Chapter 6

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Hisoka felt not a shred of guilt about sneaking an underage kid into a bar. If anything, watching Illumi’s stoic face as he stepped into the chaotic din was a moment worth savoring.

He’d picked this spot deliberately—a lively joint with a pulsing dance floor—hoping to catch flecks of colorful light dancing in Illumi’s dark eyes. In the assassin’s monochrome world of shadows and precision, Hisoka wanted to splash some vibrant chaos: let the thumping bass disrupt that steady heartbeat, tease out a fleeting twitch on that unchanging mask of indifference. Every little victory filled him with a thrilling sense of accomplishment.

Right now, even more than craving a brutal fight or worrying about the tracking nen clinging to him, Hisoka was eager to spot an expression on Illumi’s face that screamed anything but “assassin.”

He nudged Illumi to find a seat, stifling a chuckle as the young Zoldyck exhaled in relief and headed straight for the quieter upstairs without a word.

This wasn’t Illumi’s first time in a bar. He’d ventured into far rowdier, seedier dens before—though usually to infuse those hives of raw desire with a dose of blood and death.

But viewing it through eyes unclouded by urgency, suspicion, caution, or killing intent? That was new. He scanned the room slowly, deciding he still despised it. The strobing lights blurred faces into shadowy ghouls from some infernal pit, their flailing arms like desperate struggles against the suffocating heat of the crowd. So, as Hisoka sauntered to the bar, Illumi retreated to the second floor—less noisy, and perfect for pinpointing the source of the stares drilling into him.

Hisoka’s hair outshone the disco balls, a beacon amid the swaying youths downstairs, some sporting wild dyes like unnatural silver—the shade Illumi favored for his little brother. Yet nothing caught the eye like that peach-pink under the garish glow.

Sensing the gaze, Hisoka glanced back with a dazzling grin.

“Kids can’t drink, so here’s your hot chocolate.” He set a steaming mug before Illumi, his own glass clinking with cheerful ice. “You should’ve seen the bartender’s face when I ordered it—like I was asking him to flush their precious cocoa powder down the toilet.”

“You could’ve gotten me the same as yours,” Illumi said, puzzled.

“And then return an untouched gin? Trust me, they’d hate me more. Gin’s pricier than cocoa.”

Illumi peered at him through the rising steam, searching for clues. “You’ve been investigating me.”

“Hmm, I’d prefer if you praised my keen observation.” Hisoka draped an arm over the sofa back.

“I haven’t shown any preferences.” Illumi was certain. “And this is only our third meeting—you couldn’t glean that much from such brief encounters.”

“Are you sure you haven’t let anything slip, Illu?” Hisoka leaned in, eyes narrowing playfully.

Illumi replayed their interactions, then sipped the mug. Rich, velvety chocolate flooded his senses, easing his tension instantly—until he caught Hisoka’s sharp stare and stiffened again.

“So that’s how you observed it?” Illumi realized recalling was futile; those subconscious tells escaped even him.

“Mm-hmm.” Hisoka nodded, mimicking the sip. “Aura’s brutally honest, you know.”

“Most times you’ve seen me, I wasn’t using nen,” Illumi countered skeptically.

“True, but those rare glimpses? Unforgettable.”

Hisoka pointed at Illumi’s face; the assassin wrinkled his nose, irked by a waft of perfume and doubting his own control. Then he spotted Hisoka’s signature smirk.

“You knew I wouldn’t like this place, yet you brought me anyway,” Illumi sidestepped.

“Oh, crowded spots are perfect for blending in.”

Illumi dropped the argument, sipping quietly before grasping Hisoka’s meaning: ideal for trackers to hide, rally allies, and strike on exit.

Unlike Illumi’s efficient, no-frills style, Hisoka reveled in crafting elaborate “processes” for his amusement. Still, Illumi had to admit—outside work, Hisoka knew how to savor life. He was starting to grasp Hisoka’s passion for battle; watching someone teeter on the abyss might be more exhilarating than blind confusion.

Since their last encounter, Illumi had mastered nen, sensing Hisoka’s concealed power clearly. If Illumi lurked in shadows for one-shot kills, Hisoka dazzled in the open, grinding foes into despair. Illumi excelled at taking lives; Hisoka at shattering spirits. The Zoldycks honed assassination and survival, not flashy lures or theatrics.

Hostile nen auras multiplied, brazen now—fools betting on numbers for victory. Illumi and Hisoka sipped calmly, baiting the self-proclaimed hunters.

“About time, Illu.” Hisoka drained his glass. “Fourteen total—eight up here, six below. Looks like they won’t wait for us to leave.”

Illumi eyed the bartender mixing drinks and staff weaving through crowds. “The owner’s bought off.” He sighed. “Don’t tell me you didn’t check.”

“I’m innocent! I just arrived in Yorknew this morning—no time for digging before they latched on.” Hisoka feigned hurt, but his credibility was in the red; Illumi wasn’t buying.

Hisoka mused that “disbelief” was Illumi’s most frequent look—adorably heart-stirring for a habitual deceiver like him.

“Let’s head out—”

Before Illumi finished, chaos erupted at the entrance: shouts of a bomb in the restroom, urging evacuation. The bar devolved into pandemonium—tipsy patrons shoving in a tangled mess, footsteps thundering, shattered bottles ignored amid bloody scrapes.

Sober folks stood out like beacons. Hisoka and Illumi knew the ruse aimed to clear civilians, and sure enough, the crowd separated them. But the perpetrators were naive, exposing all their plants.

