Chapter Text
There were two universal truths in your life:
- Men in real life were a disappointment.
- Feitan fanfiction could ruin your sleep schedule any day of the week.
Maybe that made you a femcel, maybe that made you a weeb or maybe that was just a normal outcome caused by the current dating pool. You couldn’t be sure but either way, you didn’t really care.
It was well past midnight—prime fanfiction reading hours—but you were wide awake. The glow of your laptop screen was the only light in the room, casting an eerie blue hue across the mess of blankets and pillows you’d buried yourself in. You were on your third Feitan fic of the evening. This one was a no-beating-around-the-bush, hardcore explicit smut fic that highlighted Feitan’s dominating and sadistic personality. It was extremely welcome since the previous fics had been slow burns that had built up the tension, not only in the story, but in you as well.
You were laying on your stomach with your feet kicking lazily in the air as you read the scene with rapt attention. He was ordering the protagonist around, demanding obedience with just the right mix of cruelty and charm. The protagonist fought it, of course (half-heartedly at least) but she was already starting to succumb to her own desires. Biting your lip, you whispered, “If I could experience this man just once...”
You flipped over, leaning back against your pillows as you scrolled, rereading his dark and commanding lines, sighing to yourself. Why can’t real men be like this?
You read fanfictions about a variety of fictional men, you weren’t the super picky type, but you especially loved Feitan-centric smut because of the dangerous and sadistic aura he gave. Every fic painted him the same way: confident, domineering, a man of action rather than words. Sadistic to the core.
And consistently the king of well-written BDSM.
Your body flushed with heat as you read, and your heart rate picked up. The itch grew in you and you knew you needed to do something about it soon. Sighing, you tore your eyes away from the screen and slid off the bed to rummage through your night stand. Your hand disappeared into the clutter, rummaging past a tangle of charging cables, stray hair ties, and a stress ball you’d long since forgotten about. “Where is it?” you muttered, narrowing your eyes as you shoved aside a half-empty bottle of lotion.
You paused.
The air felt different. Subtle, but noticeable, like someone had cracked a window you were sure was closed. A faint hum tickled at the edges of your hearing, low and steady, almost like the buzz of your neighbor’s air conditioner.
You frowned but then your fingers brushed the edge of what you were looking for, and you grinned triumphantly as you pulled it free.
Then your lamp flickered.
You glanced at it, your brows knitting together. “Great. Creepy mood lighting.” Still, you shrugged it off. You’d long since outgrown your fear of ghosts after living alone for years. Tomorrow you’d figure out what was going on with your electricity, but for now you didn’t care so long as you could keep reading.
As though hearing your thoughts, suddenly your laptop screen flickered.
You stared as the fanfiction text blurred for a second, dissolving into static before snapping back into place. “Okay, seriously, what’s going on?” you mumbled, leaning over to tap the touchpad. It was at 40%, not nearly low enough to be flickering like this.
The hum grew louder. Not blaring, but insistent, like it was moving closer.
Now, a faint metallic tang prickled at your nose, sharp and unmistakable. It was familiar but out of place, like the air after a lightning storm. You straightened, your unease growing.
The shadows in the room seemed darker now, the corners stretching farther than they should. The hum turned into a low vibration, making your teeth buzz. You winced, dropping your item back onto the bed as you clutched at your head.
“What—”
The world tilted suddenly, and for a dizzying moment, it felt like the ground had dropped out from under you. The hum crescendoed, pressing against your skull and then, just like that, the lights went out, and everything dissolved into black.
***
You woke up face-down in dirt. Not your pillow. Dirt.
For a long moment, you just lay there, groggy and uncomprehending, your cheek pressed against something cold and gritty. Slowly, your brain booted up. One thought managed to claw its way to the surface: My bed isn’t this uncomfortable.
