Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Kurapika sighed. Why do I have to be here?

Clothes and accessories from around the globe hung from racks and walls as far as the eye could see. Kurapika could count at least fifty racks laden with different styles of dresses alone. Hidden speakers played some popular love song whose singer breathed so heavily Kurapika wondered if he was hyperventilating. Someone’s citrus perfume was giving Kurapika a headache. The customers’ voices rose and ebbed like the lapping of waves onto the shore. The mall’s employees gushed praise like “You look fantastic in those high heels,” and “That scarf was made for you!”

Three female voices broke through the background noise excitedly chatting with each other.

“According to Fashinetta Diva orange is the new pink.”

“And don’t forget belts! They’re in style again.”

“Ooh, what about this?”

Neon held up an A-line yellow sundress with a white trim. The dress was a stark contrast against her jean jacket and pink and green striped skirt. Her attendants, Eliza and Tigris, examined the selected garb with their critical eyes. “Let’s see…” Eliza said, fingering the material. “High neckline, ends just above the knees, and gives off a refined air. It fits what we’re looking for.”

Wrinkling her nose, Neon frowned, “But isn’t it a little plain?”

The trio hummed, thinking. Then they chorused, “Accessorize!”

“And,” Tigris added, turning around. From a trolley burdened with boxes and bags of clothes, she retrieved a pair of white sandals whose straps had a sunflower buckle. “We have the perfect footwear to go with it.”

“Done!” Neon cried, throwing the dress behind her. It landed against Basho’s chest. Muttering under his breath, the bodyguard tossed the dress on top of trolley. Basho masked a yawn by running a hand across his face, fingers tangling in his spiked brown mustache.

Kurapika frowned. Uncrossing your arms to reel back for a punch takes approximately a second. That’s a sufficient amount of time for a bullet to pierce your heart.

Kurapika looked down from the other’s reflection in a display case. Thankfully Neon was shopping at the edge of the woman’s department, allowing him to step away. Kurapika procured a pair of loafers his size and opened the box. The odor of new leather assailed him. Closing his eyes, Kurapika ran a finger down the side of the shoe. The leather was far finer than what the Kurta clan used to pitch their huts. Pursing his lips, Kurapika examined the sole. Too little support. These wouldn’t last a minute in a fight.

A pause, then the clinking of hangers on the metal racks. Hearing footsteps approaching him, Kurapika turned around.

“What do you think?” Neon asked, holding up two dresses. When Kurapika only stared at her blankly, she shook the hangers. “Well?”

Kurapika blinked. “I don’t know what outfit you want, Lady Neon.”

“No,” Neon corrected, her face going red. “Which dress do you like more?”

The first was a sleeveless two piece. Deep maroon material crossed the chest and back in a revealing x. The skirt would be form fitting when worn. The other was the yellow sundress Neon had picked out earlier. The subtle gathering at the chest and slight billowiness exemplified elegance and maturity. A far better choice than her current mismatching outfit.

Behind Neon, Eliza and Tigris watched them wide-eyed. Basho uncrossed his arms. 

“You should choose whichever dress you prefer,” Kurapika intoned, turning his back to her. He crouched to survey the shoes.

After a moment, Neon’s slightly shaky voice asked, “Have you found anything you like?”

“No.” Kurapika glanced up to watch his employer in the reflection.

Cocking her head, Neon smiled broadly. “W-Well, if you find something, lemme know!”

Eliza stepped forward. Cupping a hand around her mouth, she whispered something into Neon’s ear. Neon flashed a smile and nodded. Talking quietly amongst themselves, the two turned away and continued shopping.

“Kurapika,” Mr. Nostrade’s voice rang in his head. His words from earlier this morning replayed themselves in his mind. “I have a mission for you. It’s highly irregular, but you’re the only one capable of completing it.”

Kurapika narrowed his eyes. I smell a rat.

Kurapika drummed his fingers against the café’s parquet table. He scanned the other customers. Gossiping schoolgirls, businessmen typing on laptops, mothers with wailing kids rested between shopping. The café stood atop a raised platform in the center of the mall’s atrium. Everyone’s voices echoed off the ceiling two stories above their heads. Grimacing, Kurapika rubbed his temples. At least the citrus smell had been replaced with the aroma of baking bread.

Feeling his phone vibrate, Kurapika slipped a hand underneath his blue tabard. Caller ID Neon Nostrade. He glanced up. Neon, her attendants, and Basho sat at a table a several meters away. Basho flipped through a resort magazine. The attendants admired the nearby angel statue fountain. Sparkly pink phone to her ear, Neon caught Kurapika’s gaze.

Kurapika answered the call. “I’m keeping lookout.”

“I’m so boo-oo-red! Sit with me. I don’t wanna sit with a guy like Basho.” Cupping a hand over her mouth, she loudly whispered into the phone. “Have you smelled him lately? He sprayed on way too much Axe.” Across the table Basho gripped his mag so hard it nearly ripped.

Kurapika removed the phone from his ear. He raised a finger to end the call.

“If you don’t come over here I’ll call the mall’s security.”

Kurapika stilled. He glanced up. Two uniformed men guarded the atrium’s entrance and exit. Yawning, one scratched his chest. The other’s head nodded off. Kurapika smirked. He hung up.

Wood scrapped against tile. Neon’s voice carried through the mall area. “9… 1… 1!”

Kurapika leapt out of his chair. He bolted towards the other table and snatched Neon’s phone. “What are you doing?!”

“This is the police. What is your emergency?”

Neon’s cold blue eyes stared at Kurapika. She raised a hand, palm up. “Give it back.”

Her attendants gazed at Neon, open mouthed. Basho’s eyebrows rose to his hairline.

Kurapika breathed deeply through his nose.

 “Hello? What’s your emergency?”

Other customers began turning in their direction. Children pointed. Conversations hushed to murmured whispers.

“Nothing’s wrong,” Kurapika grouched. He hung up, tossed the phone in Neon’s direction, and dropped into a chair. Crossing his arms, he gazed at anywhere other than his employer. 

“Hm, hm, hm,” Neon hummed, settling into her chair next to the Hunter. Her phone buzzed. Sitting down, she cried, “Ooh! Hey, Eliza, lookie! There’s a sale on purses on floor 49.”

“Welcome to Lakewood Café!” A young waitress approached them, notebook in hand. An ink stained hand posed a pen above her pad. “What drinks can I get for you?”

Neon toyed with a strand of her wavy blue hair. “Hmm. I’ve always liked Shirly Temples, but I don’t know. Whaddya have?”

The server paused. She brushed aside a stray hair, only smearing grease on her cheek. “W-Well, we have a wide variety of selection for your pleas—”

“List them!”

“We, uh, have water with lemon and all kinds of soda, and…”

Kurapika rested his cheek on a hand. His head pounded behind his closed eyes.

“Yeah, actually I’ll just take a Shirley Temple after all.”

“All right. And you, sir?”

Kurapika huffed, “I don’t want anything.”

“Are you sure?” The black-haired waitress smiled down at him. “Nothing’s poisoned, I promise.”

Kurapika stiffened. He glanced sidelong at Basho. Then jerked his head towards the girl. Rolling his eyes, Basho dropped his magazine against the table. “Hey, you. What’s your name? Oh, wait. Your name tag reads ‘Linsey’. Well there ya go, boss.” With a ruffle of pages, Basho settled down to pursue the mag. “That should be enough info to investigate her.”

Eyebrows raised, Linsey glanced between the men. She stepped back. Kurapika pinched the bridge of his nose. Face burning red, Neon glared at Kurapika.

The fortune teller stood, chair scraping against the white tile. “Eliza. Tigris. We’re going to the bathroom. Hey you, Lisa!” Neon called after the retreating server. “Where’s the nearest bathroom?”

Linsey turned. “Oh, I’m sorry. We don’t have a bathroom, so you’ll have to use one…” She pointed at a large glass window across the hallway.

Oh no. Kurapika and Basho shared alarmed looks. Don’t say it.

“…at that store over there.”

“Okay, let’s go, girls!”

Arm in arm, they descended the restaurant’s stairs, chatting about a clothing article Kurapika had never heard of. He watched them leave with pleading eyes. He almost wished Neon didn’t leave. Almost.

“There you are.” Linssen, dressed in Chinese garb, approached the Lakewood café table. “What are you still doing here? I thought the plan was to grab a quick bite of lunch.”

Kurapika checked his phone. “If we’re here for another two hours, we can have dinner, too.”

Grinning, Basho stroked his brown mustache. “Think of it this way. We’re being paid for three hours of doing nothing. That’s three hours’ wages closer to retiring on a beach resort. Where babes or cold beer/Is the only decision/A man needs to make,” declared Basho in haiku.

“Where is Lady Neon?” Linssen asked. His coworkers gave him a knowing look. “Ah, bathroom. With Eliza and Tigris?” When they nodded, Linssen sighed, “Of course.” He pulled out a chair. “Well, I’ve been running errands all day. At least now I’ll have chance to—”

“There you are, Linssen. Yoo-hoo!” Neon lifted large sunglasses from her eyes and placed them on her head. Smiling, she waved am arm overhead. She had emerged from the boutique store, wearing different clothes. Her magenta tank top clashed with orange bell bottoms. As she climbed the stairs, she jabbed a thumb behind her. Two staff members struggled to carry bulging bags. “I need you to make sure they get all my new outfits down to our limo, ‘kay? Can’t let ‘em steal. Awesome sauce, thank you.”

Linssen paused, hand on the chair. He opened his mouth, about to speak. One of the servants stumbled. Jaw set, Linssen clipped his way over.

Neon plopped into her chair. With pained smiles, her attendants followed suit. “So, here’s the plan, guys. After lunch we’re going back to that store ‘cuz there’s a pair of sandals I didn’t get the chance to buy. And then we’re checking out floor 49 for the sale on purses. Then we’re—Man, I am starving. Where is our food?” Linsey rushed over with a tray of their drinks.

Kurapika glanced at his phone. No notifications. Pocketing the device, he rose. “I just received a message from Mr. Nostrade. He requires my services.”

A voice whispered, “You’re leaving me?”

“Yes, that’s right, I—” Kurapika, catching sight of Neon, froze. She paused in retrieving her glass. Lips parted, she gazed at him with moist eyes. Sighing, Kurapika fell into the chair. The Hunter buried his head in his hands. “I’m stuck here.”

“Yay!” Neon cheered, throwing up both hands.

Basho leaned over, open mag in hand, and whispered in Kurapika’s ear. “Just think. In ten years, you and I lying on this nude beach with b—” Scowling, Kurapika threw the magazine in his face.

A hesitant Linsey received everyone’s orders. Eliza and Tigris soaked in the view of kids splashing in the fountain. Basho flipped a page. Being shortly after three, the restaurant was deserted. The mall’s bustle faded into a distant murmur like the ocean’s waves. Kurapika breathed in the faint scent of freshly made bread.

Something struck his leg, causing Kurapika to wobble.

Neon, leaned bodily against the table, Shirly Temple in one hand, her pink rimstone phone in the other. Slurp. Something hit his leg again. Neon. She was kicking him. Kurapika’s burning gaze ignited the wood table into cinders.

Slurrrrrrp. Humming, she kicked him a third time. A fourth. Kurapika dug his fingers into his arms. His fingers ached for the cool, smooth wood of his bokken.

SLURRR—!

Kurapika smashed his hand into the table. Everyone jumped. The Hunter breathed heavily through his nose. Wide-eyed, Neon blinked at him. “What?”

An icy coldness spread through his body. I’ll show you who’s really in charge. Kurapika hooked his foot behind Neon’s ankle and pulled. Crying out, Neon slid out of her chair, Shirley Temple spilling everywhere. She grabbed onto the table to save her from falling to the ground.

Smirking, Kurapika settled back into his chair. “That’ll teach you—Ah!” The world turned upside down as the chair crashed backwards. Ceiling fans replaced his view of the restaurant. D-Did she just flip my chair over? But how?

A face overshadowed by long hair came into view. Blue waves trailed down, tickling his face. Her body heat washed over him. Kurapika’s heart began to pound. Heart-shaped lips twisted into a grin. “No matter the game, I always win.”

Snarling, Kurapika seized the arm’s chairs, braced to launch. Playtime is OVER, you little b—

“What in the world are you guys doing?”

Linssen stood over the pair, eyebrows knotted.

Neon backed away. Slowly, Kurapika rose. Facing away from her, he brushed off the dust on his arms. “Nothing. Nothing but the stupid pranks of an indulgent, whinny child.” Kurapika picked a piece of moldy food off his tabard. “Disgusting,” he grimaced. “Really, you think they would know better.”

“Uh, Kurapika, watch out!”

But Linssen’s warning was too late. Nothing would stop her now. Not with Neon already wielding the chair high above her head.

Groaning, Kurapika cracked open his eyes. A sharp pain stabbed the back of his head. Rubbing it, he slowly sat up. “Where…?” He was lying on a couch in a small living room. Varnished bookcases lined the far wall, flanked by bursting file cabinets. He glanced behind him. A large map of a manor covered the wall. Wait, frowned Kurapika. This is the bodyguard lounge back at the manor!

“Hey. Sleeping beauty’s awake.”

Basho reclined on a couch opposite of the Hunter, feet up on the low table between them. Sipping a Sprite, he flipped a through a car magazine in his lap.

“Kurapika!” Closing his laptop, Linssen arose from the desk. “How are you feeling?”

A door behind Basho cracked open. Melody’s balding head popped in. “I heard Kurapika’s heart quicken. Is he—?” She smiled, revealing her buck teeth. “Oh, good.”

Kurapika clasped his bruised arm. “What’s going on? Why do I hurt all over?”

Basho tossed his phone. “Here. It’ll be faster to show him.”

“‘Show me’?” Kurapika caught the phone. The screen showed a video on a popular video sharing website. He hit play. A shaky phone camera captured the view of a large, indoor fountain. Laughing kids splashed in the water. Then the point of view swung to the left and zoomed in. Eliza, Tigris, and Basho sat at an umbrella table. Neon stood over an upturned chair.

Why is there a video of us? A sinking feeling settled deep in Kurapika’s stomach.

Linssen dashed up the restaurant’s steps, brows furrowed in confusion. His voice couldn’t be heard over the background hum of the kitchen and chatting customers. Kurapika watched his video self rise from the ground, dusting off his clothes. White with fury, Neon snatched the nearest chair, raised it above her head, and smashed it across Kurapika’s head. He sunk like stone.

Kurapika’s mouth dropped open.

Wide-eyed, Basho and the attendants rose from their seats. “Security! Security!” Linsey, the waitress, shouted off screen. The kids by the fountain stopped playing to stare. One little girl began to cry.

“Milady!” Eliza cried, seizing Neon’s arms from behind. “What are you doing? Stop, please!”

Neon bucked against Eliza like a wild animal. “Lemme go!” She kicked out, striking Kurapika. Everyone froze, watching as the body tipped over the top stair. Kurapika tumbled down the staircase like a rag doll. He landed on the ground with a thud. Unmoving.

“Oops.” Leaning forward, Neon called, “Kurapika, darling! Are you okay?”

The video was posted three hours ago. 563,078 views. Posted by one N. Nostrade. Kurapika’s shaky hands dropped the phone. It clattered to the ground. The other bodyguards didn’t breathe.

Mr. Nostrade’s voice echoed through Kurapika’s head once again. “People pay millions of Jenny for Neon’s fortunes,” Mr. Nostrade enthused in Kurapika’s head. “That’s why I cannot refuse my daughter anything. I must keep her happy or else she’ll quit.”

“Personally, I like the video’s title the best.” Basho snickered. “Try not to laugh: Hunter’s Epic Fail.”

Linssen couldn’t stifle a smile. “Well it was quite the trip.”

Snorting, Basho elbowed the other Hunter. “Nice!”

“Neon asked for your hand in marriage.”

“No,” Kurapika’s low voice whispered. “Never.” He fisted his hand so hard, his nails nearly drew blood. “You’re wrong.”

Melody frowned. “Your heartbeat—Kurapika, what are you doing?”

Kurapika launched off the couch. In three quick strides he crossed the room and flung open the door. “Neon is not the boss of me.”

Kurapika’s footsteps echoed in the manor’s entrance foyer. Blue rugs carpeted the parquet floor, complimenting with the subdued yellow walls. A large glass chandelier dangled from the ceiling. A whiff of floor polish and varnish permeated the air. Paintings of Mount Takamous, Nover Falls, and Port Bolitca adorned the walls.

As Kurapika ascended the wide staircase leading to the second floor, his stepped slowed. A large portrait of the Nostrade family hung over the staircase. Twice the height of a fully grown man and framed by a sparkling gold, it drew guests’ eyes as soon as the front doors opened. A wrinkleless Light Nostrade sat in a chair while a young girl hugged his knee. Behind the pair stood a blue-haired woman. Her purple-eyed quiet gaze pierced the viewer. Neon’s late mother.

Turning away from the foyer, Kurapika entered a hallway. Servants paused in dusting foreign vases to glance at the Hunter. Passing two knights of armor, Kurapika boarded the elevator to the fourth floor. Kurapika walked down a hallway into an elevator. His phone buzzed. A new text message from Leorio. The medical student hadn’t texted in months, given up hope that Kurapika would ever reply.

“How’s your head?”

Scowling, Kurapika jabbed the elevator’s number four button.

“I guess love hurts, huh?”

Kurapika ground his teeth. His fingers flew over the keys. “We are NOT in love!!” The bodyguard sucked in a breath. Wh-What did I just do?

After a moment, Leorio replied, “I’ll be the judge of that.”

With a ding, the elevator opened. Biting back a sigh, Kurapika stuffed his phone away and exited. He soon drew to a stop in front of the double doors of Mr. Nostrade’s office. He smoothed out the wrinkles in blue tabard. His fingers lingered over the gold figure eight symbol stitched on tabard’s front. Like lightning, a memory bolted him into place.

His father reached out and ruffled his blond hair. He smiled down at him. “The figure eight and swirl symbols are holy. The figure eight, made of two connecting swirls, means life goes on without end. A solitary swirl shows how far life spirals when disconnected from others.”

Kurapika closed his eyes. He tried to preserve the image of his father. A man with black hair smiled. Where his eyes were supposed to be were only two black holes. Blood from his eyes slipped down his cheeks like tears.

Kurapika set his jaw. Using both hands, Kurapika pushed opened the double doors.

The office lay before him. Two couches surrounded a Queen Anne table. Trimmed in gold and the same red as the rollout carpets celebrities, they probably cost thousands of Jenny. Behind them Nostrade’s executive style desk stood on a raised platform spanning the width of the room. Sunlight streamed through a window spanning half the back wall. Perfect for assassins to snipe Mr. Nostrade’s head. Kurapika tutted.

Twirling the phone cord with his fingers, Mr. Nostrade leaned back in his desk chair. “Unfortunately it will most likely be at the end of the month. With the Yorknew City auction beginning on September 1^st, she won’t allow anything later than that. So, although I know it will be difficult, I need you to come here as soon as possible and change her mind. Yes, then you can have her.” Noticing Kurapika’s entrance, Mr. Nostrade paused. He smiled, face wrinkling slightly. “And here he is right now. I’ll call you back in a few minutes.”

Kurapika passively watched Mr. Nostrade hang up the phone. He lifted a hand, offering a seat. Kurapika remaining standing.

Mr. Nostrade crossed his fingers into a perfect arch. “Well, you’ve had your allotted time to ‘determine Neon’s true aims’. I hope you’ve come to realize marrying Neon is the best arrangement for everyone involved. If you wed Neon, you’ll be my son-in-law. My successor. Ever since the Ten Dons died during the auction last year, the Mafia has been struggling to find capable men for management. I just about convinced them I’m right for the job. Of course, having a young, talented son-in-law as a successor will be viewed favorably. Just think of it.” Mr. Nostrade leaned forward. His face alit with a fervor of man who held a wish-granting genie lamp in his hands. “I’m this close—this close!—to ruling the Underworld.

“And you…” Mr. Nostrade rose and strode over to Kurapika. He grasped Kurapika’s shoulders. He smiled, blue eyes glowing with a zealous fervor. “As Ten Dons, we’ll obtain whatever we wish.”

Kurapika lifted his head. Silver eyes steadily met Mr. Nostrade. Marrying Neon may be an impossible mission.

“Well?” Mr. Nostrade asked. “Do you have an answer for me?”

But if it’s for their sake, I’ll do anything. Behind his gray contacts, Kurapika’s eyes burned red.

“Yes. Yes, I do.”

All right, he thought, trying to still his shaking hands. Gotta be prepared for anything. Sucking in a breath, he craned his head back. The mansion’s towers spires pierced the cloudless sky. I can do this; I have to. He drew back his arms. “Kurapika…” Like a cannonball, he shot out his hands, blasting the double doors open. “I’ll save you!”

The doors slammed into the walls, almost coming off their hinges. A half dozen people jumped and turned to the front door. Kurapika’s employer stood at the foot of a large staircase. Mr. Nostrade’s rising eyebrows pushed his forehead wrinkles into his hairline. Melody lurked in a side doorway, a hand to her mouth. Directly in front of him were Kurapika and Neon, both dressed in Sunday best. Females attendants wearing matching purple kimonos stood some distance behind the pair.

Kurapika’s eyes grew to the size of dinner plates. “L-Leorio? What are you doing here?”

“Who is he?” Neon gasped, staring at Leorio over the Kurta’s shoulder.

Whipping around, Kurapika swept up her hands and grasped them with his hands. “Never mind him. Will you marry me?”

Neon threw her arms around his neck, smiling. “Yes!” Amidst applause, Kurapika wrapped an arm around her waist.

Mouth agape, Leorio stared at the embracing couple.

“WHAAAT?!” 

Chapter Text

With the sun’s passing, only darkness emanated from the large arched windows. Leorio glanced at the ancient grandfather clock to his left. 8:34 p.m. Forty-five minutes had passed since Melody had furtively shuffled him into this lounge before leaving just as quickly. Sighing extravagantly, Leorio plopped onto a scarlet low-backed couch. “For cripe’s sake, get your ass out here already.”

The tick tock of the grandfather clock acted as a metronome to the crickets’ music. Hands clasped behind his head, Leorio gazed up at the Cherrywood paneling dividing the ceiling into a checkerboard. “I can’t believe it,” he muttered. “Kurapika in love.”

At the sound of a door slamming shut, Leorio turned to see Kurapika. The Hunter crossed the distance between them in a few quick strides. “What are you doing here?”

“What do you mean? I’m here to help you with your women problems. You’re as dense as a brick wall.” Leorio laughed, jumping off the couch. “Hey, congrats.” Leorio pumped Kurapika’s arm up and down in a handshake. “I’m thrilled for you. And sorry for crashing your proposal, man.” Elbowing the groom-to-be, he grinned, “Entering your boss’ family by marrying their daughter, heh. Now that takes some real kahunas!”

Kurapika’s face reddened. “That’s not…”

“Dude, I’m so proud of you. You’re finally moving on. Finding another purpose in life other than revenge.”

Kurapika stilled. “What are you talking about?”

“You’ve chosen to become part of a new family.”

Swallowing, Kurapika lowered his head, bangs shielding his eyes.

Leorio raised an arm to place around Kurapika’s shoulders. “So when’s the big day, huh?”

The bodyguard quickly stepped backwards. “August 31^st, the day before the Yorknew Auction. It’s to be held in the lobby of the manor.”

“Holy crap! Today’s what? The first, right? Why so soon? You, er, didn’t get her preg—”

Kurapika glanced over his shoulder at the door to the main lobby. “Mr. Nostrade wanted to wait longer, but I was informed Lady Neon insisted to be married right away. She claimed she would quit if the wedding did not occur within the month. This suits my interests; I have no objection.” He crossed his arms. “Is this debriefing sufficient?”

Frowning, Leorio shook his head, “‘Interests’? ‘Debriefing’? You’re talking like you getting married is some sort of mission or something.”

