Heaven’s Arena has services most people don’t know about.

Not the flashy stuff, the quiet things. Luxury, post-match care, emotional regulation, for fighters who can’t afford distraction. You work the upper floors. Floor Master tier. The most elite.

When the request comes in, it’s stamped anonymous, but the room number makes your stomach drop. Chrollo Lucilfer, again. This man has not left you alone ever since he returned.

You knock once before entering. "Come in," a familiar voice answers.

Chrollo sits on the edge of a couch, coat discarded, book resting open beside him. He looks up like he’s been expecting you all along. Which he has, having never been very subtle in his ministrations.

"This is the third time this week," you mention carefully, closing the door behind yourself. "You know these services are meant to be rotated."

"I know," he replies. "I requested you anyway."