Chapter Text
You were just thirteen when you left home, diving into the abyss of his empire. Within its suffocating grasp, survival became an art, mastered under the cloak of darkness, when every shadow concealed danger. Navigating a world where his loyalists lurked around every corner, evading detection was a daily struggle. Yet, against all odds, you persevered, thrived, and endured.
A deserted house became your sanctuary, untouched for over a year. The sun became your foe, feared for its revealing light. Only under the moon's vigilant gaze did you dare to venture out, scavenging for sustenance and retreating to your haven unseen. For more than a year, you lived in isolation, severed from family but finding solace in freedom from his control.
At times, you dared to believe in true freedom. Until the day you stumbled upon a gruesome murder scene, your voice escaping in a tremulous whisper, "Sorry, wrong path."
Your trembling thirteen-year-old frame, frail as if you hadn't eaten in months, faced a boy who seemed your age. In the darkness of the alley, his jet-black hair was unmistakable, but it was his expressionless face that sent shivers down your spine. For an eternity, your eyes met, until his sharp fingernails, stained with blood, drew your gaze.
"An eyewitness?" His voice sent chills down your spine, colder than the corpse beneath him.
You managed to stammer, "Nope," before attempting to flee. Yet, as if by magic, the boy, who had just taken a life, appeared behind you. Shock held you in its grip, bewildered by his swift approach.
A sharp pain seared your neck, ragged gasps escaping as his nails pierced your flesh, threatening your very existence.
"My father wouldn't tolerate a witness," his stoic voice matched his emotionless gaze. His icy breath against your ear dispelled any illusion of puppetry.
"I won't tell anyone," you whispered, clinging to hope of reprieve. But deep down, you knew better. This boy was a murderer, a shadow compared to your monstrous siblings. Yet, you weren't ready to die, not with your father's men on your trail. Trapped in his grasp, your fate hung in the balance, sending a cold shiver through you.
"The prince is here!"
As you noticed suit-clad men approaching, a curse escaped you. How had they tracked you down after eluding them at the night market? Witnessing the murder shook you, despite the horrors endured with your own family.
"Prince?" the boy behind you echoed, eyes fixed on the approaching group. He wasn't asking you; he was repeating what he heard. He withdrew his sharp nails from your neck, and you began to breathe normally again.
Cold sweat dripped from your forehead, realizing you had been holding your breath. With a deep sigh, you surveyed your father's men rushing toward you.
'Shit, I almost died.'
"Leave the ninth prince alone!" One of the men shouted, brandishing firearms at the boy behind you.
"Ninth prince?"
Though you didn't need to turn, you sensed his gaze on the back of your head. You were of the same height, a detail noticed earlier.
"I demand that you move away from the Prince on the King's command. No one is deserving of the prince's presence," the man declared.
Hearing those words made your stomach churn with disgust.
When your father's men revealed the information, you slowly turned to face the boy, expecting surprise. But as you saw his expression, it remained blank. The possibility that he might not recognize you caused your eyelids to twitch, though you couldn't blame him. After all, you were just the ninth prince—not even close to being the King or his successor. Your older siblings wielded political influence and wealth, overshadowing you. As one of the least powerful royals among the princes, it was unsurprising, especially compared to those older than you.
"Move away from her now!" They warned him, but he remained unfazed by their threats.
Tears welled up in your eyes as his dull-black gaze bore into yours, and soon, tears streamed down your cheeks. Panic consumed you. You couldn't bear the thought of returning to your oppressive life, facing ridicule from your siblings and enduring your father's wrath for sullying his reputation. Running away alone was enough to sully the royal family's honor.
Your voice was barely a whisper, but it carried weight, "Kill them, please."
You knew his reputation well. With his deadly weapon and assassin's demeanor, he was a member of the family skilled in the traditional art of assassination. You had heard tales of his family, so you were no stranger to their methods. Some of your siblings had even commissioned their services before, so you knew what he was capable of.
"I'll pay you when it's done," you lied, aware he saw through your facade. Closing your eyes, you braced for your demise, but instead, you heard groans and gunfire.
Opening your eyes, the boy who had stood before you was gone. Whirling around, your father's men lay on the ground, chests torn open, blood pooling as if their hearts had been ripped out.
"I don't think you have money in your little pocket, considering you ran away from your family for a year," he said, reappearing behind you. You turned to face him, but his firm grip on your shoulder stopped you in your tracks. "Pay me after five years."
Before you could respond, the alley fell silent, the chill of death lingering in the air as you stood alone in the darkness.
The moon remained hidden behind thick clouds as you gazed up at the darkened sky, but one thing was certain: the heavens seemed to approve. With the mysterious boy vanishing from your sight, fear of encountering another group of your father's men compelled you to flee.
The previous night, you overheard a businessman discussing plans to export goods to another continent. It was sheer luck that you managed to stow away aboard one of the cargo ships.
You had grown up surrounded by grandeur and royal nonsense, yet you had learned the art of theft as a means of survival. Despite being the daughter of a Queen and the King of a great Empire, you were the sneakiest among your siblings. You had always known you possessed a knack for stealth, often finding ways to slip out of your chambers and wander the palace grounds. Little did you realize, however, that your escapades would eventually horrify your mother. If only you hadn't stumbled upon your father's nefarious plans, perhaps you would have remained blissfully ignorant. But ignorance was a luxury you couldn't afford.
Your father's intentions sickened you to the core, and his terrible parenting only reinforced your disdain for him. There were moments when you wished your mother had never borne you, rather than subjecting you to the torment of being his daughter.
At thirteen, you possessed knowledge far beyond your years. You couldn't be faulted for it; your tutor often left you alone in the library while she engaged in trysts with your bodyguards. Left to your own devices, you delved into books and fumbled around on the computer, stumbling upon forbidden 'internet knowledge' that ultimately led you down this perilous path.
"You're skin and bones, kiddo. Are you even alive?"
After what felt like an eternity, you finally reached a new continent. Days spent riding on a cargo ship had left you famished and thirsty, stumbling over your own feet as you stepped onto foreign soil. Without a destination in mind, you wandered aimlessly, your mind clouded with exhaustion. It was then that you first encountered her: a young girl in a pink outfit with two pigtails. She appeared to be around the same age as your younger siblings, leaving you baffled when she called you "Kiddo."
"But I'm older than you—" you began, only to feel as though you were sinking into an abyss. The girl's voice calling out to you felt distant, pulling you further away from reality.
When you regained your consciousness, you found yourself on a comfortable mattress in a tastefully decorated room. Though you were unsure of your whereabouts, the elegant surroundings suggested that whoever had brought you here had refined taste.
Recalling the encounter with the young girl before you had lost consciousness, you assumed she was a wealthy, privileged individual. Little did you know, she was far more than meets the eye—a young girl in appearance but possessing the wisdom of an old soul.
When she revealed her true form to you, you were utterly shocked. To say you were astounded would be an understatement.
You soon learned that you were on the Yorbian Continent, a place you were already somewhat familiar with. The woman who had found you when you passed out from exhaustion was named Biscuit Krueger, and she became your guide, teaching you about this new land.
At last, you had escaped the clutches of hell and left your so-called 'family' far behind. You dared to believe that you could finally lead a normal life. But fate had other plans in store for you.