“It is. By marrying Lady Neon, I will be the Nostrade heir. I can easily increase Mr. Nostrade standing until we both are Ten Dons. As a ruler of the Mafia, I can collect—”

A horrible sinking feeling gripped Leorio’s stomach. “You don’t mean…”

“—the Scarlet Eyes with the greatest of ease. Just because we are married, I am not required to spend time with her. As her husband, I will have the power to refuse her demands. And if she doesn’t cooperate, I can divorce Lady Neon any time. While it would be best to wait until after I become a Ten Don to do so, her obnoxious whining may force me to divorce her earlier.”

Leorio breathed heavily through his flared nose. “You’re scum.”

Kurapika lowered his gaze to the carpet. “Perhaps. But if it’s for—”

Snarling, the med student fisted Kurapika’s collar. He drew them closer until only inches separated them. “Is it worth breaking an innocent—living—girl’s heart to get more eyes of the dead?”

“Absolutely.”

“Would your parents think so?”

Kurapika gasped. “I…”

Gritting his teeth, the Kurta shoved Leorio away. Kurapika straightened his suit. “You are welcome to leave anytime. If you do, do not return.”

“There you are!”

Wide-eyed, the men turned to the door to see Neon in the doorway. Her feet barely touched the floor as ran over to Kurapika. She crashed into him, giving him a hug. “I’ve been looking all over for you.” Neon smiled at the manor’s guest. “And are you Kurapika’s friend?”

Kurapika jerked, startled. “Oh yes, right. This is Leorio. Leorio, this is Lady Neon.”

“Hi there! You’re welcome to stay in the manor until the wedding. You can have a room near the bodyguards’ quarters. Make yourself at home.” Laughing, Neon clapped her hands. “But on the condition you tell me about all the fun adventures you and Kurapika had!”

Leorio cut a glance at Kurapika. “Thanks, Miss Neon. That’s very kind of you.” Kurapika didn’t even blink. 

“Oh, please just call me Neon. We’re all friends here, right, Kurapika?”

“…Right,” he turned to her, smiling after a beat.

After fumbling for a bit, Leorio produced his phone from his suit’s pocket. “Oh, well speaking of friends, Neon, I don’t mean to take advantage of your generous offer, but—”

“Don’t.”

“Why, I figure that our friends Gon, Killua, and Alluka would be ecstatic about the news. If you don’t mind, Neon, maybe they could stay here, too.”

“Don’t you dare.” Kurapika hissed in a low voice. Confused, Neon frowned at her fiancé. Noticing her gaze, Kurapika cleared his throat. “I mean, calling them now would be an unnecessary complication. When more details of the wedding have been finalized, I’ll personally invite them. Until then, keep this arrangement a… a surprise. There will be unfortunate consequences if news leaked too early. Understand?”

Leorio gripped his phone so tightly his knuckles turned white. He smiled. “I suppose I can’t stop you from making that decision.”

Kurapika exhaled. “That’s right.” He nodded to Neon. “Then I need to speak with Mr. Nostrade.” He headed towards the door.

With a start, Neon chased after him, and looped her arm around his elbow. Over her shoulder, she called, “Ask any servant and they’ll point you in the direction of your room! I’ll see you later!” She turned to Kurapika and immediately started up a conversation with a lot squealing and gesturing.

Leorio stared at the door long after the two left. His phone’s dial tone echoed throughout the room’s expanse.

Neon paced the hardwood floor of her bedroom, heels clicking. She threw her arms into the air. “I can’t believe it! I’m engaged!” Spinning in place, she whipped her aviator sunglasses off her head and tossed it. They disturbed a pile of animal plushies decorating her bedroom table.

Tigris, draped over the arm of a pink recliner, scrolled through her phone. “Honey, hate to break this to ya, but we were there. We saw—Hey!”

Neon ripped Tigris’ phone away and smashed it onto her vanity. “Pay attention! This is important.”

“My phone… I was only looking up today’s horoscope!”

Neon rolled her eyes. “Puh-lease. The only one who can predict the future is me. Everyone else is a wannabe.”

Sighing, Neon plopped into her low couch. She hugged a stuffed giraffe, sinking beneath the square pillows. “But he barely smiled at me at all last night. At least, I hoped he woulda talked to me more.”

Eliza entered from the adjoining kitchenette, a cup of tea one hand a plate in another. “Perhaps he would view you more favorably if you treated him better.” Smiling, she offered a plate of baked cookies. “Want some? They’re the best remedy for a hurting heart.”

“Oh, thanks, Eliza.” Tigris reached for a cookie. Neon leaned forward and snatched the entire plate. Tigris scowled. “Pig.”

Munching on a cookie, the fortune teller shrugged. “Well, Kurapika’s not dead like Squala is. There’s hope yet.”

Eliza settled into an armchair, purple eyes lowered. She winced, then pressed a hand to her side. Neon had elbowed hard enough to leave a bruise at the mall. “B-Be that as it may…” She gestured to the china cabinet beside her. Memorabilia of famous celebrities like medals, crystal balls, and set of wine glasses were on display. “People are not objects which can be bought. Nor can you control him.”

“He’s a blacklist Hunter, for crying out loud.” Tigris pulled out the head of a stuffed dog from the armchair’s crevice. She gave the dilapidated head a shake. “Protecting you may be his job. But push him any further and you’ll end up like old Spot here. And, ugh, what is that smell? Are those brussel sprouts? You stuffed brussel sprouts in the chair?!”

Neon flipped her blue tresses over a shoulder. “His name is Prince William Scuffles the III. And those are broccoli. I think.”

Tigris rested her face on a hand. “I need a drink.”

Shaking her head, Eliza set her teacup down on the table. “Before this escalates any further, you should stop and consider all of your options. Has Lord Acerbi returned your call?”

Neon snorted. “You mean I all the ones I left years ago or last week?” Red lips pressed together, Neon vaulted off the couch. She stood over her vanity. Dozens of photos were stuffed in the mirror’s frame. All were pictures of Kurapika Neon forced her attendants to secretly take. Photos of a sweaty Kurapika training in the forest. Him bending over to pick up a suitcase. Him walking the hallway in a bathrobe.

Beneath one Kurapika picture was a yellowed photo. A younger Neon clad in a white dress clung to the arm of a suited young man. Neon flashed the peace sign while the boy, wearing a trying smile, gave a small wave. Neon trailed a green nail across his cinnamon hair. She lifted a corner. Dated five years ago, on their last day together.

“He’s not coming back,” whispered Neon. “The time for that passed a long time ago.” The photo slipped from her fingers.

“Kurapika…” Neon murmured. She balled her fists. “He’s the only one who can carry out my plan. The mission will fail without him.”

The attendants shared worried glances.

Laughing, Neon turned around and clapped her hands. “Ooh, speaking of time, there’s not much time left until I get married! We should start planning our next date right away. I was thinking something more traditional. Like a movie. With a chick flick, I could bat my eyes at him when the stars are making out. But in a scary movie, I could grab his arm! Whaddya think?”

Eliza half rose from her seat. “Neon, are you sure—?”

A knock sounded at the door. “Come in,” Neon waved.

A young woman in a black dress with a frilly apron opened the double doors. “L-Lady Neon. Forgive me, for interrupting you, but a man wanting his future predicted has arrived. Master Nostrade has already escorted him into the, uh, the drawing room.”

“Seriously?” Neon pounded the vanity, sending lipsticks and eyeshadows flying. “I just got engaged last night for crying out loud! Oooh, just you wait, Papa, I’ll quit over this for sure!”

Lucia shrunk into herself. She bowed again. “Master Nostrade said to hu-hurry. It’s Governor Slimar of, um, Yorknew City. He wishes to have his fortune read before the auction.”

Neon froze. A chill shiver ran down her spine. The ladies-in-waiting exchanged glances.

Neon snapped her fingers. “Tigris, makeup. Eliza, get that dress I bought earlier. Come on, move it!” Tigris began picking up the lipsticks while Eliza dashed into the walk-in closet. “Although.” Neon balled her hands into fists. “I don’t need to predict my future to know how this is going to end.”

Neon blinked awake slowly. Before her a parchment lay on a small dark wooden desk. Squinting, the scribbles sharpened into focus; five paragraphs were written in her handwriting, but she could not recall writing it. She breathed out a sigh of relief. In a blink of an eye, she folded the paper into thirds, stuffed it into an envelope she had retrieved from a drawer, and held it out with both hands. “Here is my prophecy of your future.”

Governor Slimar smiled, stretching out his zits. He covered Neon’s hands with his warty ones. “I love that dazzling smile you always give me, sweetheart.”

Neon’s toes curled. She breathlessly laughed, “Oh, don’t tease me like that.”

After giving Neon’s hands a squeeze, the governor accepted the prediction. “You know…” he said, fingering the edge of the flap. He looked up, dead fish eyes catching hers. “I don’t need to look at this thing to know my future.”

Clasping the sides of the desk, Neon tipped a bare shoulder towards him and tucked in her chin. “Oh?”

“My wife is out of town again. And the last kid got a place in Lufert or Camton, I don’t know. Somewhere across the continent.” He swiped a tongue over his papery lips. “I’ll be quite lonely in my mansion without anyone there. It would be wonderful to have the pleasure of your company of such a beautiful, young woman.”

Neon glanced at the door behind him, but it was shut. According to her specifications, the room was soundproof. The only objects in the room were a wooden table and chairs. She trailed a hand through her bangs, letting them fall onto her face. Smiling, she gazed up at the governor through her eye lashes. “Aw, what a shame. I’m super busy with home visits of clients. Maybe another time.”

A low chuckle resounded through the room. “Really?” Slimar reached across the table and seized her wrist. “Oh, I don’t think so, babe.”

Neon’s breath caught in her throat.

Still holding onto her wrist, Slimar strode around the desk. “I heard from Nostrade that you’re on vacation. And yet you made time for me—only to tell me otherwise.” His six-foot stocky build towered over Neon as he leaned forward. His tuna breath warmed her ear. “I love how you play hard to get.”

Goosebumps traveled down her arms. Cocking her head to the side, Neon beamed at him, showcasing her pink lip gloss. “What a silly thing to say.” Her gaze lowering, she softy said, “I’m always at everyone’s service.”

“Good.” Slimar pulled Neon up out of chair by her wrist. “Then I’ll see you after dinner.”

Neon nodded and placed a foot behind her, but Slimar pulled her closer and wrapped an arm around her exposed midriff. “Now you’re not going to dress like that to dinner with your father.”

Chest heaving, Neon glanced around. She pressed her free hand against the table’s bottom A scanner read her fingerprints. The hidden drawer popped open, revealing a dagger.

Slimar’s fingers played with the hem of her top. “So let me help you out of that…”

Neon pressed the dagger’s tip to his back. “Hands off.”

Hearty laughter echoed off the cramped walls. Slimar massaged the exposed small of her back. “I don’t wish to upset you. I rather you be willing. It’s more fun for everyone involved. How about we strike a deal?”

Neon swallowed hard.

Slimar expelled his fishy breath as he spoke. “I will bestow you a body part from the upcoming auction for free every time you…” He licked her ear. “…accept me.”

Neon struggled not to vomit.

“I regularly conduct business with four of the Ten Dons. I can put a good word for your father as well.”

Neon’s dagger trembled. “Why. Why are you so interested in me?”

Humming deep in his throat, Slimar trailed his fingers through Neon’s hair. “Last year, you risked your life to remain at the auction. 2.9 billion Jenny spent on one lone pair of Scarlet Eyes. Collecting body parts, then, must be more than hobby of yours. It’s your mission.” Slimar squeezed Neon’s checks together with a hand. He grinned, magnifying his zits. “And there’s nothing more fun than ruining naïve girls like you.”

Snarling, Neon smacked Slimar’s hand away. She backed up, putting the chair between them. She thrust the dagger in his direction. The dagger visibly shook. “Whatever items I want at the auction I’ll buy myself. So you give…” Neon closed her eyes. The dagger arm lowered. “I want body parts from the black market. I’ll deal with you after the auction.”

Slimar cocked his head. His dead fish eyes assessed every inch of Neon from head to toe. Her skin crawled. “Some spunk. I like it.” He turned to the door. “I’m an impatient man, but if you’re compliant then I foresee no difficulties.”

“Wait!” Neon called. She gripped the wooden chair’s back. “What about Papa?”

Slimar paused, hand on the doorknob. “I’ll see. If you come regularly, then perhaps I could be persuaded.” After straightening his suit, he opened it, and closed it behind him.

Neon’s heavy breathing echoed off the walls. The dagger slipped through her fingers. It clattered to the ground. “Rragrhh!” She hurled the chair at the wall, smashing it into splinters. 

The door swung open. “Lady Neon, are you finished?” The visitor drew to a halt.

“Kurapika,” Neon breathed, chest tightening. The fortune teller stepped on the dagger, hiding it from sight. She whipped a hand behind her back. Her wrist was beginning to swell.

“Just what are you—?” Kurapika lowered his gaze. His eyes alit with recognition. Neon peered down at herself. She was wearing the maroon midriff dress she had asked if Kurapika had liked at the mall earlier that day.

Face burning, Neon turned around. “What are you doing here? No one but me and my clients are allowed to enter. Not even Papa. Especially Papa.”

After glancing at the drawing room, Kurapika stepped closer. He lowered his voice. “You better not have done anything upsetting to the Governor. Your behavior is crucial for the Nostrade fortune. Throwing temper tantrums will only worsen the Nostrade reputation among our clients.”

Neon stiffened like a board. After swallowing, she twirled a finger around her hair and examined her nails. “Yeah, okay, whatever. Cool beans. Now go. I need to fix my makeup.”

Nodding, Kurapika turned to the door. When Neon didn’t hear him leave, she glanced up. Kurapika’s silver eyes were boring into her. She raised an eyebrow. “What?”

Kurapika opened his mouth.

Mr. Nostrade’s voice rang out. “Kurapika! Would you do me the favor of escorting the esteemed Governor to the entrance?”

Kurapika snapped his jaw shut and slammed the door close.

Sighing, Neon plopped into the chair. She buried her head in her hands. In the soundproof room no one could hear her quiet sniffling.

Humming a jaunty tune, Neon exited the fortune telling chamber into the open spaced drawing room. Her maternal grandfather had outfitted the room with the best Tudor styled furniture. A few logs rested unused in the fireplace. Above it, situated between two windows, was a painting of a volcano erupting its top, raining ash and fire onto the forest below. Mr. Nostrade sat on a couch fiddling with an iPad. She scanned the room, but no one else was present. Kurapika must have left to prepare, but her client was a mystery.

“The governor left so soon?” she asked, walking to his side. Over his shoulder, Neon saw Mr. Nostrade was compiling of list of her client’s names.

“I asked for him to be on his way. He agreed, so long as you visit him after the auction. I hope you’re not too upset he came the day after your engagement.” Mr. Nostrade turned and clasped her hand. Neon flinched. He was squeezing the wrist Slimar cause to swell. “I mean, I know you must have a lot on your mind and don’t want to work now. But I still was hoping…”

After a moment, Neon laughed, “Nope! It was no problem.”

“Good, good!” Mr. Nostrade glanced down. His eyes widened slightly at her revealing outfit.

Neon muttered a curse. “Oh, witches’ toenails.” She’d been so preoccupied with her fight with Kurapika, she forgot to change before she left the prediction room. In a softer voice, he inquired, “Did the session go well?”

Neon clasped her hands behind her back. Her nails dug into the skin of her swelling wrist. “Everything went fine, Papa!”

“I… see.” Mr. Nostrade nodded to himself. “Very well. If you say so.” Returning to his iPad, he typed. “Well, the Bolgerus Family should come, too, although the son insulted me during last year’s summer party.”

Neon shifted her weight over her feet. The clicking of his typing was the only sound to puncture the silence. She made an air pump. “You know, he was super happy to see me and get his fortune!”

“Keep it up—and, oh! Can’t forget about Mrs. Hyde …and Mr. Lew…”

Neon gnawed her lip. She bent forward until their faces were even. She smiled. “I think it was my best prediction session yet!”

Mr. Nostrade gazed at the screen. “Fantastic. You can pick out a body part and I’ll buy it. Email it to me. But not now. Later.”

Scowling, Neon glanced at the iPad. The list of client’s names was titled “Wedding Guests”. She swallowed. She walked to the door, waving. “W-Well, I’ll see you later!”

Mr. Nostrade didn’t lift his head from the screen.

She closed the door behind her, the sound echoing off the room’s walls.

Kurapika craned his head to the left, narrowly dodging Feitan’s sword. He spun around and smacked the Phantom Troupe member in the back with his bokken. His eyes scanned the small forest clearing. One down. A half dozen left.

Shizuku, armed with her vacuum, lunged at Kurapika from his right. Kurapika blocked the vacuum with an arm. With his other arm he elbowed the Spider in her gut, then smashed his knee into her face. She fell to the ground without a sound. From behind him, the Kurta glimpsed a glowing blue needle heading towards him. Kurapika dropped to the forest floor, rolled behind Machi and her partner, Phinks, and thrust his bokkens into their kneecaps. They crumbled like paper.

A barrage of bullets blasted hit the ground where Kurapika was a moment previously. Franklin, Shalnark, and Nobunaga, the remaining three Spiders looked around, baffled by the Kurta’s disappearance. Before they knew what was occurring, Kurapika dropped from the trees, knocking out Franklin with a downwards slash to his head. As the Hunter spun to strike Shalnark, he threw a shuriken into Nobunaga’s chest. The three men fell to the ground at the same time.

Following the grunts and pained cries of the combat, only Kurapika’s labored breathing broke the forest’s silence. After a moment, Kurapika tucked his bokken into the back of waistband of his training suit. The Phantom Troupe’ bodies vanished into thin air. Kurapika was the winner of his imaginary battle.

Wiping his brow, Kurapika trudged over to a rock where his discarded tabard lay. He procured his canteen from its hidden pocket then flopped against a tree trunk and drank greedily. The weatherman this morning had correctly predicted the temperature today would be in the low nineties; a new record. Finished drinking, he lowered his arm, leaned his head back against the tree, and sighed. He closed his eyes. The forest thrummed with the drone of the humming of bugs, the wind rustling the tree branches, and the calls of birds. The Kurta smiled faintly.

“Hey, Pairo!”

Kurapika snapped his open. In front of him, a blond-haired boy climbed up onto a low hanging branch. After swaying a bit, the lad stood confidently and grinned down at his companion. “I bet I can climb higher than you.”

A boy with a chestnut mop-top looked up. “Are you sure, Kurapika? It doesn’t look too safe to me.”

“What are you—chicken?”

“N-No.”

“Then come on, Pairo.” The blond smiled, reaching out a hand to his friend. “Let’s have fun!”

“Okay.” Pairo raised his hand.

Kurapika reached behind him, ripped out a bokken, and threw it at the duo. The vision shattered with the splintering of the branch. A flock of birds flew out of the tree, squawking. Hand still raised, Kurapika panted, gazing at the tree with dull red eyes. He ran his hand through his hair.

A woman’s scream echoed through the forest. “What?” Kurapika jumped up, retrieved his bokken, and rushed towards the direction of the source. After a minute of running, Kurapika neared the forest’s edge.

“Yoohoo!” A voice called.

Kurapika reached the tree line then drew to a halt.

Standing in the manor’s stream was Neon. “Eliza? Tigris? Where are yooou? Ugh. You’re all a bunch of cowards.” Cupping her hands around her mouth, she shouted, “Cowards, I say! Cowaaaards!” Neon heaved a sigh. With her shirt soaked, Kurapika could clearly see her breasts move with her panting. The end of her blue skirt was tied in a large knot high above her knees, offering a generous view of her thighs. Shoes were haphazardly tossed on the bank.

He stepped out of the shadows. She turned to him. “Kurapika!” A blue strand of hair, freed from her bun, got in her eyes. She pushed it away with a back of her hand.

Walking up to his employer, Kurapika asked, “Why are you screaming like you’re in mortal danger?” After sighing, the bodyguard shook his head. “Why couldn’t you have enjoyed a cold bath inside instead of gallivanting out here?”

Jutting her chin in the air, Neon put her fists on her hips. “Because the idea struck me.”

Kurapika raised a hand to his face and closed his eyes. “Lady Neon—” Something cold smacked his face. Stunned, Kurapika opened his eyes.

Neon stood in the stream with her legs apart, bent over slightly, and hands cupped in front of her. “I forbid you from calling me that. You’re not a servant.” When Kurapika frowned, she raised an eyebrow. “What, upset because of a little water?”

“No,” Kurapika scoffed before he could stop himself.

Neon grinned wickedly up at him. Under the blazing sun, a heat induced miarge occurred. His memory of Pairo overlapped with Neon. Together their voices rang out, “Then come on. Let’s have fun!”

Kurapika’s chest squeezed. Shaking his head, Kurapika turned towards the manor. “I refuse to indulge in your whims.”

Something seized his wrist. Just like in his nightmare. Kurapika’s heart stopped.

“Oh come on,” a warm breath blew on his ear. “Please?”

Neon had latched herself onto his arm. She pressed his arm into her wet t-shirt. Kurapika turned his head, mouth open order his release. Neon’s blue eyes filled his vision, robbing his breath. Gray flecks swam in her eyes. Gray and blue like a cloudy sky.

Orange nails sunk into his skin. Kurapika flashback to the proposal where Neon squeezed him too tightly. Kurapika eyes’ narrowed. She’s hiding something.

A shrill cry pierced the air. The pair looked up to see a small brown mass of feather swooping down onto them. Sharp claws dug into his head and shoulders. Neon yelped, shielding her head. Kurapika reached for his bokken.

Someone whistled. “Falchion! Cessare!” A male voice shouted.

The onslaught ceased. Kurapika cast his eyes upwards. A large bird circled them. A hawk? It settled into a nearby tree, black eyes staring. No, a falcon!

“What in blazes is going on here?”

A young man standing at the stream’s edge, his hand on his waist as though he was reaching for a weapon. The man appeared to only a year or two older than the pair. He had a lithe, lean form like a dancer and stood a couple inches taller than Kurapika.

“Sal?” Neon gasped.

The man dubbed “Sal” shook his head. “My dear Neon caught up in the midst of another one of her crazy whims, I see. What kind of devilry possesses you to carry out every wild idea that pops up in your head? I never was able to figure it out.”

Kurapika’s hand, which was reaching for his bokken, stilled. “Who are you?”

The man dubbed “Sal” ran a hand through his wavy cinnamon hair. Waves of brown tickled his eyebrows and tufted out by his ears, giving him a youthful look. “Oh, beg your pardon. Most people recognize me by sight so I am unaccustomed to introducing myself.” He smiled, showing his white teeth. “I am Salvestro Acerbi, son of Sandro Acerbi, the mayor of Roffet City.”

Roffet City was the largest port city of the Federation of Ochima, across the ocean. A large smuggling and drug ring had its headquarters stationed there.

“And you are?” Despite being foreign, barely any traces of an accent affected his speech.

“Kurapika. Head of her bodyguards. And her fiancé.”

“You? My, my.” Salvestro muttered, picking a piece of lint off his gray vest. His vest was topped with a double crimson cravat and black pants despite the boiling weather. The shine on his shoes and golden cufflinks alone were enough to tip Kurapika off to his socioeconomic status.

“I can’t believe it. Sal…” Neon muttered. After a moment, she hastily undid her skirt’s knot and climbed up the riverbank. “What are you doing here?”

“I was merely returning your call for me from last week. When Mr. Nostrade answered, he informed me of the…” Salvestro’s green eyes narrowed at Kurapika. “Arrangement between the two of you. Convincing my father I progressed enough in my study of politics to be granted a vacation took some time. After five years,” he grasped Neon’s hand, bowed, and kissed her knuckles. “we are finally reunited, my flower,” he murmured, smiling. Kurapika noticed his nose wrinkled slightly at her muddy smell.

Kurapika loudly cleared his throat, then crossed his arms. Dropping Neon’s hand, the man straightened, his green eyes flickering over to Kurapika before returning to Neon. “Ah, did I neglect to enlighten you? Neon and I are childhood friends.” Eyes widening, Kurapika glanced at Neon, but instead of meeting his gaze, she swallowed and stared at the ground. Seeing the exchange, Salvestro laughed once. “I am surprised you never heard of me.” Turning to the fortune teller, Salvestro said, “I must admit, hearing about your upcoming marriage I was flabbergasted. When was this arranged?”

