralt's handkerchief.
That had been her payment.
He hadn't known for sure if Geralt would have divine script—
But it had worked out.
And by offering fragments of the script from his own wallet, he'd piqued her curiosity.
Now she had more than enough incentive to help.
A win-win.
Pyion was a genius linguist, a Text Hunter, one of the Zodiacs, code-named Rabbit (卯).
Top-tier support.
But also dangerous.
Her cutesy appearance, bunny ears, and bubbly texts belied something… darker.
Joey had felt it the moment they met.
Her phone never left her hand.
Which made him suspect an ability related to her device.
Perhaps an Operator-type Nen ability—like Shalnark.
Or a misdirect.
Maybe she'd transform into a monstrous Bisky-esque bruiser in combat.
Hard to say.
But she wasn't an enemy—yet.
If that changed, well…
He'd learn about her the old-fashioned way—through battle.
Joey typed:
"Thanks."
Her reply came instantly:
"No prob! I'll be in touch, Lil' Joey! <(ΦωΦ)~"
Of course.
She was always lightning-fast.
Joey pocketed his phone.
He could sense the Sheer Heart Attack somewhere inside the arena—it was still active.
Problem: the arena was sealed.
Smoke still billowed skyward.
Chrollo's final trap had triggered a full-blown fire.
And yet…
Even now, Joey could hear explosions inside.
Could it be Sheer Heart Attack?
There was only one way to stop it:
Destroy the severed limb it was tied to.
Otherwise, not even Joey could halt it.
After all, as his arm regrew, Sheer Heart Attack had respawned on his wrist.
Could he preserve it?
He pondered.
Weighing the risks.
"Yo."
The voice behind him froze him solid.
He knew it instantly.
Hisoka.
He survived?
"You don't seem too surprised," Hisoka chuckled.
"Come on. I need your help."
Joey turned.
Hisoka stood just two meters away, smiling.
Cold. Casual. Murderous.
Joey's body tensed.
He had been vigilant—
Aura still deployed in En.
But he must've slipped—
Just a little.
His nerves had slackened.
And Hisoka had slipped through.
From Hisoka's position, Joey realized—
He'd gauged Joey's En range.
He'd probably understood Weather Report's limits too.
So…
Hisoka hadn't ignored him during the battle.
Good to know?
Joey brushed back his hair.
Weather Beast formed on his shoulder.
Hisoka only smiled wider.
But that smile was wrapped in death.
"What do you want?" Joey asked, cautious.
"I need you to watch Machi for me."
Hisoka gestured toward the fighter rest lounge.
"You can manage that, right?"
Joey nodded.
He pulled out a bug, transformed it via Gold Experience into a plastic-bodied beetle, and sent it flying.
Phone in hand, he looked back.
"Let's go," Hisoka said, turning.
"No time to waste."
Joey narrowed his eyes.
Then moved to follow.
He knew what came next.
Hisoka would kill Shalnark and Kortopi in the bathroom.
And thus be crowned the Toilet War God.
Joey had no intention of stopping it.
He didn't know the Phantom Troupe personally.
No reason to interfere.
If anything—
He was thinking about ransoming their heads.
Bounties for Troupe members were in the billions.
Even if he didn't remember the exact price on Shalnark or Kortopi, surely they'd fetch something nice.
Tens of billions?
Enough to make financial freedom a real possibility again.
Would Hisoka let him?
Joey began texting Mizaistom.
No attempt to hide it.
Hisoka didn't stop him either.
He walked on, unconcerned.
Joey kept his gaze locked on him.
From the outside, Hisoka looked the same—
Clean, composed.
But Joey knew.
Hisoka had died.
And like the manga—
He'd used Bungee Gum to attach to his heart and lungs before death.
Upon dying, the trigger had activated, reviving him.
He'd gambled everything.
And won.
Still, Joey wondered—
What had it cost him?
What would Hisoka trade now?
If Joey offered to restore him to perfect condition—
What could he gain in return?
That thought lingered as the text sent.