Chapter Text
You were naive to think that leaving your dysfunctional family behind would allow you to live a normal life. You really believed you could blend in as an ordinary citizen on this continent, but as you grew older, reality shattered that illusion.
At fourteen, you began learning self-defense skills under Biscuit's tutelage. She taught you combat techniques and other invaluable lessons that were forbidden back home, where your mother insisted on "ladylike" pursuits like ballet lessons. Meeting Biscuit was a saving grace. By fifteen, you could hold your own against opponents twice your size, leading you to breeze through the Hunter exam. From there, Biscuit became your Nen coach, guiding you through every aspect of training that brought you to where you were today.
The prison.
Normally, you'd be lounging on your balcony in your Yorknew City apartment, savoring a mug of steaming coffee while soaking in the city's vibrant atmosphere. But you screwed up big time. Last night, you went on a bender, insulting people and causing a scene that ended with the police having to intervene. Now here you were.
When the police showed up, you could've made a run for it, but you were too wasted to even activate your Nen or think straight. Plus, there was a Hunter nearby who managed to snag you. If it weren't for him, you might have slipped away like any other drunk trying to stumble home. But no, instead, that Hunter trussed you up like you were some dangerous beast.
Every time you tried to picture that Hunter's face, your head throbbed. Waking up from a miserable night spent on the cold floor, your throat felt like sandpaper, and you begged anyone who'd listen for water. As the fog of intoxication lifted, his image burned into your mind with painful clarity.
Oh, how you ached to break free from this cell and settle the score.
"Can't believe you let yourself be caught again," Menchi chastised you, her tone dripping with exasperation as she settled onto the couch beside you in your apartment.
You slouched further into the cushions, feeling the weight of her disapproval bearing down on you. "Menchi, give it a rest," you muttered, your irritation evident in your voice. But she wasn't about to let you off the hook that easily. Her narrowed eyes bore into yours, and you couldn't help but feel like you were being judged by a jury of one.
"Y/n, let's be real here. You're too old for this nonsense. Always stirring up trouble and getting yourself arrested," she scolded, her words like a verbal slap in the face.
You groaned, squeezing your eyes shut in a futile attempt to block out her lecture. "Can't you just let me be?" you pleaded, wishing she would take the hint and leave you alone.
But Menchi wasn't finished yet. "No wonder you've been banned from ten bars in this city," she added, driving the point home with a final blow.
'After a long and exhausting night, all you wanted was some peace and quiet. Is that too much to ask for? You're an adult, for god's sake.'
"Well, what can you say? The police seem to have a special thing for me," you chuckled, trying to lighten the mood. But when you felt Menchi's intense gaze on you, your laughter died in your throat.
Menchi was the only other woman besides Biscuit whom you got along with so well, but sometimes her presence made you forget that you were older than her—you couldn't help but feel a twinge of intimidation. Despite not having many friends, you knew plenty of people. Menchi and you first crossed paths during the Hunter exam a few years back. Despite your age difference—she was two years younger—you hit it off immediately. She was a gourmet Hunter, an expert in culinary delights, while you stumbled through life without a clear direction. Eight years had passed since you passed the exam, and here you were, still uncertain about your path.
You hadn't seen Biscuit in five years, but you knew she was out there somewhere, chasing after treasures as she always did. And as for the man who had tied you up last night, you were certain Wing had returned to the Heavens Arena. Lucky bastard.
After a prolonged period of stillness, or perhaps you were just being overly dramatic, you kept your eyes shut, yearning to drift off into sleep. But for some reason, slumber eluded you. You sensed her rising from the couch beside you, the absence of her weight a palpable emptiness.
"I'll come back when you're sober," Menchi's voice broke the silence, her footsteps fading as she exited your living room.
Menchi was right, much as you hated to admit it. At a young age, she had achieved the rank of 1-star Gourmet Hunter—an impressive feat. Meanwhile, you seemed to stumble through life, making one mistake after another, lacking any clear direction.
You used to have ambitions, goals to strive for, but as usual, you squandered them away. Who knew that leaving your homeland would only bring you misfortune wherever you went?
But amidst your failures, there were a few things you had going for you: your stubborn determination, your Nen abilities, and your fighting skills. Perhaps you could find solace in battling it out in the Heavens Arena. Who knows? Maybe through fighting and winning, you could carve out a path to wealth and success.
You heard your phone ring just as you were on the brink of taking a much-needed nap. Normally, you would have ignored it, as you should have, but a nagging feeling told you that ignoring it would lead to regrettable consequences. Turns out, your intuition was spot on. You would have deeply regretted not answering when Biscuit called. So, begrudgingly, you trusted your gut over your desire for laziness.
Summoning all the strength you could muster, you mustered a weak, "Hello, Biscuit," into the phone, trying your best to sound composed despite the overwhelming urge to vomit. The dinner from last night felt like it was staging a revolt in your stomach.
As soon as you heard Biscuit's voice on the other end of the line, you bolted to the bathroom, clutching the phone to your ear. Collapsing in front of the toilet, you barely had time to pull the phone away before emptying the contents of your stomach into the porcelain bowl. It was a miserable sight, but at least you felt a bit relieved afterward.
"You got arrested again?"
"Oh shit. Wing must've spilled the beans. Not surprising," you muttered under your breath, realizing that Wing must have informed Biscuit about your latest escapade.
Standing up from the floor, you turned to face the sink, wiping your mouth with the hem of your sleeve. "Yeah, someone called the police, accusing me of causing a disturbance in the bar," you admitted begrudgingly. You could practically sense Biscuit rolling her eyes on the other end of the line.
"Well, I suppose it's better than you getting busted for murder," she remarked dryly.
You couldn't help but laugh. "Why would I ever get caught for murder? I'm not that dumb!"
"Yet, you manage to get yourself arrested for petty crimes," Biscuit pointed out, her tone tinged with frustration.
Rolling your eyes, you echoed what you had told Menchi earlier. "What can I say? The police seem to have a thing for me."
"Y/n!" Biscuit's tone suddenly turned serious, sending shivers down your spine.
"Biscuit!" You echoed her tone, unable to resist a small smirk as you waited for her response. When you heard her sigh on the other end of the line, your smirk widened.
Normally, you would have dreaded any change in Biscuit's tone, knowing it usually meant she was about to make you do something that would exhaust your perfectly lazy body. You absolutely loathed her insistence on long runs. But she was your master, and you had no choice but to comply.
"Why don't you attend the forthcoming 287th Hunter exam?" Biscuit's suggestion caught you off guard, and you furrowed your brow in confusion.
Placing the phone on loudspeaker mode and setting it on a shelf next to the sink, you shook your head. "Biscuit, I think you're forgetting things because of your age. I'm already a Hunter."
As you turned on the water to wash your face, you caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror and froze. 'Oh my god, how did I even walk outside in broad daylight looking like this?' Your lipstick was smudged, and your mascara had left dark streaks under your eyes. You couldn't believe Menchi had let you leave the police station without informing you of your disheveled appearance.
"I didn't say you should take the exam. I'm suggesting you sign up to work as an exam proctor or staff member," Biscuit clarified, her voice patient but firm.