“Last nigh—”

“Recently,” Kurapika cut in, crossing his arms. “I’m surprised you’ve haven’t heard about it. Since you’re good friends.” Salvestro sniffed, looking down at Kurapika from the extra height of the bank.

Salvestro whistled. He raised up an arm covered with a brown glove up to his elbow. “Vieni qui!” With a cry, the falcon flew over to his proffered arm. The glove protected his arm from the falcon’s sharp talons. With its brown feathers tipped with yellow, the bird was a beauty.

“Coool!” Neon oohed. Then her brows furrowed. “Wait a second, this isn’t that bird we found…?”

“Nearly dead on the manor grounds?” Salvestro finished. “He is the one and the same. After nursing him back to health, I trained him in falconry. Although with my politics studies, I have not been hunting lately.”

Neon clapped her hands. “Oh, it’s so good to see you again, Falcon!”

“Falchion,” Salvestro corrected. “After the sword. He is a blade which slices prey into mincemeat like it’s a game.” He chuckled to himself.

Neon and Kurapika stared at him. “Was that supposed to be clever?” Kurapika asked.

Salvestro pursed his lips. “I am always cl—Ugh! Falchion!” The falcon snapped at his nose. He swatted his arm and the bird took to the air, screaming in triumph. “Stupid pheasant.”

Scowling, Salvestro pressed a handkerchief to his bleeding nose. “Well, I do believe it is about time we wrapped matters here and headed inside. After my long journey, I am quite famished. Lunch would be delightful.”

“That’s a great idea!” Neon exclaimed. “I’ll tell Chardane to whip up our favorites.”

“I would like that, dear flower.” Salvestro smiled warmly. “As the saying goes: there’s no place like a home.” He began to head towards the mansion. “Oh, hold on just a moment. I believe we have neglected, ah…”

Jaw set, the Hunter waded out of the stream. “Kurapika,” he clipped.

“Yes, that was it. I am afraid I am terrible with names.” Salvestro grinned, emerald eyes glinting. “So forgettable.”

Kurapika’s hands balled into fists.

“Are you coming then?” sighed Salvestro.

Kurapika suppressed a growl of irritation. He smiled in return, but his gray eyes turned several shades closer to scarlet. “I wouldn’t dream of missing it.”

Chapter Text

In his many dealings with Neon’s clients and the Mafia, Kurapika discovered there was one type of person he hated the most. Those who had such a grasp of words they could twist any situation to their benefit. Although weaponless, they parried aside probing questions with thrusted with their own inquires. Like an assassin, they disarmed people with generous compliments before stabbing them with insults. Kurapika had always been blunt. He didn’t have the time, patience, or the inclination to play word games. Perhaps, however, there was one benefit in interacting with so many shifty characters; Kurapika had become an excellent judge of character. So he knew immediately.

“I must confess,” Salvestro drawled. He folded a napkin in front of him, not deigning to look up. “I was not sure if you would dress up as someone befitting of dear Neon’s station, or appear more likeable to a servant, since you are her bodyguard. But instead I see you share Neon’s…” Salvestro glanced up at Kurapika, giving him the once over, before finishing folding the napkin. He moved his hands to show an origami wolf.  “…unique taste for clothes.”

Kurapika fingers dug into his palms. These are the tabards I handmade based on my memories. They are nothing like the cosplay she wears!

Salvestro was one such player of word games. And he was a master.

Kurapika lowered himself in a chair across from Salvestro, the left of the table’s head. The seat of honor. Rather than watch Salvestro fold more origami, Kurapika let his gaze wander over the room. The dining hall boasted a vaulted ceiling. A second-floor balcony overlooked the room. Three golden chandeliers, fraught with dozens of candles, hung above the dining table. A hundred and fifty guests could easily seat at the table. A twenty-foot arch window let the noon day light brighten the room. Decorative paintings of rolling green fields and savannas adorned the walls.

A high-pitched cry echoed off the ceiling. Falchion descended onto the back of Kurapika’s chair. He jabbed his sharp beak into Kurapika’s head. Grimacing, Kurapika shooed the bird away. It flew away, shrieking. “What the hell?” cried Kurapika. Falchion landed on a beam with a ruffle of brown feathers. It cocked its head at him. Licked its lips.

As a young Kurta boy, Kurapika had hunted rabbits and elk, not large birds. Kurapika narrowed his eyes at the falcon. But he could always make an exception.

“Falchion is trained to hunt down specific prey.” Smiling, Salvestro held his chin. “To him, you must smell like a rodent.”

Kurapika suck in a deep breath through his nose.

“Have no fear. The moment you’ve been waiting for has arrived!” A happy voice chirped. Kurapika turned around in his chair to see Neon bursting through the double doors. “I am here!”

Kurapika raised his eyebrow. She had showered off the mud from the stream and emerged in her favorite blouse, polka dotted skirt, and striped tights. She doesn’t have a third dress for this Salvestro?

Salvestro’s cheek twitched when he witnessed Neon’s attire. “You still have not outgrown your fondness for mismatching clothes, I see.” Neon giggled and twirled for effect. 

“Salvestro, my lad!” A booming voice echoed off the high ceiling. Mr. Nostrade, dressed in a blue three-piece suit strolled in. “It’s been ages. Why you used to visit every other week!”

“Master Nostrade.” Salvestro rose from his seat. Hand on his cravat, he bowed slightly. “Forgive my long absence. My father the mayor has occupied my time. Since I became his campaign manager five years ago, I have not had a single vacation.”

Mr. Nostrade clasped Salvestro’s shoulder. “You’re here now. That’s what matters.” Salvestro nodded.

The Mafia boss assumed the head of the table. Stepping aside, Salvestro held out his chair for Neon. Salvestro scooched her in to the table. Salvestro raised a brow at Kurapika. As her fiancé, Kurapika should have completed the gesture. An uneasy feeling swirled in Kurapika’s stomach.

Neon slouched against the highbacked chair. Salvestro pursed his lips. “I see manners were failed to be instilled into you.” He glanced at Mr. Nostrade.

Mr. Nostrade cleared his throat. “Sit up straight.”

Neon slumped down further. Pulling at an eyelid, she stuck out her tongue. “Make me.”

Mr. Nostrade’s face turned into bright red cherry. “Young lady!”

“I do what I wa—Ah!” Neon’s bottom slid off the chair. She latched onto the chair arms, catching herself. Kurapika suppressed a snicker.

Salvestro sighed. “Now, now. Is that anyway you greet your teacher?”

“Teacher?” Kurapika repeated. “What do you mean?”

Neon pushed an imaginary set of glasses up her nose. In a deep voice she said, “‘Not every impatient person tells are so obvious as tapping a foot or checking their watch.’ ‘How many times have I instructed you to pay attention to what they do, not what they say?’ ‘I appreciate your display of crocodile tears, but we cannot have a break for another three hours.’”

A smile tugged at the corner of Salvestro’s lips. “I never said the last one.”

Neon shrugged. “It’s something you could’ve said.”

Mr. Nostrade threw his head back and laughed. His boisterous peals shook the chandeliers. “Ahaha, this takes me back! I never heard the end to their little squabbles. Salvestro doesn’t want to go shopping with me, Neon is refusing to study, he won’t play cards when he promised…”

Scowling, Neon shoved Mr. Nostrade’s arm. “Stop it, Papa!” He patted her head, chuckling. Neon crossed her arms.

“What?” Kurapika asked. “What are you talking about?”

Salvestro placed his gloved hands into his lap. “Allow me to inform you. Five years ago, Neon had only just discovered her Nen ability, the Lovely Ghostwriter. I was 15, dear Neon 13. I used my politician expertise to teach Neon how to read people. To determine their feelings and thoughts by interpreting their actions. Discovering their tells. Like in poker.”

Neon grinned. “I wouldn’t be here today without Sal.”

“Neither would I,” Salvestro whispered. He placed his hand on the table near Neon. 

Watching the exchange, Mr. Nostrade nodded. He puffed out his chest.

Kurapika’s gaze flickered between them. If Salvestro spoke the truth, then Neon’s global success as a fortune teller hinged on his instruction. Kurapika’s service as a bodyguard was nothing compared to the debt the Nostrades owed Salvestro. His palms broke out in cold sweat.

Mr. Nostrade clapped his hands. Falchion squawked at the noise. Servants emerged from a camouflaged service door, carrying plates of food. After silently placing them on the table, they departed. The gold rimmed plates gleamed. Kurapika’s mouth water at the aroma of garlic bread.

Salvestro frowned. “Your choice of fine dining is a hamburger, Neon? You will build up plague in your arteries and perish of an early heart attack with a diet like that.”

“Fhen ah’ll die happie,” Neon chewed, her mouth full of meat.

A sesame seed stuck to her cheek. Kurapika imagined brushing it off with a finger. Would her cheek be soft? Face warming, he shook the thought away.

“Anyway,” Neon began, after swallowing. “Sal, if you’ve been Mayor Acerbi’s campaign manager, you must of been to all sortsa of places. Tell me, tell me, tell me!”

Kurapika cut his cordon blue, knife scraping against the plate. I’ve visited way more places than that city boy.

Salvestro began folding the napkin his silverware was wrapped in. His filet mignon went untouched. “Yes, I traveled as an ambassador in the past. However, since my father was elected as mayor four years ago, I have remained in Roffet City studying politics and civics.” An origami swan spread its wings in his hand. With crisp folds, it was perfectly symmetrical. Lips pursed, Salvestro crushed the creation by balling his fist. “After his reelection, I will be the new director of Internal Affairs. I will enact his new policies and laws for the city.”

“R-Really?” Brows furrowed, Neon lowered her burger. “Oh.”

“Yes, how is your father?” Mr. Nostrade asked. He leaned forward, arms on the table. “No doubt Sandro’s been preparing for this reelection for years! Before he got elected in the first place, even. I never met a man who was more calculating and precise.”

Salvestro dug into his filet mignon with a knife. “Though I am loathe to admit it, my father’s health has been declining these past few months. He has been stubbornly hiding such knowledge from the public.” He inspected a piece of meat on the end of his fork. “At this rate I would be surprised if he lived to see the next year.”

Mr. Nostrade paled. “That can’t be…”

“Oh, Sal,” Neon squeezed his arm. “I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine having neither parent.”

Salvestro dipped his head. “Thank you for your kind words, sweet Neon.” Salvestro fixed his green eyes upon Kurapika. “But we should not discuss such matters during times of celebration. You are to be married. And I know so little of the groom. I really am very surprised I never even heard of him—not even one mention. How long has he been in your employment?”

“I’m a Blacklist Hunter,” Kurapika answered. “I’ve been head of her security for almost a year. Under Mr. Nostrade’s employ, not Lady Neon’s.”

Salvestro idly waved a gloved hand. “Details, details.” Mr. Nostrade frowned.

The politician cleared his throat. “So you are a Blacklist Hunter. How fascinating.” Salvestro’s green eyes absorbed the sight of Kurapika, taking in his muscled build, keen eyes, and how he tightly held the knife, ready to wield it. “A year, you said? Knowing Neon’s love for auctions, you must have been hired to guard her for the Yorknew Auction.” Leaning forward, Salvestro lowered his voice to a conspirator whisper. “I heard last year’s auction was nearly cancelled because of the infamous Phantom Troupe. Why, an opportunity of a lifetime for a Blacklist Hunter like you! It must have been terribly exciting to chase them. But then, oh yes, you were preoccupied with being just a bodyguard. Never mind.”

Kurapika’s blood ran cold. Was that a trap? “Protecting La—Neon is my first and foremost priority.” Salvestro grunted, unconvinced.

“He saved me!” Neon chimed in. Both men turned in surprise. She swung her feet under the table. Neon moved two fingers back and forth, miming walking. “You see, I snuck into the hotel without telling anyone. This really creepy guy befriended me.” Neon swung her arm in a karate chop. “Then: wham! He knocked me unconscious. But Kurapika broke into the hotel just in time to save me from being kidnapped!” Neon rested her chin on her hands. She cocked her head, to the side and smiled cutely at the Hunter. “He’s my hero!”

Kurapika remembered the incident well. By the time he had located Neon, Chrollo, the Phantom Troupe’s leader, had already attacked and left her behind. Then Chrollo and the Troupe began their assault on Yorknew City. They sought vengeance against Kurapika killing Uvogin, a fellow Spider. Kurapika wanted to leave Neon to chase the Troupe, but Mr. Nostrade forced Kurapika to stay to protect Neon.

Not only did Kurapika fail to reach Neon in time, but also, he was the reason why she was endangered in the first place. Kurapika cut a glance at Mr. Nostrade. The Mafia boss stared at Neon with wide blue eyes, confused. And Kurapika wanted to abandon her. Swallowing, Kurapika reached for the dagger hidden beneath his tabard. If Mr. Nostrade tells Neon the truth…

A beaming Neon hummed to herself as she swung her legs. She pressed her hands together and swayed side to side.

Kurapika froze. …Would it break her heart?

“Is. That. So?” Everyone turned to Salvestro. The politician pressed a finger to his lips, gazing upwards. A low edge crept into his melodious voice. “Such began the tale of your courtship then, you are telling me? The knight saved the damsel in distress in the nick of time and you two have been lost to the throws of passion ever since.”

Neon broke off humming. She lowered her hands. Mr. Nostrade shifted in his chair, uncomfortable.

Smirking, Salvestro threw a hand to the side. “So smitten, you left fame and fortune of being a knight to marry a peasant girl.” Salvestro’s smile was as insincere as consort’s greeting for their customer. “How sweet.”

“Despite being friends, you couldn’t spare any time to visit or call Neon.” Kurapika smirked with the superiority of a judge handing down his verdict. “How tragic.”

Neon’s eyes darted between both men. She swallowed, her gaze returning to the table.

Salvestro’s smile never faltered but his tone flattened. “Forgive me. I cannot help but want to be with my father knowing what little time he has left.”

A familiar pang resonated through Kurapika at those words. Sucking in a breath, Kurapika shook his head. “I understand; family comes first. Neon is, after all, just a friend.”

The smile slipped away from Salvestro’s face. His green eyes blazed with unholy fire.

Perhaps Kurapika didn’t have the experience Salvestro did or his raw talent to eloquently twist words and their meanings. However, Kurapika had no trouble returning threats. He would not back down. Neither would Salvestro. They were both hunters hunting the same thing.

Each other.

The August sun illuminated the front gardens. Salvestro skimmed the view. Gardeners trimmed the hedges and added mulch to flower beds. Only peasants here. Salvestro descended the front steps. He whistled. Falchion didn’t appear or so much as cry in response. “Scarafaggio.” He muttered under his breath.

Salvestro rounded the mansion, heading towards the back gardens. His crimson vest was soaked with sweat thanks to the blazing sun’s rays. Upon reaching the other side, a great hedge maze stretched out before him. Salvestro navigated the turns with ease. After a few minutes he reached the heart of the maze: a cobblestoned twenty-foot square, enclosed by hedges. A marble statue of Neon’s grandfather stood facing the mansion. Salvestro spied the object of his desire sitting on a bench. He smiled.

“I knew I would locate you here. Our little hideaway.”

Neon half-turned, with a frown as sour as a vinegar. “Hmph.” Tossing her ponytail over her shoulder, she returned facing forward. “Then you should know I’m using our secret hideout to hide from you.”

Salvestro placed a hand on her shoulder. “Do not be like that, my flower.” He leaned down, peering into her face. “We have yet to hold a meeting to discuss how our time apart has been.”

Neon raised a delicate cyan eyebrow. “‘Meeting?’”

“My apologies. Force of habit.”

“Well that force of habit of yours is the reason why days have passed and I’ve only seen you during meals. I thought you said the reason why you came here was to be with me. Guess not.” She whipped her head away, giving Salvestro a mouthful of her blue tresses. The smell of jasmine filled his nose. Coughing, he moved away.

Salvestro sat next to her on the Greek stone bench. “Again, I apologize. With my father ill, it would not be a gross exaggeration to claim I am running a city through email, text, and video chats. The time difference means I am up at odd hours, when you are sleeping.”

Frowning, Neon held a fist to her chest. Her breasts fought against the confining red jumper dress she wore.

Squawking, Falchion circled the statue before landing on the man’s head. He poked at the bald head with his beak.

“He’s like a woodpecker!” Neon giggled. “Hey, hey! Can we go hunting with him sometime?” Grinning, she bounced on her toes. The wind ruffled her jumper dress. Her blue eyes sparked with delight. Just like the time Neon begged him to earn a stuffed animal in a crane machine game. Then she shoved her arm up the chute when he ran out of quarters.

A sense of peace soothed his heart. Salvestro smiled. “Whatever you so desire, my flower.” Neon whooped. “On the condition you do not dress in such outlandish patterns. You will frighten the game away.”

Neon stuck out her tongue. “Then I’ll just slather your jacket in honey! Like the time I did that when we visited the Borgus National Park. Sadly, the bears didn’t eat you.”

Salvestro made a face. “Please do not remind me of that trip. The poisonous mushrooms you mixed into our soup gave me horrible stomach cramps.”

“Remember that time we went hiking?” asked Neon, clapping her hands. “I challenged you to a race and broke my ankle.”

The buzzing of a phone interrupted. “Wentworth again?” Salvestro groaned after reading the caller ID. “How many times must I explain myself to the simpleton?” Fingers pressed the hang up button. “Hm? Neon!”

Neon smiled, but her eyes had hardened. “Hey, I know!” She jumped off the bench. “Let’s play a game. Truth or Dare.”

Salvestro placed a hand over his face. “Neon, please.”

“Three rounds only. I get to decide if you tell me a truth or do a dare and vice versa.”

“What? That is not even the correct way to perform the game.”

Hands on her hips, Neon gazed down at him. “The price for not participating in the Truth or Dare game is never speaking to each other again. If you can’t tell me the truth when I ask, then I don’t wanna talk at all.”

Sighing, Salvestro looked away. “Why must everything be a game to you?”

“Agree? Cool.” The fortune teller spun around in a circle. She came to rest beside the statue of her grandfather. “You first. Should I speak a truth or do a dare?”

The light breeze carried the faint scent of honeysuckles but offered no solace against the heat. He pulled at his collar and cravat. “Tell me the truth,” he whispered. “Your bodyguard. Has he hurt you?”

Neon blinked. “Not physically, no.”

“I see.”

Neon hopped up onto the statue’s platform base. “Truth!” She gazed down at Salvestro from on high. “Why didn’t you answer my calls, my texts, and my letters? You haven’t said a single word to me for five years. I don’t know why you’re expecting me to speak with you now.”

Salvestro had trained enough as a game hunter to keep from flinching. “My, my. Even journalists have less ferocity than you. Especially when you were the one to call me last week, asking for my help.”

Neon crossed her arms, jaw defiantly thrust away from him. But she was biting her lip.

She did not think I would answer her call? Salvestro closed his eyes. Of course she would not believe in me. She has no reason to. “To be honest,” Salvestro began slowly. “Since my father became mayor, Roffet City has changed. Crime runs rampart. Father had made powerful enemies to become elected. As his campaign manager, his enemies are mine. Communication with you would have been too risky.”

“Fine. So we couldn’t have met in person. But texting is harmless!”

“Had my father learned I was engaging in communication with you—in any form—there, there would have been consequences.” Salvestro ran a fingernail against a faded white line along his wrist. “Consequences I wished to shield you from.” Salvestro fixed his emerald eyes onto Neon. “Please, such is the truth. I would never endanger you.”

Neon studied Salvestro with narrowed eyes. She dipped her head marginally before looking away. Salvestro smiled.

Standing up, Salvestro stepped towards the statue. A bald man clutched a book to his chest. A ledger. The record of all the information and money transactions his smuggling ring had obtained over decades. With such knowledge he was able to gain national prestige among the Underworld. Salvestro glanced back at the mansion. While Mr. Nostrade struggled hard to keep the smuggling ring going, they only possessed a fraction of the power the Nostrades once had.

Salvestro lay a gloved hand to the statue’s name plate. “I challenge you to start your world tours again.”

“What? Why would I do that?”

“We met in cities the world over as you and your father traveled, spreading awareness of your Lovely Ghostwriter. Another tour would serve to maintain contact with your clients outside of fortune telling. Why did you cease the tours?”

“Because I don’t need them. Duh.” Neon twirled a strand of blue hair around a finger. “I’m famous enough that they come to me. Besides,” Neon laughed. “You think I wanted to be dragged all over creation to meet greasy old men? Give me a break. Papa begged me to. And even then I only agreed cuz he promised Eliza and I could go shopping every trip. And amusement parks and skating rings and movies.”

Salvestro’s mouth dropped. In the blistering heat, he must have heard her wrong. “Let me make sure I have this correct: you traveled the world not to further your career and standing in society, but to shop? Your sole motivation was to entertain yourself?”

Neon jumped off the statue’s base. She drew herself up to her full height. Her blue eyes burned. Salvestro remember those eyes. The last time he witnessed them she threw a hornet nest at him. “I dare you to defy your father.”

“My father is dying!” The words burst out of him before he could stop them. “He will control me no longer.” Salvestro stepped closer. Only a few inches separated their bodies. “I dare you to take control your fortune telling earnings. Before Mr. Nostrade steals everything from you.”

Neon shrank back like a flower wilting under the desert sun. “I can’t,” she murmured. “I can’t leave Papa.”

“Why must you be so unreasonable?” Salvestro froze. Wait. Is Mr. Nostrade threatening her?

“It’s my turn to go.” Suddenly, Neon stood on her tip toes, bringing their faces level. Salvestro flinched. “Tell me ‘I love you’.”

Salvestro could barely breathe. “Wh-What?”

“The price for not participating in the Truth or Dare game is not speaking to each other. Ever again.”

“I…” The politician was speechless. Neon’s breath warmed his face. Salvestro’s heart slammed against his ribcage. Every muscle in his body grew taunt. He swallowed. Sucking in a breath, Salvestro closed his eyes. Willed his body to loosen. He gazed into Neon’s depthless sky-blue eyes. “I love you, Neon,” he whispered.

Neon didn’t bat an eye. “I dare you to tell me the truth. Did you think telling me ‘I love you’ was a truth or a dare?”

“Hm?” Salvestro frowned. Then he threw his head back and laughed. “Good, good! What an excellent play! Oh my dear, you were so close. But I am afraid this little game is over.”

Neon scowled. “What do you mean?”

Salvestro turned away, throwing a hand to the side. “I never consented to participate in the game to begin with. I was merely enjoying a conversation with you. As such I can decline to answer without fear of the consequences.”

“What? No—oh, witches’ warts!” Neon stamped her foot. “You led me on with all your ‘tell me the truth’ lies. You’re so mean!”

Salvestro whipped towards the fortune teller. “Your clients are Mafia. They will always be ruthless. What is rule one?”

Pouting, Neon slouched against the statue. She wiped the sweat off her forehead. Under the sunlight, her ivory skin boasted quite the tan. “Never engage a client without an ace in hand.”

Salvestro tossed his cinnamon hair. “If you do not possess a ‘trump card’ against me then do not bait me. I would have told you such information if you requested without this silly farce.”

Salvestro retrieved a handkerchief from his chest pocket. He began folding it. “Every client of yours I have encountered was enchanted by you. Meaning you are able to assess a person’s likes and don the appropriate persona to delight them.” Smiling, he presented an intricate origami rose. He tucked the rose behind her ear. Neon blushed. “You possess an amazing Nen ability and have incredible natural talent.” His fingers lingered by her cheek. “You deserve more. Why, I would wager you would be a better politician than me.”

“Politician, huh?” Neon plucked the origami rose from her ear, undoing his handiwork. “You didn’t used to make origami. Where did you pick it up?”

“Oh,” Salvestro chuckled. “Simply because I found myself bored during meetings…”

Smirking, Neon waved the rose. “Trump card.”

Salvestro gasped. “N-Neon.” His hands balled into fists. Although I may find myself bored at times, my origami habit does not undermine the pursuit of politics. “I suppose you knew all along, did you not? You read my origami as a ‘tell’.” Chuckling, he ran a hand through his cinnamon hair. “You truly have surpassed me.”

