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Illumi stared at the incoming message, momentarily at a loss for words.

The text was straightforward—just one line, four letters, and a few odd symbols.

HELP??-_-??

But how had this person gotten his number? The last time they’d met, Alluka had just been born, and now his adorable little sibling could survive solo in the labyrinth for two full days. Don’t tell him his private number had leaked in those three years?

Illumi pulled out his work phone to double-check he hadn’t mixed them up, then sighed. His personal line only held family contacts, filled with nothing but “Mission complete” texts to his father. The most recent was from two years and nine months ago—after that, he no longer needed assignments from Silva, keeping the number solely for emergencies that never came.

Now, atop that neat column of confirmations sat this mismatched intrusion from a ghost of three years past. Illumi couldn’t help questioning the source. Had he slipped up last time, letting it be glimpsed? Or had it been acquired earlier, just to toy with him? Had it been shared? Could his phone have been lifted, the contents exposed? Would this ripple back to the Zoldycks unfavorably? Did he have other family numbers too?

Illumi knew next to nothing about Hisoka. Pacing the dim Zoldyck manor corridors, his sneakers silent on the stone floor, nearby candle flames quivered in fear from his fluctuating aura. If not for his certainty that Hisoka harbored no ill will toward the family, he’d hunt him to the ends of the earth, no matter the cost.

As for the message itself, Illumi couldn’t care less. Anyone truly in peril wouldn’t tack on those frivolous doodads—they screamed wasted effort. He wasn’t even sure he could find those symbols on his phone. Adding them every time? Annoying.

One thing was certain, though: it had jogged his memory of that face, just as Hisoka intended.

But Illumi halted mid-stride back to his room. Last time, he’d owed Hisoka a favor—two, actually: a life and a mission. If he could settle it all at once… After weighing a cozy rest indoors against the blizzards versus repaying a weirdo’s debt, Illumi nodded. Might as well check what “help” entailed. If it was another prank, Hisoka’s credibility would plummet to rock bottom—then block him.

For a million Jenny, Milluki traced the sender’s location and forwarded it. Illumi eyed the static red dot on his screen. Ugh, what a hassle—in Yorknew, a seven-hour airship ride. Hope Hisoka’s corpse isn’t cold by then, he grumbled before departing.

Would Illu show? If so, soon?

Hisoka toyed with a chip, his pink outfit a glaring standout amid the sea of black-tie patrons. He seemed focused on the dealer’s hands, but his attention lingered on the pitch-black windows outside. He’d watched winter’s pale daylight dwindle to sparse couples strolling the streets, then nightfall crowd them in. His “En” blanketed to the corner, primed for a certain arrival.

Yorknew rarely saw snow; coastal flurries melted on impact, carrying a sea-breeze warmth. But Kukuroo Mountain’s storms were infamous, its peak eternally capped in white.

First thing upon morning arrival: text Illumi. After so long on Greed Island, he craved seeing his toy’s progress.

The assassin would’ve just wrapped a job, heading home to bundle by the fire against weeks of relentless snow—then ping, his message hits.

Shame he couldn’t witness Illumi’s reaction: pupils contracting, brows furrowing, aura flaring with killing intent, Nen surging. How far had it evolved? Manipulator type, no doubt. Hisoka kissed his fresh card draw.

A ruckus erupted from a nearby table—arguing, then pleas to cool off. One player unleashed a potent “Ren,” blasting the crowd aside and charging. Hisoka’s fresh deal scattered; gamblers fled as chairs and tables lifted in an updraft. He tapped off lightly, weightless in midair, legs arcing gracefully through the aura before landing five meters from the brawl.

Oh, crap—Illu’s underage; can he even get in? Hisoka’s fingers froze mid-motion.

Nen-fueled casino fights were rare; instigators either planned to wipe everyone or got played. A few rushing Hunters fell short. Hisoka glanced idly: Emitter, 70 points max—boring. Better hope for Illu’s arrival. He settled at the bar’s safe spot, fiddling with his spade ace.

A bottle shard grazed Hisoka’s cheek, drawing blood, embedding in the wooden rack with a chime of colliding premium bottles.

Annoying—he hadn’t wanted to engage. Hisoka locked on the hapless fool who’d nicked him, still blasting Nen weapons at the rampager, oblivious to fate. Hisoka flung the spade ace like a boomerang, circling the room unseen before lodging in the guy’s skull. In death’s flash, he caught Hisoka’s grin.

Task done, Hisoka sipped brandy.

“Ah, you really are hurt.” Illumi tilted his head at the cheek, ignoring the surrounding chaos.

“Of course—it stings.” Hisoka traced the glass rim, unfazed by Illumi’s sudden appearance.

“Having fun?” Illumi countered Hisoka’s overwhelming aura surge with equal force, arms crossed in challenge.

