Beta: TaintedLetter

(≧ڡ≦*)

"Attention all remaining participants. The chairman wishes to interview each of you individually. When your number is called, please come to the first reception room on the second floor. We will start with #44 Mr. Hisoka..."

The group was traveling to the next destination on the airship, and while they did so one by one they were called to have a brief meeting with chairman Netero.

Miwa was called towards the end, and she entered the small room with some reluctance. Netero motioned for her to take a seat across from him. Once she did so, he cut straight to the questions.

"First why do you want to be a Hunter?"

"It sounded interesting," Miwa answered honestly, scratching her cheek. "So far the only interesting things are a couple of the contestants."

"Hmm-hmm... Which of the other eight applicants are you keeping an eye on?"

Miwa blinked at that. "What? Like... who am I worried about? None of them. Their ch—er—nen as you called it? It's nowhere near as big as mine, or yours. They all seem amateurish."

The chairman nodded at that going hmm-hmm again, then blinked. "You were about to call it something else?"

Miwa gestured to herself. "I was trained to call it chakra. You called it nen, though?"

"Yes. Huh. Interesting. So tell me, which of the other eight applicants would you least like to fight?"

"If it's just a spar, then I don't care. If you're asking me to kill them then I won't kill Gon, or Killua. I'd probably kill you first."

That made Netero laugh. "A bold statement."

Miwa tilted her head, her blonde bangs brushing over her eyes. "A bold confidence from someone who's got something nasty in his, ah, nen."

Netero hummed and hmm'd at that, but then gave a big grin. "Being a sensor at your age is odd. Such a trait normally comes with experience."

We've got plenty of that, came Kurama's snide voice. Cheeky brat.

'Everyone is a cheeky brat to you.'

Kurama huffed at that, and Miwa knew she would probably get the silent treatment for a while now.

Out loud she said, "I'm just a genius."

"So it would seem. I think you'd get along great with my second in command," Netero remarked. "Or maybe you'll just kill him."

"Fifty-fifty chance if he's anything like you," Miwa said sweetly.

Netero laughed at that, his whole body shaking with amusement. "Get going then! I have what I need."

She excused herself.

(≧ڡ≦*)

They were taken to a luxury hotel. It stood tall, proud, and well maintained. It reeked of wealth: the stench of crumpled up money, sickeningly sweet incense, and sweaty palms. Like a herd of sheep they were shuffled through this pampered hotel and down several halls before coming out into a wide ballroom.

They lined up loosely, with only Gon, Killua, Kurapika, Leorio, and Miwa standing close to one another. It was blatantly apparent that the other contestants had not formed any sort of positive relationship with one another like they had.

That was the logical approach, after all. Why befriend those that you might one day have to kill?

Not that Miwa really cared. No no one could force her to do anything she didn't want to.

If they tried to, she'd kill them.

Problem solved!

When everyone had arrived at the ballroom the elderly chairman with the absurd energy core started to speak. "The Hunter Exam Committee runs this hotel. This place is all yours until the battles have concluded. For the Final Phase we will be holding a one-on-one tournament..."

Netero went on to explain this odd bracket. Instead of those who won their battles progressing, those who lost would move forward with the bracket. It ultimately would mean that the one person who finishes at the top will be the one person who does not pass.

One win was all that was needed to succeed at the final phase.

That seemed fair enough, but the bracket was oddly designed. It gave certain contestants more opportunities to win, and others less. According to Netero he and the other examiners had been monitoring and scoring the contestants throughout the competition. Those with the most points were awarded with the most chances to obtain a win.

The bracket read as it stood:

Round one would be #294 (some bald man dressed as a stereotyped ninja) against Gon. Whoever lost that round would go on to face that archer boy, followed by that loser going against Killua, then that loser would face pin cushion freak. Round two would be Miwa against Hisoka. Since Miwa knew Hisoka would obviously lose against her, he'd have to go up against Kurapika afterward. Whoever lost that would go on to face the old man, and finally that loser would fight Leorio.

The only way to secure a win was not through murder, or rendering the opponent unable to fight, but rather the opponent had to verbalize a forfeit.

Which made things a touch more interesting.

And annoying.