Frowning, Neon studied the handkerchief rose. She absentmindedly twirled it between her fingers. “Look, Sal,” she began, her voice low but firm. “Kurapika proposed to me, and I accepted. There’s nothing you can do to change it. I won’t break my promise.”

“Oh?” Salvestro clasped his gloves hands behind his back. “Then why did you ask for my help?” Neon’s eyes widened fractionally.

A high-pitched cry spilt the air. Falchion dove between the pair, snatching the origami rose. It settled on the statue’s head and began eating it.

“Falchion, you stupido uccello! How dare you? I will strip you of your hide and stuff you with your feathers!” Scowling, Salvestro crossed his arms. “Miserable creature.”

Shielding her eyes with a hand, Neon gazed up at the bird. She chuckled. “Not very well trained, is he? I’m surprised he hasn’t returned to the wild.” She turned, ponytail swishing, and walked towards the maze’s exit. “I wonder why.”

Lips pursed, Salvestro watched her leave. When he first met Neon, she was a budding source of potential who had yet to mature into a full blossom. I see my flower will not be so easily uprooted. Raising his head, Salvestro gazed at the mansion in the distance. He grinned, showing his teeth. And I would love nothing more than to shear the weeds choking her.

Kurapika burst into the bodyguard lounge. Basho, who had been sitting on the couch watching TV, looked up. “Status report,” Kurapika barked, breezing past him. Kurapika’s tabard caught on Melody’s music stand, sending scores everywhere. Flustered, Kurapika untangled himself. “And pick those up.”

Basho ran a hand through his spiked mustache. “Seriously?”

Kurapika entered the security room. A wall of monitors covered the far wall. The TVs displayed the various locations of the mansion and its grounds in real time. Kurapika stood in front of a desk with a computer. Scratching his head, Basho dropped into a chair beside him. “Attention, boss man wants his report!” Kurapika raised an eyebrow.

Melody and Linssen, who stood by the control panel talking, looked up from their conversation. “You mean the report on Acerbi Family? Now?” Linssen asked after blowing on his tea. The sweet tea aroma filled the room. He sat down at the control panel with a sigh. “Ugh, fine.”

Melody slipped into place beside Kurapika. “Have you spoken to Leorio at all?”

“What? No. Why would I?” To Linssen, Kurapika asked, “Where’s the report?”

“I said I’m working on it. Here. This is all the information we have on them.” The large central monitor pictured an aerial view of small, but bustling hamlet tucked away between green hills. “Salvestro Acerbi, age 20.” Linssen began. “Born to Sandro and Alessia Acerbi. Sandro’s noble family had a history of working in politics, but Alessia was a low SES citizen.”

Basho leaned back in his chair, burly arms crossed. “To marry outside your class means one of two things: elope or unplanned pregnancy. Was Alessia a prostitute?”

Kurapika thought, Given how he acts, I bet Salvestro’s a bastard child.

“I don’t know,” Linssen replied. “Very little information about her exists online. There’s only so much I can do to learn about people across the ocean.” Linssen stated, cutting his boss a sharp glance over a shoulder. “However, Alessia raised Salvestro in a nearby village alone, suggesting an unplanned pregnancy.”

Melody pursed her lips. “Most likely Sandro married her to keep a scandal from ruining his reputation.”

Linssen pressed a button. A school picture of a young Salvestro appeared, followed by a chart of test results. “When Salvestro was 9, he achieved a perfect score on a standardized test. Afterwards, Salvestro and Alessia lived with Sandro in Roffet City. He studied under private tutors. Two years later, Alessia died to due gang violence.”

Kurapika gazed at Salvestro’s school picture. Judging by the number of tuffs of hair standing on end, a cow must have mistaken his hair for ice cream. His broad smile revealed a missing front tooth. He appeared exactly like his neighbor in the Kurta clan. Kurapika covered his mouth with a hand. “So, after discovering Salvestro’s intellectual abilities, Sandro forced Salvestro to study politics. Then he murdered his wife to garner sympathy votes and rise up in the political world.”

Melody clasped her hands. Linssen turned from the computer to face Kurapika. “You don’t really think…”

Basho scowled. “That’s messed up.”

Chin held high, Kurapika crossed his arms. “What kind of mayor is Sandro?”

After a moment, Linssen returned to the control panel. “I believe I have a video which answers that question. Indirectly at least.”

The village onscreen disappeared. A video showed Salvestro standing behind a podium onstage. Salvestro was dressed in a military jacket with coattails and gold epaulette. The Flag of the Ochima Federation hung on the blue curtain behind him. News anchors and journalists stood below him. Cameras flashed. Subtitles appeared onscreen as he spoke.  

“Three years ago, my father, the mayor, promised to eradicate the gangs in remembrance of my late mother.” His microphoned voice boomed. “With the support of the Council, law after law has been passed. But little, if anything, has changed.

“Last year, a 15-year-old girl walked down the street to purchase ingredients for supper. She was kidnapped by gang members who lacked the finances to fuel their drug addictions. They held the girl for ransom. When the police refused to pay their demands, the girl’s raped dead body was mailed to the family’s doorstep.” The crowd’s murmurs quieted.  

“The only charges against the culprits were for drug possession. Police could not find sufficient evidence to prove their guilt of sexual assault and kidnapping. The judge ruled they only pay a fine, which their fellow gang members paid in full. These criminals roam the streets today. Such a tragedy is a daily occurrence. Since my father took office, crime has increased at an exponential rate. It is inexcusable. Next question.”

Journalists pressed against the stage, raising their microphones towards him. Salvestro peered into the crowd before gesturing to a person offscreen. Their question couldn’t be heard over the clamor. Salvestro lifted his hands up. Everyone hushed. Salvestro nodded.

A woman in a snide voice asked, “Are you asking us to trust you? Rumors state you were to be installed as Mayor Sandro’s next director of Internal Affairs.”

“A valid inquiry.” Salvestro rested his hands on the edges of the podium. “As citizens of this city, we all believed in his vision of a peaceful Roffet. Which is why when we learn of such tragedies, we are disgusted.” The crowd silenced, leaning in. “Outraged.” Heads everywhere began to nod. “But most of all, betrayed.”

Journalists fisted their pens. Reporters lowered their gaze.

“A deep-seated corruption plagues our city. It has contaminated our politicians, the courts, and our law enforcement. I will not allow our beloved city to be festered with disease for a second longer.” Salvestro raised his hands and lifted his voice. “I declare I am running against my father in the upcoming election. With your support, I will cleanse our city. Purify it! So, all people, young and old, will walk our streets without fear! We will reclaim this city as ours!”

Thunderous applause erupted. Cheers arose like a wave. A torrent of camera flashes beset Salvestro.

When the video ended, Kurapika hummed. “Interesting. Salvestro did not mention running against his father.” Kurapika narrowed his eyes. Question is: what kind of city will Roffet be with Salvestro as mayor?

Linssen typed furiously on the keyboard. Various graphs and charts detailing the city’s crime rate appeared. “My research has lead me to believe Salvestro isn’t lying. In the past five years there’s been increases of violent crime, kidnapping, drug possession, smuggling, you name it. Meanwhile, the financial debt of the city is escalating as well. The city’s out of control.”

Basho nodded. “So either Sandro’s keeping the money for himself or is in debt paying off his accomplices. Famed Roffet City/Is quickly going to hell/In a handbasket.”

Melody explained, “There has been no comment from Mayor Sandro about Salvestro’s declaration. Perhaps he is bedridden.”

Kurapika studied the monitor. The video was posted online July 27. Eight days before Salvestro arrived on the manor.

“I can’t believe it. Sal… What are you doing here?”

“I was merely returning your call for me from last week.”

Kurapika closed his eyes. Salvestro made this announcement just before receiving Neon’s call. But why would Salvestro declare his intent to run against Sandro only to leave the city? He sucked in a breath, inhaling scent of computer exhaust and tea bags. Unless. He doesn’t hold Neon higher than his campaign, does he? Or is Neon vital to win the election?

“Does Neon know any of this?” asked Kurapika.

“Hell, how should I know?” Basho asked, scratching his bare chest. When Kurapika raised an eyebrow, Basho rolled his eyes. The Jappon native pulled up a tracking program Kurapika installed on Neon’s phones months ago. “She hasn’t searched for anything of the Ochima continent recently. Well, except for a new shoe line.”

“I don’t care about recently. I want to know about the past five years.”

Basho balked. “You have got to be kidding me.”

“Linssen, monitor Salvestro’s movements within the mansion. I want to know who he talks to, what about, and why.”

Linssen rubbed his eyes. “Listen. I just pulled an overnighter, searching and compiling the information for this report. I’ll do it later.”

“Excuse me? You will do it now.”

Basho rose from his seat. He thrust a paper into Kurapika’s chest as he passed. Frowning, Kurapika read it. Basho and Linssen headed for the door.

“We don’t want to work/For a man who is wedding/For selfish reasons.”

Kurapika winced. He spun around, waving the paper. “W-What is the meaning of this?”

Basho raised a hand. “You’re just as demanding as her highness. You two deserve each other.” Linssen snorted. They shut the door behind them.

Kurapika’s arm slowly lowered. Only the hum of the computers filled the silence. Kurapika leaned against the table.

“I know this is all for obtaining Scarlet Eyes.”

Kurapika turned. Melody smiled sadly, showing her buck tooth. “I do not judge you; I don’t know the lengths I would go through to obtain the cursed musical scores. However, marriage is a lifetime commitment.” As she strode to the door, she laid a hand on Kurapika’s arm in passing. “You should try to get to know her better. She might surprise you.”

Kurapika blinked. “What? I don’t need…”

Melody ducked out of the room. Frowning, Kurapika stared at the door. He raised his shoulders and arms in a shrug. “How do I do that?”

Chapter Text

After taking a deep breath to psyche himself up, Kurapika opened the door to the billiards room. Poker, blackjack, and roulette tables populated the room. All were emblazoned with the Nostrade family crest. A bar occupied the right corner, complete with glossy black counter and cushioned bar stools. Behind the counter, vintage alcohol bottles were displayed in glass racks. Mahogany wooden frames lined the windows, doors, and the ceiling’s edge. The woodwork, along with the jukebox by the bar counter, gave the room a down-to-earth, homey impression.

Kurapika’s nose wrinkled. Occupied or not, the smell of smoke and beer hung in the air like the stench of past business in a bathroom. Regardless, he strolled over to the sole individual sitting at a card table. “Playing by yourself?”

Startled, Neon looked up. “Huh? Oh, yes, I’m playing solitaire.” The exposed cards on the table were arranged in an unrecognizable form of the game. “I know over 50 types of solitaire, you know. From the world over.”

Kurapika nodded. Neon was an avid gambler in her free time. Kurapika had seen her play many card games with her clients and attendants. How strange but fortunate her ladies in waiting were absent.

Kurapika slipped into the chair opposite of her. “Neon. I won’t mince words.” Brows furrowed, Neon withdrew her hands from the cards. “Salvestro’s arrival was a surprise. You should have told me about him.”

Playing with a card, she gazed up at the ceiling. “What’s to tell? We were friends. Or mentor and student really. Our families visited cities around the world together. Me, I showcased my Lovely Ghostwriter. He made alliances with foreign dignitaries. Taught me how to be professional in dealings with others. But mostly we practiced fortunes, fortunes, fortunes. He’d pose as some politicians he knew and I tried to figure out what kinda personality made ‘em happy.” Neon let out a long sigh. “There wasn’t time for anything else.”

Neon shrugged. “Then out of the blue, he never came back. After four years of friendship—nothing. He was dead to me. Why bring up memories of dead people?” She laid her card on the table, voice lowering. “It’s only makes you lonely.”

Kurapika flashbacked to his days before he took the Hunter Exam. The long nights of staring into a campfire alone in the wilderness. Drawing in a breath, Kurapika leaned back. “I see. But if he was dead to you, why would call him?”

Neon burst out laughing. “Well, it’s natural to call your friends when you’re getting married, isn’t it?”

Kurapika crossed his arms. So marrying me wasn’t some sudden whim of hers. She’s planning something. I’m just a bodyguard. What could she gain from marrying me?

Lost in thought the Hunter gazed into the distance. He spied a large pile of manila envelopes and star charts on a nearby table. “What are those?” Frowning, he picked up a page.

“The Wheel of Fortune card predicts disaster. Your wife, so distraught by your tragic death, will run out to find you. Only to be stoned by all the people you cheated. A fitting punishment for an adulterous embezzler like you. Enjoy hell.”

Other pages detailed similar sarcastic palm readings and astrology fortune tellings.

Neon made an annoyed noise. She shuffled the cards with such force she risked bending them. “I do all the predictions which I hope will pass, then I write ‘actual’ ones. It’s cathartic. Although any fortune tellings which don’t use my Nen are completely made up anyway.”

 “What? Why?” Kurapika asked, at a loss. “What possible reason would you waste your time doing worthless fortunes?”

With her back to him, Kurapika couldn’t see Neon’s face. The riffle noise of shuffling cards stopped momentarily. “Ask Papa,” she whispered. She resumed shuffling cards.

Kurapika examined the predictions. The most his father had ever asked of him was to do chores or help him skin elk. Kurapika shook his head.

“Forget about that. Come here. Wanna play something? I’m up for anything!” Shuffling the cards, Neon lounged back in the chair, grinning. Her blue eyes glinted dangerously. “Pick your poison.”

Kurapika hid a smile. Shoulders straight, he lightly touched the table with his fingertips. “If I were to agree to your proposal, you would want to gamble as well, I imagine?”

“Of course,” she said, taken aback. “Duh.”

“How about we make matters more interesting? More fun?” Neon stopped shuffling the cards. “Instead of money, we bet information. Whoever wins can ask one question of the loser, who must answer truthfully. My poison of choice is chess.”

Neon blinked. “Chess?” Kurapika nodded. “I haven’t played that since Sal was visiting regularly. But, sure okay.” Neon flitted between the other card tables, head swiveling side to side. “Now where is… Aha!” From a hidden drawer beneath a tabletop Neon pulled out a chess set. Smiling broadly, she set it on their table and began setting up the pieces.

“So you are in agreement about my proposal?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Neon waved. “Come on, let’s play, already!”

Kurapika struggled to keep from smiling. Now I can learn what kind of person she is from the strategies she employs.

The sleek checkered board gleamed in the low hanging lights. The glass black and white chess pieces were cold to the touch, and heavy, having marble bottoms. It was far finer than the cardboard and rocks Kurapika used when playing with the odd traveler as a young teenager.

“Ladies first,” Neon exclaimed, moving a pawn.

Kurapika paused. Mentally shaking his head, he, too, moved a pawn.

“Do you like chess? Eliza is decent at it, but Tigris hates it. She’ll only play checkers and quite miserably I would add.” Neon slid a bishop into place. Kurapika advanced a pawn. “After Sal left none of the servants wanna play with me. And purple dinosaurs would walk the planet before I could wrestle Papa into playing any kind of game with me.”

“Hmm.”

“You know what the best board game is? Parcheesi. It’s the best combination of strategy and luck. I adore it. We should try it sometime. Backgammon is a close second though but checkers is the absolute worse. It’s boring and one-dimensional. Really, it’s a brainless game. I told you Tigris hates it, right? Well, one time I had kinged all of my pieces and she only had two pieces left. And they weren’t kinged either. Course, at that point I was just keeping her alive 'cause it was so funny seeing her get so mad.”

Eyes narrowed, Kurapika glanced up at Neon, then back at the board.

Eventually Neon’s storytelling died down. Only the hum of concentration resounded through the room. Kurapika, using his favorite opening tactic, quickly ascertained control of the central area, giving his pieces more movement. However, her bishop limited him, making him wary.

Kurapika advanced a knight. “Check.” If Neon didn’t move her king piece on this turn, his knight would capture it and he would win. The Hunter had planned a counter strategy for each move. He smirked.

Neon’s eyes scanned the board. Then she picked up the king and rook switched the pieces’ position. Castling, the move was called. Although the rook was forfeit, the king was safe behind a wall created by the bishop and knight. Leaning back, Neon smiled. Kurapika gazed at her, mouth open. In the many years since his last game, he had forgotten about the tactic. He redoubled his focus. Now I have to rework my entire strategy.

The shadows of the room elongated as the game stretched on for another hour. The pile of captured pieces grew higher. Frowning, Neon fingered her remaining rook. She picked it up. Then she dropped it and moved her knight. Kurapika’s eyes widened. Is that—? In relocating her knight, she left an opening for Kurapika to execute her queen, the most powerful piece. Kurapika raised a hand. Wait. Is this a trap? Could she be planning something?

Exhaling, Neon rested against the chair’s back, popping a piece of gum. After a moment, she made a face. She reached deep into her mouth and exacted the gum, trails of saliva on her fingers. She stuck the gum wad under the table. Then she began examining her blue nails.

With a flick of his wrist, Kurapika dispatched her queen.

Neon’s bored expression transformed into a wicked grin. She fisted her bishop, which hadn’t moved since the king and rook switched places an hour ago, and slid it across the board to topple Kurapika’s queen.

“What?” Kurapika gasped.

“Ha, ha, ha,” Neon crowed, clapping her hands with each laugh. “Now whatcha gonna do?”

Scowling, Kurapika grilled the board. I can still do this…!

Five minutes later, Neon her bishop into Kurapika’s king, knocking it over. “Checkmate.”

“Damn it!” Kurapika’s clenched his jaw so hard his teeth hurt. Crossing his arms, Kurapika laid back against the chair. Had my queen been still alive, I would have won within a few turns. If only I hadn’t… Kurapika slowly lifted his head. The girl across from her was humming, kicking out her legs. …underestimated her.

Neon giggled. “So competitive! I’ll make a gamer out of you yet.”

“What’s your question.”

“If you had won, what question would you have asked me?”

Kurapika’s breath caught in his throat. “W-What?”

Neon frowned. “If you had won, what question would you have asked… me.” Seeing Kurapika’s expression, her voice trailed off. Her eyes widened. “Ha, ha…” She threw her head back, belting out, “AHAHAHA!!!” She bent over the table, hitting it with a fist. Wiping away tears, Neon said between gasps, “You were going to ask the same question, weren’t you?”

Face reddening, Kurapika turned away. She only laughed harder.  

Neon propped her head up with a fist, her flushed and teary-eyed face grinning maddeningly at him. Her sky-blue eyes twinkled with the mischievous delight of a child eating all the cookies in the cookie jar. “That was fun. Let’s play another game! But this time…” Neon raised an eyebrow. “Let’s ask each other real questions this time. Okay?”

Melody’s words echoed in his head. “You should try to get to know her better. She might surprise you.”

“Well…” Kurapika smiled. “Sure. Let’s.”

After sipping iced tea, Leorio scooched the rolling chair closer to his desk. Medical textbooks lay open to the immune response chapter. The open window only let the heat from outside stagnate the air. Beads of sweat rolled down his neck. Like during school tests.

 “Now let’s see.” Bobbing his head to a metal rock band, Leorio drummed his thumb against the textbook to the rhythm. “Killer T cells are cells mediated response while B cells are humoral response.”

“Hi, Leorio, isn’t it? You’ve been friends with Kurapika for a long time, right? I wanna hear about all the adventures you two had.”

“Humoral reminds of the bone humerus. In that case, B cells are like osteoblast cells.” Nodding, he penned the connection in his notebook.

“What are you asking me for? Shouldn’t you have already talked about this stuff with him? He’s your fiancé for crying out loud.”

Leorio chomped on the end of his pen. “No, wait, the ‘b’ in osteoblast stands for build. Immune cells attack and kill things, not create more cells.”

“You don’t think I’ve tried? A whole year has passed and he barely looks at me.”

Leorio scribbled out his previous note. “Then it’s like an osteoclast cell. Osteoclast cells are bone cells which destroy bone.”

“Kurapika isn’t much of a talker. Maybe you should do something with him instead. Look, things are different now. Why don’t you try again? Hope for the best.”

Frowning, Leorio furiously scrubbed the page with an eraser. As he was writing in ink the words didn’t disappear. He only erased harder. “Actually, Kurapika’s a killer T cell, eating everything he perceives as a threat. You should make like an autoimmune disease and eat him—Wait. What the hell am I saying?” Leorio’s erasing ripped a hole into his paper. “Argh!

“Break!” Leorio cried, standing up. “I call break time!”

Leorio stomped out of his bedroom into the hallway. Damn you, Kurapika, when I flunk out of school, you’re forging my diploma. After taking a few turns in the halls, Leorio had cooled off. Well, I guess I wouldn’t do that. But still, it’s your fault that I can’t concentrate.

“What do you think you’re doing?! Your ball hit my boob!”

Leorio halted. He had just passed a Cherrywood door with shouting behind them. The student glanced both ways. Empty. He cracked open the door.

A red-faced Neon was standing with one hand to her chest and held a cue stick in the other. Kurapika stood a few feet away, hands raised. A billiards table separated them.

“I don’t know what went wrong.” Kurapika stepped back. “I struck the cue ball with as much force as I did when I broke the triangle. I didn’t think the cue ball would bounce off the table’s rail like that.”

“You’re hitting one ball. Not sixteen balls, you stupid moron!”

“Ah. That makes sense.”

“This is gonna leave a fat, ugly bruise. Look at it.” Neon pulled down the neck of her shirt. “Look at it!”

Kurapika’s face burned crimson. Blocking his face with his arms, he turned away. Their eyes connected. “L-Leorio! Great timing. Help me out—Ow!”

Neon threw a billiards ball at Kurapika’s shoulder. Flabbergasted, Kurapika held his shoulder and gaped at her. “What was that for?”

“For your sexual harassment!” Neon hurled another striped ball.

Kurapika caught it before it struck his face. “I did no such thing. You and your crazy—” She pitched another. “Knock it off. Or else.”

Neon brushed a loose strand of hair back. Hand on a hip, she bent forward. “Or what? You gonna go cry to Papa? Well guess what.” Neon strode towards Kurapika, cue stick in hand. She stopped inches away from him. “If you get me in trouble, I’ll…” She tried to keep a straight face, but she couldn’t help but smile, about to laugh. “I’ll trip you down some stairs again.”

“That’s it,” snarled Kurapika. He snatched up a cue ball and threw it. Neon backed up with a yelp. Neon dove for more ammo. They raced to neighboring pool tables, throwing more pool balls and cue sticks at each other. Neon’s shrieks of laughter and his angry shouts rose in pitch. 

After waiting a moment, Leorio silently shut the door. A smile grew on his face. He retrieved his phone, typed a message, and sent it. He continued down the hallway, whistling a happy tune.

“Hey, Kurapika. Next time you’re playing strip pool, lemme in on the action.”

“Look, Mamma.” A young boy pointed at an insect lying within a dense foliage. “It’s an asswhupper.”

Laughing, a woman ruffled the boy’s blond hair. “That’s a ‘grasshopper,’ Kurapika.”

Kurapika grinned wickedly up at his mother. “You don’t like bugs, right?”

“Oh no,” she gasped, covering her mouth to hide a smile.

“I’m going to go get it!” Kurapika ran towards the feared insect, but something grabbed his wrist, halting him. Frowning, he turned to look.

The woman’s head dangled to the right, attached only by a few sinews. Mud coated the left half of her body. Dark blood stains marred her shredded clothes. She lifted her eyelids open, but they were only empty pits. “Naughty boy. You should’ve stayed with us.”

Kurapika tried to jerk his hand free, but his mother’s hand was welded onto his wrist.

Her rotting skin pulled back to reveal her teeth as she smiled. “Stayed and died alongside us!” She wrenched his wrist. Kurapika tripped, his face inches from meeting her outstretched hand.

He screamed.

Eyes flying open, Kurapika shot up into a sitting position. Ragged puffs of air escaped his lips in strangled gasps. Sweat slid down his forehead. Kurapika’s bloodshot eyes darted over his surroundings. He saw no trees or shrubbery, but four bare walls, two stuffed bookshelves, a desk, and dresser. Shimmering moonlight spilled from his window, replacing the sun poking through the treetop. And he was sitting in a bed, not lying in the mud.