Counting anomalies among staff, enemies totaled twenty—more complex than any job Illumi had handled. Fine; post-fight, he’d demand extra from Hisoka, plus mental damages.

As Illumi clashed with the nearest fool—a reckless enhancer punching wildly despite bystanders—his evasion left a cratered wall. The attacker offered his chest; Illumi gripped the slick, pulsing heart and crushed it.

The first bomb detonated.

The boom alerted Illumi: these weren’t hired guns—they were fanatics, like Zoldyck servants, loyal unto death. Worse, each heart triggered a bomb. If all stopped, the place would flatten. A vow? Or a trait user’s nen? A chill raced down his spine.

He pondered the mastermind’s grudge depth. Was this truly from one of Hisoka’s whims? Worth such self-sacrifice?

Scouring the throng for peach hair proved futile from his short stature.

A second assailant lunged; Illumi’s bomb hesitation earned a back strike. He hardened with ken to shield bones, hurtling toward a spinning propeller of nen ahead—a release user’s trap, walled by invisible barriers guiding him to mincemeat.

Bracing for grievous wounds, guarding vitals, a yank on his wrist yanked him free through an overhead gap. He landed in familiar palms, wrapped in warm nen.

“Glad I didn’t release it earlier.” Hisoka freed him, revealing the stretched Bungee Gum linking them.

“Ah, from when you stopped me.” Illumi tugged; it elongated but held.

“Correct.” Hisoka grinned at the futile pulls. “I’d advise against breaking it—what if another…”

“Won’t happen.” Illumi shook his head. “I was distracted.”

Hisoka arched a brow but left it, loosening for mobility. “That blast yours?”

“Not exactly—I killed one. Their hearts link to bombs, locations unknown, maybe underfoot.”

“Oh,” Hisoka’s lips curved intrigued. “Fascinating. Can’t kill freely, lest we blow ourselves up.”

He met Illumi’s thoughtful gaze. “You seem full of questions.”

Illumi nodded, then shook it off. “But priorities first.” He nodded at the dwindling crowd, encroaching flames, and smoke.

“Twenty bombs if all linked, exploding mid-fight. I got lucky with a distant one, but the rest? No guarantees. This bar wasn’t built for this, so bombs aren’t structural—likely hidden or nen orbs.”

“I lean toward nen orbs too.”

“First blast: downstairs restroom. Power? A tenth of what my brother could make.”

“Hey, no basis for comparison here.”

“Four restrooms total—assume at least one bomb each. To raze the place, at ten cubic meters per blast: 13-15 downstairs, 5-7 up. Best plan: I kill, you wrap the triggered bomb with Bungee Gum to contain damage.”

“Naturally, tests your observation and speed.” Illumi emphasized “observation” pointedly.

Hisoka laughed—Illumi was delightfully petty. “Fine, I’m all yours. Confident you can handle them?”

“Worry about yourself—don’t get dismembered missing a bomb.”

“Ouch, so cold.”

Illumi shook his gummed wrist; invisible without focus, unobtrusive, but irksome. Whatever—it wouldn’t hinder.

He crouched, launching like an arrow at the sniper on the stairs, feet cratering the floor. His bullet-finger pierced the temple, nen spreading controlled to delay cardiac arrest and explosion, eyes on Hisoka’s sync.

Illumi’s precision thrilled Hisoka into frenzy; nearby thugs quaked under his manic grin and overwhelming aura.

None dared block him. As Illumi’s finger bypassed the brainstem, Hisoka scanned downstairs with en and circle—spotting 12, no, 14 bombs. Spot on, Illu. One flickered like a dying flame, syncing to the fading heartbeat.

He encased it in Bungee Gum pre-blast; the pink ballooned, shockwave contained. He shifted it to the empty center, joints cracking from strain.

Their rhythm flowed like rehearsed choreography: Illumi never struck without Hisoka ready; Hisoka always located bombs pre-kill.

As comrades fell unscathed and the building barely damaged, the pros finally coordinated. Too late, in Hisoka’s view—clustering sped their doom. He bundled the five downstairs orbs at once, slicing throats with arcing cards; Illumi mirrored with lingering fatal blows.

While breaths lingered, Hisoka reeled Illumi close via gum, leaping through a fire-weakened roof hole. Releasing the orbs post-jump, they rode the blast wave to the opposite rooftop.

Illumi’s dark eyes reflected the raging orange inferno. He watched the scene—sirens blaring, firefighters bustling—until the pursuing gazes vanished.

Then he turned to Hisoka. “Can you remove this now?” He lifted his wrist.

“Oops, forgot.” Hisoka grinned, dissolving it with the nen.

“Any leads?” Illumi watched him apply Texture Surprise, recreating star and teardrop marks over a wound.

“Hmm… probably an acquaintance of Lux’s.” Hisoka chin-stroked. “You noticed too—they targeted us both.”

“I did.” Illumi pinned him with a stare. “You’re not in on it, staging this?”

“I wish—it’d be more fun.” Hisoka shrugged. “But that hurts, Illu.”

“Then don’t call me next time.” Illumi yearned for his bed. “Oh, right. Given the surprises, and I obviously can’t take jobs tomorrow—” He checked his phone. “—today, wire fifty million jenny to my account.”

“Harsh, but… implies there’ll be a next time?”

“I’d love to refuse, but money talks.” Illumi leaped from the 20-story roof.