Chapter 9

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

The client was still prattling on, lips moving in endless chatter, but Illumi had tuned it all out.

The afternoon café lounged in lazy warmth; even with the AC humming, the glass windows seemed on the verge of melting under the sun, dripping into iced drinks that would soon sweat beads of condensation. Soft melodies played to soothe summer’s irritability, but they bounced off an invisible barrier at Illumi’s ears, failing to penetrate—much like the client’s droning, which only grew more grating with each echo.

Illumi had caught snippets of the man’s tale: both he and his lover were men. The target? That very lover. Love twisted into a desire for death.

Illumi had handled plenty of passion-fueled kills, yet none lingered or stirred empathy; the Zoldyck training had sanded away most of his capacity for that. This time, though, the client’s words inexplicably conjured Hisoka. It only amplified his impatience, scattering his focus further.

Ugh, even more annoying. Illumi sipped the client’s “cooling” drink—a sharp acidity overwhelming any intended sweetness. He pursed his lips to chase the sourness away, nudging the glass farther. Then, unbidden, memories surfaced of Hisoka always ordering him something sweet during their meetings. Staring at the blue-tinted liquid now, it just looked like antiseptic.

To numb himself, Illumi fixated on the zeros in the payout. Two billion jenny, with five hundred million upfront as deposit—task done by tomorrow. Short timeline, high reward. His chest finally eased a bit.

The client’s demands were reasonable: pose as his current girlfriend at the target’s wedding, then kill the newlyweds before the ceremony ended, turning them into ghostly lovers. No specifics on method or spot, but Illumi sensed the man craved a public spectacle of corpses.

Illumi had never attended a wedding, nor seen bridal photos at the Zoldyck estate. His mother favored elaborate, outdated gowns—wedding dresses probably felt similar: cumbersome, obstructive, and dirt-prone in white. Men’s suits? Indistinguishable from standard black ones; he’d bought identical sets for bodyguard gigs, close enough to passing grooms.

Yet weddings differed from formal affairs—at least per descriptions, the pinnacle of joy for the stars. Shattering that bliss into shards targeted not just individuals, but the very ambiance. That seemed the client’s intent.

That evening, in his hotel room, Illumi received tomorrow’s outfit: a custom red gown with a thigh-high slit, tailored to the client’s ideal female proportions. The assistant had thoughtfully added black heels and nude stockings. Illumi half-expected a makeup artist next.

His phone buzzed. Seeing Hisoka’s name, his heart stuttered oddly—like a machine primed for work suddenly paused. Frowning, he let it vibrate in circles on the table, tangling his thoughts. Mercifully, it soon quit, and stayed silent.

Even without trying, Illumi had memorized Hisoka’s number-changing patterns. That one screamed “fun-seeking”—nothing serious.

Lying back, he stared at the unfamiliar ceiling. He should plan tomorrow’s moves, not drift. Assassinating a high-profile figure at a wedding posed challenges, especially with the “before end” stipulation. List contingencies, map escapes, erase the client’s secrets from mind.

As a manipulator, Illumi could self-manipulate but resisted—despite his thoughts knotting into yarn balls, each thread looping back to Hisoka’s face echoing the client’s words? He questioned himself. This couldn’t continue. Five minutes later, resolved, he drew a nen needle.

Hisoka arrived at the Greenwin Hotel to a wedding hall teeming with guests.

As the groom’s personally invited “special guest,” he had a dedicated usher—quite the effort, underscoring the groom’s stake in this.

En route, he drew stares; sans clown makeup or spiked hair, his peach-pink locks still sparked curiosity. Among them: capable types like high-star hunters, tycoons’ bodyguards, even Kakin military. The groom’s network lived up to hype. Hisoka snagged a red wine, inhaling its bitter bouquet to temper his rising battle lust.

He didn’t hunt for the target—better savor the game first. But he noticed the pair, drawn by the “woman” at the man’s side—or rather, the cross-dressed figure.

Illumi clung to the arm, his usually blank black eyes softened with warmth, a curve to his lips easing his rigid features into something affectionate. Hisoka knew those round pins as hair ornaments doubled as disguises, subtly altering face and form into curves hugged by the tight gown.

But that expression? Unreadable. Hisoka downed his wine.

Closer now, he spotted Illumi’s earrings, necklace, bracelet—even brooch—all nen needles. Unprecedented effort for Illumi. What payout justified this?

“Hello. Hisoka Morow.” Watched so long, he’d been spotted; might as well initiate, extending a hand amiably.

“Ah, Mr. Morow, hello. Chris Morton.”

Hisoka’s gaze lingered meaningfully. “Mmm, heard much about you—close to our groom, I gather. And this is…?”

Illumi tilted his head slightly, a faint frown. Hisoka realized the needles amplified expressions.

“Irna Morton,” Chris teased with a glance. “My fiancée.”

Illumi’s gentle poise froze; nostrils flared in restraint. No contract mention of surname swaps—he was irked. But the client’s pointed look couldn’t be ignored; silence equaled assent.