With a groan, you pushed yourself up, blinking at the ground beneath you. Dirt. Gravel. A rock suspiciously shaped like a potato. You sat back on your heels, frowning as a sharp sting ran up your legs. Cuts and scrapes marred your knees and forearms, little specks of blood dotting your skin like the universe’s worst glitter.
“What the—?” You glanced down at yourself and almost screamed.
Your new silk pajama set, an adorable loose cami with matching puffy shorts was covered in dirt, streaked with grime, and sporting a few small tears. You immediately started brushing it off, fussing over the fabric like it was your life’s mission. You’d taken an everything shower before bed, thrilled to finally enjoy the soft, silky feeling against clean skin. The pristine white fabric with tiny red hearts had matched your silk head wrap perfectly, and you’d been living for the vibe.
Your hands flew to your head, frantically checking for damage. Thankfully, the wrap was still intact, untouched by dirt probably because you’d landed face-first on the ground. Small miracles. And luck was somewhat on your side since you’d worn your fluffy white house shoes in bed (which were now also covered in dirt), so you at least had some footwear protecting your feet from the sharp gravel and rocks.
You let out a shaky breath, half-relieved but mostly pissed. Your outfit might have survived (mostly), but that didn’t change the fact that you shouldn’t even be here, wherever the hell here was in the first place.
You stood, wobbly, brushing dirt off your thighs as you took in your surroundings. Jagged rocks, dusty trees, and an empty dirt road that stretched into infinity. No cars. No houses. No sign of life.
“What the actual hell?” you muttered, spinning in a slow circle. A spike of adrenaline shot through your chest. Where am I? How did I get here? The last thing you remembered was being in your room when all that weird stuff had been happening. Were you dreaming? Hallucinating? Dead?
You slapped your face. Hard.
“Ow,” you mumbled, rubbing your cheek. So, not dead. Probably.
“Maybe I’ve been kidnapped,” you said aloud, trying to reason through the situation as your heart rate climbed. “By, like a cult? Some kind of weirdo performance art group?” You stared at the barren landscape thoughtfully. “This has kidnapper chic written all over it.”
It wasn’t the worst theory but then why were you alone? They had kidnapped you and just left you lying on the ground to wake up and leave at your will? That didn’t sound right.
The wind rustled, stirring the dry leaves of the scraggly trees. You shivered, hugging yourself. “Oh my God, what if I got isekai’d?!” The idea burst out of you in a panicked ramble. “That would be…I mean, awesome or horrible depending on which story I’m in. Like if this is AOT, I give myself 10 minutes max. But hey if I can meet Levi first it might be worth it?” You thought about it for a moment, then grimaced at the thought of being eaten alive. “Ok or maybe not. Hmm…I’ve seen more than enough tik toks about this. Naruto is usually a good choice…by shounen standards it’s practically a safe haven. As long as I can avoid being collateral damage, I’m basically guaranteed a happily ever after, right?”
The quiet barren landscape did not respond as expected, forcing you back to reality. You shook your head, frantically. No, now’s not the time for humor as a coping mechanism, I need to figure out where I am.
The universe seemed to listen to your thoughts as it delivered the sound of approaching footsteps.
You froze, your head snapping toward the noise. A figure was walking toward you, a dark silhouette framed by the blinding sun.
“Naruto,” you whispered, stepping back as rocks crunched underfoot. “Or better yet any shoujo anime. Harry Potter could be fun. Just don’t let it be a cult.”
The figure came into view a short man, excuse me, an extremely short man dressed in all black with a high collar and messy black hair obscuring most of his face. You tried not to gape, but as a 5ft short queen yourself you’d never met a man shorter than you before. He had a bored, almost judgmental look on his face which might have made you mad (it’s not like you were in pjs in the middle of nowhere by choice) but he didn’t so much as glance your way as he walked by so you didn’t think it was directed at you.
Relief and panic warred inside you. On one hand, he wasn’t attacking you. On the other hand, he wasn’t stopping to help either.
“H-hey!” you called, your voice cracking slightly. “Excuse me? Um, hello?”