From entry, Illumi felt Hisoka’s excessive “welcome”—a blizzard ambush, ice shards stinging without warning. Amid the casino’s Nen frenzy, nothing rivaled this magician’s eruption. Tricked again. The relief at Hisoka’s unscathed state? Chalk it up to skipped rest; he masked it with regret.

“Hm? What do you mean? I’m lost~.”

Liar—Hisoka’s face screamed “entertaining,” his aura softening, warmed by delight like a beach bonfire dance.

“Fine, since you do have trouble, I’ll forgive dragging me from home on a rest day at dawn.”

Illumi scanned the ongoing melee: no deaths except the card-skewered one in the back. Fighters were all Nen users, but their moves screamed restraint—like death-row mercs suddenly tasked with lost-puppy hunts, dodging vitals. Laughable.

“Who’d you piss off?” Elaborate setup for luring foes—not casual.

“Oh, too many to count.” Hisoka’s gaze glued to Illumi, savoring the refined aura—Manipulator pull, commanding obedience. He licked dry lips subconsciously. “But I don’t know these folks.”

“Yet they’re after you. Sloppy cleanup from a kill? Not many can rally this crew—you love stirring pots.”

Oddly natural thought for Illumi, despite the weirdness. Their tone felt like old friends, yet this was only meeting three—prior chats clashed, this one a prank-text lure. Too chummy? Worse: he didn’t mind. Hisoka tightrope-walked his boundaries like a pro acrobat, dipping over then retreating unseen.

“Illu, what’s on your mind?” Hisoka leaned into the vacant stare. “So intense—thinking of me?”

Illumi dropped his gaze, dodging. “Escape plan. Ten puppets; controller takes time. Rest you could one-shot.”

Hisoka eyed him skeptically—too obvious an answer. But he let it slide, counting heads. “You three, me three, upstairs one together?”

No follow-up; that pensive look had hooked him. Not random daze—too grave, unseen even pre-kill.

What obsessed Illu so?

Fascinating: Illumi seemed the type to mull meals meticulously, yet skip them for work without a blink. Hisoka vowed to crack his code someday.

As needles materialized in Illumi’s hand, Hisoka ignited. This differed from their spars—before, Illumi spun like a top on cue; now, a loaded cannon, fuse lit, blasting Hisoka’s nerves alight, veins boiling, tantalizing his senses.

Illumi evaded a Nen puppet drawn by Hisoka’s aura, hurling a Nen-wrapped needle at an Enhancer’s forehead. As blocked, he limb-bent behind, blade-hand piercing the heart. Simultaneously, two more needles: one clamped mid-air, the other crippling a leg. As the foe bent, death claimed him silently.

Overconfident fools—unprepared for Hisoka’s equal as foe. Illumi’s double takedown spurred reaction; puppets and masters swarmed. But pre-encirclement, Hisoka slit two throats with cards. Illumi capitalized, nailing the Emitter caging him with swords—two needles to the head. Arms dropped; rogue aura backfired, slaying its wielder. Pathetic irony.

The hall cleared instantly: tables toppled, chips, dice, cards, marbles strewn. Controlled puppets slumped, awareness dawning by morning.

“Why stop me from killing him?” Illumi tugged his wrist from Hisoka’s grip.

“More fun this way—don’t you think?” Hisoka released smoothly, snatching a needle to inspect.

Illumi addressed the air: “Such twisted tastes. You sensed the pursuit pre-text, faked the trap to bait me here. Organized moves suggest a big puppetmaster. My arrival amps your fights, probes my skills.”

“Don’t say ‘bait’—harsh on our bond. I really need your help. These scrubs? No thrill.”

Hisoka’s first Illumi monologue—guessed early, that daze piecing it. Amused, he mentally tagged Manipulators as chatty.

Yet, twirling the needle—Nen severed, but residue seeped in like infiltration. Illumi’s ability? Needles as disposables for kills, but likely more. No wasted effort; must tie to Manipulation. Of what?

Puzzle unsolved today—hooking him again? Unlikely. Elite assassin: spot-on logic, half-cracking Hisoka’s Change psyche. Novel thrill.

Hisoka unleashed aura unchecked; Illumi sensed no shame—just a stalled rollercoaster, irreparable.

Honestly, each meet ramped Hisoka’s boldness—like boiling frog syndrome. Illumi adapted, yielding unexpectedly. No real harm, plus gains—refreshing directness amid his dull routine, a welcome ripple.

Relation viable long-term; Hisoka ignored Illumi’s intimacy aversion and comms walls.

Hisoka’s sticky stare finally pulled him back: “So you took a Nen hit on purpose—for me to fetch an exorcist?” He glanced at the blood mark.

“Ouch, not cute at all. Total accident,” Hisoka read doubt on the blank face—getting easier. He chuckled behind his hand. “Couldn’t dodge.”

“Unknown conditions? Can’t help blind. Caster’ll surface—wait it out.” Illumi tugged his collar instinctively before exiting.

“Sure, but before that—nightlife? Bet you’ve never tried. Guaranteed unforgettable.”