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Hisoka pushed open the door to his room.

As usual, his magic performance had captivated the entire audience. Soon, his dressing room would be overflowing with gifts from adoring fans—mostly bouquets of flowers, sprinkled with cute trinkets and even handmade items. But Hisoka stashed them all away in the circus warehouse, untouched. His favorite props were still his playing cards.

He touched up the slightly faded oil-paint star on his right cheek in front of the makeup mirror. Hmm, pink and yellow for tomorrow.

His reason for joining this shady Black Curtain Circus was straightforward: the ringmaster, Leks, was a Nen user with ties to some heavy hitters in the underworld. Over the past few months, Hisoka had tagged along for gigs at upscale events, like tonight’s masquerade ball, where they served as lively entertainment.

These bigwigs spared no expense, and the setup they’d provided the circus was unexpectedly lavish. For a newbie like Hisoka, the dressing room was downright opulent—soundproofed against the roaring cheers outside, draped in black curtains to match his act, cluttered with half a dozen black boxes of varying sizes, and even a mysterious crystal ball. Most surprising was the massive tank, over two meters tall and nearly three—did someone actually expect those old lock-picking escape routines?

The spacious room was filled with junk he had no use for; apparently, the elite had some quirky misconceptions about magicians.

After cashing out from Heaven’s Arena, Hisoka mostly chased thrills on his own terms, occasionally picking up high-stakes challenges from informants.

Three months ago, he’d crashed the Yorknew auction for kicks and zeroed in on the Black Curtain Circus performers. It was perfect timing—he was itching to test his newly developed Nen ability.

Joining was a breeze; Hisoka wowed Leks with “Bungee Gum,” earning approval despite rubbing the crew the wrong way. After trouncing the clown who despised him most on day one, no one dared cross him under the ringmaster’s orders. They didn’t want the embarrassment of losing to a 15-year-old—they just blamed it on Leks to save face.

Of course, Hisoka’s deal for performing was a showdown with the ringmaster, three months max.

Tonight was the final show under that timeline. Hisoka was buzzing with anticipation, but first, he needed a proper warm-up.

He shed his magician’s black cloak and top hat, slipping into his usual short top with card motifs and a fitted undershirt, paired with loose pants. Ditching the stiff black shoes, he donned a mask to obscure his eyes—a quick disguise—and slipped from backstage into the masquerade crowd.

Under the elegant guise of a “ball,” it was just a veil for the upper crust’s shady deals, a social smokescreen for their elite network. Behind bizarre costumes, identities blurred—human or monster, who could tell? No one cared if your glass held wine or poison. And plenty of sharp bodyguards or Hunters lurked, safeguarding those fat wallets.

Prime hunting grounds—Hisoka wouldn’t miss it for the world.

The moment he stepped into the grand hall, a familiar aura hit him. He resisted unleashing “En” to probe its source or owner; too many Nen users around, and spooking them would ruin the fun.

Still, he was dying to pinpoint that tantalizing scent—which little apple did it belong to? Hisoka snagged a glass from a waiter’s tray, mimicking the leisurely stroll of the guests as he sipped.

Illumi? Hisoka’s sweeping gaze paused, lips curling into a subtle grin. Classic Illumi getup.

The zombie look suited him perfectly. With his naturally pale skin and vacant eyes, a touch of blue makeup nailed the undead vibe. Tonight, Illumi seemed unusually whimsical—he’d even added a knife protruding from his head, with fake blood trickling down his face. Must’ve taken effort, but Hisoka hoped to handle the “makeup” next time; at least skip the lazy pink lips for authenticity.

As he approached, Hisoka pondered if Illumi’s presence would cramp his plans. Only a target among these elites could draw Illumi here—if it was the ringmaster… nah, unlikely.

Who, then? Hisoka eyed the big fish first: the Morus family, the event hosts. The old patriarch with his fresh adult heir, swarmed by well-wishers and flanked by eight identical black-suited guards. Targeting him would be a spectacle—silently dropping ten bodies? Impressive show. He scanned other prominent clans; they stood out in tight-knit groups, warily eyeing the room while everyone pretended not to notice.

Suddenly, greeting Illumi lost its appeal. Watching him in action, catching that shocked expression—Hisoka might even skip his warm-up hunt for that thrill.