He didn’t even slow down.
You took a step forward, your shoes crunching against gravel. “I—I think I’m lost! Could you at least tell me where I am? Or, like, point me to the nearest town?”
Still nothing. He didn’t so much as glance back, and for a moment, you thought he might not have heard you.
“Wow. Rude much,” you muttered, folding your arms over your chest as your irritation flared. “The least you could do is tell me where I—”
You froze mid-rant, as your gaze landed on the sword strapped to his waist. You gaped, your mind finally catching up with your eyes. There was something familiar about him. The black outfit, the hair, the way he moved and that aura of quiet menace.
You’d been joking about the isekai idea but it was suddenly at the forefront of your mind, as it clicked who this man reminded you of.
Your stomach dropped.
No way.
The name slipped out before you could stop yourself. “Feitan?”
He stopped dead in his tracks.
The silence that followed was suffocating. Slowly, he turned to face you, his sharp eyes narrowing dangerously. The air around him shifted, growing heavier, colder.
Your mouth went dry. “Oh my god.”
Of all the places to end up, it had to be the one where even children don’t get a pass.
His voice was low, clipped, and icy enough to send a chill down your spine. “How you know name?”
Your brain barely registered his strange grammar because his terrifying presence had put you in fight or flight mode.
“I—I don’t!” you blurted, panic taking over. “I mean, I do, but not like know know more like ‘I’ve heard it before’ know! You know?”
He stepped closer, and in the blink of an eye, he was right in front of you, hand to your throat. Only it wasn’t a normal human hand, the veins bulged, the nails lengthened to sharp claws.
Your heart slammed against your ribs as the situation really began to sink in. “Talk,” he said, his tone flat and deadly.
“I swear, it’s not what you think!” you babbled, your voice rising an octave as you scrambled backward. “I didn’t mean to say your name, it just slipped out! I mean, it’s not like I know you or anything! Not personally! Just in theory!”
His claws shifted closer, the faintest pressure making your breath hitch. “Explain.”
“I—uh—” Your brain short-circuited, and the words poured out in a panicked rush. “I’ve just heard of you, okay? Like, rumors! Stories! People talk about you, right? Scary guy, deadly with a sword—wait, sorry, claws and sword, my bad! And…uh, your outfit’s kind of iconic?!”
Feitan’s eyes narrowed. “Who told you?”
“No one!” you squeaked, your voice cracking under the pressure. “I swear, it’s not like I’ve got an informant or anything! I just, uh…heard rumors! You know, scary assassin stuff! Like, ‘Don’t mess with that guy, he’ll kill you in two seconds’ which, haha, wow, accurate, right?”
His gaze didn’t waver, and you could practically feel your soul trying to leave your body. “From where?”
“Where?” Your voice went high-pitched as your brain scrambled for an answer. “Uh, just random places! You know, bars, markets, people talking in alleys? Like, ‘Hey, did you hear about the really dangerous guy in the Phantom Troupe?’” You winced, realizing you’d just confirmed you knew way more than you should. “Not that I know anything specific about the Troupe or anything! Just, like general stuff. Vibes.”
The pressure increased just enough to send a warning and a bead of blood began running down your neck. “You lie.”
“I’m not lying!” you babbled, your words spilling out faster than your brain could filter them. “I’m just—just part of your fan club! The outfit? The claws? The whole ‘silent but deadly’ aura? I just wanted to meet you!”
Feitan’s expression didn’t change, though his eyes narrowed slightly.
“And now that I have,” you continued, your voice wobbling as you forced a smile, “I’m good! Totally satisfied! So, uh, thank you for your time and…yeah, I should probably head out.” You took a cautious step backward, raising your hands as if to show you were harmless.
Feitan didn’t move, but the air around him grew heavier. His voice, cold and clipped, cut through your attempted retreat. “Fan club?”