Yanking back the sleeve of his red silk pajamas, Kurapika exposed his left wrist. No busies in the shape of fingers. Head dropping back, Kurapika released a breath. Just a dream. Just that dream again.

Years had passed since he had a nightmare about the Kurta Clan with such intensity. They had reoccurred following his encounter with the Phantom Troupe, but those dreams were mostly him relishing in killing the Spiders. Kurapika ran his hands over his face. They must have begun again because I proposed to Neon.

What if Mother and Father knew I was marrying someone I didn’t love? That I plan to divorce her when she’s no longer useful? Kurapika’s mother would beat him from one end of the village to the other, shouting she had raised her son to be better than that. And his father wouldn’t be able to look at Kurapika. Pairo encouraged Kurapika to leave the village to have fun adventures, not work for Underworld Mafia bosses. Make a Mafia daughter who collected human body parts be his new family.

Mother, Father, my tribesmen… Kurapika buried his face in his hands. Forgive me. Oh, please, forgive me.

Chapter Text

Neon popped her head into the Mr. Nostrade’s office. “Papa? I’m here. What’s up?” Mr. Nostrade sat at his executive desk, typing at his laptop. Like a ballerina, Neon flitted past the couches and table before leaping up the stairs to his desk. Mr. Nostrade didn’t look up. Sunlight streamed from the large window behind them, highlighting his silver hairs. He frowned, deepening the wrinkles by his mouth and eyes. Neon smiled faintly.

Neon pounced on Mr. Nostrade, seizing his wrists. “Bear attack!”

“What are you—? Stop at once, young lady!”

The fortune teller gave his wrists a little shake. “I watched you mistype three words. Your fingers are feeling numb again, aren’t they?”

Mr. Nostrade begrudgingly rubbed his wrist. “Yes, my Carpal Tunnel Syndrome is acting up.”

Neon glanced at the desk. History books of criminal syndicates were arranged in one corner. Newspapers clipping of Mafia’s heists rested beneath the desk’s cover protector. Office stationary, emblazoned with the family crest, littered the top of the desk. “I don’t see the wrist pad I made you. And after I suffered through hours of Eliza’s sewing lessons! I was pricked, like, a bajillion times. Some appreciation.”

Mr. Nostrade returned to typing. “The wrist pad is filled with what? Rice, right? You’re supposed to microwave it so acts as heating pad as well. I haven’t used it. There’s no microwave in my office.”

Neon stared at her father. He continued to typing. Exhaling, Neon cast her gaze over the desktop again. “Hey, what’s that?”

A picture frame stuck out from behind a rack of manila files. Neon retrieved it. Inside the frame was a photo of a smiling Neon and Salvestro with Nover Falls behind them. Their families happened to be visiting the a nearby city. Neon had begged and begged Mr. Nostrade and Salvestro to go until they had relented.

Neon sat down on the arm of Mr. Nostrade’s chair. “You changed the picture.” Previously it had been Neon as a toddler sitting on her mother’s lap.

“Yes, well, you are no longer a child, but a young woman. A young woman who must be very busy with preparations as she is getting married in two and a half weeks.”

“U-Uh, yeah, I totally am!”

Mr. Nostrade heaved a deep sigh. “In a little more than a week, I have created the guest list, arranged for an orchestra, and contacted a florist and a wedding venue to make the menu. However, I cannot decide what music, what flowers, or what food without your input. You have a week to decide. Or else I’ll choose whatever style that will appease the guests the most. Understand? As always, it’s for your…”

“My best interest. Yeah, yeah, I got it, okay?” Neon shook her head, looking away.

Mr. Nostrade ran a hand threw his lavender hair, mussing it. “To be honest, Neon, I’m quite uncomfortable at the thought of giving away my only daughter so soon. Can’t you wait another year? Maybe three?” He wrapped an arm around her waist and squeezed in a one-armed hug. “You’re only 18. There’s no need to rush.”

Despite herself, Neon smiled. “No. It has to be now.” She placed the photo onto the desk. “Before the Yorknew City auction.”

Just as Neon was about to push the picture back, Mr. Nostrade grabbed the frame. Studying it, he chuckled at the plush squid Neon held in the picture.

“Why not Salvestro?” Mr. Nostrade asked, rising from his seat. “He, who traveled to exotic places with you. Who taught you how to properly please our clients.” He clasped Neon’s shoulders. “Who can increase my standing in the Mafia’s eyes.” Mr. Nostrade’s steel blue eyes gazed at her. “Why that bodyguard?”

“Because…” Neon bit her lip. “Because I need him.”

Mr. Nostrade’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Is there something you’re hiding from me?”

Governor Slimar tried to take off her clothes. Last year, during the induction ceremony, a cult member drugged her ‘for the sake of an experiment.’ Enraged at the prediction of his arrest, a drunk mobster attacked her with a knife. She still bore the scar.

Neon laughed, waving a hand. “That’s ridiculous! Why would I ever do that? Come on, Papa.”

Mr. Nostrade lowered his hands to her arms and gave them a pat. “Good. Keep making me proud. Go plan the wedding, then.”

Neon descended the few stairs of the platform. “All right, all right. I’ll get Eliza and Tigris.” She crossed the room and pulled the door open. “We’ll be at the billiards room. Meet us there!” Neon popped her head through the doorway before closing it. “If you don’t show up and help, then I can’t guarantee I’ll be focused. I might just play games with everyone instead!”

Sighing, Mr. Nostrade rubbed his chin. “You have a week. Then I’ll decide for you. That might even be faster,” he muttered.

The sound of his typing filled the room. Growling, Neon closed the door with a boom.

Hand covering her mouth, Neon read the wedding itinerary. Guests were to arrive the afternoon before the wedding to enjoy dancing and poker and other games. With the Yorknew Auction the day after the wedding, Mr. Nostrade believed the dancing and poker should be the night before, not the night of the wedding. Neon gnawed on her lip. Her schedule the night before the wedding was a romantic tryst with Kurapika, not entertaining guests.

Neon gazed out to the poker and roulette tables of the billiards room. She imagined her clients squeezed into the tables. Wine glasses in hand, guests would throw their poker chips in, their hearty laughter bouncing off the walls. The jukebox would blare at headache-inducing levels. A cloud of cigar smoke would contaminate all in the proximity. Would Neon be expected to flit from table to table, conversing with guests? Or should Neon and Kurapika play alongside them? Sighing, Neon rested her chin on her hand. Why do we have to even be there at all? But if we don’t show would everyone think that we’re… Neon’s face flushed.

The sweet smell of grass filled her nose. Kurapika was leaning in closer to read the itinerary. Neon nearly jumped out of her skin.

“So the guests are spending the night here. To monitor so many clients, we’ll have to hire more bodyguards. The screening alone could take weeks.”

“Papa won’t like hearing that.” Neon mused.  

Kurapika pulled away. “I’ll discuss surveillance strategies with Melody and the others right away.” His ever-present crinkle between his eyebrows deepened. If only Neon could stroke her finger along it, smooth it out.

Salvestro scoffed. Across Neon’s table, Salvestro turned away, fist by his mouth. He coughed. Kurapika’s eyes narrowed.

The two attendants shared a glance. Eliza handed Neon a clipboard. “Milady, here is a list of potential songs to play during the reception. As of matter of course, the ballroom music is only tracks you know how to dance to. We can use the usual jazz playlist for the poker games. Suggestions for the wedding soundtrack is on the next page.”

Leorio drummed pencils against the table’s edge. “You should go with heavy metal. That’ll be sick!”

Neon flipped to the next page. Music genres from samba to electric blues to opera were listed. Famous global hits were ranked. “Whatever, I don’t really care about it. Choose what you think is best.”

Kurapika retrieved the clipboard. “What is the eclectic, hodgepodge selection? Is this a file of what her clients like?” Scowling, he ripped the papers out of the clipboard, crumbled it, and tossed it over his shoulder. “Absolutely not. This wedding is not some roadside play or circus. Neon, you should discuss the matter with Melody. I’m sure the two of you can generate more suitable options.” Everyone stared at Kurapika. He rested the clipboard down and folded his hands. “Next matter.”

Neon rose and headed to another table. She tapped on an iPad for the time. Two hours had passed with no sign of Mr. Nostrade. Smiling, Neon twirled around. “Well, guess what this calls for guys?”

Her attendants, fiancé, the medical student, and childhood friend looked up.

“Time to play games!”

Everyone groaned.

Neon sipped on her orange juice. Brows furrowed in concentration, Kurapika shook his dice in the blue shaker. He emptied the dice roller into the box. Four ones and a two.

“Damnit!” cursed Kurapika, pounding his fist into the table.

Eliza, acting as scorekeeper, read his Yahtzee paper. “You already used ones, chance, and put a zero into Yahtzee. What do you want to put this in?”

Salvestro retrieved the dice from the Hunter. “I suppose he’ll have to put it as one ‘2’ and only receive two points from this roll.” Salvestro rolled the dice. Five 6’s. “Oh, look, another Yahtzee! A hundred points for me.”

Smoke practically poured out of Kurapika’s ears. Shaking her head, Neon spun her straw in the orange juice. Yet another game Kurapika lost to add to the count.

Swing jazz music emanated from the jukebox. The warm smell of popcorn wafted over the table. Every board game imaginable was stacked on nearby tables. It was the perfect set up for some fun. But the longer Kurapika played, the more frustrated he became. He hadn’t left the start until halfway through Sorry, had all his battleships sunk before striking one of Neon’s ships, and had somehow gone bankrupt in Life.

“I’m disappointed, Kurapika. I’d hoped to make you into a gamer. But you’re really unlucky. Pass me the chips, will ya?”

Eyes narrowed, Kurapika handed her the chip bag. “Yes, I am quite unlucky.” Neon giggled.

“Maybe we just haven’t found the right game.” The fortune teller nodded at Eliza who, with a sigh, moved towards the teetering pile of game boxes. “Well, I would say we should try something with strategy, but,” Neon grinned at Kurapika over her shoulder. “We all know how last time played out.” She walked two fingers across the tabletop toward him. “Tempted by the prospect of capturing my queen you failed to notice my ploys. You were trapped in my web.” Neon rested her chin on her hand and leaned in, invading his personal space. “Right where I wanted you.”

Kurapika raised a brow, but he didn’t move away. “It won’t happen again.”

Neon dipped her chin behind a shoulder. “Ooh, is that a challenge?”

“No.” Kurapika smirked. The worry lines of his face disappeared. The gray eyes brightened to silver. Neon’s heart fluttered. “It’s a promise.”

“A chess match, yes?” The pair turned. Salvestro’s melodious, foreign accent was as charming as ever, but his smile was strained. He adjusted his navy cravat. “I take it dear Neon won.”

“And,” snickered Leorio. “Don’t forget their round of strip p—”

Kurapika kicked him under the table. To Salvestro, the Hunter offered, “I would try a round of chess with you. But since you’re so busy governing Roffet, your time should be saved for Neon.”

“But of course,” Salvestro chuckled. He folded his Yahtzee score paper into a howling coyote. “Why would I waste my time with you?”

Kurapika gripped the Yahtzee dice roller so hard is cracked.

As Salvestro refolded the coyote into another creation, Neon studied him. In the past five years, any hint of his youthful roundness had disappeared. If anything, his cheeks were slightly sunken. He was perpetually pale like a vampire. However, his wavy cinnamon hair tufted out by his ears, giving him a boyish look.

“Milady, there’s also Risk and Clue. What do you prefer?”

Rising from her chair, Neon said, “Clue would be best, I think.”

The double doors burst open with a bang. Mr. Nostrade stood in the doorway. “Neon!” his booming voice called. “It’s finally here. I have a surprise for you. Come, come!”

“Oh, goodie!” Neon skirted around the table and hurried over. Clapping her hands, she bounced on her toes. “What is it? What is it?”

Mr. Nostrade chuckled. “Close your eyes.” Neon obeyed. A thrill shot through down her spine. She curled her toes. “Okay, open them.”

Two servants held up a full-length ballroom wedding dress. Its mint green color resembled candy. Chains of pearls lined the three-tiered dress. Dramatic lace sleeves ballooned out by the cuffs. A red bow the size of the bodice was tied in the back.

Neon’s jaw dropped. Everyone behind her was completely silent.

“So? What do you think?” Grinning, Mr. Nostrade stood alongside his daughter.  

“It’s…” Neon looked up at her father. “Is it Mama’s?”

“Well, no. I chose it for you.” He vigorously rubbed Neon’s shoulder, pushing her into him. He kissed her cheek. “I knew you’d love it.”

Behind her, chair legs scrapped against the floor.

Neon paused, fingers to her face. She couldn’t remember the last time he kissed her. Not since her mother was alive, at least. Neon swallowed. “That’s so sweet, Papa. Really. I’ll have Eliza and Tigris help me try it on.”

“Fantastic. I’ll be in the office.” Mr. Nostrade lifted his ringing phone. “Send me a picture.” He patted her shoulder then strode down the hallway.

The attendants shared a glance before rising and joining her. Eliza silently accepted the dress while Tigris closed the door behind them. Breathing heavily, Neon stared at the dress. She tore off the bow, crumped it, and threw it on the ground. She led the way towards her bedroom, tossing her hair. Eliza shook her head but followed.

Kurapika watched the Nostrades and attendants leave. Jaw set, he sat back in his chair. Kurapika pressed his folded hands to his mouth, not meeting anyone’s eyes.

“Uh, hey, Kurapika.” Leorio’s voice started. Kurapika stared off into the distance. Scratching his head, Leorio stood. “It’s getting late. I’m gonna go study.” The door’s bang echoed through the near empty expanse. The jukebox’s jaunty jazzy music continued playing.

“Which is it?” Kurapika looked up. Salvestro was resting on the chair’s back. He tapped his origami to the table like a metronome. “Neon or Mr. Nostrade?” Kurapika frowned. “You let her choose the music for the ceremony, but did not interfere when Mr. Nostrade forced her to try that dress on.” Salvestro scowled at the door. “Such a hideous monstrosity.”

Kurapika hummed his agreement. In the Kurta clan, brides dressed in green and yellow to reflect nurturing Mother Earth. Grooms wore blue and gray, matching the protective sky. The earth brings forth life, Kurapika’s mother had explained, like wives who bear children and become mothers. Fathers hunt to provide the family food just as the sky brings forth rain for crops. That gown resembled neither the Earth nor a traditional white wedding dress.

“We should burn it, yes?”

“No. Neon is capable of making her own decisions.”

Salvestro raised a brow. “Hmm. And here I so believed you beheld Neon as a sort of simpleton.” Chair creaking, Salvestro leaned forward. “If you will not do her the favor of burning the dress, then continue doing nothing.”

Kurapika unfolded his hands and drew them to his side. “I will, provided you stop pretending. Neon does not want to be saved. You saw her accepting the gown. She wants to be here with Mr. Nostrade.” The Hunter smirked. “After all, she never visited you in Roffet, did she?”

Salvestro crushed his origami into a fist. “You are missing the point. Mr. Nostrade and I have nothing to do with it. You…” His green eyes widened. “You have no idea, do you?” Salvestro leaned away, a disbelieving smile on his face. Laughter bubbled out of his mouth. “I have heard daughters marry men like their fathers, but I did not expect you to display the same level of ignorance as Mr. Nostrade. Bodyguard, indeed.”

A bead of sweat slid down Kurapika’s forehead. “What?”

Shaking his head, Salvestro threw a gloved hand to the side. “All this time, Neon has been playing you like a fiddle. Right into your expectations of her. That is what she does best. What I trained her to do.”

Kurapika’s hands balled into fists. “What are you talking about?”

Salvestro rose from his seat. He leisurely ambled around the table towards the Hunter. “You are not a knight in shining armor.” He drew to a stop by Kurapika’s chair. His green eyes blazed. “You are a dungeon guard standing outside her cell as clients have their way with her.”

All the tension in Kurapika’s body vanished in an instant. “W-What?” gasped the bodyguard

A shrill scream pierced the air. Kurapika and Salvestro froze.

Neon.

Kurapika burst through the billiards room’s doors and stepped into the hallway. Kurapika dashed to the right, gripping his bokken. To have heard Neon’s screaming, she must be changing into the wedding gown in a closer room. Only one room of interest lay in this wing.

“Wait!” Salvestro called behind him. “Come back!”

Kurapika blew past landscape paintings and antique display stands. Kurapika pressed a finger to his ear. Only to remember he wasn’t wearing his coms device. Kurapika checked his phone. No signal. He cursed. He was on his own.

Something seized his leg. Kurapika fell face first onto the ground with a grunt.

“Where are you going?” A familiar male voice hissed. “You can’t leave without me.”

Kurapika’s blood ran cold. Mouth gone dry, he slowly looked over his shoulder.

His father’s animated corpse lay on the ground, hand on Kurapika’s leg. Half of his body was blackened almost beyond recognition. What visible skin remained appeared soft and malleable like putty. Gaping eye sockets stared at Kurapika.

“No… No, this can’t be happening!” Kurapika had nightmares of his family. But they never appeared during the day. Never.

His father moaned. The other arm—a mere stump—reached for his other leg.

This was his father taught him how to skinning a deer? His father whose eyes shone pride when Kurapika demonstrated the bonfire dance? His father who, laughing, refused to call his mother the most beautiful woman of all?

“Bugs! Bugs everywhere!”

Kurapika blinked. The vision of his father was replaced with a wide-eyed young servant. He squeezed Kurapika’s leg. “Get them off me! Please!”

Kurapika shook off the man’s hand. The servant curled into a ball. Holding his head, he rocked. “They’ll eat me to pieces!” His voice broke into sobs.

“What the hell?” Kurapika slowly stood. “What’s gotten into you?”

A bang echoed from deeper in the manor. Kurapika raced down the hall, leaving the crying servant. He reached the last door and flung it open.

Kurapika stepped into the Volcanic Drawing Room. The Tutor-styled chairs, dressers, and couches appeared untouched. No sign of struggle. Nothing had fallen over, either.

“I won’t forgive you.” Tigris stood by the fireplace, beneath the volcano painting. She turned, red hot fire poker in hand. Tears tracks stream down her face. She lunged towards him. “How could you harm the children?!”

Kurapika sidestepped and whacked her head with a bokken. Tigris fell to the ground, silent. Jaw set, Kurapika rushed to the door of the fortune telling room. Using his Ren, he kicked the door, busting open the lock on the other side. Inside, Eliza had Neon pressed to the wall, the attendants’ hands squeezing Neon’s neck. Kurapika slammed his bokken into the back of the Eliza’s head. She crumpled. Neon coughed and spluttered.

“What happened?” Kurapika asked, looking outside the fortune room. Seeing no immediate threats, he powered down his Nen. 

Neon slid down the wall, hands on her throat. The wedding dress she wore ballooned around her. “I don’t know. One moment Eliza’s helping me dress, the next she’s choking me, all but foaming at the mouth. Is she all right? What about Tigris?” Kurapika opened the door more, showing Tigris’ prone form on the floor. “Oh my god. What’s going on?”

“Some sort of Nen. I ran into other half-crazed servants on the way here. We must retreat and regroup with the other bodyguards. Eliza and Tigris will be fine if we lock them in.”

Neon tentatively stood “All right, if you say so.” Kurapika moved to leave the room. “Wait a second!” Neon gesturing to the wedding gown. “I can’t go running around in this. Hold on.”

Oh. “Um, right.” Kurapika turned around.

Above them, the low hanging bulb turned off. “What the?” The lights in the drawing room had also shut off. Only sunlight from the window kept the darkness a bay. Kurapika turned around. “Hurry, Neon. There’s been a power outage!”

“Witches’ moles!” Neon stood in her matching lacy bra and underwear, leaning forward to fetch her clothes. She quickly donned her striped blouse and polka-dotted skirt. She turned. “All right, let’s go.” Then she frowned. “Hey, do you just watch me?”

“What? N-No, I…” Eyes on the ground, Kurapika left the room. “We don’t have time to argue.”

“I can’t believe you! I won’t forget this.”

After locking the drawing room, Kurapika and Neon dashed down the hall. Screams filled the air from deeper within the manor. “What’s going on here? Why is this happening?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Kurapika gripped his bokken tighter. “Someone’s attacking the manor.”

Kurapika, followed by Neon, sped through the manor, dodging the crazed servants. Anyone who posed a threat, Kurapika knocked unconscious with his bokken.

Kurapika spared his last casualty a glance. She had been ripping paintings off the walls and smashing display cases. Only Nen could have the power to throw everyone into a mass panic. However, Nen Manipulators typically required physically touching or attaching something to their victims to control them. Kurapika could only think of Killua’s older brother Illumi or the Phantom Troupe’s Shalnark could manipulate so many people at once. 

After weaving through more hallways, they arrived at a door with a keypad lock. Kurapika tapped the numbers of the password. With no power, nothing occurred. Kurapika retrieved a stun gun from his waist. “Stay back.” Using the stun gun’s electricity, he short circuited the keypad. Kurapika opened the door. “Get in.”

The two stepped into the bodyguard’s lounge. With no windows, they used their phones for light. Every furniture piece of the bodyguard lounge was in its place. One of Basho’s magazines lay undisturbed on the table. The air was still. “Melody? Basho?” Kurapika opened the other door to the security room. “Linssen?” No one answered. All the screens were black. He blew out a deep breath through his nose. “Even the backup generator was sabotaged.”

Kurapika gestured to the couch. “Help me push it to block the door.” Although whining, she complied.

Neon lowered herself onto the couch. “Do you think Papa is all right? Salvestro? Leorio?”

Kurapika wiped a hand across his forehead. With no air conditioning, the small lounge felt like an oven. “I’m sure they’re fine. For now we must determine who’s responsible.” Kurapika entered the security room and opened a closet. Musical scores, brochures, and mission reports tumbled to his feet. The closet reeked of moth balls. “Do who know anyone who’s holding a grudge against you? A client maybe?” Beneath the papers a safe gleamed in his phone’s light.

“Well, sure. There’s loads,” Neon’s voice answered. “I bet there’s a ton of clients who are pissed off, wanting their son, uncle, or cousin twice removed to marry me. That’s why Papa had me do all those free fake fortunes. Course that only insulted them more. I told him not to, but Papa knows best.”

“We’re looking for someone with either Nen capability or enough money to hire someone with Nen.” Knives, guns, and ammunition boxes rested inside in the safe. All but one ammo box was empty. Kurapika fastened six knives to his belt, next to his stun gun and bokken. Any more weapons would slow him down. “Someone who would be furious over the marriage, not insulted.”

“Dunno. I mean, me being on vacation, I haven’t seen any clients recently except…”

Loading the pistol, Kurapika returned to the lounge. “Here.” He tossed it to her.

Neon didn’t lift a hand to catch it. Sweat trickled down her pale face. Blue eyes stared into the distance. “I…” Her voice was a quiet as the wind. “I broke our contract.”

“What contract?” Kurapika stepped closer. “With whom?”

Neon threaded her fingers through her blue bangs. “Governor Slimar. When he visited earlier this month, after his fortune, he…”

“He what?”

Swallowing, Neon hung her head. “It doesn’t matter.”

Kurapika kneeled before her. “Tell that to your servants, who are going mad. To the unconscious forms of Tigris and Eliza. And who knows the state of the other bodyguards and Mr. Nostrade. Salvestro, too.”

Neon bit her lip. She breathed, “Slimar tried to, he tried to take off my clothes.”

A coolness settled in Kurapika’s core. An iciness which often preceded his eyes turning scarlet. “What.”

“To get him to stop, I said… I said that I would visit his manor. After the auction. He must be enraged to have learned of the marriage afterwards.”

So that’s why we’re getting married the day before, thought Kurapika.

“But he’s not the only one who’s too handsy. There’s been quite a number over the years. Normally they’d back off when I threaten to not predict their future anymore. But Slimar’s been the most persistent. And most important to Papa.”

“Why didn’t you tell Mr. Nostrade about Slimar? About all those other clients?”

Swallowing, Neon looked down at her hands. “Because I don’t wanna know if Papa will make me do their fortunes anyway.”