Once the explanation was finished, it was time for the first round to begin. Gon was up against #294, and the rest of the contestants stood back to give the two room to fight.

The bald wanna-be ninja abruptly kicked Gon hard enough into the ground that Gon reactively retched. This instantly set Miwa on edge, the hairs on the back of her neck rising and a small frown tugging her lips down. She hadn't realized it, but a slow leak of murderous intent oozed out of her, causing those around her—except Killua, Hisoka, and that pin-needle man—to flinch.

She hadn't known Gon that long, but still—

Oh—Miwa, switch with me.

'What?'

Switch with me. Stay inside and let me out. If you lose any more control over your emotions my chakra will start leaking out and no one here has any resistance to that. Unless you want to kill everyone here?

Miwa felt her cheeks flush hot, and while she wanted to argue she felt like she couldn't. She didn't really care about anyone else here but Gon, and Killua, but since both were in prime range for exposure...

'Okay.'

I'll let you back out when it's over, Kurama said and Miwa felt her mind be pulled back. Kurama's mind brushed over her own, and she could feel the echoes of concern and fondness from him. It soothed her heart, and made it easier to not think about what was going on outside of their mindscape.

She found herself inside the field of flowers again, laying back and staring mindlessly at the calm blue sky.

She did not have to watch her bro—her new friend be tortured.

"Save him if he needs it," she said out loud.

I will, Kurama promised.

She trusted that promise. She trusted Kurama with every fiber of her being, and if he made any genuine requests of her she would always oblige them. She knew Kurama would do the same for her like she knew her hair was blonde.

It was how it should be, and it was how it was.

Despite that, it didn't make her feel any less bothered by what was happening outside their safe haven. She knew her friend was being physically beaten down and it bugged her more than anything had bugged her before (at least so far as she can currently remember). She felt like bugs were crawling on her, disgust and annoyance making her twitch and glare angrily at the calm sky.

Miwa was only wounded up tighter as time ticked by in the mindscape. She wondered if she ought to be prepared to leap out at any moment, grab Killua and Gon to teleport them away, and come back to drop several bijū-bombs on the cretin that dared—

Time was relative in the mindscape. While hours crawled by outside, Miwa only had to wait a handful of minutes before Kurama told her, The match is over. The arrogant ninja forfeited after seeing Gon's determination, and admiring how Gon never displayed hatred towards him despite the beatings.

'Gon never what?'

Gon did not resent his torturer. I'm guessing he's a budding masochist.

Miwa honestly didn't know how to respond to that.

'Just... what?'

Kurama shoved her back forward, brushing past her mind with a gentle bump as he returned to his field of flowers.

Miwa blinked at seeing the arena once again, wanting to frown at how light the atmosphere felt. The only one who seemed irritated was Killua.

'I guess they're just glad it's over?' Miwa guessed, uncertain at why everyone looked so relaxed after seeing an adult man torture a child for hours.

Ehh. Gon kind of did a therapy-no-jutsu thing.

'Huh?'

Don't worry about it. Just go take care of that clown fucker.

Still perplexed, Miwa moved to the center of the arena. She would have preferred if Gon's torturer was her next opponent because then she could really make that worm scream. She felt nothing but mild irritation that her opponent was not that arrogant ninja.

"I don't think either of us wants to needlessly draw this out," Miwa cut in, flipping back her pigtails. "How about we do something simple, and quick, like arm wrestle? You win, I surrender. I win, you surrender."

"I'm not interested in such an easy surrender," Hisoka said with a cruel smile.

This guy reeks of bloodlust. He probably wants to kill you. Pfft.

"Fine. You win, I surrender and we can duke it out to death after this damn tournament. Neither of us can fight to our heart's content if we can't murder the other," she snapped out irritably. "I win, you surrender and fuck off."

Hisoka laughed coldly. "Very well. You're right about one thing... fighting without the risk of death makes it painfully dull."

Doton wasn't Miwa's speciality, but she knew enough to summon a slab in the middle of the ring. Both combatants approached it, taking a seat on the smaller slabs Miwa had summoned. Miwa propped her right elbow on the table, offering her hand to the red-haired jester.