“Yep! Huge fan!” you said, trying to sound enthusiastic, though it came out more like a squeak. “Love your work. Big admirer of, uh, everything you do. Really inspirational stuff. The, uh…murder, and…the other murder. You’ve got great branding!”
You wanted to slap yourself. What was wrong with you?
Feitan tilted his head slightly, his claws still poised dangerously close. “Liar.”
“I’m not lying!” you said quickly, doubling down. “I mean, okay, it’s not like there’s an official club, but there are people out there who think you’re, you know, cool. Like, ‘terrifying but in a sexy way’ cool?” You cringed the moment the words left your mouth.
He froze.
Suddenly feeling embarrassed, you tried to backtrack. Swallowing hard, you stumbled over your next words. “B-but obviously it’s not just about looks! You’ve got, uh, skills! Yeah, that’s what everyone says! Super scary, super skilled. I mean, Bonolenov’s Jupiter is crazy enough, but your Rising Sun is just insane. Totally legendary!”
The moment the words left your mouth, you realized your mistake.
Feitan’s claws twitched, the tips grazing your skin as his dark eyes bore into you with renewed intensity. “How you know that?”
You froze, your stomach dropping. “I—I don’t?” you squeaked, the pitch of your voice betraying you. “I mean, it’s just something I heard! You know, from people! People who hear things! Like totally random gossip!”
His glare cut off your frantic excuses. “No one should know. Names. Now.”
“I just…I read about it!” you stammered, your words tumbling out in a rush. “Online! You know, forums, blogs, people post things about you all the time. It’s not like anyone really knows who you are they just speculate! Like, what you’ve done, your abilities, who’s the scariest spoiler, it’s usually you and sometimes just totally fake things, like I remember this one fanfic where you—“
You froze mid-word, your mouth snapping shut as if that might undo the slip.
Feitan’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Fanfic?”
“It’s nothing!” you squeaked, waving your hands in panic. “It’s just made-up stories! Fake! Totally fake! Like, ‘what if Feitan did this’ or ‘what if the Troupe did that’ not that I ever wrote any! Or read them! I just—I might have heard of them!”
The silence that followed was deafening, the weight of his glare making you want to crawl into the dirt and disappear.
Finally, his voice broke the tension, calm but razor-sharp. “You talk a lot but not say much.”
“I do! I absolutely do!” you babbled, too frightened to be offended. “But it’s not bad, I swear! It’s just people being creative! Like a hobby! You know, harmless fun!”
Feitan said nothing, but his claws lowered slightly, as though debating whether or not you were worth the effort. Then, after a long pause, he spoke again, his tone flat and final. “You come with me.”
“What? No! That’s not necessary!” you yelped as he grabbed your arm in an iron grip. “I’m harmless! I’ll never say another word about fanfiction or anything! I’ll pretend this never happened!”
“Chrollo decide,” he said simply, dragging you forward without hesitation. You tried to resist but he was so much stronger than you that you weren’t even sure he noticed your attempts. His grip stayed locked on your arm as he dragged you…pretty much to your doom.
Your mind raced frantically as the gravel crunched under your feet.
How did I actually end up here? The isekai thing was a joke, I wasn’t serious. And if this is an isekai, then is that really Feitan from Hunter x Hunter? Sadistic, enjoys torturing people for information, ruthless murderer Feitan? Also why is he talking so strangely? It’s like choppy, and he’s not using proper grammar. Better yet why can I even talk to him? Isn’t HxH set in japan? Shouldn’t I be facing some sort of language barrier? He seemed to understand me just fine, I mean I am speaking English I think? Yes, this is definitely English.
The walk was silent except for the crunch of gravel under your feet and the occasional rustle of wind through the trees. Feitan’s grip on your arm was like iron, not painful, but firm enough that you knew struggling would be pointless. Not that you had any better ideas.
You thought back to the flickering lamp and laptop interrupting your, uh, reading session. Was it ironic that you’d been reading Feitan smut right before this had happened, wishing you could get the chance to meet him? Or was that the point? Was this your ‘wish’ coming true in a sense?