Salvestro’s words echoed in his head. “You are not a knight in shining armor. You are a dungeon guard standing outside her cell as clients have their way with her.”

He had no idea. I naïvely believed there was no way airhead Neon was being sexually harassed. And god knows what else, too. She hid everything in the soundproof fortune telling room.

Kurapika slowly sat down beside her. He whispered, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I didn’t think you’d care!” Holding her upper arms, she scooted away. “I mean, you hated me. You barely talked to anyone. You’re as unfeeling as a stone wall.”

Kurapika winced. In the silence, the air felt heavy. A distant scream and crash resounded. Neon swiped at her eyes.

Hands on his knees, Kurapika rose. “After this, I want a list of all the clients who’ve touched you. Or did anything else inappropriate. Who looked at you in the wrong way. I’ll deal with them personally.”

Neon’s face broke into a smile. “Really? Oh, thank you! Thank you so much.”

He thrust his index finger at her. “On one condition. Stop hiding things from me. For someone who’s not stupid, you sure do some idiotic things.” Kurapika crossed his arms. “Although you act the victim, you’re just as much to blame for not telling anyone. You’re not alone. Your bodyguards aren’t your purse accessories.” He pressed a hand to his chest. “Use us. There’s Eliza and Tigris as well. And stand up for yourself for once.” Wide-eyed, Neon stared at him. “Are you listening?”

“Wow. No one’s ever yelled at me before.”

“That’s your take away from all of this?!” Exhaling, Kurapika pinched the bridge of his nose. “You drive me crazy.”

Neon laughed. She crawled over to him on the couch. “All right, fine. But you gotta stop bottling up your feelings. Tell me if there’s something that’s bothering you.” Kneeling, she offered her pinky towards him. Kurapika frowned. “Pinky promise!” Chuckling, Kurapika linked pinkies with her. Neon chanted, “Cross my heart and hope to die. Stick a needle in my eye. If broken, cursed you’d be. I’ll become your banshee!” Neon giggled. Her blue eyes sparkled.

Kurapika smiled. After breaking away, Kurapika pulled the couch away from the door. Holding the couch’s arm, Neon asked, “Wait? You’re leaving? What are you doing?”

Kurapika shut the door behind him. Bokken in hand, he entered the dark mansion.

Protecting you from Slimar.

Gripping his bokken, Kurapika walked down the narrow path. Sweat soaked his back, but he pressed onwards. The assailant wouldn’t create a widespread panic unless they needed to. He navigated the twists and turns with ease. It’s a decoy. Which means Neon isn’t the true target.

“Where are the fortunes hiding?” A figure dressed in a black stood in front of the statue, frowning. The man was lean and tall, but no where close to the skeletal six-foot frame of Slimar.

Kurapika’s slippers slapped against the cobblestone ground. He emerged from behind the hedges, stepping into the maze garden’s center. The man leisurely turned around. The holes in his ski mask gave allowed Kurapika to see the gleam in his eyes.

Kurapika raised his bokken, his lips turning upward into a smile. His gray eyes flickered red. Judging by his smile as the man raised his gun, Kurapika instinctively knew.

They would both enjoy this.

Chapter Text

The black clad trespasser shot his gun at Kurapika multiple times. The gunfire made nary a sound thanks to a muffler. Kurapika flew to the left, narrowly evading becoming Swiss cheese. Kurapika zigzagged forward, dodging bullets and closing the distance between them. He rolled forward, right below the enemy. First things first. Kurapika jumped, bokken raised, about to uppercut his foe’s wrist. Disarm!

A jolt traveled down his arm. Kurapika had been blocked. With what, his gun? But how? A blur of silver moved towards his chest. Kurapika jumped backwards.

The invader rested an elbow on the back of his other hand. Both hands held a gun. And each gun had a six-inch knife protruding past the barrel’s muffler. The man lazily waved a gun back and forth, smile growing.

Kurapika grimaced. A bokken rolled towards the assailant. He stopped it with his foot. Gasping, Kurapika glanced down. The cord tying the twin bokken had been cut. His remaining bokken had a deep slice in it, nearly cutting it into two halves. Kicking the bokken away, the man crouched, guns pointed at Kurapika.

Releasing a frustrated breath, Kurapika dropped his lone bokken. So much for disarming him. He stocked both hands with three knives from his tabard. A different approach is required.

Kurapika volleyed three knifes one after the other. The knives traveled the same path through the air. If Kurapika was playing archery, all arrows would hit the bull eye’s and cut the preceding arrow in half. The trespasser swatted the first two away with his gun knives. However, the first two knives blocked his sight of the third. Grimacing, the man cranked his head to the side. The knife slashed the side of his neck.

Kurapika dashed forward, slashing with his other three knives. The man barely blocked. Each poured strength behind their joined knives but neither gained the upper hand. Their eyes locked. The man grinned, raising an eyebrow as though impressed. Kurapika smirked.

As though of one mind, the two released their deadlock at the same time and renewed their assault with a vengeance. Attacks were exchanged, parried, evaded, and exchanged again in a dance where one misstep meant death. Their racing pulses served as the beat, their synchronized breathing the rhythm, and their splayed blood the crescendos. All thoughts of the outside faded away as both were swept up in the duet, leaving only each note, each blow, being all that mattered.

Kurapika thwarted a slice to his neck with a knife. Just as he was about to retaliate, the gun Kurapika blocked fired. Muffler or not, the gun exploded an inch from his ear. Crying out, Kurapika stumbled. Something sharp bit deep into his abdomen. Sucking in a breath, Kurapika threw a knife. The Kurta jumped back.

Kurapika removed his hand holding his side. Blood soaked it. This is deep. The invader crouched defensively, smiling as always. He waved the gun back and forth, taunting “Come on”.

Kurapika narrowed his eyes. “Tch.” Another tactic then.

The bodyguard lunged, only for both knives to be blocked. Before he could parry, Kurapika kneed the trespasser in the gut. Coughing, the man bowed over. Kurapika uppercut his jaw. The man reeled backwards. Kurapika swept the feet out from under his assailant. The mastermind fell sideways, hitting his head on the marble stone bench. He lay still.

Kurapika stood over the man, panting. That was far more difficult than anticipated. Now to—

The man rose from the ground. Blood freely flowed from the cut in his head. Kurapika’s lips parted. He only could have survived that if he had Nen. The man cracked his neck. He grinned. So why isn’t he using it to fight me?

Kurapika shifted his stance slightly. His abdomen screamed in pain. He glanced down; only two knives remained. It’ll all come down to one last gamble. Kurapika shot a knife towards his opponent. Now to cast the dice!

Lip curling, the man batted away the knife with his own, and fired his other gun. Instead of predictably dodging, Kurapika took the bullet in his shoulder as he lunged forward. The Kurta pulled out a new weapon and set it to the second highest level. Kurapika thrust the stun gun into his foe’s chest. Convulsions ran through the attacker’s body. Something metal clattered to the ground.

Got you, smirked Kurapika. I win.

Darkness filled his vision. The gun’s barrel.

Kurapika ducked. The gun fired. He slashed at the man’s leg with his last knife. Gasping, the intruder collapsed. Kurapika kicked the two guns behind him, out of reach.

Blinking, the Hunter gingerly touched his head. Aside from having a tender forehead and missing a few bangs, he was whole. That was FAR too close. Still, Kurapika smiled as he looked down at the writhing man. I believe that was a gamble Neon would have been proud of.

Blood gushed between the man’s fingers clutching his leg. A pool of blood quickly formed beneath him. “It appears I’ve cut your femoral artery,” concluded Kurapika. “You have two minutes before you bleed out and die. Maybe three.” Kurapika stepped on the man’s leg. He screamed. “But there’s still time to make you suffer.” A small chain dangled from his ring finger. “This is my Dowsing Chain. I’ll know if you lie. So start talking. What are you after?”

The man’s shot out his bloody hand. It latched onto Kurapika’s ankle with a grip that could bend a steel beam. At his touch, Kurapika lost his vision. As though rendered blind, Kurapika couldn’t see anything but black. What? Kurapika gasped. What is this? Nen? No, I can’t fall here!

As Kurapika succumbed in the void, he could have sworn he heard someone laughing.

Although surrounded by a forest, the sun mercilessly beat down. No wind offered solace. Dirt was all he could smell. Mud soaked him to the bone. Like a worm, he had dug a hole which he was taking shelter in. Once he died, this hole will be his grave. Something unseen hummed in the distance. Cicadas. He attempted to open his mouth. But his cracked lips were fused together like a ragdoll with a sewn mouth. Didn’t matter. No one was around who could hear his cries.

Holding his breath, he lifted an appendage, wincing at the exertion. Not a spot of skin showed through the mud and dirt encasing him. His hand trembled, held up by an emaciated twig of an arm. But no matter how bloody his stumpy fingers were, his grip of the knife’s handle was ironclad.

With fluttering of wings, a vulture landed on the ground above him. Its plump body cast him in shadow. A blessed escape from the sun. Twisting its neck, the scavenger regarded him with a pale yellow eye. As the bird flew here it must have seen the two rectangle patches of disturbed earth on either side of the hole he was kneeling in. The graves of his mother and father flanked him. The vulture opened its beak and closed it twice. Its tongue slithered. Hungered.

Raising his other hand, he grasped the worn handle with both hands. His arms quivered. The knife pricked above his left eye. A trickle of red dripped into his sight. On reflex he blinked. His eye stung.

Another vulture landed aside the first, cawing excitedly. The two snapped at each other, biting at the other’s wings. Torn, bloody feathers flew through the air.

He pressed harder. A stream of blood flowed down, completely obscuring his left eye’s vision. He fought the urge to screw his eyes shut.

Several more vultures joined the fray. Their squeals and screeches escalated into a feverish pitch. They sung a dirge, blessing their meal before they feasted on his flesh.

His heartbeat skyrocketed. He twisted his hands around the handle. But his blisters ripped open, making the knife’s handle slippery. The flow of blood above his eye lessened. Swallowing, he gripped the handle harder. One trembling hand slipped off the handle. Grinding his teeth, he pressed the knife deeper with his remaining hand. The stream of blood ebbed into nothing more than a trickle. Then nothing at all. His hand had moved the knife back. Even as he had willed it to do otherwise.

His breathing quickened. His already shallow breaths became so slight, he almost didn’t breathe at all. The roar of blood rushed in his ears deafening him to the vultures’ cries, the cicadas, and his heartbeat. His vision swam with another liquid. Tears. The world blurred into an unidentifiable chaos.

He flung the knife away from him. Flapping furiously, the vultures escaped to the air. Their terrified shrieks reverberated in his head. He cranked back. Ripping out his hair, he tore open his lips, sending blood flying. A scream unearthed.

Neon waited five minutes. Then she pocketed the gun Kurapika lent her, pushed the couch from the door, and plunged into the dark mansion. She was not going to twiddle her thumbs, hoping Kurapika would be fine. After all, Kurapika had told her to stand up for herself. She was only obeying their promise.

She dashed through the halls, following the unconscious bodies of her servants. She arrived at the main’s lobby on the second floor. A chef lay on the stairs. “Please, doctor, don’t give me any shots. I hate needles.” Neon winced, a pang of sympathy filling her. He always saved her the best croissants.

Neon narrowed her eyes. The front door hung partially open. Kurapika went outside? Apologizing, she sidestepped the chef and descended the stairs two at a time.

The heat hit her like a blast upon stepping outside. Catching her breath, she looked around. Gardeners ravaged the flower beds and hedges with shears, weedwhackers, and lawn mowers. Their cries were indistinguishable noise. Gasping, Neon covered her mouth with her hands. Mrs. Nostrade spent hours designing patterns for the gardens every year. The gardens where they spent days planting flowers, picnicking, and crafting daisy chains destroyed.

Seeing no unconscious bodies among them, Neon rounded the mansion. The hedge maze sprawled before her untouched. She dove in.

As she neared the center, Neon paused. A strange smell lingered in the air. Blood. A strangled inhuman wail arose. White-faced, she rounded the last corner.

Kurapika stood by the statue. Blood soaked the front of his tabard. A large pool of blood stained the cobblestones a few feet away. Shielding his face with his hands, Kurapika stumbled like a drunkard. A moan escaped his lips. He stepped towards Neon before collapsing onto his knees.

“Kurapika!” Neon dropped the gun. She dashed to his side and, kneeling, placed a hand on the bodyguard’s shoulder. “Are you okay? What happened? Speak to me!” Eyebrows furrowed, Neon peered at his face visible between his splayed fingers.

Kurapika’s eyes shone a bright red.

Scarlet eyes. So he really is from that tribe.

Kurapika backhanded Neon’s face with the force of a sledgehammer. Her vision flickered black as Neon smacked into the stony ground. With no Nen, the blow was jarring. Rubbing her head, she croaked, “What are you doing? Why did you hit me? Don’t tell me you’ve been affected, too.”

Kurapika scrambled for a knife on the ground. He raised it to his face with the blade pointing at himself. His lips slowly curled upwards.  

“Don’t!” She screamed, lunging for him. Without even a glance, Kurapika backhanded Neon a second time. She latched onto Kurapika’s arm. “Stop! Why?! Why would you do this to yourself?”

The knife wavered an inch from his left eye. “I won’t let you!” Neon cried, grasping the blade. Like a searing branding iron, the knife tore into Neon’s palms. Warm blood flowed between her fingers. Gritting her teeth, she pulled back with all of her might.

Kurapika’s neutral expression resembled a mindless puppet. “I won’t…” Kurapika swung his arm and the attached Neon to the right, then whipped his arm to the left. He hurled her like the metal ball in the hammer throw sport. “… make the same mistake twice!” Neon slammed into the hedges. She collapsed.

Through her hazy vision, Neon saw Kurapika pick up the fallen knife. Kurapika plunged the knife into his face. Blood spurted.

“NO!”

Music notes, fast and furious, echoed through the garden maze. Bewildered, Neon turned her head to the manor. Lights from the window were turned on. Wasn’t there a blackout? The music blasted through a hidden speaker. The uplifting notes outlined a melody that rose above the turbulent harmonic chords. Melody! Neon thought. Her Nen flute playing can calm all the panicking people down!

Something clattered to the ground. The knife lay at Kurapika’s feet. Kurapika gaped at his hands as though they were alien. His scarlet eyes faded. “Wha…?” He tentatively raised his fingers to above his left eye, then lowered it. Blood covered his fingertips. “I…” He fell forward.

Neon’s heart stopped. Oh my god. Is he?

Kurapika sucked in a shaky breath. Shaking his head, he struck the ground with a fist.  

Neon, after untangling herself from the hedge, staggered over to her fiancé. She dropped to her knees. “It’s okay. I’m right here.” She gently lifted his head, placing it in her lap. Neon stroked his head, fingers weaving with his blond strands. “You’re not alone. I’m not going anywhere. So let it all out, okay?”

Kurapika continued to sob, his tears mixing with his blood.

Chapter Text

Kurapika hadn’t slept since the incident. Every time he closed his eyes, Kurapika was there again. Sun beating down. Mud covering him like a second skin. Smell of wet earth filling his nose. He shook the memory away. He trained his bloodshot eye on the ceiling above. It was inch by inch white tiles. The EKG beside him beeped in a slow rhythm.

The curtains surrounding his bed ruffled. “Kurapika?”

Kurapika sat up. Pain lanced through his abdomen. Neon stood by the parted curtains. Her frazzled blue hair stuck up in places. Her fashion designer clothes were torn and stained. Although pale, she smiled. “How are you feeling?”

Sighing, Kurapika lay back on the bed.  

Her footsteps echoed in the small enclosed space. As she sat down, the chair creaked. “Are you going to tell me what happened?”

The grout between the tiles was filthy. No one ever cleaned ceilings.

She quietly exhaled. The chair groaned as she shifted her position. A bluebird landed on a tree branch outside the open window. Its yellow eye locked with his. Transforming into a crow, the bird flew away, cawing.

“You shouldn’t involve yourself with me.”

Neon lifted her hands for his inspection. Bandages covered them. A bit of blood had soaked through. “Aren’t I already involved?”

Kurapika vaguely remembered yesterday’s events. His vision going red. A woman’s voice shouting “no”. A blade’s point poking above his eye.

Behind the gauze and bandages, his left eye throbbed. With a sigh, Kurapika fumbled for the controls on the bed railing. Neon raised the head of the bed for him. He winced slightly. Kurapika checked the window. The crow was gone.  

“After leaving you in the security room, I confronted a man in the gardens. When he touched me, I had this nightmare. No—a memory.” Kurapika closed his eyes. “After days and days of work, I had finally buried them all. I buried Mother and Father next to each other, but I made sure there was space between them. For me.”

Neon’s breath caught in her throat.

Kurapika’s voice thickened. “I was going to use a knife to gorge out my eyes and then slit my throat. Just like my parents had experienced.” He gazed down at his hands. For a moment, they were streaked in mud. “But I couldn’t do it.”

The EKG beeped, measuring Kurapika’s even heartbeat. The wind blew outside, ruffling the curtains. Dust danced in the sunlight. 

“Then you became a Blacklist Hunter to get revenge,” whispered Neon. “That’s why you’re working for Papa.” She blew out a sigh.

Neon stood, chair squeaking. Leaning over, Neon gently clasped his hand with her bandaged ones. Kurapika blinked. “Look here.” She turned his hand towards him. Neon traced the lines of palm. “This is your life line. See—a branch of it breaks off and ends suddenly. But the other branch.” Neon stroked her thumb across this palm. Kurapika felt goosebumps arise. “It goes on.”

Neon looked up at him. Although her sky-blue eyes were cloudy, a spark of sunlight broke through. “Kurapika, I’m just a fortune teller. I don’t know how to cope with the past.” She smiled. “But I’ll give my all to make your future better.”

Kurapika couldn’t suck in a breath. The EKG beeping became faster. His eye stung.

Neon lightly rubbed his hand. Straightening, she turned to the curtains.

Kurapika’s arm shot out, seizing her wrist. Neon froze, trapped. He kept an eye on the bedsheets. He squeezed.

Chuckling, Neon rested a hand on top of his. “I was just getting a deck of cards. I’ll be right back. Promise.”

A teenage boy sucked in shaky breaths. The dungeon air was toxic soup of the of blood, urine, and mold. He held a knife to his slender wrist. The blade’s kiss was cool against his skin. He swallowed.

Falchion rested on the chair’s back. A woman in her twenties was bound and gagged into the chair. When Falchion called quietly, she jerked. Sweat soaked her long brown hair to her forehead and her tank-top. Blindfolded, she couldn’t know what was about to happen to her.

His father’s wrinkles deepened. The mayor ran a hand through his gray roots. “Why do you hesitate, Salvestro?”

Salvestro flinched.

His six-foot father crossed the cell into two quick strides. He backhanded Salvestro’s face. The boy bashed into the mucky brick wall. Seeing stars, he fell to the ground. He bit his tongue to keep from crying out.

Shrieking, Falchion dove towards his father. Snorting, the mayor swatted the bird away. He fell against the ground and lay still.

Salvestro froze, catching himself before reaching out his hand to the falcon.

The female prisoner winced as though struck herself.

Mayor Acerbi dusted off his black suit with a hand. “Do you not realize the importance of your service? My second-in-command must have the strength of will to overcome any obstacle, any pain. Then together we can expand my influence beyond Roffet City. By controlling the underworld factions, I can bring even the Federation of Ochima to a heel…”

The mayor’s words faded in and out of Salvestro’s hearing. It felt like a hammer was striking repeatedly between his eyes. A concussion. Salvestro’s eyes slid across the cell. Moldy hay was piled in the corner. Handcuffs coated with dried blood dangled from the ceiling. His knife lay a few inches away. Salvestro’s green eyes hardened. As his father prattled, Salvestro gazed at the knife.

“With the Federation’s navy, I’ll attack the neighboring countries and—”

Salvestro lunged for his knife, turned, and slashed at his father’s thigh. 

Mayor Acerbi barked a laugh. He stepped backward, pulled out his gun, and shot Salvestro’s shin. Salvestro screamed. He clutched his bleeding leg, rolling around on the ground.

The prisoner bucked against her binds. Her own muscular frame had atrophied in the two weeks she been rotting in the solitary confinement cell.

“Fool. My guard is never lowered. An anemic teenager could never match the strength of a full-grown man. You should have thrown the knife into my heart and killed me instantly. I would have lived for a couple of minutes after cutting my femoral artery. Do you know what I would have done with that time period?” Mayor Acerbi crouched down. He fisted Salvestro’s mud casted hair and snapped the boy’s head up. Salvestro’s wide green eyes met his father’s eyes. They were bottomless black holes.

“I would cut out your heart.”

Mayor Acerbi stroked his chin, wrinkles crinkling. “Where has this sudden defiance welled up from?” His coal black eyes sparked with a realization. “That fortune teller, Neon Nostrade. Your charming little friend.” He muttered, “I should not have let you meet until you were both older.” His father’s gloved hands seized Salvestro’s neck. The boy choked.  

“All contact with the fortune teller is henceforth forbidden. Disobey even my command to wipe your snotty nose and I will kill her. Attempt to attack me and you will watch as I torture her.” Mayor Acerbi idly stroked his thumb over Salvestro’s jugular artery. “Do you understand?”

Salvestro nodded as much as he could.

Mayor Acerbi squeezed his neck tighter. “You cannot outsmart me. You cannot overpower me. You cannot match my ruthlessness.” Something peeled open Salvestro’s fingers. Mayor Acerbi placed the knife into his hand.

Spittle flew as he roared. “Now cut!”

Salvestro’s green eyes darted over his father’s face. With a knife Salvestro could slash open the mayor’s neck. Stab out his eyes. Slice off his ears.

A memory flashed before his eyes. A young girl with blue hair intertwined her fingers with his. Blue eyes sparkling, she smiled.

Salvestro raised the knife. The blade slid cleanly across his wrist. Blood gushed from the cut. He didn’t feel the pain; he was numb.

Mayor Acerbi grinned. “Again.”

The blood from his leg alone should have been enough. Blackness crept into his vision. He swayed on his feet. Gritting his teeth, Salvestro cut his wrist for a second time.

“Again.”

Salvestro obeyed.

“Again!”

The ritual continued until he could no longer see anything. His father’s barking laughter echoed in his ears as Salvestro succumbed to darkness.

Groaning, Salvestro cracked open his eyes. He dimly felt his arm and shin bleeding. After a moment his eyes adjusted to the darkness. He gazed at his arm. Bandages had been hastily wrapped around his cuts. A gauze pad rested over the crook of his elbow. Yet another blood fusion.

The female prisoner was unconscious. She lay forward in her chair. Dozens of needles protruded form her back. Blood oozed from the puncture wounds. Her gag had been removed. She must have broken quickly. So had all the others.

Falchion lay huddled against the stone wall. His wing hung at a funny angle and his foot was twisted. The bird’s condition mirrored his broken form when Salvestro and the blue-haired girl first found him.

Something metal reflected the torchlight. His knife. Gritting his teeth, Salvestro dragged himself forward with his one good arm and leg. Sweaty fingers latched onto the knife’s handle. He reversed the grip. Pointed it towards his chest. Towards his heart. Just like his father taught him.

A memory revisited him like a ghost. A young girl with blue hair intertwined her fingers with his. Blue eyes sparkling, she smiled. Salvestro chuckled. Together they recited, “I vow to be better than them.”

Salvestro’s teeth tore into his lip. The metallic tang of blood washed over his tongue. He tightened his grip on the knife. Then he let it go. It clattered to the ground. Falchion hopped over on his one leg. He stood by as Salvestro’s sobs reverberated through the dungeon.

Salvestro opened his eyes. That dream. That memory again. He rotated his stiff neck to the right. An EKG showed his heartbeat. The curtains of an open window billowed in the wind. White walls encased him. Is this a hospital room? Salvestro tried sitting up. A sharp pain radiated down his leg. Grimacing, he pressed a hand to his chest. His bare torso was swaddled in bandages. He only wore shorts.

An IV line pulled at his elbow. He couldn’t breathe. Another blood transfusion? No… no!

The curtains around his bed were moved aside by a nurse. “Oh, you’re awake.” She stepped towards him.