Too bad Illumi hadn’t awakened Nen yet. As an assassin, he’d mastered “Zetsu” instinctively, but Hisoka craved his potential ability—definitely Manipulator, judging by that rigid, no-nonsense face.

Amid cheers, Leks emerged from behind red curtains. As the circus’s sole beast tamer, his materialized Nen handled the work of ten. Seamless coordination was his secret sauce. His audience didn’t care about methods; they just wanted amusement, a cheerful backdrop for their dirty deals.

Illumi moved.

Hisoka guessed wrong—Illumi’s mark was Leks himself. This was the toughest assignment Silva had handed him yet. The instant Leks hit the stage, the air thickened like a thousand-ton weight crashing down—for someone fresh from cracking the Zoldyck trials’ third gate, it was overwhelming. No more waiting; delays bred complications.

But pulling off a hit on a low-key assassin under all these powerhouses’ noses? Impossible outright. Illumi had scoped the venue to gauge the target, but finding a bottomless abyss, he pivoted to ambush in the rest room.

Pre-mapped layouts and exit routes in mind, he slipped past backstage staff into the corridor’s largest room. Warm yellow lights typical of the circus illuminated massive open cages—their occupants currently wowing the crowd.

When Hisoka realized Illumi’s target was Leks, he weighed options: kill Illumi now, or let him try? Odds favored failure, with Leks ending him.

Either way, Illumi was doomed. Hisoka frowned—not the outcome he wanted. Illumi’s growth potential excited him; Leks was peaked, stagnant… Yeah, better lend a hand. Hisoka conjured a card and headed back to his room.

As for compensation? Teasing Illumi later would be fun—maybe even spark his Nen awakening.

“Oh? So besides our little magician, someone else is interested in me?”

Illumi’s sharpened nails twitched, but he stayed hidden behind a box. Surprise attack out—time for Plan B.

He’d opted for close-quarters hands to avoid bullets bouncing off. He recalled how his parents—and even grandfather—brushed off gunfire. Caution dictated his specialty. Now, Leks looked relaxed, full of openings, yet Illumi found no chink.

And who was this “little magician”? Assassin’s instinct screamed trouble.

“Not coming out? Fine, I’ll come to you.” Leks fiddled with his taming whip. “Plenty want my head, but without Nen… overconfident or just dumb?”

Nen? Cold sweat beaded down Illumi’s forehead, chilling like an ice bath. The “plop” of it hitting the floor echoed in slow motion.

He couldn’t move—pinned by something invisible. Heightened senses screamed danger: he couldn’t kill this man; trying meant his own end, a clueless ghost.

Uncertainty paralyzed him as Leks approached. Up close, shivers racked Illumi’s body. When Leks reached out, he finally bolted, leaping to the door.

“Just a kid. No wonder no Nen. Whoever sent you probably wants you dead more.”

Illumi hated chatting with targets—they usually died mid-breath. First time hearing one alive, that condescending tone grated. But he could only watch Leks advance, immobilized, the mounting pressure from the ball threatening to shatter him.

“If you don’t show, this kid dies here?”

From the shadows, Hisoka watched Illumi’s aborted step. Leks’ aura tore at him like blades; unchecked, it’d force-open his pores in the most unstable, deadly way. Hisoka wouldn’t allow it.

Not the fight he’d envisioned, but for future epic clashes with Illumi, he’d intervene passively.

“Oops, busted.” The voice tugged at Illumi’s memory, but he stayed locked on the threat.

“You dropped ‘Zetsu’ suddenly—hard not to suspect.”

From aura lift to lunging with lethal fingers at Leks’ heart: milliseconds. Sweat still clung to his chin. Normal recovery? Non-issue after Zoldyck burials; pressure shifts were routine.

But he underestimated Leks’ speed. As fabric grazed, explosive force erupted, deflecting Illumi. He pierced the right shoulder instead, arm trapped.

“Not bad, kid.”

Illumi’s features twitched subtly, aiming to burrow to the heart and yank it. But locked solid—no pull, no push. His forearm squeezed tighter, like a noose on his neck.

Human flesh couldn’t be this tough. Wait—that spine-chilling aura again, stronger. Sweat-soaked clothes clung uncomfortably; he shifted minutely.