I’ve literally wished for isekai’s so many times before, why would it suddenly work this one time? None of this is making sense and now I’m literally being captured by the Phantom Troupe with Chrollo freaking Lucifer deciding whether I get to live or not. You swallowed hard, your stomach churning. He’s going to see right through me. I already gave away too much information, I can’t talk my way out of this. Chrollo’s going to take one look and be like, ‘kill her,’ and that’ll be it.
Your chest tightened as you replayed everything you’d said earlier. Why didn’t I just shut up? Did I really need to name-drop Bonolenov? Rising Sun? God, I basically handed them my obituary.
Amid the confusion and panic that coursed through you, one thought did manage to sneak its way in.
If this is an isekai that was granted to me as a wish then…isn’t it obviously a Feitan romance isekai?
You peeked a glance at Feitan but he was staring ahead, focused on your destination. It hadn’t gone unnoticed to you that out of all of the HxH characters that could have found you, it had been Feitan.
If that’s the case then I just royally fucked up his first impression of me.
You hadn’t been brave or witty. Your exchange definitely did NOT resemble flirtatious banter in the slightest. You’d babbled and stuttered like an idiot who was trying not to get murdered. In your defense, it’s not as though you’d been prepared to meet him. You still hadn’t even accepted the isekai idea when it could be literally anything else like an elaborate prank or a coma-induced lucid dream. Still if it turned out that this was an isekai romance with Feitan that had practically been gift-wrapped with a bow on top…well you were going to be annoyed that you’d messed up your initial interaction so badly.
Now really is not the time to be delusional though, he literally did just nick my neck with his claws and he’s capable of much, much worse. And so is the rest of the troupe. Which is where I’m currently headed. No chance of escape. And I know way too much about them. Fuck my life.
Eventually, you arrived at what looked like an abandoned warehouse. The towering walls loomed over you, rusted and foreboding, the kind of place where bad things happened in every movie ever. Feitan finally released your arm, his gaze flicking back to you.
“Inside,” he said simply.
You didn’t move, your feet rooted to the spot. “Wait—what? No! Why?”
You knew it was a stupid question but you couldn’t bring yourself to walk in just yet, especially knowing that you would likely never walk back out.
Feitan stared at you, his expression flat. “Not negotiation.”
“Okay, but,” you said quickly, your voice pitching higher, “what if this is a trap? Huh? Did you think about that? Because I did, and I’m not walking into one.”
“It is trap,” he replied, his tone almost bored. “Obvious.”
Your mouth opened, but for a few moments, no words came out. Finally, you managed a strangled, “You’re—you’re not supposed to say that!”
“Why lie?” he asked, tilting his head as if you were the one being ridiculous.
You opened your mouth again, but before you could dig yourself into an even deeper hole, the door groaned open. The sound sent a chill up your spine, and your stomach dropped as a tall figure stepped into view, the dim light casting sharp shadows across his face.
Oh no.
It was him.
Chrollo Lucilfer.
“Feitan,” Chrollo said, his voice calm and melodic, a stark contrast to the panic clawing at your chest. His dark eyes slid over to you, and a faint, almost polite smile tugged at his lips. “And who is this?”
You froze, your brain short-circuiting. “Uh—”
“Stray,” Feitan cut in, stepping past you without so much as a glance. “Knows too much. Said my name. Said other things.”
Chrollo’s brow arched, his curiosity clearly piqued. “Other things?”
Feitan’s lip curled slightly, his voice flat and clipped. “About nen abilities…and fanfics.”
You wished the ground would swallow you whole.
Chrollo blinked, then tilted his head, his expression unreadable save for the flicker of amusement in his eyes. “Fanfics?” he repeated, his tone light and curious. “This I have to hear.”
He stepped aside, gesturing toward the door, his polite smile doing nothing to ease the icy dread crawling up your spine. “Come in. Let’s talk.”
