Disclaimer: Yami no Matsuei belongs to Yoko Matsushita

AP Chemistry was good for one thing and one thing only—this fic.

Hisoka is my favorite character, so predictably enough, my first YnM fic is about Watari. Go figure.

The Chemist

He had tried to explain it to Tatsumi, once.

"You see, it's like the law of conservation of matter. Your budget isn't destroyed because all the money is disappearing—it's just changing forms. All of my equipment, for example, is really just a converted form of your money. So you see, you've made quite a lot of good investments!"

But the secretary had then inquired if Watari was interested in transforming his lab back into cash, and he prudently had never brought the subject up again. He was very fond of his experiments and technological toys; after all, he was a scientist.

Many things in life, Watari had discovered, followed rules of science. Order, like the math principles that made nature lovely. Conservation, like Tatsumi's money, and like life.

He firmly believed in the law of conservation of energy. Energy was neither created nor destroyed, it simply changed forms. Everything anyone would ever need in existence was already out in the world and waiting—one needed only to learn how to use it.

One might argue that he could not possibly take such a firmly scientific view of his current situation. But he realized, as any good scientist should, that he did not know everything. All the laws and principles that people took for granted were once mysteries as well. So he resolved to enjoy the challenge.

It was all chemistry, anyway. The reaction, he assumed, must be a sort of combustion. And at this point, he was in transition. He began as a physical, living person. But take a catalyst—death—and the products were the cremated body and a great deal of converted energy. Energy that manifested as thoughts, emotions, and soul.

One day, he would pass on entirely, and at that time, the reaction would be completed and he would be wholly soul. But he would still be conserved—Watari Yutaka would never be lost.

Like any scientist, he spent days at a time in his lab experimenting. It was an incorrigible hobby, and he was addicted. He craved knowledge. Puzzles, mysteries, and enigmas were to him like sugar to Tsuzuki, like the budget to Tatsumi. And every chemist required an assistant, so he had 003.

Owls had long been symbols of wisdom, and so 003 tempered and complemented him. Knowledge was useless without the wisdom to use it.

It was a shame that wisdom could not prevent accidents, but that was yet another step in learning.

So Watari sat in his lab and experimented. Sometimes he played with the properties of occult ingredients, and others he toyed with standard chemistry. He was motivated by a fascination for pure hobbies such as a sex-change potion, as well as by the desire to improve the day-to-day existence of his fellow workers. And some things, he admitted, were purely aesthetic; he admired the beaker strategically placed on his desk to catch the light, and recalled the hours it took to find the right ratio of water to copper ion concentration to achieve the perfect shade of bright blue.

He enjoyed experimenting because he understood the finer points of change. Things never went away, they merely became new. The knowledge was gained from understanding how the transformation occurred. The wisdom came with the new light, new view—new insight. He wanted to probe the mysteries of the great unknown, and learn to comprehend. He had no fears of failure, because the essential Watari would never change.

It was all chemistry, really. Combined elements formed compounds, but the individual elements were never lost. There was a balance, a beauty, to everything.

Watari was a scientist, and he would stay that way. Anything he would ever need, he was certain, already existed in some form or another, waiting for him. But if he did not experiment, he would never have the eyes to see it.