To outsiders, Illumi remained eerily composed, as if the snapped forearm wasn’t his. He bided time for Leks to drop the ability, then twist and core the heart.

“Looks like you spotted Illu’s potential too. Sorry, but can we bump tomorrow’s dawn fight to now? Gotta save my friend here.”

If Hisoka didn’t step in, oblivious Illumi might lose the arm pre-Nen— like those 200-floor scrubs. No flaws on his perfect toy.

He emerged from shadows, grin wide but eyes cold. His aura threatened Leks while shielding Illumi.

“You subbing in to die? I was gonna keep you on for circus work.”

Leks’ punch hurled the “Ten”-shielded Illumi into an iron cage, denting beast-proof bars. But Illumi felt sharper than ever; pain drowned in frustration and denial. Grateful for Hisoka’s aid, yet loath to admit weakness or face first failure.

“Sounds tempting, but I prefer a different ending~.”

Hisoka glanced at the slumped figure—Illumi’s wrinkled nose and brows thrilled him, those stares fueling his urge to vent on someone.

The whip elongated abruptly, whistling past Hisoka’s face, followed by a shadowed second strike. He let momentum carry him, rolling gracefully, legs dodging elegantly while stealthily attaching “Bungee Gum.” Wall-running like flat ground, he charged Leks. Seeing the whip dissolve back to Nen on Leks’ hand, Hisoka yanked a curtain, landing lightly before him.

Time to unleash the new trick.

Curtain in hand, back turned, Hisoka applied “Texture Surprise” to mimic cards, wrapped in “Bungee Gum,” then spun and flung.

Leks sneered, swatting at the “cards,” eyes mocking. But Hisoka savored the shift: shock, fear of the unknown, betrayed rage. Even the mighty panic for life.

Infused for hardness like blades, the “cards” softened suddenly, enveloping Leks’ right hand via his motion— inescapable.

“New ability: Texture Surprise. Fooled ya.” Hisoka tugged “Bungee Gum” threads on fingers and calf, yanking Leks’ arms up—right fully encased, unusable. “Mimics any material perfectly. If you’d used ‘Gyo’ earlier, it’d be obvious. Oh, don’t pull me over—check my feet.”

Leks’ face twisted deliciously.

“Alright, Illu, doc time.”

“What’s that?” Illumi stared, tongue lapping card blood.

“Not sure this is chat spot. Company’s coming.” Hisoka nodded outside.

Illumi’s cat-eyes narrowed; he blurred out before Hisoka blinked, left hand ripping hearts from backstage staff en route, returning with them.

“Now tell me?”

Hisoka shook his head admiringly, gaze on Illumi’s pursed lips. Abruptly blank-faced, he unleashed wild aura at Illumi.

Six hearts hit the floor. This aura differed from the protective wrap—pure killing intent, colder than Leks’. A thorn in Illumi’s heart quashed flight; he let “Nen” flood his pores, filling to bursting, like drowning chest pain.

“Ah—”

Illumi’s pent-up energy exploded in a roar, repelling Hisoka, who sat back grinning at the surging mist. Astonishing volume—exhilarating.

“What is this?” Illumi felt liberated, body breathing: cell pulses, blood flows, even his fractured bone visible.

“That’s aura, Nen’s foundation. How’s it feel?”

Hisoka’s sly smile; Illumi squinted at the pink layer hugging Hisoka’s skin like a blanket, unlike his eruption. Instinct urged control, mimicking the calm wrap.

“Wow, impressive, Illu.” Hisoka clapped. “Self-taught ‘Ren’? Ah, dying to fight you more.”

After a long stare under Hisoka’s hungry eyes—no further Nen explanation—Illumi awkwardly fished his phone left-handed, texting Silva: “Mission complete.”

“Snagging my spoils like that? Not cool, Illu~.”

“Ah, I can split the cash, but money wasn’t your goal.” Illumi paused. “If you had the same hit, you’d kill me first for full pay. Best bet: you eyed my target as prey.”

“Mm, you remember my name—sweet.” Hisoka propped his chin from the floor, eyes burning through the analysis. “Hey, Illu, gimme your number?”

“Don’t have one.” Illumi pocketed the phone. “No cash? I’m out.”