That reaction clenched Hisoka’s fist. “Oh, indeed. Quite enchanting.” His voice dipped, aura leaking enough to alert two nearby nen users—briefly, before he reined it in, smile intact but surface-level.

Illumi offered no reply, treating him like other greeters: polite, distant, smiles feigned sincere. Empty blessings from one ignorant of happiness. Hisoka sensed wrongness; even for work, this wasn’t Illumi. Unrecognized? Unbelievable.

So unlike an assassin’s style—unless matched by reward. To placate the client? Who was he? Just cash, or… more?

Illumi scanned no one else save Morton—his client, then. Target? Hisoka followed Illumi’s sole glance: the groom.

Hisoka licked his lips; ex-lovers’ deadly standoff amused, especially pitting him against Illumi. Anticipating Illumi’s rare failure—feminine form, vivid expressions—thrilling, unforgettable.

Or sparking a true life-or-death clash? Not bad.

The notion spread like a virus, electrifying his limbs with shivers, awakening fervent blood, pounding heart, urging brain. In Illumi’s sharp gaze, Hisoka crooked a finger invitingly.

The wedding proceeded: beloved entrepreneur-philanthropist groom wedding a noble lady, logical union. Amid applause for “perfect match,” Hisoka saw mere courtesy.

His client had confessed lingering love for Chris, killing him to erase a “dirty” past—futile, childish. Unresolved pasts branded failures; evaders, cowards. Hisoka eyed the beaming stage, focus on Illumi and his faux partner two tables away, heart racing unnaturally.

A groom’s friend took the mic, passionate with polished script. A child’s cry from stiff sitting prompted his mother to exit; others followed suit.

Good—Illumi among them, or Hisoka’s heart might burst, drawing eyes—especially Illumi’s. He shifted, crossing legs under the table.

Speech winding down amid claps and laughs, Illumi emerged from restrooms, having needled the last tables into puppets echoing his commands. Surging aura alerted wall guards; over ten stealthily approached.

Hisoka raised a brow—starting pre-climax? Un-Illumi. If not for the familiar aura, he’d suspect impostor.

Ah, genuine after all. Hisoka blinked into darkness, arms crossed, leisurely admiring Illumi’s chaos.

Hall plunged black; Illumi’s aura vanished. Turmoil erupted from puppets, scattered to block guards. Some barreled Hisoka’s way; he leaped tabletop, one-footed, conjuring a card to balance on fingertips idly.

First death: a puppet to a burly guard’s hand—thunderclap. Bodies toppled; screams cascaded. Red-gowned Illumi shone, evading assaults effortlessly, striding to the shielded newlyweds.

Doors locked too? Hisoka chuckled.

Illumi’s puppet mastery and planning had evolved. The fingertip card fell; Hisoka kicked it toward his target.

He caught Illumi’s hesitation snagging it—what thoughts?

Puppets outnumbering normals cleared paths—save Hisoka tumbling before him.

“Yo, Illu. No hello? I’m hurt.”

Illumi’s pupils contracted; more pins drawn. “Move.”

“Aw, why not attack? Thought you’d show no mercy.” Hisoka circled, gaze devouring, memorizing unseen textures.

Illumi couldn’t pinpoint it—something vital forgotten since entering. He recalled self-needling to suppress thoughts, but what? Two-hour window; instinct warned against tangling with this weirdo. Quick kill unlikely; attacking the client marked him foe. Troublesome.

“Illu, you’re off today. Care to share what happened?”

“We know each other?” Illumi voiced his core doubt.

Hisoka arched brows. “Ah, self-memory control. So eager to forget me…”

“No, work-related.” Words spilled before realization, stunning him.

Hisoka halted circling, closing in—faint feminine perfume wafting, not Illumi’s even in disguise.

“Oh.” Drawled familiarity stirred Illumi. “Work over me?”

The syllable hovered on lips before escaping: “Yes.”

Illumi knew his answer—or pause—delighted the man. How? Pitch black, face unseen—yet pleasure evident? Deep familiarity; this job tied to him, prompting memory purge.

Hisoka stepped aside, gesturing “please.” Illumi held. “Isn’t Chris Morton your target?”

Hisoka laughed. “Your ‘fiancé’? So cold?” Then, face inches away, golden eyes gleaming: “Got my best reward already. Him? Pass.”

Illumi exhaled. Easy five hundred million vital; avoiding this fight preferable, especially post-golden gaze glimpse.

Ultimately, Chris joined his lover in death; Illumi pocketed payment from his suit.

Memories flooded back with Hisoka watching amusedly—unsettling, but hidden. Enough prior slip-ups with amplified expressions; Hisoka’s stifled grin screamed glee.

“Remember me?” Hisoka queried.

Illumi glanced sidelong—obvious bait. “No. Who?”

“Your fiancé.”

Illumi flung a pin, departing, vowing no meetings till Hisoka dropped the tease. And that nagging forgotten Hisoka tie? Later—it’d resurface.

Hisoka toyed with the gifted needle as Illumi vanished, pocketing it.