She felt his inner energy stir, and saw it project out of his finger. She watched him attached it to the back of her hand and the slab and wondered if he thought she couldn't see it.

'Looks like pink bubblegum.'

Fucking gross.

She ignored it, though, because she felt no real power behind it. With a sigh, she gripped his outstretched hand.

"Someone mind counting off for us?" she asked, her tone a tad harsher than necessary due to her bubbling annoyance.

"On go. Three," Killua began, "Two... One... Go."

With a surge of her chakra—and a touch of Kurama's—Miwa abruptly flipped Hisoka's arm completely around. She slammed it so hard against the back of the rock, the rock shattered along with the bones in Hisoka's hand and arm.

Miwa released Hisoka's mangled hand, standing back up and looking at him as if he were a gross bug beneath her heel. "Surrender now."

Hisoka stared down at his hand in disbelief before slowly turning to look at Miwa with an expression that could only be described as incredulous delight.

"I forfeit," he said with that odd smile.

Fucking masochist.

'Ew.'

The following matches weren't anywhere near as hard to watch as Gon's match was. Killua lazily forfeited against archer boy declaring him to be too boring to fight—Miwa couldn't blame him for that—and Hisoka forfeited against Kurapika after taunting him. Hisoka won the following round, and soon it was Killua's turn to go against that weird man with needles sticking out of his face and the stench of rotten flowers.

That creepy man said in a distorted voice, "It's been a while, Kil."

He raised his hands and slowly began to pull out the needles in his face. Miwa could feel the slimy twist of nen—chakra?—oozing out from the areas the needles had once been. In a rather disgusting fashion the man's face transformed into something else entirely. It was paler, flatter, and held dark eyes that betrayed no emotion.

Whoever he had turned into deeply bothered Killua, as the white haired boy paled and took a step back. Miwa could smell his fear from here, and it made her uncomfortable.

"Brother," Killua whispered.

Does no one have a normal family? Kurama questioned. They all get murdered or are apparently psychopaths who torment younger broth—UGGGH SAGE DAMN IT.

'That sounds familiar—'

WHY, SAGE, WHY?! I CAN NEVER ESCAPE UCHIHAS!

Kurama's howl of anguish relaxed Miwa enough she stopped reaching for her hidden kunai to gouge out the eyes of the weird man.

"I heard you stabbed Mom and Milluki," the brother monotonously began.

"I guess," Killua answered, a nervous sweat dripping down his cheek.

"Mom was crying tears of joy. She was so happy to see you'd grown up. But she was worried about you leaving home, so she asked me to check up on you. What a coincidence, I didn't know you wanted to be a Hunter. I'm trying to get a license for my next job."

Killua shifted his weight, his fear slowly abating as it became apparent his brother wasn't going to do whatever it was Killua was instantly afraid he was going to do. In a quiet voice, he admitted, "I didn't really want to be a Hunter. I just felt like taking the exam."

The brother fell silent. "That is good. You were not cut out to be a hunter, you're only meant to be a killer."

His words seemed to cut through Killua, and the boy winced. There was a very odd spike of—of—something? For only a split second Miwa thought she sensed a second energy source inside of Killua's head. It surged forth in power for barely a millisecond before abating, so Miwa couldn't even be sure such a thing happened.

Killua was silent for several seconds, his brow furrowed from anxiety and he clenched his hands tightly into fists. "It's... it's true that I don't want to be a Hunter, but even I have something I want. I... I want... I want to be friends with Gon and Miwa."

"What the hell? You mean you asked me to marry you without considering me your friend?" Miwa blurted out, aghast with wide eyes.

"What?" the brother said.

"What?" came a few other contestants.

Killua startled at Miwa's outburst, turning his head to look at her with a flush expression. "U-Um—"

"That's when you say: No. We are good friends Miwa, I'm just being insecure."

"U-Um—"

"You asked this one to marry you?" the brother asked Killua, his tone disbelieving. He turned to peer at Miwa. "That won't do."

"It—It's not like that," Killua stammered out

"I'll have to kill her, then," Killua's older brother remarked as if he were commenting on the weather. He turned his disinterested gaze onto her.

