A short walk from Heaven's Arena, the smoky, savory aroma of a barbecue joint filled the air. The table Kevin had claimed was already buried under a small mountain of meat skewers, with several bottles of beer standing guard on the side.
Mito, who had been mentally preparing for a confrontation or a demand this whole way, felt his tension knot into simple bewilderment at the sight.
Kevin plopped down on a stool and waved a hand. "Sit. Don't be shy."
"It's not about being shy," Mito muttered, settling opposite. His eyes tracked the impossible pile of food. If this wasn't for him… it was all for Kevin. Could one person actually eat that much? A bizarre logic clicked into place in Mito's mind: Eat more, process more, grow more. Maybe this was the secret behind that freakish, immovable physique.
"Before we eat," Mito started, needing clarity, "tell me why you wanted to talk. Before that match, our paths had never crossed." He wouldn't have an appetite until the mystery was solved.
Kevin tore into a skewer, chewing thoughtfully before swallowing. "Don't worry. It's a very straightforward matter."
He set the skewer down, his demeanor open and direct. "During our fight earlier, I sensed something on you… a kind of medicinal ingredient."
"Medicinal ingredient? On me?" Mito had run through a dozen scenarios—grudges, recruitment, post-fight analysis—but this was nowhere on the list. He pointed at his own chest, then shook his head. "I wasn't injured fighting you, so I didn't use any medicine. Besides this staff and the clothes on my back, I have nothing."
"That's precisely why I sought you out," Kevin said. Arena combatants underwent basic checks to prevent concealed weapons—in non-Nen fights, a hidden firearm was a game-ender. "So, I'll hazard a guess: perhaps the ingredient I need is part of your clothing?"
Mito was even more perplexed but didn't hesitate. He immediately shrugged off his ornate, draped jacket—a garment of deep blue, edged and patterned with vibrant orange and yellow threads, rich with an ethnic heritage he'd never named.
"These are just ordinary clothes. If they can be of help to you…" He handed it over.
"Thank you." Kevin took the jacket and laid it flat on the table. He began running his hands slowly over the fabric, his touch methodical, his focus absolute. When his palm passed over the area near the chest, it came—that faint, undeniable pull. A craving, subtle as a whisper. If he hadn't been hyper-aware during the fight's climax, he would have missed it entirely.
"Here."
Mito leaned in, curious. He'd never found any "ingredients" on his own clothes. The jacket was just a jacket.
Kevin's fingers traced the intricate stitching to one of the central, decorative buttons. It was a beautiful piece, seemingly solid but with a layered design that added depth and elegance. "This button. It's only this one."
He looked to Mito for permission. Mito nodded. "Go ahead, take it off. It's not valuable." Handmade, yes, but not a treasure.
"Thank you." With careful precision, Kevin detached the button. Holding it up to the light, he examined its structure. The clever interlayer wasn't just for show; it was a deliberate compartment. Using a fingernail, he pried the two halves apart.
Nestled inside, pressed flat and dried, were a few delicate flower petals.
"So that's what was in there," Mito murmured, genuinely surprised. He'd worn the jacket for years, never knowing.
Kevin stared at the fragile petals, then at Mito, his expression intent. "Do you know where more of these petals can be found? Or do you have any others?"
Every material that sparked this instinctual craving in him had proven to be extraordinarily rare and potent. This was no exception. The hunt, it seemed, was never truly over.
Mito shook his head. "I don't know. This garment was made by an elder in my tribe. The buttons might have been crafted by someone else entirely. I'm not sure. I'd have to go back and ask to get a proper answer."
He paused, then added a caveat that doused Kevin's immediate hope. "But… you probably shouldn't get your hopes up too high. When this garment was made, our tribe wasn't even on this continent anymore."
"Huh?" Kevin blinked, confused.
"We're a nomadic people," Mito explained. "Not exactly… but we do migrate from time to time."
Kevin understood migration, but migrating continents? That was another scale entirely.
"Besides," Mito continued with a sigh, "I'm traveling right now. It wasn't easy to get out, and I'm not exactly eager to go back so soon."
"I see. That's a pity." Kevin felt a genuine pang of disappointment, but he wasn't the type to pressure anyone. After a moment's thought, he scribbled his phone number on a napkin.
"This is my number. If you do find out any information, please let me know. It's very important to me. I'll make sure you're properly compensated—whether with money or a favor, if it's within my power."
Mito took the slip of paper, his expression conflicted as he looked at the digits.
"Is it too much trouble?" Kevin asked, sensing his hesitation. "If it really is, then don't worry about it."
Mito looked at Kevin. The man's sincerity was palpable. He bit his lip, then offered a compromise. "How about this: I'll notify you to go to a specific town or area at a certain time. You wait there, and after a while, I'll get you the information I can gather. If there are any more of these petals, I'll bring them to you myself."
Though the process seemed deliberately oblique, Kevin didn't hesitate. He nodded firmly. "I'm in your debt. Thank you for your help." His mind was already racing, considering what form a suitable reward might take.
"Now that business is settled," Kevin said, his demeanor shifting to one of easy hospitality, "let's eat. I ordered all this food; it's no fun eating barbecue alone." He slid a cold bottle of beer across the table to Mito.
Mito took it, a small, genuine smile finally breaking through. They clinked bottles.
The meal stretched late into the night. The proprietor, seeing the size of the order and the steady flow of drinks, decided to keep the grill fired up until dawn if necessary.
"That's incredible! You actually finished all of that!" A pleasantly buzzed Mito slapped Kevin's shoulder, laughing. "Is your stomach a bottomless pit?"
"Hah! This is nothing," Kevin grinned back.
"Seriously, though," Mito asked, curiosity cutting through the beer haze, "with your strength, why did it take you months to reach the 160th floor?" He himself had blazed to this level in a matter of weeks, his sights set firmly on the 200th floor.
"This… is also a form of training," Kevin replied cryptically, raising his bottle again. "Drink!"
"Alright, drink!"
They talked, ate, and drank until the moon was high in the sky. Despite the considerable amount of alcohol, Kevin's head remained clear. As they finally parted ways, he held the opened button in his palm, staring at the few, precious dried petals nestled within.
"I wonder if this tiny amount will be enough," he murmured to the quiet street, the night's camaraderie fading into the more familiar, pressing weight of his quest.
Patreon Seasay