Chapter 7

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“You weren’t the one who said money’s all it takes, Illu?”

“Sure, but that doesn’t mean you get to meddle in my missions five times in a row.”

“Aw, I thought you’d thank me. After all, you completed every job, didn’t you?”

Illumi fell silent for a moment. Hisoka hadn’t lied— he’d just gotten to the targets first each time, leaving them barely alive for Illumi to finish off. No lost paychecks, so Illumi should be grateful: time saved, and his father had stopped sending watchers his way.

Yet it grated on him, like being handed gnawed bones or leftover soup. Honestly, if Hisoka had handled the jobs outright for free, Illumi might’ve felt genuine appreciation. He knew better than to nitpick with Hisoka; over two years had taught him the man’s quirks inside out. Lately, it was probably just boredom—no satisfying prey—driving him back to pester Illumi.

Even with prey in sight, the harassment didn’t stop. Once, Illumi’s phone buzzed with over thirty texts in five minutes, all vivid recaps of Hisoka’s latest hunt. He’d powered off his personal line and seriously pondered a number change—until realizing Hisoka would unearth it anyway.

Of course, Hisoka wasn’t always this relentless. His longest silence? Seven months. Then, just as Illumi nearly forgot him, bam—a reminder ping.

Like now: a call from Hisoka claiming a commission, already dragging on for a minute—Illumi’s record.

“If you want to help with my work, tell me upfront. Otherwise, explain why you’re sabotaging it.” Illumi held firm. “And the pay for this job. If it’s enough to erase the bad taste, I’ll take it.”

“Well…” Hisoka seemed to weigh his words. “I’m bored and want to see you—how’s that?”

The boredom rang true; the rest? Doubtful. As Illumi opened his mouth to say so, the Zoldyck intercom in his room crackled—his father summoning him to the study.

“Ah, sounds like you’re about to get busy,” Hisoka noted, catching the sound and shifting gears. “My offer can wait, then.”

“Yeah. And don’t call casually—it could be inconvenient.” Illumi hung up without waiting for a reply and headed out.

“Remember, don’t fight anyone you can’t beat. Someone will pick you up at the 200th floor.”

Illumi’s final warning to Killua before the first-floor arena. Killua waved impatiently and dashed in, eager to escape the vast, empty Zoldyck estate.

“Is this really okay? He’ll be furious if he finds out.”

Illumi caught the card Hisoka tossed from behind with two fingers—a three of spades.

“Yeah, we think it’s best for him. Alluka’s a natural killer; he needs to get used to this.” Illumi flicked the nen-infused card back. “What are you doing here?”

“Hmm? Lying again—you knew I was around, didn’t you?”

Hisoka steered Illumi into the elevator, the attendant eyeing Hisoka’s first-ever guest curiously.

Hisoka was already infamous in the Heavens Arena: fresh to the 200th floor with just one fight under his belt, but adored by spectators for his showmanship and loathed by fighters for the same. His battles felt like magic acts—entertaining for the crowd, humiliating for opponents. His last foe still seethed over a blocked path to floor master.

The attendant never pegged the eerie Hisoka for having “friends,” but this pair’s vibe screamed something deeper, easily misconstrued.

“I really didn’t know you were here now.” Illumi ignored the stares, just slapping away Hisoka’s hand from his shoulder. “As you can see, I’m dropping off Killua.”

“How convenient—I’ve been waiting for you.” Hisoka lounged against the rail; plenty of time to the 200th. “So, no interest in my commission?”

Illumi tilted his head, gauging Hisoka’s sincerity—like always, impossible. That all-seeing smile made Illumi itch to plant a nen needle, just like with Killua.

“Whoa, you were totally plotting my death just now.” Hisoka leaned into Illumi’s ear. “I’d welcome it.”

“No, you’re mistaken.” Illumi met those golden eyes head-on, reeling in his leaked aura. No slacking around Hisoka—he was too sharp. “Fine, spill the details.”

“How about a match with me here in the arena?”

“That’s a fresh lie.” Illumi cut him off. “And you know my answer.”

“Boo, so boring.” Hisoka’s aura settled. “I need you to help stage a little performance.”

Illumi frowned, nose wrinkling—he’d long ditched controlling expressions around Hisoka. “Be specific.”

Elevator dinged; Hisoka nodded toward his room. They escaped the attendant’s devouring gaze as the doors shut, her curiosity practically prying them open.

Illumi surveyed Hisoka’s suite: standard 200th-floor fare, smaller than the Zoldyck dining hall, clearly unlived-in. No personal touches; furniture gleamed like new, thanks to constant cleaning. He claimed the comfiest sofa unapologetically, staring expectantly.

“I’ve got my eye on a fighter.”

Hisoka sat opposite, sliding his phone over. Illumi glanced down: Martina, with eyes that unsettled him deeply.

Hisoka’s predatory gaze was bad enough, but he rarely turned it on Illumi. Martina’s photo alone sparked an urge to gouge those eyes out—like the Mona Lisa’s, piercing from any angle.

“What do you see?” Hisoka watched Illumi’s face, noting the displeasure.

“Direct confrontation would be tricky.”

“Yeah, I agree. Hundred percent win rate—five for five. And from the fights I’ve seen, her nen ability? Total mystery.”

Illumi snatched the phone for a closer look. “So what do you need me for? Test her skills?”

“Of course not—that’d ruin the fun if I didn’t do it myself.” Hisoka wagged a finger. “The issue is, she’s not biting.”

Illumi’s brow furrowed. Smart move, dodging Hisoka—his whole being screamed intent to kill poor Martina. She’d vanish soon; Hisoka would force the match and win spectacularly. Though Illumi hadn’t seen him off women, but no biases here—Hisoka probably felt the same.