You hesitated, your legs trembling as every instinct screamed at you to run. But Feitan’s sharp gaze pinned you in place, like a wolf daring you to make a move. Finally, with a shaky sigh, you shuffled forward, muttering under your breath, “This is how I die. In my pajamas. Perfect.”
Inside, the rest of the Troupe was lounging around in various states of boredom. Shalnark was tinkering with some kind of device, Machi was sharpening a needle, and Nobunaga seemed to be engaged in an arm wrestling match with Uvogin. All eyes turned to you the moment you entered.
“Well, well,” Shalnark said, grinning. “What do we have here? A new recruit?”
“No,” Feitan snapped. “Problem.”
“I’m not a problem,” you said quickly. “I’m just lost.”
Feitan shot you a glare. “Liar.”
“Feitan, play nice,” Uvogin teased, leaning back in his chair. “So, what’s the deal? Why’d you bring her here?”
“She knows things,” Feitan said curtly. “Too much.”
Shalnark’s grin widened. “Things, huh? Like what?”
You opened your mouth to explain or lie more likely but Chrollo cut you off. “Let’s hear it from her,” he said smoothly, his piercing gaze locking onto yours. “Who are you and what is it you know, exactly?”
You swallowed hard. This was it. “My name is y/n. And I, uh, I don’t think you’d believe me if I told you.”
“Try me,” Chrollo said, his smile never faltering.
You took a deep breath, your mind racing. You could try to explain the truth, that you were from another world where they were fictional characters but that would only make you sound crazy. On the other hand, lying to a group of deadly assassins seemed like a fast track to getting killed.
“Well,” you started, stalling for time, “I, uh, read a lot of stories about you guys.”
“Stories?” Phinks frowned. “What kind of stories?”
“I just…they’re fictional.” You fidgeted under all of their eyes. “Like stories about your adventures, and the things you’ve done. You know, harmless stuff.”
Machi’s cold, quiet voice cut in. “No one writes ‘harmless’ stories about us.” She glanced at Chrollo. “She’s hiding something.”
You tensed, your mind scrambling for a way out. “I’m not hiding anything!” you said, a little too loudly.
“Then what kind of stories?” Chrollo pressed, his calm demeanor somehow making the question more terrifying. “What do you know about us? And where did the stories come from?”
“It’s—” you stammered, your face heating. “It’s complicated.”
“Uncomplicate it,” Nobunaga said, his tone sharp.
You glanced between them, your options dwindling by the second. This was an impossible situation. How do you explain to a group of murderous thieves that in your world, they were fictional characters who people idolized to the point of writing smutty romances for? They were all staring at you so intently, thinking you had important intel on their business, the absurdity of the situation almost made you want to laugh. But knowing that your life was on the line really put a downer on the humor of the situation. You opened and closed your mouth several times, fidgeting constantly as you tried to think through what to say.
“When’s Paku getting back?” Uvogin spoke up, his gaze on Chrollo.
“Not until tonight.” Chrollo answered without taking his calm gaze off of you.
Feitan’s voice broke through the room, sharp and cutting. “No need to wait for Paku.”
You stiffened as his dark gaze settled on you, a cruel smirk twisting on his lips. The air around him felt heavier, suffocating, as his aura seeped into the room like a shadow. He unsheathed his sword slowly as he spoke.
“Faster if I take her,” he said, a sadistic sort of pleasure creeping into his voice. He pressed the tip of his sword against your neck and tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his eyes. “Won’t take long. Have her screaming everything we need.”
Your breath hitched as you stared into his cold, unyielding eyes. The blade at your throat sent a shiver down your spine, but not for the reason it should have. Brain, shut up. This is NOT sexy.
