Chapter 11

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Honestly, neither of them had expected someone hiding on the ceiling.

When Hisoka’s finger drifted upward in a casual, distracted gesture, Illumi had already pegged it as another joke, bracing himself to call out the bluff once more. Hisoka, in turn, was ready for the dismissal—and the hit to his already dubious credibility.

Instead, both their expressions froze in awkward surprise, gazes locked on the shadowy figure lurking behind the massive chandelier shade.

“Is this your setup too?” Illumi’s sarcasm was unusually sharp.

“How could it be? You know it’s not me.” Hisoka always welcomed surprises with open arms, though convincing Illumi would be a chore. “But clearly, we’re not the only ones interested in the director.”

“Don’t lump me in.” Illumi pursed his lips, regretting his impulsiveness today—from dialing that number onward. “Whatever happens next, I want no part in it.”

“Really mad?”

“No.”

It was the truth, spilling out so easily it surprised even him. Rather than being dragged into this confined space with a trouble-magnet magician for pointless, unpaid deduction games, Illumi might prefer his sole form of entertainment: heading home to lie down. Yet he couldn’t call it anger; deep down, he almost craved the unusual twists Hisoka always dragged him into, pulling him from his comfort zone. It wasn’t unwelcome.

Hisoka arched a brow. “In that case, how about a game?” Illumi’s silence counted as assent. “Guess the mystery man’s target?”

Illumi lowered his gaze, following the figure’s line of sight. A hot-tempered patron griped loudly about seating, demanding a swap. A row of young professionals from the same company sat rigidly, no clear leader. Blue-uniformed staff patrolled aisles, bowing apologetically to smooth disputes, wiping sweat after settling charts. Late arrivals thanked grudgingly, only to sneer haughtily behind others’ backs.

Suddenly, Illumi spotted a familiar face.

“Drewdo,” he murmured.

“Hmm?” Hisoka was genuinely surprised—rare for Illumi to name anyone.

“Took his commission when I was twelve.” Illumi’s brows twitched, nearly furrowing before snapping back. “Come to think, thanks to you.”

Hisoka grinned. “The nen thing?”

“Yep.” Illumi leaned forward, nearly pressing against the glass. “It was a turning point for my fees too—doubled my base rate afterward, and I finally escaped Father’s oversight.”

“Wow, do I get a reward?”

Illumi shot him a cryptic glance, silent. Hisoka held the stare, his smile deepening—he read the unspoken complaint clearer than Illumi himself might, given how rarely the assassin dissected his own psyche.

Before Hisoka’s eyes crinkled into slits, squeezing out his reflection, Illumi looked away, scanning the milling heads below as light chuckles filled his ears.

“I’d say his target’s not necessarily a person,” Hisoka circled back to their game. “Maybe the whole venue?”

Before Illumi could reply, his phone buzzed. He glanced casually, then held the screen to Hisoka. “Milluki says he got a job to blow this place up. Time to up your offer.”

Hisoka clutched his chest dramatically. “How about switching to being my bodyguard instead?”

“Declined—that ramps up the difficulty.” Illumi was merciless. “Killing the director’s simpler, especially with potential help.” He reread the text. “This setup feels familiar: different clients, seemingly unrelated jobs, but linked… Ah, got it. Drewdo’s commission—Milluki had a bombing gig then too. Failed, though; I learned post-mission. Not coincidence.”

“Indeed, not.” Hisoka’s smile faded. “Who was your brother’s client?”

“Don’t recall—definitely not Drewdo. I can ask Father.” Illumi typed a message, pausing mid-draft to pin Hisoka with a stare. “Your turn: where’d you get this job?”

“Regrettably, informant gigs skip client details.” Hisoka shrugged. “Proof of target’s death gets me paid. You know me—not picky about who, as long as the prey’s fun.”

“That’s why you attract trouble.” Illumi disapproved. “I always vet clients back a decade: avoids flakes, weighs cost-benefit. Otherwise, major headaches.”

“Noted—I’ll be careful next time, Teacher Illumi.” Hisoka bowed ninety degrees.

The grand crystal chandelier dimmed; spotlights hit the stage. The mystery figure vanished from risk, Milluki’s micro-bombs likely en route. The impending chaos would be a rarity for both.

“Hisoka’s after Director José, Milluki’s the auction itself, and that guy…” Illumi peered at the flickering shadow. “Ah, sniper rifle—rare weapon. Last remote assassin I saw was at fourteen. Hope he’s gunning for Drewdo.”