You wiped your damp face with a bathroom towel and uttered a tiny "oh." You giggled as you looked in the bathroom mirror at yourself. 'At least I look better now.'
"So?" Biscuit's voice broke the silence, prompting you to focus on the conversation once more. Grabbing the phone, you made your way back to the living room, mulling over Biscuit's proposal.
"I'll think about it," you replied, not quite ready to commit.
"You must make a decision now," Biscuit insisted, her tone leaving no room for argument.
"What's the rush?" You countered, rolling your eyes as you drew the curtains open, allowing the sunlight to flood into your apartment.
"You have been specifically requested by the Chairman," Biscuit dropped the bombshell, catching you off guard.
The mention of the Chairman's request sent a shiver down your spine. Given your track record of causing trouble for the Hunter Association, you never imagined the Chairman would want anything to do with you. Did he know about your clandestine activities?
The thought made you feel paranoid, as if someone were watching you from outside. Then you remembered you were on the seventh floor of the building. Perhaps you should cut back on the caffeine—it was making you jumpy.
"You know, child—"
"Wow, when will you stop referring to me as a child?" You interrupted, your foot resting casually on top of your coffee table as you slouched on the couch, scoffing at her remark. Biscuit had been calling you names ever since you first met, and it grated on your nerves, especially coming from someone who, despite her youthful appearance, was anything but a child.
"If you quit acting like one," she retorted, her tone stern. You grumbled under your breath, annoyed by her response. "The assassin who has been targeting these wanted criminals over the past few years has drawn the attention of the Crime Hunters. You wouldn't want to be exposed, would you?"
Biscuit's words made you pause. How did she find out about that? Your skin prickled with unease.
"How did you learn about that?" you demanded, feeling a mix of frustration and apprehension.
"Y/n, you can't try to hide anything from me. I'm your master," Biscuit replied calmly, her tone unwavering.
"Why didn't you tell them, then?" you shot back, feeling a surge of resentment at being kept in the dark.
Why didn't Biscuit inform the association if she was aware of your criminal activities? For all you knew, they had been trying to apprehend the assassin—unfortunately, you—who had been targeting these wanted criminals over the past few years.
"You're a grown woman, so I knew you had your reasons. I won't interfere with your life—" Biscuit began, but you couldn't help but interrupt with a hint of amusement.
"Aren't you interfering right now?" you couldn't suppress a laugh at the irony of her statement.
Biscuit chuckled along with you before continuing, "You're helpless. Please, just sign up for it. I don't want to give the Chairman a bad impression. Except for the killing portion, which I never taught you, he is aware that I taught you everything."
You nodded in understanding. "Yes, I'll sign up. Anything else?" you inquired, knowing there was likely more to her call than just this request.
"Yeah, ugh. Nevermind," Biscuit dismissed, her tone sounding slightly exasperated.
Your lips pressed together in a thin line. "I'll have to hang up now since I have a lot to do."
"And that is?" Biscuit probed, her curiosity evident.
"Sleep," you replied hastily before ending the call.
When the silence of your apartment enveloped you once more, you found yourself idly gazing at the portrait of a woman that you had recently acquired at an auction, contemplating the events of the day. You found yourself pausing to reflect on your past actions. At twenty-two years old, with your twenty-third birthday looming on the horizon, you were still without a job. Well, not a legal one, at least.
Your work existed in the shadows. It was ironic, really. Despite your disdain for watching your older siblings engage in such activities when you were younger, you found yourself drawn to the world of murder as you grew older. You didn't embark on this path until you were sixteen, which was nothing to be proud of. It started as a simple job.
At the time, you were assisting a Blacklist Hunter, and you even contemplated becoming one yourself. However, the idea of being bound by their rules ultimately deterred you. You craved freedom—the ability to act as you pleased without being beholden to anyone else's commands or the oversight of the association. And so, you chose to work alone. You lacked a specialization as a Hunter because of this decision, but it was a sacrifice you were willing to make for the sake of your independence. Despite the risks and the moral ambiguity of your actions, the allure of autonomy kept you tethered to the shadows.
Menchi and you went your separate ways after passing the Hunter exam, each of you pursuing your own paths. While you searched for employment to cover your expenses, Biscuit's nomadic lifestyle meant that you had stopped sharing a living space. Even before you became a Hunter, you had been accustomed to living alone, juggling part-time jobs in restaurants and retail to make ends meet. Occasionally, you supplemented your income with acts of theft.
Once you had saved up enough money to invest in disguises, your ability to blend in became your greatest asset. With the right disguise, you could slip past security measures and pilfer valuables without raising suspicion. Your skills as an assassin remained hidden, thanks to the anonymity afforded by your disguises. However, you couldn't help but take a certain satisfaction in overhearing Menchi's associates—Blacklist Hunters and Crime Hunters—discussing their struggles to track down the elusive perpetrator they didn't even realize was you. Oh, how you relished their frustration at being outwitted.
In essence, you're a multifaceted individual—part thief, part assassin, part Hunter with no particular specialization. You also serve as an informant within certain circles. While you may not have many friends in the traditional sense, your network extends far and wide, encompassing individuals who may not be listed on the official Hunter website. People seek you out for information, knowing that you have your ear to the ground and access to valuable intelligence.
In exchange for the information you provide, they offer something in return, whether it be a favor, payment, or even a challenge. And if they fail to uphold their end of the bargain, they owe you a debt—one that can often be settled with a fight and monetary compensation. You find solace in combat, especially when pitted against opponents who surpass you in strength. There was a thrill in overcoming seemingly insurmountable odds, akin to a child savoring their first taste of forbidden pleasure. And there was a certain satisfaction in inflicting pain, in hearing the desperate pleas for mercy fall on deaf ears. It was a twisted joy, one that fuels your existence in this world.
10:45 PM
You greeted the bartender with a warm smile as you settled onto a stool. "Welcome back, Miss Y/n. The usual?" His familiar question elicited a nod from you as you turned your stool to face the bustling center of the pub.
Loud music filled your ears as you observed the ebb and flow of patrons, their movements a mesmerizing dance against the backdrop of dim lighting. Despite the lively atmosphere, you found solace in the half-empty pub. It was a favorite haunt of yours, a place where you could unwind without the risk of running into trouble.
After a lengthy ten-hour nap you took earlier, you had decided to seek refuge here. In your line of work—well, if you could even call it work—you frequented establishments like this one. They served as both a source of enjoyment and a means of escaping the stresses and pressures of life.
You admit, you had a bit of a penchant for alcohol. While you wouldn't go as far as calling yourself a heavy drinker, you do find yourself indulging a few times a week. It was not that you lack self-control, per se, but rather that you find it all too easy to succumb to the allure of liquor. Despite knowing the inevitable consequences, you couldn't resist the warmth it provided you and the temporary escape it offered from reality.
As Bart slid your drink across the counter, you adjusted your position on the stool to face him. "Thanks, Bart," you said, acknowledging the familiar bartender who had been a fixture at this pub for as long as you could remember. Despite only visiting at night, he had become a comforting presence in your routine. With a smile, you raised the glass to your lips and took a sip, relishing the familiar burn as it slid down your throat.