"Bring it, bitch," Miwa snapped out. "Your core is tinier than a goddamn walnut."

"Miwa—you can't—he's crazy strong," Killua said, his face paling faster than a wilting flower.

"Can he blow up a mountain with one move?" she demanded.

"Uh—no, but—"

"Can he destroy things down to the molecular level with one move?"

"No, but—"

"Can he teleport?"

"No—"

"Can he at least walk on water?"

"No," Killua admitted with a frown, looking over at his brother. "Huh..."

The crazy older brother's eyes narrowed ever so slightly as he reassessed Miwa and Killua. He said after a moment, "It matters not. Your proclaimed friendship is false. You are a killer, Killua, and killers do not have friends.

"What's wrong with being a killer?" Miwa demanded with her hands on her hips as she was getting progressively irritated and tempted to just rip that jerk's head off. "What, so just because we murder a few people we can't have fun, or have friends? What's up with that? I love having people to bury bodies with, and it's fun to compete over who can kill the most people without getting caught. Just because we enjoy things a little differently than others does not mean we can't have friends, or family.

"And while Gon isn't here, I feel like I can confidently say that he absolutely wants to be friends with the two of us regardless of how many necks we snap, people we mangle, hearts we rip out, heads we blow up—" Miwa stopped herself from continuing to list the ways she and Killua have murdered people so far in the competition. She cleared her throat. "You get the picture."

"You cannot be friends because it doesn't matter how much you care. Eventually you're going to want to kill them. You'll start to think to yourself about it every time you're with them, you're going to want to test yourself against them until you just can't hold it back anymore," Imari disagreed in an eerie velvety soft voice.

"All my best friends have tried to kill me at least once," Miwa immediately defended, not really recalling who her best friends were but knowing she's been in a life threatening situation because of them dozens of times.

Hundreds, really.

(Thousands.)

"So I will gladly take on your challenge to the death and completely kick some sense back into you," Miwa proudly declared, a bright fire in her eyes. She couldn't explain it, but she felt like she truly needed Killua to understand how important he was. She felt like she had to get him to see how much their friendship was already valued because if she didn't—

—what if he left her, too?

Her chest tightened, pain so sharp and fierce it physically hurt to breathe. Echoes of emotions washed over her heart like a dark ocean, brushing against her and pulling away before they drowned her. She remembered people leaving her. She remembered them dying in her arms, and she remembered sacrificing everything to bring them back to her.

She remembered doing it again, and again because of how much she loved these faceless memories.

She hadn't known Killua for more than a couple weeks (centuries?), really, but that didn't matter.

What she felt was real.

And she felt like he, and Gon, were dear and precious friends.

Friends she had to protect, and who had to understand exactly how much she cared about them.

"Plus everyone knows it's the wife's job to kick the husband's ass," she added as an afterthought.

Killua could only stare at her in disbelief for a minute before he completely burst out into laughter. He laughed so hard his shoulders shook and he doubled over. "Y-You're insane!"

"Insanely dedicated," she retorted.

His laughter sprung forward even harder and he struggled to get it back under control as his older brother watched on. The brother's brow was slightly furrowed as he studied Killua, perturbed at seeing how oddly happy he was.

When Killua's laughter was finally under control he wore a smile too joyous not to make Miwa smile back in return. "I hear you... Illumi, I forfeit. I know I can't beat you and I don't see any reason to try."

With his hands shoved back in his pocket, he nonchalantly returned to the sidelines where Miwa abruptly threw her arms around him and pulled him into a tight hug.

A part of her felt afraid that if she didn't grab on to him he might disappear. He stiffened at her sudden contact, awkward and uncertain how to respond. She knew he was probably uncomfortable, but she selfishly continued to hold him.

After a few more seconds he slowly put his arms around her and gently patted her back. "Sorry for making you worry."

"I wasn't worried," she muttered, her cheeks warm. "Idiot."

Who's the tsundere now?

'Well, if the King of Tsunderes says it's so—'

I AM NOT A TSUNDERE!

(≧ڡ≦*)

Work is exhausting. :)

Answer: I think I would have a character arc about acceptance and healing.

Question: What smell do you think best describes you?

Reviews are love!