Chapter 10

Thank you for reading this post, don't forget to subscribe!

When Illumi reached into his pocket for his phone, a playing card slipped out—the three of spades. Without its nen coating, the edges were creased and worn.

Odd. Why would the card Hisoka gave him two years ago turn up in this jacket? Illumi narrowed his eyes.

Could it be from that job three months back, when Hisoka snuck it in unnoticed? He’d been in a red women’s gown then—no chance for sleight of hand. Maybe Hisoka had slipped into his hotel room beforehand? But from their meeting until Illumi removed his self-needle, Hisoka hadn’t left his sight (hell, he’d been on high alert, treating him like an enemy). So when? Or… had he put it there himself?

No memory at all.

Before he could stop himself, Illumi dialed Hisoka’s number. It rang once before connecting—too quick to hang up, no time to gather words.

“Wow, how rare. Illu calling me first?” Hisoka’s voice floated through, buoyant and laced with excitement that ate at Illumi like acid.

“Wrong number.” Illumi’s finger hovered over the end call button.

“So dishonest. It’s been three months without contact—how could you dial wrong?” Hisoka’s low chuckle itched at Illumi’s eardrum. “If you miss me, how about we go out and play?”

“No thanks. I have work. Goodbye.”

Illumi stashed the phone and card out of sight. He knew if Hisoka had phrased it differently—like “I’m so bored, let’s go play”—he might’ve caved.

Ever since that unforgettable commission, thoughts of Hisoka lingered longer, like weeds sprouting unchecked. A single spark, and they’d blaze wildly, only to sprout anew from the ashes, thriving on charred remnants. Ubiquitous, resilient, devouring everything in reach.

Now, those weeds clouded his vision, snagging his thoughts, herding him toward some endpoint they’d seeded in his heart.

Thankfully, his other phone yanked him back—with a real new job, details texted over.

Simple enough: assassinate the director of Battokia’s capital’s sole amusement park. On the surface, a kindly fifty-something; Illumi had overheard from past clients about his underground child-trafficking ring. The client seemed like a grudge-holder with insider knowledge.

Felt like a big spender—maybe squeeze for more? His rates had jumped to a hundred million minimum this year; this newbie might not know.

Whatever. Work beat wrestling overgrown mental weeds any day.

Illumi set off immediately. The park was under two hours’ drive from Kukuroo Mountain—a one-day gig at most. Perfect distraction.

En route, he used Milluki’s new system to pull the director José’s office location and detailed schedule—surprise, today was his monthly trade day. Client’s motives weren’t so pure after all.

At the entrance, a staffer in a bear costume handed out animal balloons to kids, posing for photos now and then. Feet planted wide, he shuffled clumsily, the pink plush bulging oddly, rebuffing every hug or ear-grab attempt.

Illumi watched from afar, arms crossed. Once the last balloon went, he approached.

“You’re the client,” Illumi said, trailing the waddling bear into the break room.

“Mm-hmm. Used a different number, or you wouldn’t have come.”

With the head off, Hisoka’s hair clung sweat-slick to his forehead, no usual face paint—just those sharp golden eyes, unchanging. Oh, and his aura, impossible to mask even under padding—Illumi bet kids steered clear.

“No. With good reason and matching pay, I’d come regardless. That’s the Zoldyck way.”

“More lies. Your face says otherwise.” Hisoka shed the suit; his white tee clung damply, outlining flawless muscle, radiating heat that made Illumi step back half a pace, pressing against lockers. “But I trust a Zoldyck won’t renege once committed, right?”

Illumi nodded, leaning farther away, eyes on the ceiling. “I’m not lying. And you’re right—we don’t back out. But you want more than a kill. Pay’s too low; I could refuse. Or up it.”

“Hmm? Raising rates is your call, isn’t it?” No pause for rebuttal. “I’ve waited ages for today’s trade. The director’s been laying low lately.” Hisoka tossed the plush aside. “Come change with me, then we’ll hit the auction.”

“Ah, since when does Hisoka play hero, purging scum for the masses?” Illumi half-squinted, scanning for logic—sounded like he planned to free the kidnapped kids.

“Aw, I’ve always been this kind. First you’re hearing?”

Hisoka forced a black suit on Illumi, tying a deep red necktie. He appraised for ages, fixating on the knot at Illumi’s throat, comparing skin to fabric. That gaze watered the weeds in Illumi’s chest till they nearly choked his words.

“Mm, red really suits you.” Hisoka circled behind, murmuring; Illumi’s black hair blended seamlessly with the suit.

Illumi tilted his head quizzically—what prompted that? Intent? Just noted Hisoka in a matching red suit, white tie. Flattering, highlighting enviable physique, almost glowing.

In the elevator mirror, Illumi got it.

“No need to mock so blatantly.” He met reflected golden eyes dead-on.

“Hmm?” Hisoka cocked his head. “Mock what?”

“Ah?” Genuine confusion. “Satirizing my cross-dressing stint?”

Hisoka burst out laughing. “How could I? Why think that? I’m heartbroken.”

He stepped forward, face inches away—noses nearly brushing. Illumi ducked, backing up; lashes grazed Hisoka’s nose.

“Not me thinking it—you are. Picking red to remind me, then saying it suits to twist the knife. You’ve succeeded; I’m aware.” Illumi didn’t notice his tone’s unusual edge—unsettled.

Hisoka stifled more laughs. Illumi was upset—or cutely sulking. Laughter unwise, but irresistible.

Sensitive yet oblivious: spotting the reminder, missing the motive. Make it plainer? Nah—virus-like thoughts aside. Rare proactive contact; time to show seeking help could be good.

“What’re you laughing at?” Illumi’s lips dipped a millimeter, gaze dimmer—he itched to needle Hisoka into amnesia.

“Nothing. Excitement’s for the venue.” Liar.

The doors dinged open behind Hisoka; Illumi frowned at his back.

The hall was twenty-plus floors underground, entrance guards dark-world standard: shades, gloves, guns. Hisoka flashed a mystery invite, ushering Illumi to VIP box on the second floor—private, with poised attendant.

“Studied the layout, Illu?” Hisoka lounged, peering through tinted glass at the first-floor crowd, eyeing bodyguard rows.

“No.” Honest. “Planned a quick office hit. Wait—break room, per schedule. But you seem set on mid-transit action.”

“Where? I’m deferring to you fully.”

“Liar. You’re here ’cause the director’s a hunter—with Association backing now. Won’t miss clashes.” Illumi followed his gaze. “From earlier, you’ve been costumed at least a week—suit had your name stitched, so maybe a month. Time enough for elaborate hunts, right?”

Hisoka clapped. “Wow, you know me so well—flattered. Been tailing me?”

Illumi shot a look—hardly that idle.

“What now? Mystery’s a transmuter’s charm; you’ve stripped mine. Compensation?”

Hisoka leaned on Illumi’s chair, toying with draped hair. Illumi didn’t pull away; Hisoka blinked, eyes darkening briefly.

“Your fight target’s who? Director? Guards? Those weak three-star hunters below? Or the trafficked kids about to sell?”

You. Hisoka thought, but that’d earn a “liar” scoff. Surface: feigned dilemma. Illumi’s earnest black eyes demanded sincerity—pick something.

“Hmm, him, I suppose.”