You couldn't help but chuckle as you handed Bart the empty glass, requesting another round. "That was strong. Another glass, please," you said with a grin.
Bart nodded in acknowledgment and began to pour you another drink. As you waited, your gaze wandered around the dimly lit pub, eventually landing on a man you hadn't noticed before. He sat just a meter away from you, engrossed in a book—an unusual sight in a place like this. You found yourself studying him, intrigued by his choice of reading material and his ability to focus in the low lighting. But as you watched him, you couldn't help but wonder why he had come to a pub if he was only interested in reading.
Lost in your thoughts, you didn't realize he had turned to face you until his voice broke the silence. His gray eyes met yours, and for a moment, you were captivated by his appearance—his sleek hairstyle, the way his shirt hung open, revealing a hint of his chest, and his striking features.
"Is there something wrong with my face, miss?" he asked, his tone laced with amusement.
You felt a retort forming on your lips, but it died away as you struggled to find your words. Flustered, you averted your gaze, suddenly feeling self-conscious under his scrutiny.
"Here," Bart, the bartender, interjected, drawing your attention away from the man with a book. You offered him a weak smile before downing the alcohol in your glass. "Miss Y/n, you need to curb your drinking. I was informed that you caused trouble again last night at the 89-D bar," Bart said, his tone carrying a hint of concern. Your frown deepened at his words.
"How'd you find that out?" you asked, setting the empty glass down as you watched him pour another drink for someone else—the man from earlier.
"Devon told me," Bart replied, turning away to grab a bottle of tequila from the cabinet. "Many bars in this city have banned you. You're pretty well known around here."
You scowled at his remark. "I'm not at fault, though. They just couldn't handle me." Rolling your eyes, you turned your stool to face the people dancing in the middle while Bart chuckled at your response. You didn't come here hoping to hook up with someone, but judging by your attire, one might think otherwise. You wore a thin, tight dress with no sleeves, paired with matching black pointed heels. Your coat was draped over a staff member's arm, as you were a regular VIP here.
"When will Vesper arrive?" The voice of the man you had been observing earlier caught your attention as he addressed Bart. Your eyes scanned the dance floor, where people were moving uninhibitedly to the music, fueled by alcohol.
"I've been expecting them here, but it seems like my informant was mistaken," the man added, sounding displeased. You couldn't help but steal a glance in his direction as he closed his book and set it down on the counter.
"What is it that you want from Vesper?" you found yourself asking him, feeling a sudden rush of nervousness. Despite your confidence in your appearance and demeanor, his presence seemed to unnerve you. Why were you suddenly so self-conscious?
"Why do you want to know?" His voice carried a hint of sternness, but his expression betrayed a hint of amusement. You tried to maintain eye contact with him, noting the subtle curve of his lips. Oh, God. You cleared your throat and regained your poise, raising your chin as you turned to face him. Your arm rested casually above the counter as you met his gaze.
"Because I'm curious about what a man like you would want from me," you replied, your tone steady despite the butterflies fluttering in your stomach. You noticed a brief crease of confusion on his forehead before it smoothed out. It was clear to you that he wasn't like the other people you'd encountered; there was an intelligence behind those eyes that intrigued you.
Smart and charming. There was no denying the fact that this man was handsome.
"I didn't know Vesper was a girl," he said, rising from his seat and moving to the stool next to you.
You rolled your eyes at his comment, accustomed to the surprise that often accompanied the revelation that Vesper was a woman, not the 'man' everyone assumed. You rarely revealed your true identity or presented yourself openly, so you couldn't entirely fault them for their assumptions. After all, this pub was the only place in the city where people sought you out.
"I'd like to get some information," he said, drawing your attention. Surprisingly, he chuckled, which struck you as odd for a moment. Though it wasn't threatening, you instinctively put your guard up, subtly preparing for any possibility. You remained still, unflinching, until you caught a whiff of his fresh mint breath as he leaned in closer, as if about to share a secret. "In exchange for anything you desire," he whispered.
It was tempting. You inhaled deeply and narrowed your eyes, contemplating his offer. Just as you were about to respond, Bart's voice broke through your exchange, reminding you that you were not alone in the room.
"What's your name?" you asked, your lips mere inches apart, neither of you moving to prevent them from meeting.
"How impolite of me to forget to introduce myself," he replied, pulling away slightly and sliding his hand into his pocket. His eyes remained fixed on yours as he continued, "Chrollo. My name is Chrollo Lucilfer."
Your mouth fell open in disbelief.
Chapter Text
It was hard for you to believe what you were seeing. Sitting right in front of you was the man known as Chrollo Lucilfer, the mastermind behind the notorious Phantom Troupe. But only a select few, yourself included, were aware of his true identity. You had never encountered him so closely before; in fact, you had only glimpsed a sketch of him. His hair was down, and he wasn't wearing his customary forehead cloth. Maybe he chose to conceal it today, aware that some might recognize him, especially with his distinctive crucifix tattoo.
"Oh, what do I possess that someone like you would desire?" you couldn't help but feel thrilled. Why wouldn't you be? Someone of his stature had gone out of his way to meet you personally. Even though you weren't exactly ordinary yourself, this man rarely interacted with regular citizens. Yet here he was, braving the public eye despite the risks of his true identity being uncovered.
"I heard you know something about this year's auction," he said, his voice dripping with authority. His confidence and composure were unmistakable, even as he remained aware of your own proficiency in Nen.
You couldn't help but notice how his gaze remained locked on yours. It was hypnotic. You could feel the alcohol starting to take effect.
As Bart prepared some ingredients at the cocktail shaker, you couldn't resist glancing over. From the corner of your eye, you caught Chrollo watching you, a smirk playing on his lips. Keeping your poker face, you slowly turned your head to meet his gaze.
"And what do you want to know?" you inquired, your voice steady despite the pulsing music surrounding you. It almost felt like you could hear each other perfectly, as if you shared some uncanny ability to read each other's lips.
Shaking off the distraction, you redirected your focus, reminding yourself sternly, 'Get your act together, Y/n. This man is your client.'
You weren't quite sure how long your conversation had lasted before you began to notice a strain in your eyes. With a few blinks, you realized your vision was growing increasingly blurry. It dawned on you that you had likely been over drunk, taking more shots than advisable and forgetting to apply solution to your lenses. You wore contact lenses, a necessity to maintain your anonymity, even in your favorite pub in the city. To evade recognition, you relied on short, wavy, ash-colored hair wigs when venturing out at night.
"Are you alright, Vesper?" Chrollo's concern was evident as he shifted in his seat, his features softened by worry. You nodded in response.
"Just feeling a bit woozy from all the drinks," you admitted with a chuckle, turning towards the bar counter. "Bart, could I get a glass of water, please?"
Bart turned his head towards you while attending to the other patrons seated nearby. He paused, raising a finger in the air. "Just a moment, Miss—" Quickly, you blinked to signal him not to use your real name. Understanding your silent communication, he cleared his throat and retrieved a pitcher of water from the refrigerator. You let out a sigh and flashed Chrollo a brief smile, silently conversing with Bart through your eyes, a gesture unnoticed by Chrollo. Bart was the only individual in this pub privy to your true identity, having seen you without your disguises. He was also the first to recognize who you really were. Beyond that, Bart served as the clandestine owner of the establishment, managing commissions from clients seeking your services. In a way, he acted as your manager.