Logically, you knew he was talking about torturing information out of you—but your body had other ideas. Why did he have to phrase it like that? He and the others didn’t seem to pick up on the innuendo in his words, but then again, they weren’t chronically online, brainrotted smut addicts like you. This was their real life. That only made your face burn hotter as your mind spiraled, fixating on all the methods he could use to make you talk. The thought of him dominating you, of having complete and utter control over you, was—
Nope. Nope. Abort mission.
“Is she…blushing?” Phinks asked.
“She doesn’t look as frightened as she should.” Machi added through narrowed eyes.
Every gaze was pinned on you, tight with suspicion. You stared at the ceiling to avoid meeting their eyes, your cheeks only growing hotter. Great, now you were also going to have to explain your reaction. The situation was getting more impossible by the second.
The seconds ticked by, or were they minutes? They felt more like hours, and you mentally begged whoever had brought you here to take you back home. Or for the ground to swallow you. Or for someone to get impatient and just kill you already so you could take your secret to the grave.
Suddenly Uvogin barked out a laugh that cut through the tension. “Boss, I think I know what her stories are about.” His crude grin combined with his suggestive tone, caused the lightbulb to go off for everyone else.
There was a beat of stunned silence before Shalnark erupted into laughter so violent he nearly fell out of his chair. “No way. No way.”
Phinks’ laughter rumbled out next, his broad shoulders shaking. Even Machi allowed herself a small, knowing smirk as her sharp gaze darted to you.
But it was Hisoka’s slow, syrupy voice that sent a chill down your spine. “Oh, how delicious,” he drawled, licking his lips as he leaned forward slightly. “Our little guest has…peculiar tastes.”
Your mouth dropped open. “No! That’s not—I wasn’t—”
“Admit it,” Shalnark wheezed, wiping tears from his eyes. “You were totally into it. Fei says he’ll have you screaming, and you go all red like a schoolgirl. Classic.”
Feitan, who had been glaring at Shalnark with increasing irritation, finally turned back to you. His brows furrowed, his head tilting slightly as he studied your mortified expression. “What?” he asked sharply, his voice laced with confusion as he lowered the sword.
“Fei,” Shalnark gasped out, still laughing, “she’s into you, man. Like, into the whole scary, dominating thing. You just made her day.”
“No,” Feitan said flatly, though there was a flicker of something in his eyes, bewilderment, maybe? “Stupid.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Hisoka purred, his grin widening. “You’re quite the specimen, Feitan. I wouldn’t blame her for indulging in a few fantasies.”
“Shut up,” Feitan snapped, his gaze cutting back to Hisoka.
Chrollo’s voice broke through the chaos, calm but commanding. “Enough.” His piercing eyes landed on you, and despite the laughter still rippling through the room, the weight of his attention made your stomach drop. “Is this true?”
“No!” you shouted quickly, shaking your head. “They’re making things up!”
“Are we?” Shalnark teased. “Come on, sweetheart, you don’t blush like that over nothing.”
Phinks grinned. “What’s in those stories, huh? Feitan tying you up? Whispering in your ear while he—”
“Stop!” you shrieked, your face burning hotter than the sun.
Chrollo leaned back in his chair, his smile faint but unnerving. “They’re not wrong, are they?”
“They are!” you insisted, though the tremble in your voice didn’t help your case.
“Then explain.” Chrollo said, his tone smooth and unyielding.
Your pulse hammered in your ears as every pair of eyes in the room locked onto you. There was no way out.
“I—” you started, swallowing hard. “I’m not from here.”
“Obviously,” Shalnark said, smirking. “Keep going.”
“I’m from somewhere else,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “Somewhere you’re not…real.”
The room fell silent.
“Not real?” Chrollo repeated, his voice deceptively light.
“You’re fictional,” you said quickly, the words tumbling out now. “You’re characters in a story. A lot of stories. And I just read them. That’s all. That’s how I know things.”
Shalnark blinked, his amusement briefly replaced by surprise. “Wait, we’re what now?”