The first black-draped cage rolled onstage; the emcee’s booming voice declared highest bidder wins—veil lifts post-sale, no regrets. A clever ploy to stoke rivalry: jealousy, discontent, mockery fueling bids for the next unknown, padding profits.

“I’d prefer overlapping targets.” Hisoka watched paddles rise and fall, bored enough to stretch. His pent-up battle urge neared overflow, but he couldn’t unleash it yet—Illumi would fume. He crouched, curling in to contain it.

“By the way, best act before Milluki strikes,” Illumi advised kindly. “His bombs? I can’t withstand them.”

“I figured you’d warn me off interfering with your brother.”

“Impossible.”

“Oh—” Hisoka rested his cheek on his knee. “What if I’m at ground zero?”

Illumi wrinkled his nose, repeating, “Impossible. Milluki’s bombs detonate underground—this is second floor. Even slow as you, you’d escape before dying. Worst case: severe injury.”

As the second cage arrived, the ceiling shadow stirred. Illumi’s phone buzzed twice. Before reactions, silenced bullets pierced José’s skull, exiting his jaw. Drewdo leaped first; the emcee crumpled, knees buckling.

Neither minded the pandemonium below—the texts commanded focus. “Hisoka, this mirrors last time.”

“Your brother’s bombs can’t approach?”

“Exactly.” Illumi sped up. “That failed job—same issue. My target’s spot: inherited manor from relatives, nen-users only. But the mark wasn’t one. Milluki’s bombs stalled outside, yet birds flew in. Thought it was the original owner’s nen. Clearly same here—not coincidence.”

“Mm, so this place restricts nen too.”

“Right. But staff slipped through—first arrivals…” Illumi chin-stroked thoughtfully. “Only explanation: someone here has a similar ability, turning this into a nen-user graveyard post-entry.”

“You’re spot on,” Hisoka’s voice distant now, back at the glass. “But you’d never guess who.”

Illumi hooded his eyes, joining Hisoka in watching the flashing shadows. Headless figures swarmed like decapitated flies, wispy black mist drifting from them—subtle, easily missed without scrutiny.

Illumi clenched his fists. That aura was too familiar, especially lately. “Hisoka, leave now—immediately. Something’s off with that thing.”

Too late.

The mist chose its host, possessing Drewdo. First victims: his bodyguards, impaled by his suddenly rigid, elongated suit before reacting—blood pooling with José’s. From above, Drewdo’s face was hidden, but the fleeing crowd suggested demonic.

“Trouble.” No regret in Hisoka’s tone. The sniper fell second-wave. “Think he’ll spot us?”

“Thanks to you, yes—he’s targeting by nen strength.” Hisoka’s killing intent had leaked. “Why’re you still here?”

“I’m all yours, remember?”

The mist closed in; Illumi had time to study Hisoka’s face. “Fine, let’s go. Private airship from Milluki outside—unmanned.”

Hisoka’s brows shot high, dodging an attack while leaping through shattered glass. “That means straight through the heart.”

Illumi jumped first from the second floor. “Obviously—the shortest path.”

He flung pins en route, clearing obstacles in a straight line of needles.

“You seem familiar with that thing,” Hisoka whispered close to his ear. “Care to share?”

“Until I figure its true nature, better not know—you’d die ugly.”

Hisoka snapped a neck ahead, catching up to Illumi’s lead. “Actually, I’ve meant to say: you misunderstand our dynamic.”

Illumi frowned—he knew Hisoka timed this for when instinct overrode thought, leaving no choice but to engage.

“Like assuming you owe me something?”

“A life.” It burst out as Illumi hurled pins nonstop, kicking a head to bowl over a swath behind.

“Ah, exactly.” Hisoka laughed. “Suggestion: repay with mine? Yours can’t be priced in gold.”

Illumi turned; golden eyes gleamed without light. After long silence: “Fine.”

“Then agree: we’re equals now. Life for life.”

Illumi wanted to argue, but instinct found no flaw. He didn’t get Hisoka’s fixation. Recent pestering all pointed here. Illumi’s internal compass aimed the same—once he cleared that mental hurdle. But Hisoka rushed it. Favors were profitable trades to him, rare opportunities. Hisoka sought escape? Incomprehensible.

“So, lean on me sometimes? Reciprocity.”

“Don’t rush to refuse—no help needed? Fine. Like if work’s nearby, invite me along for the sights. Or vent about your unruly brother.”

Illumi bit his lip, missing once—wasting a pin.

“Okay.”

His voice drowned in chaos, but he knew Hisoka heard—evident from the first truly joyful laugh today.