September 27th. Posters promoting the battle between Hisoka and Chrollo plastered every surface in Heaven's Arena.
Joey had already secured a prime seat in the front section of the second tier and had also uncovered where the arena's higher-ups—including Gerrard—would be seated.
From his vantage point, not only could he clearly observe the VIP section below, but it was also the perfect position from which to strike.
No one understood better than Joey the devastation a fight between Hisoka and Chrollo would unleash. This wasn't going to be a spectacle—this was going to be a massacre. Whatever dreams the Arena management had of raking in profits would go up in smoke the moment these two started.
After all, both men were pure ego incarnate, viewing the lives of spectators as nothing more than kindling for their own gratification.
Joey had no intention of confronting the Phantom Troupe, nor did he have any desire to interact with Hisoka. He planned to steer clear of the bloodbath and create a separate battlefield—one where only Gerrard would bleed.
Dealing with Troupe members or Hisoka? That was asking to get screwed over.
Negotiating from a position of power required equal strength, and Joey knew—he wasn't there yet.
Sure, he was confident in his Nen abilities. But he wasn't suicidal.
And most importantly—there was no need. Messing with the Troupe or Hisoka was just asking for trouble.
The assassination plan? Simple.
Use the chaos of the Chrollo vs. Hisoka battle as cover.
No elaborate setups. No complex contingencies. Just precision, speed, and violence.
Because in his short but intense life of combat, Joey had learned a crucial truth:
The more intricate the plan, the easier it is to fall apart in the face of chaos.
He wasn't Dio. He didn't need to "stop time."
He needed clarity, adaptability, and a plan that left room for the unpredictable.
That was the kind of battle Joey lived for.
Moments where the next second could end in glory or ruin, where every breath could be a misstep or a masterstroke.
Like that battle against the man who could strip away all six senses—every heartbeat counted. Every wrong guess could spell death. But if you peeled back the layers and reached the truth…
Victory was ecstasy.
Watching a cocky enemy collapse in disbelief?
Yeah, that thrill never got old.
Maybe he wasn't like Kira Yoshikage after all. Maybe his time in NGL and East Gorteau, constantly battling Chimera Ants, had transformed his fear into craving.
One day, perhaps he'd return to a peaceful life.
But if he did, it would only be to await the next worthy opponent.
Time passed slowly as he waited.
Gerrard left Heaven's Arena briefly during that window.
Joey caught a glimpse—enough to confirm his face—then returned to his room for training.
He later heard that one of the Arena executives had been ambushed outside—several attackers killed.
Bait.
That's all it had been. Gerrard was casting a line.
Joey watched silently.
The day before the match, curiosity got the better of him.
He wandered the Arena hoping to glimpse the Phantom Troupe—but saw none.
They'd likely gone straight to the upper levels; Chrollo was a Floor Master after all.
He didn't see Hisoka either, but the Arena had become dotted with clown-themed superfans, waving banners with Hisoka's name.
Joey had no comment.
Republic of Batochia was a weird place.
There were no "criminals" here.
If you had money and power, even the Zoldyck mansion could be marketed as a tourist attraction.
Heaven's Arena wasn't lawless—it was selectively lawless.
If you were strong or rich, you were a hero.
If you were kind and weak, nobody cared.
To Joey, that ethos was rotten.
But in a world where humanity barely clung to a fragment of land, it made twisted sense.
Joey didn't idolize anyone. But the chibi-style Hisoka pin badges were too cute to resist.
He bought a set and pinned two to his shirt.
Maybe when I finally meet Hisoka, flashing these will give him a surprise.
He grabbed a few Chrollo pins too. The vendor gave him a dirty look.
Only then did Joey remember—those two were mortal enemies.
Still, the vendor took his money.
Joey admired that kind of hustle.
He haggled the price down to 2,000 Jenny for two Chrollo pins and left in a great mood.
October 1st, 10:00 AM.
Joey entered the Arena.
Because this was a Floor Master duel, it was being held in the largest stadium, with seating for 3,000 members.
The seats were basically just plastic cushions screwed onto stone steps, each numbered with sloppy paint.
Joey had two seats—one in the second tier, first row, and one closer to the stage in the seventh row.
He first sat in the seventh row—only five rows from Gerrard.
He would leave five minutes before the fight began.
Someone dressed like him, same build, same outfit, would take his place.
He'd paid handsomely for that decoy.
It might expose his identity, but at this point, he didn't care.
As Joey sat in the lower section, he quickly spotted Gerrard among the Arena elites.
Tall. Muscular. Broad-shouldered.
He didn't look like a businessman—he looked like a champion fighter.
Wearing a tailored suit, he exuded more mob boss than corporate executive.
To be fair, Gerrard's business empire included everything from hotels and casinos to human trafficking.
Behind him stood a dark-skinned youth—massive, intimidating, with an animalistic stare.
Atikem.
One of Gerrard's personal guards.
To Gerrard's left sat a tall, stunning woman with crimson hair and fiery red lipstick.
Joey was only about four meters away—and he felt it.
Her En.
Roughly a five-meter radius.
Twice the size of Joey's current En.
If she wasn't a specialist in En, then her raw Nen volume had to be massive.
She was likely the one who'd detected his gecko-spy in Gerrard's office.
And if she kept En up constantly, even during peacetime?
Yeah—not normal.
Even Neferpitou or Kite made that look easy, but most Nen users couldn't do that.
If Joey's En cost him 3 aura per second, and his pool was 18,000, he'd collapse after 90 minutes.
So either she had special training to reduce drain, or she'd placed a Restriction or Vow to enhance her En.
Joey trusted his instincts.
He had no intention of entering her En unless absolutely necessary.
She was probably like him—her ability tied to her En.
Which meant his only viable offensive tools against her were:
Killer Queen's First Bomb
Sheer Heart Attack (Second Bomb)
His Weather Report couldn't reach her range.
"Tch. Annoying."
He returned to the second tier, sat down, and glanced at Row Five of the VIP section.
The Golden Experience coin was there—he could feel it.
He quickly spotted Ed, still fidgeting with the coin in that all-too-familiar way.
Besides Ed, Joey noticed other guards camouflaged throughout the crowd.
He also saw surveillance cameras above—mostly for broadcast, but some pointed at the spectators.
Sitting to Ed's right was another man—flanked by bodyguards.
According to Joey's notes, those guards were Licensed Hunters.
Clearly, this wasn't a nobody.
But Joey wasn't worried.
When the chaos started, every bodyguard would shield their employer.
No one would waste their ace bodyguard protecting Gerrard during a riot.
And if someone did… well, Joey would teach them a lesson they wouldn't forget.
As he scanned the crowd, his eyes narrowed.
Three people stepped into view—walking toward the VIP zone.
His pulse began to rise.
Game on.