Salvestro tore at the bandages by his IV. “Where am I?!”

The nurse flinched. She clutched her clipboard to her chest. “Nostrade Manor. Infirmary Wing. Being a member of the Mafia, Master Nostrade only uses a public hospital in life-threatening emergencies.”

Memories flooded through Salvestro—announcing his mayor election campaign, receiving Neon’s phone call asking for help, the attack on the manor. Salvestro released a breath. He was not in Roffet.

Quietly, he asked, “How is everyone? Do not spare a detail.”

“Of course, Lord Salvestro.” The nurse checked her clipboard. “They’re all in other rooms here. Many of the hired help sustained minor injuries. The bodyguard guards Basho and Linssen were found unconscious. Currently they’re awake, but are experiencing some delirium.”

“How is Neon?”

“Milady has suffered lacerations across her palms. She is quite fortunate to not have had any tendons cut.”

Salvestro stiffened. “What caused her injuries?”

“A knife or dagger most likely. It is unknown who inflicted them. She and Sir Kurapika were discovered in the center of the garden’s maze together. Currently Lady Neon is in Sir Kurapika’s room. They were playing cards. Last I checked he was alert and orientated. His wounds are the most extensive and severe, however.”

Salvestro grit his teeth. “I see.” Salvestro closed his eyes. Swallowed. “Are you responsible for treating me? For these bandages?”

“Huh? Oh, um, yes.”

“Was there another?”

“Just me.”

“Any visitors?”

“No.”

“Good.” Sucking in a sharp breath, Salvestro swung his legs over the bed’s edge. At the motion, blood began to seep through his leg’s bandaging. “Perfect.” Salvestro gestured for the nurse to come closer. Brows furrowed, she obeyed.

Salvestro pulled out his IV needle, shoved the nurse onto the bed, and held the bloody needle to her throat. The nurse tried to scream, but Salvestro covered her mouth with a hand. She stared at Salvestro with bulging eyes. “Tell anyone about what you have seen and I will not hunt you down. I will target your family. Generous as I am, I will let you imagine what will occur to them. Pack your bags. I hope you enjoyed your stay at the manor because, once you have finished caring for Neon, you will be retiring. Understand?”

The nurse vigorously nodded. Tears leaked down the side of her face.

“Wonderful. If you are ever in Roffet, vote for me as mayor. Now get me that bastard bodyguard.” He released her. The nurse tripped on the bedsheets in her haste to leave. She threw herself at the curtains.

Shaking his head, Salvestro sat on the bed. He wiped the blood off on the bedsheet. He reinserted the IV into his elbow without so much as a wince. The only noise was the EKG beeping with his steady heartbeat. Salvestro closed his eyes. To have wounded Neon… it appears I have no choice but to inform him.

“Salvestro?” The bodyguard parted the curtains. “What’s going on? Is something wrong?”

“It is time you learned the truth. For Neon’s sake.” Green eyes smoldering, Salvestro beckoned with a hand. “Come forward, Kurapika.”

Eyebrows raised, Kurapika approached the bed. Salvestro studied him. Bandages were wound around his appendages and his abdomen, judging by his slightly hunched stance. Bindings secured a gauze pad in place over an eye. After one glance at Salvestro, Kurapika’s other eye widened.

Dozens of scars disfigured his body.

“Surprised?” Salvestro’s eyes hardened into flint. “You should not be. This is the ugly truth beneath the falconry gloves and stuffy cravats.”

“Who did…?”

“I will part with the information only if you vow to never inform Neon. It would break her heart. She has endured too much suffering already.” Kurapika nodded. “It was I. I did so at the order of my father.” Frowning, Salvestro trailed a finger down his forearm. His arm had as many scars as lines on a ruler.

Exhaling, Salvestro let his arm drop. He stared at the wall. “Then I met a young girl. Her father, too, was abusing her. Even so, she was sweet. Naïve. Not tainted by underworld. She taught me that even the most broken things…”

Salvestro whistled. Squawking, Falchion landed on the windowsill. Kurapika jumped. The falcon flew to Salvestro’s arm. Its sharp talons cut into his arm, but Salvestro didn’t flinch. Smiling, Salvestro stroke its head. “Even dying birds pushed out of their nest have strength. On our last day together, Neon and I vowed to surpass our abusers.”

Salvestro flung out his arm. Shrieking, Falchion relocated to the bed frame. “So allow me to enlighten you.” Salvestro sliced open a faded scar on his wrist with his fingernail. Rotating his arm, he held his wrist up for exhibition. Blood dripped onto the pristine white bedsheets.

“If it was for Neon’s sake, I would surrender every drop of blood my body has. But should you ever tell Neon my secret, should you ever make Neon bleed or cry again…” Like an enraged rattlesnake, Salvestro hissed. “I will rip out your worthless heart and sell it at the Yorknew auction. The question is: after all you’ve done to her, would Neon buy your heart back?”

The beeping of EKG measured Salvestro’s steady pulse.

Kurapika bowed deeply. “Thank you for protecting Neon. And… for your devotion to her.” He straightened, then disappeared behind the curtains.  

Mouth parted, Salvestro stared at the curtains. They gently billowed in the breeze.  

Chapter Text

“Imma so sorry about all the damage me and my crew has caused. I promise we’ll all work ‘round the clock to make the gardens presentable in time fer the wedding. I’ve worked here fer forty years, so I know just how the Missus Nostrade would have liked it. Ya need me. Please don’t fire me.”

From across the table Kurapika raised a hand. “No one is being fired. Well, except for the woman who destroyed painting, screaming ‘Aliens!’. And that nurse that suddenly left. But that’s not the point. Do you recall any strangers or trespassers outside the manor?”

The gardener took off his beret and ran a hand through his thinning white hair. “Yeah, there were these three guys dressed in black!”

Kurapika leaned forward. “Describe them.”

“They wore black bowler hats and trench coats. They kept chasing and chasing me. It was terrifying! Then what they caught up ta me.” The gardener wrung his beret. “They mistook me fer some spy and said I needed ta enter their white van fer questioning!”

Kurapika glanced at Melody. The Music hunter sat in a nearby chair, flute in hand. She shook her head. The gardener wasn’t lying about his delusion. “You’re free to go.” After bowing multiple times, the gardener left. Basho closed the door behind him.

Sighing, Kurapika laid back against the couch. “Linssen, can you make me a cup of tea? Earl Grey please.” Eyebrow raised, Linssen rose from the desk.

Leorio scratched his head. He, Kurapika, and all the other bodyguards had been cooped up in the bodyguard lounge for hours going over servants’ testimonies. Most couldn’t clearly recall even what destruction they had committed, let alone had noticed anything suspicious.

Kurapika accepted the cup from Linssen. “Thanks.”

Although a few days had passed since the attack, Kurapika still wore gauze and bandages around and above his left eye. The brain, Leorio knew, was only a quarter inch behind the forehead. The cut must only be superficial; otherwise he would have suffered brain damage. And yet Kurapika insisted on wearing it. People only wore bandages if they were suffering.

After blowing on the cup, Kurapika asked, “Leorio? What do you remember?”

Shrugging, Leorio threw up a hand. “I went back to my room after leaving the billiards room. I tried finding you all, but never happened to run into you.” Nodding, he crossed his legs. He nodded more. “Yup. Totally wasn’t lost. Nope.”

“Regardless,” Kurapika stated, “We appreciate you treating the wounded servants.”

Leorio gave a two-finger salute. “Course. It’s my job. Well, not yet actually. But soon! If I don’t flunk out of school. Could anyone look over my essay?”

Basho crossed off the gardener’s name on the list. “We interviewed 50 people and received 50 different stories. Let’s see, there’s the woman who swore she fell from the roof, the man who locked himself in a small closet, and a tornado. The only thing we do know is only people without Nen were affected by the hallucinations.”

Melody gripped her flute. “We’re no closer to determining who beset us. Or how many.”

Holding his chin, Kurapika stared at the coffee table. “No,” he began. “There was only one person. And he was likely hired by Governor Slimar.”

“What?” gasped Linssen. “Governor Slimar, mayor of Yorknew City? He’s been friends with the Nostrade family since Neon first developed the Lovely Ghostwriter years ago. Why would he attack us?”

 “It’s for the best I don’t share how I know. I have my reasons.” Kurapika rose from his seat. “Linssen, I’ll need to you hire our contacts in Yorknew. The governor’s movements need to be monitored and his security detail identified. Our attacker is likely to be one of them. We don’t need to confront them, only keep them at bay for two weeks until the wedding.”

Throwing the list, Basho plopped onto the couch. “We have enough work as it is! We have to screen, hire, and train new bodyguards for the wedding, create a patrol schedule, and upgrade the security system. Not to mention keep tabs on all the repairmen fixing this joint.”

Leorio grimaced. Sounds rough. Maybe I can help if—when—I give up on studying.

“I know there’s a lot. But you’re all skilled and capable. As her bodyguards, it’s our duty to protect Neon and the manor.” Kurapika stared off into the distance. He balled his hand into a fist. “I won’t fail her again.”

“What’s gotten into you?” scoffed Basho. “Have you gone crazy too?”

“Well,” Kurapika chucked. “You’re not purse accessories.” Everyone looked at him like he had three heads. Kurapika waved a hand. “Never mind. Inside joke.” He strode to the door.

Watching him, Linssen asked, “With who?”

Kurapika stopped, a hand on the doorknob. “I need to speak with Mr. Nostrade for the investigation. I’m trusting you to complete your end.” He closed the door.

“What the hell?” Basho stood up. Basho crossed his hairy arms across his bare chest. “Anyone who compares me to a purse accessory gets the shit beaten out of ‘em.”

Leorio met eyes with Melody. They smiled.

The video screen showed a shot of the central garden maze. The marble statue of Neon’s grandfather stood there. No man dressed in black in sight. Then the video skipped. Kurapika stumbled around the garden, hands on his bleeding face. Neon rushed up to him. No man dressed in black within the footage.

Kurapika drummed his fingers against the security room’s desk. If his memory served him right, the man mentioned searching for fortune while studying the statue. Kurapika glanced down. The design plan of the statue was rolled out in front of him, courtesy of Mr. Nostrade. No hidden compartments beneath it. It wasn’t hollow. Nothing.

Kurapika studied the yellowed paper. Was the intruder looking in the wrong place?

“Hey, it’s Basho.” Basho’s voice drifted from the bodyguard lounge. “Been a while for sure. I need to call in a favor. Are you still working at Yorknew City Hall? Good.”

Kurapika held his chin. I wonder if I should talk to Salvestro about Slimar. Maybe he knows something.

Salvestro’s words replay in his mind. “On our last day together, Neon and I vowed to surpass our abusers.”

The wall of monitors displayed security footage of rooms around the manor. “Security footage. Of course!” Kurapika jumped from his chair. He yanked open the closet. Once again papers went flying. Kurapika dug past the papers and boxes. A container in the back held old CD cases. Kurapika flipped through them until he found one of the correct date.

In the silence, his mother’s voice arose in his head. “Eavesdropping rats burn in the gods’ furnace, you know.” His parents had caught him listening in on a private conversation near his birthday. As punishment, he was forced to scrub the chamber pot clean for a week. Pairo and the other children refused to come near him.

Kurapika smiled sadly. No one would punish him now.

The Hunter locked the door, shut off all other monitors, and inserted the CD into the computer. He settled into his chair.

A grainy shot showed the Volcanic Drawing room from a camera in the ceiling’s corner. Salvestro held open the fortune telling room door. His hair was shorter. The emerald coat he wore was too big for his younger self. A shorter Neon walked out of the room, eyes on the ground. She stopped a few feet into the drawing room and crossed her arms.

“Truly, your skill at reading people has vastly improved.” Accent thicker, Salvestro stretched out the vowels. “The Labons were pleased during dinner and your fortunes. I believe even your father was impressed. Since I cannot be present tomorrow, I would suggest you be quiet and submissve until you determine—”

Throwing her arms out, Neon whirled around. “What about my happiness?”

Salvestro paused. He closed the door. “Neon, I understand this is difficult.”

“You don’t understand anything!” Neon shouted, bending forward. “Acting like a saint today, seductive tomorrow—this is madness! When do I be me?” Tears streamed down her face. “For goodness’ sake it’s my birthday tomorrow and Papa booked three sessions.” Neon rubbed at her eyes. “Will I be doing this for forever?”

Jaw set, Salvestro balled his hands into fists. “No.” He strode towards her and clasped her shoulders. “I will not allow it.” He sighed. “But the truth remains I do not foresee how to break free.” He offered her a handkerchief. “We just need to survive, learn from them, and then—”

“No, never.” Neon venomously shook her head. She hugged herself. “I don’t wanna learn from them. My clients are horrible. Evil. And all Papa cares about is making sure they like him.”

Salvestro ran a hand through his short hair. “What are you expecting? It is not as though my father is any better. He is a sad excuse of a politician. If he had more influence, more control, he would not need to resort to bribes.”

Smiling through her tears, Neon clapped her hands. “Hey, we should make a promise. No, a vow! That’s more binding.”

“A vow?”

“Yeah, yeah. Like, we should, you know, try to not be like them. Be better.” Grinning, she held up her hands. “Put yours up, too.” Eyebrow raised, he obeyed. She intertwined her fingers with his. Blue eyes sparkling, she smiled. Salvestro chucked.

Together they recited, “I vow to be better than them.”

At the sound of a door opening, the two broke apart. “Papa! Hey, guess what?” Neon ran towards him, arms open wide. “I’m gonna quit telling fortunes unless you go to an amusement park tomorrow!”

“W-What?” Salvestro ran off screen after her. “That is not what we agreed upon!”

The video continued to play. Mr. Nostrade’s flustered voice tried pleading. Shouting, Neon slammed a door. All went quiet. Static burst.

Mouth parted, Kurapika leaned back in the chair. Outside the door, Basho’s voice droned on the phone. Computers hummed. Biting his lip, Kurapika fisted the front of his tabard.

Kurapika wiped off the sweat form his brow. His slippers barely made any sound on the hallway’s carpeting. In the distance, power drills ran and unfamiliar voices conversed. Repairs of the mansion were running all night and day.

Neon approached Kurapika coming from the other direction, near his bedroom. “Kurapika, there you are.” She examined his white robes. “Out training in the forest again?”

Kurapika wiped his forehead to ensure he brushed away all sweat. “Yeah.” Helps me think. “You need something?”

“Well, you know, I was looking for you for some wedding prep.” Kurapika rubbed the back of his neck. “Something wrong?”

 Kurapika flinched. The memory of the security camera CD came to mind. He shook his head. “It’s nothing. Really.” He pointed a thumb over his shoulder. “I’ll be up in 30 minutes. After I shower. I’m sure I smell.” He blushed. Wait, why did I say that?

Neon chuckled. Grinning, she lifted her pinky. “Well, if there’s ever something you wanna talk about just lemme know.” Walking past him, Neon continued, “Papa gave me a week’s deadline to decide all this stuff. And apparently the manor getting attacked doesn’t earn you any extensions!”

Kurapika watched her leave, waving her arms in the air, ranting about her father. He smiled. “I will.” Turning, he headed to his room.

After shutting off the water, Kurapika stepped out of the shower. He toweled off, then wrapped it around his waist. With another towel he scrubbed his hair dry in front of the mirror. Kurapika retrieved bandages from the sink’s drawer. Grimacing, he rewrapped his wounds.

Kurapika wiped the steam off the mirror. He studied the cut above his left eye. Closed. A flushed pink. He sucked in a breath through his nose, smelling soap. He bandaged his eye regardless.

His phone buzzed. Melody had texted. “A new batch of bodyguards arrived. You had wanted to personally test their skill.”

Kurapika set the gauze down. “You and Basho can handle it,” he replied. “I’m meeting with Neon.” He walked into the bedroom, eyes on his phone. “I’ll send you a list of client’s names later. We need dirt on them to convince Mr. Nostrade to strike them off the guest list.”

Kurapika opened a drawer and reached inside. He only felt wood. Frowning, he glanced into the dresser. No clothes. “What? I just did laundry.” He opened another drawer. Empty. Only one drawer was filled with his boxers. His tabards had disappeared. “Where did they go?”

“Very sexy. I approve.”

Kurapika jumped. He whirled around, arms splayed against his dresser. The sight stole his breath away.

His tabards lay on the bed. They hung from the bookshelves and the window. Everything was tainted with spray paint. Ruined. Hundreds of hours designing and cutting out patterns and sowing them based on memory wasted. His clan’s legacy had been spat upon. In the middle of the mess stood Neon. She held a can of spray paint. Another can was stocked in a tool belt and others littered the floor. She bent her fingers in a wave.

Hands fisted, Kurapika marched over to her. Steam rolled off of him in waves. “What the hell is this?”

Neon shrugged. “You peeped at me while I was changing. So I had to get even. Not like you had any other personal belongings for me to tamper with.”

“You mean destroy?!” Kurapika threw out a hand. “What possessed you to—?”

Face red, Neon kept her eyes trained on his face. “Your towel is slipping.”

Kurapika looked down. The knot was still intact. With a pssshft, Neon sprayed paint in his face. “Argh!” Kurapika stumbled backwards. Laughing, she dashed out of the room.

Growling, Kurapika rushed into the bathroom. He hurriedly threw on his training suit from the laundry basket. Pulling up his pants, he hopped into the bedroom. “Damn you.” Picking up a discarded spray can, he bolted outside. His eye’s gauze pad fell off. “Get back here!”

Neon fled down the hall, hair flying. She glanced back, squealed, then ran straight through a four-way intersection. “Get him!”

Kurapika poured on the speed, reaching the intersection. He tripped. Kurapika tasted a mouthful of carpet. He sat up. A tripwire?

From the left and right of the intersection, Neon’s attendants appeared. “Forgive us, Kurapika sir,” Eliza winced.

Tigris whipped out two spray cans. “Eat this!”

They doused him in purple and orange. Shielding his head with one arm, Kurapika retaliated with his green can. Shrieking, they dropped their cans and ran. Kurapika looked down at himself. The colors stained the clothes like tie-dye. Even his training suit was trashed. He pounded the floor with a fist. Then he picked up Tigris’ can and dashed after Neon.

A door to the right opened. Kurapika nearly crashed into it. “What’s going on?” Leorio asked. “I’m trying to breaking my record in toe basketball.”

Kurapika tossed him a can. “Follow me.”

“Is this spray paint? Hell yeah!” Leorio raced after Kurapika, whooping.

“Stop! What do you think you’re doing?”

Ahead, Neon was running down at T-shaped hallway. At the T’s junction, repair men were repairing a window. Ignoring their cries, Neon picked her way through their supplies. Seeing Leorio, she scowled. “That’s cheating!” Kurapika sprayed paint at her. Neon ducked behind a corner, knocking over paint can. “You’ll have to do better than that.” Neon returned fire before running away. Shouting, the men raised their fists at her.

Kurapika leaped over the men and their supplies. Crying out, Leorio tumbled into the glass pane sitting against the wall. Glass shards flew everywhere. Shaking his head, Leorio rose and followed after Kurapika, tracking paint over the carpet. “Sorry, pardon me!”

“We better be paid overtime for this!

Kurapika drew to a halt. Leorio stumbled into him. “Yo, what’s wrong?” Beyond the corner just up ahead was a staircase leading upstairs. Frowning, Kurapika studied the corner. He jumped to the side, opened a door, and hid behind it. “Huh?”

“Aaahh!” Leorio was soaked in pink and yellow as Linssen appeared behind the stairs’ balustrade.

“To hell with working for you!” Basho joined the fray, jumping out from behind a dresser further down the hall. Leorio collapsed to the ground. He crawled behind a nearby display case of a knight’s helmet. The display case, much like the walls, were saturated in paint.

Safe behind the door, Kurapika muttered, “Traitors.”

Leorio gasped. “This is my best suit!” He thrust a spray can out from behind the case. “Imma gonna kill you good!” He sprayed indiscriminately, sending the two scrambling.

Kurapika brushed back his purple painted hair. He glanced out of the crack between the door and the wall. No Neon. Where could…? Kurapika smiled. “I know.” Under the door’s cover, Kurapika raced back the way they came, following their footsteps of paint.

“Diiie!” Leorio screamed in the background.

At an intersection, one set of smaller footprints broke off, heading down a path he and Leorio didn’t take. Bingo. He strode down the hallway. 

Neon stood by an elevator, frantically taping the up button. The display showed the elevator was on the fourth floor. She was trapped waiting on the first floor. Neon glanced behind her.

Smirking, Kurapika slowly approached her. He shook his can. “Worried I’ll spray paint your clothes?”

Gritting her teeth, Neon turned and raised her spray can. Only a small fissure fizzed out. “Witches’ pimples!” She threw the can to the ground. She grabbed her other can from her belt.

Kurapika leapt forward and twisted her wrist, knocking the can out of her grasp. He slammed her against the elevator. “Whatever would give you that idea?”

“No reason!” Neon’s hands strayed towards her belt. The bodyguard grabbed both of her wrists and pinned them above her head. “Urk.” Sandwiched between the elevator’s doors and Kurapika, Neon squirmed. “Lemme go!”

“Listen up. You will have my tabards cleaned. You will order eight new tabards of my design. And they will be finished by the wedding.” Kurapika dipped his head until their eyes were level. “Understand?”

“Uh-huh, uh-huh, uh-huh.” Neon nodded her head so vigorously it banged into the elevator doors. “Ow.”

A mischievous look glinted in Kurapika’s eye. “Now there’s only one thing left to do.” He raised his spray can.

“Oh, god. No.” Neon’s breathing became labored. “No, please! Please!”

Tearing loose, Kurapika soaked Neon in spray paint. “No!!!” The smell of chemical stung his nose and eyes. She bucked, but Kurapika held onto her until the last ounce of spray paint had been used. Neon’s screams petered off into sobs. Grinning, Kurapika flung the can onto the ground, denting it. He tossed his purple coated hair.

Neon gasped for air. “You’re so …” Her blouse and skirt were doused in green. She was a green as a Christmas tree with her red face an ornament. “You’re so mean,” she hiccupped. She sucked in a strand of blue-green hair. “I—” Coughing, she choked.

Kurapika’s shoulders shook. A bubbly feeling rose up in his throat. He opened his mouth. Kurapika burst out laughing. After a moment, Neon joined as well. Holding his stomach, Kurapika doubled over. Their peals echoed through the halls.

With a ding, the elevator doors opened. Crying out, Neon and Kurapika fell backwards.

“Yes, as per our agree—What in blazes?!”

Kurapika looked up. Mouth open, Salvestro stood over them, phone pressed to his ear. “Is that… paint?”

Kurapika scrambled off of Neon and stood. Using Kurapika’s hand, she rose. A man’s voice spoke over the phone, but Salvestro stepped off the elevator. Gaping, he took in the paint footprints and the green and purple spray paint lines streaking the walls. “What in ten hells were you thinking, Neon?”

The attendants, bodyguards and Leorio ran onto scene. Spray paint covered them from head to toe. “We heard screaming. What’s going on?” Leorio asked.

Salvestro turned. He paled. “Look. Look at what your childishness has ruined.”

Biting her lip, Neon hurried out of the elevator to his side. She gasped, hands flying to her mouth. Kurapika disembarked to see.

A green line of spray paint ran through a stunning bird eye’s view of a Zaban City. Kurapika wasn’t an artist, but even he could admire the painter’s skill. It must have been worth millions of Jenny.

Wait a second. Frowning, Kurapika stepped closer. Zaban City had been the place where Kurapika took the first phase of the Hunter Exam. “Zaban City has four docks, not three.”

Tears sprang to Neon’s eyes. “Mama…”

“Yes,” Salvestro answered. He hung up the phone and pocketed it. “Like all the paintings in the manor, this was crafted by her mother. Who was housebound due to illness.” Salvestro placed a hand on Neon’s shoulder. His gaze cut Kurapika deeper than any dagger could. “Or did you never care to learn?”

Speechless, Kurapika gaped at him. He lowered his gaze, face burning. Everyone murmured behind them.