"I believe your real name is Y/n," Chrollo remarked beside you, prompting you to glance at him briefly before turning back to Bart, who was now filling a glass with water. "I overheard him addressing you by that name earlier."
It seemed he had been listening after all, despite his earlier focus on his book. "Well, lying is rather pointless at this juncture, isn't it?" you responded, acknowledging his awareness of your true name.
"Don't worry, I won't reveal your real name to anyone," Chrollo assured you, his words carrying a weight of expectation.
Bart handed you the glass of water with a simple "Here you go." You murmured your thanks and downed it as if you had been parched for ages. Though your vision improved slightly, the dizziness persisted. You longed to retire to bed and succumb to sleep, but you still had to attend to this client. Having already provided him with all the pertinent information regarding the upcoming auction, which unfailingly took place in the city every September, you knew there was little else to discuss.
The grandeur of the world's largest auction drew in a diverse array of attendees: celebrities, affluent tycoons, influential politicians, and even figures from the underground. You had intimate knowledge of the items slated for auction, the exclusive guest lists, and other insider information. Chrollo's keen interest in these details was palpable; you couldn't help but notice the subtle twist of satisfaction at the corner of his mouth whenever you provided answers to his inquiries. While he appeared content and fascinated, mirroring your own sentiments, you made a conscious effort to keep your emotions in check, revealing nothing of your own intrigue.
As you sipped from your margarita, curiosity got the better of you. "How exactly did you learn about me?" you inquired, observing Chrollo's reaction closely. He shrugged, taking his time to respond, as if he were hesitant to divulge the details.
Turning your gaze away from him, you glanced at the clock on the wall. You were stunned to see that it was already past midnight. It hadn't occurred to you that your conversation had spanned more than an hour; you had arrived at the pub around 10:45.
"My friend had mentioned you to me."
You turned back to face him, humming softly as you met his unwavering gaze. His intense scrutiny suddenly made you self-conscious about your appearance. Engaging in extended conversation with a client for an hour was a rarity for you, especially with someone from one of the most notorious criminal gangs in the world.
"That friend is...?" you asked, your curiosity evident in the arched raise of your brows.
He continued to hold your gaze as he took a sip from his glass, causing a nervous flutter in your stomach. The way his gray eyes bore into yours was almost hypnotic. Setting his glass down on the counter with a gentle clink, he finally spoke. "Shalnark."
Just as you were about to say something to Chrollo, Bart's persistent calls interrupted you, pulling your attention away. He had already called your name three times before you noticed him nodding and holding a phone to his ear. "Job," he mouthed, and you quickly grasped the situation. With a polite smile, you accepted your purse from Bart, while Chrollo seemed momentarily puzzled by the interruption, so you offered an explanation.
"Work called," you informed him. You rose from your seat and requested your coat from a staff member, Chrollo's voice unexpectedly pierced the air, halting you in your tracks.
"What about your payment?" Chrollo's question snapped you out of your momentary distraction. You nearly forgot about that amidst his captivating presence.
Turning to face him, a smile began to form on your lips. "You owe me a fight." Sometimes, you eschew monetary compensation from your clients, opting instead for something that satisfies a different craving within you—a good old-fashioned fight. But, there were occasions when you simply trade information for the intel they seek, without requesting a fight or any money in return. You prided yourself on your own research and information-gathering abilities, much of your knowledge comes from your clients, despite your vast familiarity with the local scene. Your other special ability also proved invaluable in this line of work.
As you exited the pub, you set off in the direction of your latest target, armed with the information Adda had emailed you. Adda served as your intermediary; she handled incoming requests and passed along the necessary details to you. You weren't personally acquainted—if anyone's wondering. Your paths happened to cross once, and she offered to assist you after claiming you had saved her life. You couldn't recall the incident she referred to, so you refrained from pressing for details. However, her proficiency in hacking and computer knowledge bolstered your decision to accept her assistance. You needed a second hand, she willingly gave you.
"They didn't provide any explanation for wanting him eliminated?" you muttered to yourself, irritation creeping into your voice as you read the data Adda had provided.
Adda had meticulously sent you every detail about the target—name, occupation, age, residence, physical description, family background, and any other pertinent information that could help in executing the job discreetly. However, there was one crucial piece missing: the client's motive for wanting the target eliminated. This was the information you insisted the client should provide, yet it was conspicuously absent from Adda's email.
"No. But I found out—" Adda's voice was cut off by the sound of your tongue clicking in frustration.
Leaning against the brick wall behind you, you interrupted her with a harsh tone, sensing her nervousness even from her locked bedroom. "I told you not to accept requests without knowing their reasons," you admonished firmly.
"Yes, but—" Adda began again, but you groaned in frustration, feeling both sleepy and exhausted. Tonight's drinking session had left you longing for the comfort of your bed. While some assassins might carry out their tasks without questioning their clients' motives, you held yourself to a different standard. Money wasn't your primary concern here, not really that much. You insisted on knowing the reason behind the target's elimination. You refused to take a life simply because of envy or some other flimsy excuse. You required a compelling justification—one that wouldn't leave you feeling guilty after the deed was done. You were not that heartless after all.
"I know, but I just found out—" Adda's voice persisted through your earpiece, but you were rapidly losing your patience.
You watched the target exit the restaurant Adda had alerted you to, frustration mounting, you interrupted her once more. "Adda, I won't be carrying out the job. Return the money to the client."
"But Y/n-san, let me explain—"
"No, Adda. I've had enough. I'm not going to do it." As you prepared to make your way back to your apartment, a sudden yell pierced the air from the direction of the man you were supposed to eliminate. Turning to investigate, you witnessed Diego being accosted by a young man, barely older than yourself, brandishing a revolver.
You watched the unfolding scene, the information you had recently reviewed about the target flooded your mind. Diego was the CEO of Halo Corp., a multinational corporation, and was crowned as the year's top bachelor. You weren't far from them, and the younger man's words rang clear in your ears as he confronted Diego.
"You raped and killed my girlfriend! How dare you walk shamelessly?"
You hummed softly as you listened to their exchange, the gravity of the situation sinking in. Just then, Adda's voice suddenly pierced through your earpiece.
"A few months ago, Jordyn Miles' case made headlines. Despite her claims of sexual assault by her boss being dismissed by the court and society alike, she tragically took her own life. Her boss? Diego Arkman, the CEO of Halo Corp," Adda's voice relayed urgently through your earpiece.
Your attention snapped back to the unfolding drama mere feet away from you. "And the clients?" you pressed, your voice tinged with curiosity.
"They're Jordyn Miles' parents," Adda responded solemnly.
A pang of sympathy washed over you as you glanced at Diego, now surrounded by his bodyguards, while he faced the furious man who claimed to be Jordyn Miles' boyfriend.
"Have you confirmed it already?" You questioned, your hands slipping into the pockets of your coat as the chilly wind brushed your wig. Suppressing the urge to unleash your powers and obliterate the surroundings out of sheer boredom, you gritted your teeth against the bitter cold that sent shivers through your skin. You detested the cold with every fiber of your being.