“Can’t see how I help with that.”

“Easy. I happen to know she has a grudge against the Zoldycks. Just show up, tell her beating me clears the path for revenge.”

Illumi narrowed his eyes. “Meaning if you lose, she comes after me?”

“Well… or think of it as me wiping out a threat for your family if I win.”

“The Zoldycks never lack enemies.” Illumi shrugged. “Lead them to Kukuroo Mountain, and they don’t leave alive.”

“Oh? What if she learns the Zoldyck youngest is here in the arena?”

Crack—

Illumi’s nen needle materialized at Hisoka’s throat, tip pricking skin, a blood bead frozen there. The table between them splintered seconds later—Illumi had phased through it, looming over Hisoka, four round nails clutched in his other hand.

Hisoka grinned wildly, aura swirling like a vortex around Illumi feeling like a sunny beach soak to him—embracing the killing intent with open pores.

“You’re threatening me.”

Hisoka’s eyes slitted. “Me? Innocent. You don’t hide your name; anyone could find out.”

Illumi pondered. Hisoka had a point. If someone like her discovered Killua, trouble brewed. Better to draw her focus himself—safer for a nen-less six-year-old. No way Killua escapes a floor master; now aware, Illumi had to handle it personally.

But glancing at Hisoka’s calm demeanor—throat bobbing under the needle, tongue flicking like tasting nectar—Illumi sensed he’d missed something key. He retracted the needle, resuming his seat, arms crossed like interrogating a suspect.

Hisoka exhaled subtly as Illumi backed off, cold sweat more telling than the warm blood. Good thing Illumi’s a manipulator—he assumes others think like him, overlooking basics.

Like Martina being an enhancer who’d never stoop to dirty tricks on a kid.

“So when do I meet her?”

“Hmm? No idea when she’ll show. Stay over, Illu?”

Hisoka raised hands, dodging the reappearing nail at his neck. “Kidding—she’s coming tonight.”

Hisoka and Martina sealed the deal quickly: match in seven days. Gave Illumi time for other jobs.

Fearing Martina might snap seeing Illumi in person, he hid during the meet, watching Hisoka ooze fermented interest and stacked praise.

But no en from Hisoka. That stubborn chivalry—old-school knightly code. No off-arena probes into abilities (outside intel unavoidable), unlike Illumi, who’d dig deep on nen users and counter-plan.

Now Illumi knew: enhancer, eyes enhanced—those creepy pale greens. If Hisoka knew, he’d sidestep hassles.

Illumi couldn’t fathom such pointless purity; even in his arena days, “respect” meant nothing. Intel was strength; minimizing losses, crucial. He’d listed ten downsides once; Hisoka shrugged it off, ending sourly. Illumi wouldn’t repeat.

Come to think, Hisoka skipped equality with Lux—joined the troupe, saw his ability, struck with full knowledge.

So was it because this prey was a woman?

Whatever—figuring Hisoka’s brain was futile. Payment hit his account; wait for day seven’s outcome.

Illumi ditched without goodbye, snagging a new commission text, meeting nearby. Next five days: assassinating a sprawling family—the bastards were nauseatingly plentiful, two days jetting domestically to cull them. Back at Zoldyck dawn of match eve.

Then his father handed him Hisoka’s letter.

“Delivered by a dove one day.” Kukuroo had only crows; white dove surviving the butler? Miracle. “Seems for you. Illumi, know anyone from the arena?”

Illumi nodded. “Yeah, my client.” He flourished the enclosed ticket—front row. Felt risky.

“Perfect. Check on Killua while there.”

Illumi bit back: Just seven days—Killua max 80th, likely 50th. But father’s tone brooked no argument; he acquiesced.

Bittersweet: trusted with prodigy Killua’s training, yet leashed by it. Once Killua worked, Illumi’d likely shadow as bodyguard—covert guard/monitor till habituated.

Still, exciting—Killua progressed faster than young Illumi; perfect assassin material. Only snag: his friend fixation.

Friends? Illumi preferred none—more peaceful. He eyed the ticket: rest today, arena tomorrow for Killua, plus Hisoka’s hunt.

“You’re earlier than I expected.”

Illumi eyed Hisoka oddly, mobbed at the arena entrance, basking in flashes. Why greet now? He couldn’t extricate anyway.

Illumi feigned ignorance, skirting the crowd with his ticket. Seconds later, the magician materialized beside him.

“Here for my fight and no hello, Illu?”

“Checking my brother first.”

Illumi queried the desk, rode the elevator, watched outside the arena TVs—with Hisoka trailing.

Martina was a fan favorite: gorgeous, built, strong. Beyond floor broadcasts, screens looped her fights and interviews. Hisoka’s coverage? Sparse—one-fight newbie, odds against him, intro skimpy.

Killua’s match: brief result and replay—narrow win, heavy injuries. Illumi craned up; Hisoka prodded, “Not going to see him?”

“Nah, he’s fine. Injuries are normal; alive’s enough.”

Liar—your face screams critique his technique. Hisoka rolled eyes unseen.

Afternoon idle, Illumi got dragged to fetch Hisoka’s custom gear: purple-pink top, black pants, pink shoes. Then oil paints for blue teardrop, purple star; half a tube of gel spiking hair back.

“I thought you used Texture Surprise for all that.” Illumi observed the ritual.

“Hmm, depends. I prefer the natural feel most times.” Hisoka tucked a stray lock, smiling at mirror-Illumi. “Want a try?”

Only Hisoka called makeup “natural.”

“No thanks.”