“Fictional,” you mumbled. “Like in books. And—”
“Fanfics.” Chrollo finished for her, understanding alight in his eyes. “Which I’m to assume is short for fanfiction?”
“Fanfiction?” Uvo repeated, his grin returning. “Is that the kind where—”
“Shut up.” Feitan’s expression was icy. He seemed to have finally caught onto what was going on and he was looking anywhere but at you. Your heart sank in shame and humiliation.
Chrollo steepled his fingers, his expression unreadable. “And what exactly do these stories say about us? Aside from the, ah, explicit scenes?”
“Nothing important,” you said quickly, face still burning as you waved your hands. “Just general stuff! Your names, your abilities, your crimes, you know, basic things.”
“Well,” Chrollo said finally, standing with a smooth grace that made your stomach twist. “This is certainly interesting.” His sharp gaze pinned you in place. “I think we’ll keep you around for a while. Once we verify the truth of your story that is.”
Shalnark’s grin reappeared, wide and mischievous. “Well, Fei, you did say you’d have her screaming everything we need to know. Maybe you should follow through.”
The room burst into laughter again, with Nobunaga slapping his knee. “Yeah, Fei. Give her the full experience—looks like she’d enjoy it!”
Your mortification hit an all-time high as you buried your face in your hands and mumbled, “It’s not like that.”
Feitan’s glare darkened, his aura flaring briefly as his grip on his sword tightened. “Idiots,” he muttered, his voice low and venomous.
“Aw, come on, Fei,” Shalnark teased, leaning back in his chair. “It’s not like she’d complain. She’s practically begging for it.”
Feitan’s face flushed, just slightly, but enough for you to notice and his jaw clenched so tightly you thought he might snap his teeth. Without another word, he turned sharply on his heel and stalked toward the door, his movements stiff and jerky.
The laughter only grew louder as he yanked the door open and stormed out, slamming it shut behind him with enough force to make the walls shake.
“Well,” Shalnark said, wiping a tear from his eye. “That’s one way to make an exit.”
“Guess he’s not used to being the center of attention,” Phinks said, grinning.
You groaned, dropping your face into your hands. “I hate all of you.”
The words came out muffled, but that only made them laugh harder.
The worst part was that they weren’t wrong. Feitan really hadn’t seemed to know how to handle the situation—his usual sharp, cutting demeanor had been completely thrown off balance. You weren’t sure what was more unsettling—the fact that the Troupe had so much fun at his expense, or the brief flicker of something unfamiliar in his expression.
Not anger. Not suspicion. Just pure, unfiltered confusion.
Like the thought of someone enjoying his sadism had never even crossed his mind before.
You groaned louder into your hands. Great. Just great. Now he thinks I’m some kind of freak, and he probably wants nothing to do with me.
“Oh, don’t be like that,” Shalnark said, shooting you a wink as though he’d just read your mind. “This is the most fun we’ve had in weeks.”
“Speak for yourself,” Machi muttered, though the faintest smirk still lingered on her lips.
“We’ll wait for Pakunoda to verify her story.” Chrollo’s voice cut through the lingering amusement, smooth and authoritative. “Machi, you watch her until then.”
Machi straightened immediately. “Yes, Boss.”
The shift in her demeanor sent a chill through you. One second, she was relaxed, almost entertained. The next, she was back to being a soldier—focused, sharp, and ready to follow orders without hesitation.
And just like that, the teasing no longer felt lighthearted. Sure, it was still embarrassing, but now you were painfully aware of just how quickly the mood could change. These people could go from laughing at your expense to ripping you apart in an instant—all because Chrollo willed it.
Your throat went dry as you watched him turn and leave, his unhurried grace making it all the more unsettling. The rest of the Troupe followed suit, their focus shifting effortlessly back to their own activities, laughter and murmurs filling the space once more.
Only Machi remained, arms crossed, her piercing gaze locked onto you.
No smirk this time. No amusement. Just cold, quiet patience.
A silent reminder.
You weren’t going anywhere.