"Yes. There is evidence to support the claim that Diego raped the girl. Despite this, Jordyn Miles still lost the case because—"
You cut her off. "Because Diego bought the court with his name and money. How shameless," you muttered, disgust contorting your features. You began cracking your knuckles within the confines of your coat pockets, feeling the aura emanating from your body. "Inform the clients that it will be over soon."
Indeed, the mission ended sooner than anticipated. Whether it was due to the guards' lack of Nen abilities or your own prowess, you preferred to attribute it to the latter. Hugging your coat tightly around you, you muttered quietly to yourself, "Mission complete."
Grimacing, you regretted your choice of high heels as you felt your feet throbbing with pain. After fulfilling your assignment, you adopted the guise of a regular civilian, blending yourself in as the city police conducted their investigation at the murder scene. Once safely away from the chaos, you swiftly removed your wig and stashed it in your bag, which you had discreetly acquired from a nearby store minutes after. Inhaling deeply, you ran your fingers through your hair, still feeling a bit unsteady from the lingering effects of the alcohol. The taste of it lingered on your tongue.
You returned to your apartment around three in the morning, collapsed onto your bed after shedding all the garments you had worn that night. Staring up at the ceiling of your bedroom, your mind drifted back to the encounter with the Phantom Troupe leader, Chrollo. He was undeniably intriguing, captivating even. You couldn't shake the memory of his intense gaze or the way his lips moved when he spoke. That man was truly something else.
12:28pm
You jolted awake in the middle of the day, startled by the sounds emanating from your kitchen. As a single person living alone in a big city, the idea of an intruder in your apartment was something you hadn't experienced yet. But then you reasoned, who would attempt a robbery in broad daylight? Only fools, you concluded, would dare to break in when the sun was high and everyone was awake.
Quietly slipping out of bed, you reached for your robe to cover your exposed body before cautiously approaching the door.
"Y/n, why do you look like someone's robbing you?" You were greeted by Menchi, standing in front of your room wearing an apron. Her cyan hair was tied up in two buns, and she was dressed in shorts and a bra beneath your pink apron. You breathed a sigh of relief upon realizing that the noise in your kitchen was just Menchi. Then it struck you: What were you even afraid of? You were a capable adult, capable of defending yourself against any threat.
Shaking off your momentary unease, you made a mental note to cut back on sugar, coffee, and alcohol—perhaps just the caffeine and sweets. As much as you enjoyed alcohol, it might be time to moderate your consumption.
"How did you get in here?" You asked as you followed her into the kitchen, your eyes drawn to the spread of delicious food laid out on the table. Your stomach growled in anticipation at the sight of the feast prepared by your Gourmet Hunter friend.
Menchi held up a key, revealing a duplicate for your apartment that you couldn't remember being given to her. You reached for a piece of tempura, silently accepting her explanation. "You sent me your spare after your breakup with—" she began, but you cut her off with a raised hand.
"Please, let's not bring up his name," you interjected, a hint of irritation in your voice as you settled into a chair at the table. "Thanks for the food, though. I really need this to ease my frustration. By the way, what brings you here?"
Menchi sat across from you, and you couldn't shake the feeling that her visit wasn't solely about cooking you lunch. She had bailed you out of jail just yesterday, and now she was back. You knew she was a busy woman, and she only visited your place for specific reasons. Simply coming over to chill out wasn't one of them. Despite your close friendship, there were certain things you couldn't divulge to her. She knew you didn't have a stable (legal) job, but she wasn't aware of your after-hours illegal activities. Revealing your secret work to her was out of the question, even though you were good friends. You appreciated her presence, but you couldn't help but wonder what else she had on her mind besides lunch.
"Are you aware that the 287th Hunter exam will soon take place?" Menchi's voice pulled you out of your food-induced trance. You hummed in response, too focused on eating to engage in conversation. "You know how the Chairman specifically asked for your support in the exam, right?" she continued.
With a nod, you acknowledged her words. Hunger and exhaustion from just waking up clouded your desire to converse.
"I'm here to pick you up, though," she declared suddenly. You paused mid-bite, the spoonful of garlic rice suspended in the air as you turned to look at her. Why was she picking you up when you hadn't even registered for proctoring yet? The question hung in the air, unanswered.
"Don't give me that face," Menchi muttered, her arms crossed over her chest as she stepped back from the chair.
Before you knew it, you found yourself scrambling to pack a few clothes for your one-month service for the association. According to Menchi, the Chairman was delighted that you had agreed to support them in the upcoming exam. Biscuit had signed you up without even bothering to inform you—a classic example of not interfering with your life anymore. You also learned that the exam was scheduled for next week, much sooner than you had anticipated. It seemed you had been mistaken in assuming it would start at the end of the month.
This upcoming job for the association didn't exactly thrill you. You were only doing it for Biscuit's sake, to avoid enduring her grueling training when she returned. You just hoped it wouldn't be boring, because if it was, you'd have to disappear without a trace. You'd be going MIA.
Chapter Text
You never expected that this would be anything but dull, but amidst the crowd, you found potential Hunters, each showing promise as you jogged alongside them.
Your task was clear: play the part of an examinee, observing their performance in each phase of the exam. At first, you hesitated, reluctant to engage with these candidates or pretend it was your first Hunter Exam. What finally swayed you? Perhaps it was Netero's presence or Biscuit's not-so-subtle warning. But those reasons didn't matter now as you maintained a stoic expression, aware of the curious stares directed your way, your chest adorned with a number 18 badge.
Their eyes lingered on you. After all, you stood out as the only one not drenched in sweat. Perspiration never came easily to you. Not one to sweat easily. Besides, this level of physical exertion was child's play compared to Biscuit's rigorous training regimen. She once made you run up a mountain while carrying five gallons of water, threatening to drop you into a bat-filled cave at the slightest spill. Bats instill a primal fear in you, one you'd rather not confront.
The first phase of the exam had commenced two hours prior, and the tunnel stretched longer than you remembered from your own exam at fifteen. Was this a different tunnel, or had your memory faded with age? Regardless, you were certain this wasn't the first test you had in your batch. Ah, of course – the exam changes annually. How foolish of you not to realize sooner.
Amidst berating yourself for the oversight, you found yourself hastening your pace, nearly rushing towards a boy gliding along on a skateboard. His white hair stirred memories of a previous encounter, one laced with humor and nostalgia.
Feeling his focus on you as you passed him, you sensed a hint of tension in his demeanor, almost as if he felt threatened. His movements betrayed a readiness to defend himself, prompting you to run backwards, twisting your body to face him. "Chill, boy. I'm not looking for trouble!" you chuckled at the startled expression on his face.
His cat-like frown, so typical of kids these days, only added to the amusement. "Didn't expect to run into you here. You ran away from home, didn't you?" you teased.
He zoomed ahead on his skateboard, his narrowed eyes betraying his reluctance to engage in conversation. "I've got nothing to say to you, old hag."
Feigning offense, you let out a dramatic gasp at the nickname he hurled your way.
As you continued to run, you made a dramatic palm-to-chest gesture, playfully exaggerating your offense. His blue eyes followed you as you approached him from the side, though his displeasure was evident, you paid it no mind. After all, he was just a brat, and you were older.
"That's so mean!" You pouted, feigning hurt feelings. You matched his pace as you turned around, a mischievous glint in your eyes, maintaining a steady stride. Truth be told, you wanted to rile him up a bit, especially since your last encounter had left you curious. It had been nearly a year since you narrowly avoided colliding, each on your own missions. The memory of that midnight encounter, with its dim lighting and split-second reactions, lingered vividly in your mind, your reflexes saving your asses.
"How come you're here, by the way?" You asked curiously, stealing a quick glance in his direction before returning your focus ahead. As you racked your brain, you realized you didn't even know his name, if he had even bothered to introduce himself at all. Oh well, no matter.
Three years ago, you had a chance encounter with this boy after accidentally stepping on his fallen dorayaki. Little did you know, he was an assassin, and your innocent mistake triggered a dramatic reaction. His swift movements, far beyond what a normal kid could manage, left you stunned, realizing he was anything but ordinary. In an attempt to diffuse the situation, you offered to buy him another dorayaki or two, but he disappeared without a trace. It wasn't until your second encounter, on a subway, that you witnessed him carry out an assassination. You were simultaneously impressed and disturbed by his actions. What kind of upbringing allowed a child to engage in such abhorrent acts?
As time went on, you discovered you shared a commonality – dysfunctional families. All you knew about him was his last name: Zoldyck. It wasn't until last year that you discovered the significance of that name, upon encountering someone you hadn't seen in a very, very, very long time – his brother.
"Look out!"
The sudden shout snapped you out of your reverie, narrowly avoiding colliding with someone who had fallen to the ground. Lost in memories of the past, you realized how deeply you had been engrossed in thoughts of the boy you had almost a decade ago, running in fear for your life at just thirteen years old.
Glancing over to your side, your jaw dropped in disbelief as you realized the white-haired kid had ditched you.
"That cold-hearted brat!" You muttered under your breath. You quickened your pace, scanning the crowd for any sign of him, but he was nowhere to be found. Frustrated, you eventually gave up the search and settled into a regular pace.
Falling behind the others, you reassured yourself that Satotz-san wouldn't disqualify you for running slowly. After all, who else would pretend to be their examinee? Besides, you felt confident in the job you were doing. You had studied enough of the test takers to blend in convincingly. So, why not take it easy on the running? It's not like the tunnel was going to close and trap you here. Or would it?
As you neared the exit, panic surged through you as you realized the tunnel was closing. "Oh, fuck... they're closing this tunnel!" You exclaimed, urgency driving you forward. In the distance, you could see sunlight filtering in, signaling the exit. You quickened your pace, mentally humming a lullaby to keep yourself calm.
You ascended the stairs, noting with ease how many examinees struggled to keep up, their exhaustion evident after hours of non-stop running. But you pressed on, determined to make it through before the tunnel sealed shut behind you. With a final burst of effort, you emerged into the open air just as the tunnel began to close. Breathing a sigh of relief, you glanced back and felt a sudden wave of self-consciousness as all eyes turned to you. But then you remembered – 'You're a baddie. Why should you care?' Rolling your eyes at your own momentary lapse, you shrugged off the attention and leaned against the wall, arms crossed defiantly over your chest. Your gaze roamed over the crowd, seeking out anyone who piqued your interest, until it settled on those captivating golden eyes.
Your eyes locked onto each other like magnets, and in that moment, you sensed something about him – he knew Nen. His gaze felt predatory, as if he viewed you as prey. A feeling of unease settled in the pit of your stomach, causing the corner of your lips to downturn. You watched as he licked his lips and winked at you, eliciting a disgusted reaction from you. His lascivious look only confirmed your decision to ignore him; it was best not to invite trouble. Though you couldn't deny he was attractive, his intentions seemed murky – was he interested in both genders, or perhaps something else entirely, like power?
Your intuition, always sharp, whispered warnings in the back of your mind. But as you returned your gaze to him, a surge of adrenaline coursed through you. This time, you refused to look away. Your gaze remained locked, his lips curved into a smirk, his amused eyes sparkling with mischief. Neither of you seemed willing to break the intense stare, until, inevitably, he had to avert his gaze for some reason. With a sense of triumph, you smirked proudly to yourself. You had won the staring contest – hurray for you.
"You seem awfully happy," a rude voice interjected, and you didn't need to turn to know who it belonged to; you recognized it all too well. Standing tall, you kept your eyes fixed on Mr. Satotz, who was issuing warnings about the dangers of the Swindler's Swamp.
"I never knew you were so nosy," you remarked pointedly at the white-haired kid. His presence dissipated, and you couldn't help but smile at your small victory. However, any sense of satisfaction quickly evaporated as you sensed a sinister aura creeping into the air.
You tore your attention away from Mr. Satotz-san and scanned the area, searching for the source of the unsettling aura. Despite your efforts, your eyes kept returning to the pin-faced man. What made it worse was his intense focus on someone else – the white-haired kid you were talking to earlier. Your brows furrowed as you watched the Zoldyck kid conversing with another boy his age, accompanied by two others – one with blond hair and the other tall with dark hair.
Returning your gaze to the pin-faced man, you were startled to find him already staring back at you. His smile, though offered slowly and mechanically, was anything but welcoming – it sent goosebumps racing across your skin. You held his gaze, your eyes narrowing in suspicion. Part of you hoped he would look away, but as the seconds dragged on, you grew increasingly uncomfortable under his gaze. Finally, unable to bear it any longer, you averted your gaze. One loss today.
As Satotz-san sprinted towards the forest, you couldn't tear your eyes away from the pin-faced man. Despite the chaos unfolding around you, his presence seemed to linger in the forefront of your mind. The cacophony of screams and cries for help echoed through the air, adding to the eerie atmosphere. With your focus unwavering, you tracked the movements of the other examinees as they followed Satotz-san into the thick fog. The mist only served to heighten the sense of foreboding, casting an eerie pall over the entire area.
There was something about that pin-faced man that eluded your grasp. It was as if you had encountered him before, or perhaps felt his presence in some other context. You had always been attuned to auras, remembering them more vividly than the faces of people you had met. And his... his was distinct, lingering in your memory like a foreboding shadow. Before you knew it, the thick fog had obscured your view, you lost sight of the pin-faced man. But you weren't worried. You knew deep down that you would find him again soon, and when you did, you would uncover the secrets he seemed to hold within his unsettling aura. With that thought in mind, you pressed forward into the fog-shrouded forest, ready to confront whatever mysteries lay ahead.
Among the mysteries that lay ahead, one was the jester, carrying what appeared to be a man slung over his shoulders like a sack of rice. You recognized the tall guy from earlier – the one the Zoldyck kid had been speaking with.
As you approached, the jester spun around to face you, his golden eyes locking onto yours. "What a delightful sight of you~" he cooed, his voice dripping with amusement as he fell into step beside you.
"Unfortunately, I couldn't say the same," you said, your gaze flickering over the man slung over his shoulder. You couldn't help but wonder if the man was even dead or alive, but before you could voice your thoughts, the jester seemed to read your mind.
"He's alive," he confirmed.
"Is he your friend?" you asked, though your tone lacked genuine curiosity.
"Hisoka," he replied, evading your question. You sensed he was introducing himself, but you didn't bother acknowledging him or slowing your pace. "What's your name, kitten?"
His voice purred beside you, but any sense of disgust that once coursed through your veins had long since dissipated. His lingering, perverted gaze did not escape your notice, leading you to wonder about his intentions. He might be gay for all you knew, but you couldn't deny that there was something intriguing about him. You had always had a knack for being drawn to odd men – strangely powerful and dominant men. There was something about them that stirred your heart, whether it was the challenge of making them squirm under your skin or the satisfaction of seeing them lose control.
"Watch out," you pointed towards a hole in his pathway, causing him to lose focus on you. Before he knew it, you had already slipped away, making it to the second phase without a second glance.
"Promising rookies, I must say," you remarked to Menchi and Buhara as they came into view. Realizing you had arrived before anyone else, including Satotz-san, you decided to bide your time for a while.
"Any particular person?" Menchi inquired as she approached the table, your legs dangling as you perched on its edge.
"A Zoldyck brat," you replied casually.
Menchi appeared surprised by your answer. You realized then that no one had seen the faces of any Zoldyck members or knew their identities. You couldn't believe it slipped out of your mouth. "He mentioned his name," you lied smoothly, hoping she would buy it – which, fortunately, she did.
"Which one?" Buhara chimed in, his massive figure frame casting a shadow over you, blocking the sun from your face.
"If I tell you, it wouldn't be fun anymore," you replied cryptically, hearing footsteps drawing closer. Sensing the need to leave before you were discovered conversing so casually with the second phase proctors, you leaped off the table and fled from the scene. As you made your escape, you couldn't shake the realization that it wasn't just the Zoldyck kid who stood out as a promising rookie. There was also that other kid his age, the jester, and the pin-faced man. They all held an air of potential that piqued you.
"And where did you run off to, kitten?~"
Startled, you flinched at the voice behind you as you emerged from a nearby tree. You hadn't noticed his presence immediately, and the realization sent a jolt of alarm through you. Despite the surge of adrenaline, you kept your composure, refusing to betray any sign of unease on your face.
"You're not ordinary," he observed, his hands dropping from his hips as he approached you. "You're not new to this either."
"How do you know?" you countered, your voice steady.
"For starters, you have no aura," he declared, his words carrying a weight of undeniable certainty, leaving no room for argument. You were tempted to protest, to cling to your facade, but you knew it was futile to lie to someone who could see through the masks you wore. Only a skilled liar could recognize another, so instead, you offered him a smile.
"Number 4," you murmured, watching his reaction from the corner of your eye. He seemed slightly surprised at first, but his expression quickly shifted to one of intrigue.
"Ah, I see now," Hisoka remarked. "You're an informant, aren't you, kitten?"
Your lips quirked upwards in amusement. "You catch on fast."
"Impressed?" he inquired, a hint of amusement in his voice.
You knew the moment he said his name, he was the newest member of the Phantom Troupe. Though not everyone had heard about it or did anyone really know about each member of the Troupe's identity. Their members could be replaced if they were killed or defeated in battle. From what you had gathered, Hisoka had earned his place by defeating the former number four in a fight.
"Not really," you replied nonchalantly. Your gaze shifted towards the gathering crowd, where everyone listened intently to Menchi's challenge for the second phase. However, in the end, Menchi didn't pass anyone, which you couldn't help but find amusing.
All those beasts skinned, grilled to nowhere close to perfection, and left uneaten. At some point, Netero descended from the private airship and persuaded Menchi to change the exam. You found yourself boarding the airship, bound for the mountains. Reflecting on how Menchi had managed to earn herself some haters, you joined the rest of the examinees in one room. The majority of those remaining were men, which came as no surprise to you. While you would have loved for more women to join, it seemed most were too focused nowadays with their appearances.
Standing in the corner, you observed everyone in the room, their numbers and faces etching themselves into the back of your mind. You knew you had to give your report to Netero after the fourth phase, but that wouldn't be happening anytime soon.
You found yourself in conversation with the Zoldyck brat, who introduced his companions to you, revealing that he had only met them today. Finally, you learned his name: Killua, which struck you as rather unique.
"Let me guess, your brother's name ends with Ki?" You inquired as you followed him and Gon around the airship.
"How do you know that?" Killua asked, sounding somewhat skeptical.
"Just a hunch," you replied, trying to brush off the uneasy feeling settling in your gut. Killua's swift reaction confirmed you weren't alone in sensing it. Killua whipped around instantly, and when Gon asked him what was wrong, he brushed it off as nothing. Glancing over your shoulder, you felt it once more. If you weren't mistaken, it was the pin-faced man you had learned his name was Gittarackur.
"A hunch, huh?" You could feel Killua's skepticism dripping from his words. He probably sensed you weren't being entirely honest, and given his background, you couldn't blame him.
Assassins were trained to sniff out lies, a skill you'd honed since childhood, though not through formal training like them. Sometimes, you enjoyed letting others believe they had the upper hand, but deep down, you knew you were always one step ahead. It was all about manipulating perceptions, making them think they had you pegged, only to seize control when the moment was right. The feeling of being in control was second nature to you; perhaps it was due to your royal lineage. Your family thrived on dominance, and it seemed you had inherited that trait. But you hoped it was the only trait you inherited from them. You couldn't bear the thought of becoming as monstrous as your father, who had been planning for his children to kill one another in a succession contest. Yet, as they say, 'the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.'
At the third phase of the exam, you found yourself in a tunnel that curved downward, leading you into a maze. Despite the dim lighting, a voice, belonging to Lippo, a Blacklist Hunter you knew of, echoed through the space, instructing you to find the right door and face whatever challenge lay beyond it. Navigating through various rooms and stairs, you eventually stumbled upon an arched doorway, which led you into a cramped space.
"Is this a joke?" You asked, feeling far from amused.
In front of you lie a hundred snakes, hissing and slithering about. In the center sits a chest, while in the distance, another door beckons, likely leading to another room.
The thrill had faded, this was no longer fun.
"Inland taipan," Lippo's voice echoed through the speakers. "Their venom is potent and lethal."
You scoffed. "So, the challenge is to walk through them, and what? I suppose there's a key nestled within that chest to unlock the door?"
"As always, your keen observation serves you well, Y/n-chan," Lippo remarked.
You groaned. "Drop the 'chan'."
You've never been fond of animals. Your siblings used them as tools to torment you when you were children. Your bedroom floor often became a graveyard for dead animals, mostly snakes, boas or pythons, and other reptiles, as a result of their relentless pranks. Some of your sisters had a peculiar fascination with reptiles, but their neglectful and cruel behavior often led to the demise of their own pets, with your room serving as their dumping ground.
Clicking your tongue in frustration, you tilted your head over the camera you could finally see in this dimly lit room. You knew Lippo was watching you through his countless screens, and you bet everyone else was too, observing from the base. Activating your Nen, you unleashed a devastating explosion, causing every living thing around you to erupt into chaos. Before you could even begin to think about shielding yourself, the blood was already soaking your entire body. You groaned, feeling drained and disliking your current predicament.
"Send me gallons of water, Lippo," you demanded, your voice urgent and commanding.