“Neon, you have no such illness, yet you are housebound nonetheless. Your father keeps you here not to shield you from disease, but to keep your talents all for himself. But you can escape.” Salvestro leaned forward to speak in her ear. “Come to Roffet City with me.”

Neon froze.

“Your father is chaining you down. Your attendants hate serving you. Your bodyguard attacked you with a knife. There would be no more playing servant, entertaining clients who rob you of your identity.” Salvestro clasped her shoulders from behind. “At Roffet City, you will use your Lovely Ghostwriter at your discretion—no one else’s. You will have all the time to explore the world with me. Together we will fulfill our vow. This I swear. So please… Come with me.”

Neon swallowed. After wiping her eyes, she lowered her arms. Her face was as blank as a poker player. She turned, stood on tip toe, and spoke into his ear. Kurapika couldn’t hear her response, but he was adept in reading lips.

She whispered, “Liar.”

Then Neon stepped to the side. Salvestro didn’t move an inch. Brushing past him, Neon strode down the one hallway not blocked by people.

“I can’t believe you, Neon!” Mr. Nostrade, followed by the window repair man and Melody, stomped up the hallway. Neon tried slipping past, but Mr. Nostrade seized her arm. “Don’t you run away from me, young lady!” Mr. Nostrade yanked her forward. Neon stumbled. He shoved his index finger in her face. “This time you’ve gone too far. What are you going to pull when the decorations are up? A mud fight? Or, no, maybe a—”

Neon slapped his hand away. She screamed, “I wish you died instead of Mama!”

Everyone silenced. Melody stepped to the side, giving room. Neon fled past her, disappearing out of sight.

“Neon, wait! I—” Exhaling a frustrated breath, Mr. Nostrade turned. His gaze lay on Kurapika. “You! Do you lead her on?”

Kurapika raised an eyebrow. “I thought you cared about making her happy.”

Mr. Nostrade’s jaw moved up and down, but no words came out.

Tossing his yellow-purple hair, Kurapika blew past Mr. Nostrade. When Kurapika neared the hallway’s end, he heard Mr. Nostrade shouting. “You don’t walk away from me! Come back here! Don’t you care about your job? I’ll… I’ll—!”

Kurapika ascended the stairs two at a time.

Crashes and bangs resounded just past the door. Kurapika could feel the vibrations in the ground. Could hear glass breaking. Wood splintering. After sucking in a deep breath, Kurapika rapped his knuckles against the door and slipped in.

Neon had thrown an unholy temper tantrum when Mr. Nostrade refused to let her go the auction last year. Basho measured it to be on a 5.3 on the Richter scale of her temper. This was a 7.9.

Neon stood over her vanity, cue stick in hand. Glass shards from the mirror rained down. She flung the broken cue stick, leaving a hole in the pink wall. Growling, she kicked out the vanity’s leg. It crashed to the ground. Makeup bottles flew through the air like bullets from a Gatling gun.

Kurapika sidestepped a flying lipstick. Red smeared the door. Exhaling, Kurapika crossed his arms. He leaned against the door.

Neon stomped around the room, her movements rigid and tense. She shoved one fluffy easy chair to the ground and haymaker punched another. Stuffed animals were squished beneath the chairs. Their impossibly large eyes pleaded for rescue. Neon came to a stop before a large china cabinet. Fortune telling memorabilia of crystal balls, cursed scarves, and expensive tarot cards lined the shelves. Neon grinned. Kurapika braced himself against the door. Yelling, she pulled on the side of the cabinet. It teetered, knocking into the wall TV, before both fell to the ground with a mighty crash. Glass shattered, priceless objects broke, and the entire house shook with the vibration. Neon stood over the mess, breathing heavily. Her green-streaked blue hair stuck up in odd places like a mad scientist.

A metal box belatedly slid off the china cabinet’s top. Lock busting open, the box’s dumped its contents onto the floor. Pictures. Neon’s puffy red face twisted. Something in Kurapika’s chest twisted also. Fingers hooked like claws, she grabbed a fistful.

Kurapika jumped up and snatched Neon’s wrist. She struggled. “Don’t.” Kurapika’s gaze swept over the photos in her hand. Pictures of her and mother wearing matching clothes, playing tea with Mr. Nostrade, her and Salvestro at a dinner party. “When they die, this will be all that’s left.” Kurapika closed his eyes, trying to envision his mother’s face. It was as blank as a slate. “Take it from me. Memory is too unreliable.”

Sniffing, Neon studied them. Every pictured person smiled. The photos slipped through her fingers. Letting out a cry, Neon crumpled to her knees. Kurapika carefully brushed away the glass shards before sitting beside her.

“I wanna leave the manor.” She spread out the pictures with a hand. “Wanna see the world and go on a grand adventure! Meet new people, see all the places my Mama painted but never could visit. Visit Roffet City, even!” Her voice hitched. “But I can’t.”

Kurapika sucked in a breath through his nose. Thanks to the cracked perfume bottles, the room smelled of vanilla and lavender. “What’s keeping you?”

 “Well, I won’t go to Roffet City with Salvestro. Not after he left me. Not when he hasn’t done a thing to fulfill our vow in the five years since.” Neon froze, realizing her slip up. “I—”

“I know,” Kurapika admitted with a soft exhale. “I watched you two make it.”

Neon released a hand of photos from her raised fist. They fell to the ground like snowflakes. “I woulda told you. You made me promise to tell you the truth. Actually, might not of. Don’t know. Whatever.” She let her arm plop into her lap. Closed her eyes. “I wanna quit fortune telling so badly.”

“Why don’t you?”

Neon drew her knees to her chin and hugged them. She released a shuddering sigh. “Mama died when I was eleven. Papa didn’t, he didn’t take it well. During the day, he’d scream and throw things. I tried to avoid him. At night, he’d lock himself in their bedroom and cry. I laid awake, scared stiff I would lose him, too.”

Kurapika nodded to himself. He spent many long nights alone, too haunted by nightmares of the Kurta clan to sleep.

Neon brushed her green-blue bangs aside. They only stuck more to her sweaty forehead.  “Worried about his future, I developed my Lovely Ghostwriter. Fortune telling funded our finances, sparing being evicted from the manor. Helping me tell fortunes gave Papa a purpose, saving his life. My clients praised Papa, salvaging his pride.” Neon rested a cheek on her knees. She smiled at Kurapika, eyes shining. “If I quit, I’ll take everything from him. A fate worse than death.”

Kurapika rested his hand over hers. “And this isn’t for you?”

Suddenly Neon couldn’t meet his eyes. She turned away, slipping her hand out from under Kurapika’s. “So, um, uh, what about you? What do you wanna do? Ever felt your parents were trapping you? Or holding you down?”

“Sort of.” Kurapika shifted positions, glass chinking. He stretched his legs before him, an elbow placed on a raised knee. “Since I was a kid, I wanted to go on adventures, too. Then my parents were murdered. So my life’s journey was chosen for me: getting revenge.” And recovering their Scarlet Eyes. Kurapika gazed at his reflection in a large glass shard. It showed his dull gray eye. Above it, his cut was an angry red line. Below it, a deep purple bag sagged below his eye.

Neon leaned forward. She shifted through the pictures, searching. “When they were alive, what did your parents teach you?”

Kurapika blinked. “What?” When Neon repeated the question, he stammered, “Well, um, let’s see.” He tilted his head back, thinking. “My mother taught me how to distinguish every bird’s cry and animal paw print. She often lectured me about flower names.” Kurapika chuckled. “But I was more interested in insects. And Father trained me to hunt.” Kurapika lips curled upwards into a smile. He breathed, “He shared with me the legends of the stars.”

“Your parents didn’t teach you to be hateful, angry person, but how to enjoy life and its wonders.” Neon selected a photo and gave it to him. It showed Neon, around the age Kurapika left the tribe, giving her parents a group hug. A gentle breeze played with their hair, bringing the sweet smell of grass. The warm sun smiled down on them. Kurapika could hear the echoes of their laughter. Neon cocked her head, appearing in his vision behind the picture. “So, I don’t think they’ll be hateful after death either. Only worried about you.”

Kurapika’s chest constricted, cutting off his breath. His throat burned. Vision blurred. Although his hand trembled, Kurapika gripped the photo like his life depended on it.

Neon leaned back. She righted the photo box and shut it with finality. “You’re fired.”

Wide-eyed, Kurapika dropped the photo. “What? Why?”

Neon brushed aside a strand of green-blue hair. It dislodged a few wood splinters and glass shards trapped in her hair. “You’re free. You can go. Do whatever you like.”

The general murmur of the staff, the creaking of the house, the hum of the air conditioner, all of it faded away. All Kurapika could hear was their breathing in rhythm. The smell of jasmine and sweat and how her dress clung to her in all the right places sent him in a tizzy. The point of her nose was playfully marked with green spray paint. He stared into the gray flecks of her eyes.

“I don’t know about Mr. Nostrade.” Kurapika began. His fingers curled, not at the desire of holding his bokken, but her. “But whether you quit fortune telling or not, I’m not leaving you. I’m staying right here.” With a gasp, Neon’s heart-shaped lips parted ever so slightly. Kurapika moved closer.

Something hairy was shoved in Kurapika’s face. It smelled faintly of sweat. “If-if-if you’re staying, then I have a confession to make. I hugged this, kissed it, slept with it and thought of you.”

Coughing, Kurapika seized the furry thing. It was a stuffed animal. A gray horse. “Wait. Is this a donkey?” Kurapika held the animal up and gave it a shake. “I’m a jackass?”

Even Neon, queen of poker, couldn’t keep a straight face. “A cute one. But a jackass nonetheless.”

Kurapika flushed. Sighing, he shook his head. “I don’t know how I stand you.” Neon giggled.

Kurapika lazily ran a hand across the donkey’s face. An eye dislodged, hanging on by a string. He flinched. Scarlet Eyes…

Smiling faintly, Neon began to gather her family photos. Kurapika sifted through the memories of his parents. Neon was right; not a single one of them hinted they wished for revenge. Kurapika studied her left ring finger. Or that they would approve of marrying someone to obtain more Scarlet Eyes. Frowning, Kurapika cupped the donkey’s face. He stared into its eyes.

Which is more important: obtaining their eyes in this life or being able to look them in the eye in the next life?

Chapter Text

No mattered where Kurapika looked, the ballroom glittered. Shiny gold and silver drapes hung from the refreshment tables. Ornamental pilasters held up the vaulted ceiling two floor above. Full length mirrors lined the wall. On a dais a string and wind ensemble played a light, airy melody. Pots of yellow Hyacinth and white arum lilies served as centerpieces. If the flowers cloying sweet scent didn’t induce a headache, then the clashing aroma of the guests’ perfume certainly potent enough to nauseate.

Wedding guests of all backgrounds enjoyed the party. Aristocrats sashayed in their Victorian gowns or flaunted their expensive crisp suits as they waltz. Lab coat wearing doctors and scientists spoke excitedly in small splinter groups. The sconces’ light glinted off the metals on military personnel’s chests. Muscular gang leaders couldn’t shove enough food down.

Kurapika squinted past the glitz. A suited businessman never put his full weight on his right foot. A gun or dagger was sheathed his boot. One kimono-wearing woman fingered a long black barrette from her hair. A blade. The guests touched their concealed weapons. Muttered behind fans. Glared. Kurapika didn’t need to eavesdrop to know why they were saying. He had already heard plenty at the opening banquet.

“…can’t fathom what Nostrade is thinking…”

“…my son would have made a far finer choice to be her husband. How dare he mock us…”

“…Perhaps the bodyguard guarded Lady Neon too closely one night…”

“Kurapika?”

He stiffened, bracing himself. Kurapika stopped himself for reaching for his bokken hidden beneath his crisp, but too-tight suit. Neon tightened her grip on his hand. Neon’s other hand grasped his shoulder and a fan. After recovering, Kurapika resumed leading her in the waltz. She puffed out her cheeks in a cute pout. “For crying out loud, stop watching other people. You’re only supposed to be looking at me.”

 Neon wore a strapless empire waist dress made of white silk. A sheer gold scarf rested around her bare shoulders. Red lip gloss, honey colored eyeliner, and mascara painted her face. She was the ancient goddess of his father’s legends brought to life.

“You look ridiculous,” Kurapika smirked.

Neon flashed a smile. “Even if I do.” Then she sighed, “But what can you do? I didn’t wanna wear this.”

Frowning, Kurapika studied his dance partner. Her eyes focused on a point across the ballroom. Boisterous laughter rang out over the string music. Mr. Nostrade stood decked out in gold trimmed three-piece suit. Grinning broadly, he clamped a hand on another guests’ shoulder and gave it a little shake. The guest smiled, nodded, and then leaned back.

Although Neon’s lips were curled in a smile, the light in her blue eyes dimmed. She closed her fan. Neon’s fan dubbed as her dance card. During the banquet, men had written their names to reserve dancing with her. As far as Kurapika knew, Mr. Nostrade never touched the fan.

The Kurta released Neon’s shoulder and turned her around. A strand of her hair, purposely done up in a messy bun, tickled his nose. He deeply breathed in her jasmine scent. After spinning once more, Neon turned her back to him. They clasped hands while Kurapika placed a hand on her waist. Together they walked forward in promenade, a wide circle. “You’re not hiding some sort of confetti bomb somewhere, are you?”

“What? No. But that’s a super fun idea! Where did you get it?”

Kurapika dipped his head to speak in her ear. “I just thought of something that would be like you. Silly, childish, and nonsensical.” He guided her into a half turn to the left, stopped, then they spun counterclockwise. “I don’t trust you after that surprise you planned for me.”

Tilting her head to the side, Neon pressed the fan to her cheek. “What ever do you mean?”

“Don’t play innocent with me. You sprayed me with the hose! How do you justify that?”

Neon’s shrugged. An end of her scarf slipped off her shoulder, leaving it bare. “You were training in the August sun and needed to cool off. And after the way so you rudely treated me the last time, I didn’t feel like running in the stream with you again.”

Kurapika spun Neon out, before rejoining and striding across the dance floor. Her grin was a mile wide. “And yet I remember a certain individual grabbing another hose and returning fire. Your laughter made me think you enjoyed our little water fight.”

Kurapika huffed. “Fine. But that security camera incident was crossing a line.”

Neon laughed. Her peals played a poignant counterpoint to the string music. “Oh, but I only played that footage of you throughout the manor. I coulda made it national news.” Neon’s chest rose and dipped with her exhale. Kurapika lead her to spin a circle. “Too bad you shut off the power. Such a shame.”

Kurapika halted. Scowling, he thrust a finger at her. “Only a stalker would have such videos of me!”

Wide-eyed, Neon sucked in a breath. “I am not!”

“I saw those creepy pictures you had of me in your bedroom. Don’t think I didn’t see them.”

“All right then. Let’s make it even.” Fan to her cheek, Neon turned her face away. Her smooth neck glowed. Her fingers played with her gold sheer scarf. “I’ll pose for any pictures you want of me.”

“And another thing—” Kurapika stood frozen, finger still pointing at her. He reddened to the roots of his hair.

Neon burst out laughing. Doubling over, she held her stomach. The guests’ murmured lessened as they drew stares.

Kurapika could feel the heat burning his face. I want to strangle her. I want those pictures. Heaven help me, I don’t know what to do with her.

“Sorry, sorry. I know I went a little overboard. But I just can’t help it.” Beaming, Neon leaned in closer. Her blue eyes alit like fireworks. A curl had come loose and tumbled down her cheek. It needed tucking behind her ear. “I love driving you mad.”

Memories flashed through his mind. The nightmare of his mother’s head falling to the side. His father grabbing his ankle during the manor attack. The smell of burning flesh and vomit curled his stomach. Kurapika turned away.

“No. Wait.” Neon’s arm shot out, seizing his wrist. Jaw set, Kurapika focused his gaze across the room. “We’re getting married tomorrow. Tonight’s our last chance.” She squeezed harder. “You promised to tell me if something is bothering you.” A sigh. “I mean, you’re so pale it’s like you’ve just seen a ghost—” She sucked in a sharp breath, eyes wide.

Kurapika wrenched his arm free. He brushed past the guests and Salvestro without a word. He strode across the ballroom floor, not looking back.

Salvestro watched Kurapika leave, frowning. He glanced up. Falchion hid in the shadows of a beam, picking apart a piece of meat from a bone. Salvestro shook his head. “Un tale roditore. Rodent.” The foul bird must have stolen it from the refreshment table.

He stepped towards Neon. The light seemed drawn to her like a spotlight. Her gold makeup and sheer scarf glowed like stars. Even though laughing guests swirled around her, she stood alone, head bowed and lips pursed, like a beautiful, solemn statue.

“May I cut in?”

Neon turned to voice. Placing a hand to his white cravat, Salvestro bowed. The coattails of his military jacket billowed slightly. “Forgive me, with his departure I thought now would be an opportunity.” He nodded towards Neon’s open gold fan. “Salvestro Acerbi” was written next to the number two. “I am, after all, next on my flower’s dance card, yes?”

Neon jerked. She glanced first at Salvestro, then beyond him to Kurapika. The bright sparkle in her eyes had vanished. From disappointment? Salvestro clenched his fist. His nails dug into his skin even through his white gloves.

Neon nodded. “Oh, yes. Yes of course.”

Salvestro spared a moment to gaze upon her. To match the wedding’s colors, gold dust decorated her hair and dotted her flushed cheeks. Neon wore a strapless Empire waist gown which ended at her knees. Her sheer scarf did little to cover how low her dress was in the front. A dress unsuited to ballroom dancing. A dress she is not wearing for her benefit, but for her clients. As he bowed, Salvestro smiled. And she claims to not be a politician. He clasped her one hand while she held onto his shoulder and her fan with her other hand.

The piano played a few chords and the violin emitted a slow, enchanting melody—the beginning of an International waltz. Such a composition was slower than the earlier Viennese waltz. Dancers rarely broke their hold of each other.

Together they fell into a rhythm of swaying back and forth. While Salvestro maintained his smile, Neon regarded him with a neutral expression. “I’m surprised you’re here. With you locking yourself in your room I haven’t seen you for the past two weeks. Not even for meals.”

Salvestro and Neon glided across the dance floor, before spinning in place twice. “My father’s health has taken a sudden turn for the worse. I’m afraid the end is near for him. I have been endeavoring to govern Roffet City in his absence. I am not educated in the art of wasting my time with frivolity the manor has been swept up in lately.”

“Oh, Salvestro, I’m sorry to hear that.”

Salvestro gritted his teeth, a knot forming in his chest. He expelled the tension with an exhale. “But I also would like to confess I spent my time reflecting upon my actions.” Neon raised an eyebrow. “I was—am—fully aware of your previous agreement with your bodyguard. Regardless, I forced you to decide if you would come to Roffet City with me. It has always been my intention for you to make such a choice freely. I was wrong. I apologize.”

Neon fanned herself, hiding her expression for a brief moment. She drew in a deep breath before smiling. “Thank you. But more than anything I’m worried about the nature of your work. And how you never give yourself any breaks to have fun. So I am really glad to see you’re here now!”

After spinning, Salvestro dipped Neon. The world turned upside down. His emerald eyes gazed into hers. “I can only wonder what game we are playing now.”

As she rose, Neon chuckled. Her laughter was absorbed by the surrounding clamor of noise. “Just like old times, yeah? Well, we can’t play anything now, but there’s poker and pool after this.”

Salvestro twirled Neon out. “I only gamble on certain occasions.” Heart pounding, Salvestro pursued her across the floor before resuming his grasp of her. “When I know I can win. Or when I have something of little value to lose. Neither is currently the case.”

“Huh. Okay then.” She tapped her fan to his shoulder, thinking. “Well, board games are also stored there, but you never liked those… Ah! We can play chess. I played with Kurapika, but I don’t think I ever had the chance to play a round with you.”

“Oh, Neon,” Salvestro breathed, holding her close. “I already know how such a game will end.” The couple launched into a series of spins; their feet barely touched the floor. “Doubtless the opposing party will advance with their queen.” He stopped, causing Neon to lurch. “I would sacrifice every resource I possess to capture the queen—all for naught.” Salvestro dipped her. “My king lies defenseless. Vulnerable.”

Just as quickly he pulled her upright. He walked forward. After a delay, Neon followed his lead and retreated. Like in a tango, Salvestro quickly turned a 180 and resumed their original path. Neon stumbled. Panting hard, she raced to match him.

Although so close, Neon’s voice was nearly drowned out by the music. By the other dancers’ laughter. Over the roaring in his ears. “That’s not true! The king can switch places with the rook. You know, castling—”

Salvestro performed a reverse turn, then twisted his right foot into a closed change. His head buzzed. Stepped forward, spun, then back in a hover corte. Pulse raced. He executed a double reserve spin, coattails flying like black wings. Everything else blurred into a chaos of contrasting colors and clashing noises. For this one fleeting moment, the two were in rhythm, dancing to a melody all their own. His body rushed with the feeling.

“Castling is only possible if the rook faithfully waits by the king’s side. But alas, the rook is misled by the enemy.”

“Hey, wait! Slow down alrea—Ah!” Crying out, Neon tripped over her own feet. The pair almost steamrolled over another couple.

“Blinded by its own ambitions, the rook charged forward, heedless of any other piece. Sooner or later it will be ensnared in a web of its own making. Even so, the king still waits for the rook—for no one.

“Suddenly the king comes to a terrible realization.” Salvestro spun Neon out of his grasp. She spun in place before returning. Salvestro lifted her into the air. Stunned, Neon let him handle her. He draped her across one of his shoulders and spun. “The king’s dreams of ruling the kingdom are unfeasible. For he has always been the least powerful piece.” After placing her down, he encircled her. “Unable to move far, the king is trapped.” He pressed his forehead against hers. “Alone."

At this closeness, Neon could hide nothing to the politician. Her eyes weren’t wide with shock nor alit with the spark of fury. Rather, she gazed at him with a softness no one ever had since Salvestro’s mother passed. “The rook is still on the board.” She interlaced the fingers of her hand with his. “It can come back. And although they can’t perform castling, they’ll be at each other’s side again.”

Salvestro glanced over her shoulder. Kurapika stood by a refreshment table, a glass of punch in hand.

A faint light shone in her eyes like a lighthouse during a stormy night. Salvestro’s gaze trailed down from her eyes to her full lips. He leaned closer. Breathed into her ear.

“Liar.”

Neon sucked in a sharp gasp. Something clattered to the ground. Her fan.

After letting out a breath, Salvestro retrieved the fan and placed it in her grasp. Feeling her hand tremble, he steadied it by clasping her hand with both of his. Smiling, he stroked his thumb across the back of her hand. “Take care.”

Neon reached towards Salvestro with her free hand. Salvestro withdrew from her grasp.

“Sal, wait! I can—I can explain…”

He listened. Waited. An eternity passed in silence. Neon never finished her sentence.

Salvestro whistled, the high note piercing the air. Neon jumped. Falchion descended, landing on Salvestro’s raised arm. Blood from the meat it ate earlier ran down his beak. He screeched at Neon. Eyes wide, Neon stepped back.

He turned an about face. And walked away.

Kurapika brushed past the guests and Salvestro without a word. He strode across the ballroom floor, not looking back. Over the static crackling in his ear, he heard nothing.

“Kurapika. …Kurapika!”

Melody’s voice startled Kurapika. He stopped at the end of a refreshment table. The smell of toasted almonds and honey wafted from below. “What?”

“Just relaying the fifteen-minute update. The perimeter is all clear.”

“G-Good. Remind everyone to keep an eye out on the new hires.”

Kurapika had hired twenty-five men and women proficient at Nen to be security for the wedding. Such a number was far more than they required. However, the true culprit of the attack on the manor was still unknown. Their contacts in Yorknew City had provided little information on changes in Governor Slimar’s security detail. Kurapika was taking no chances. He could have hired twice their number; all the applicants had proved themselves to be quite capable when Kurapika tested them. They would be helpful in the future, should Kurapika ever require backup.

Melody secured a private line of communication between the two, signaled by a beep. “Are you all right, Kurapika? I’m sorry, but I couldn’t help but hear your heart fluctuating so sharply just now.”

Kurapika glanced around him. Dinner guests openly studied him, halting their whispered conversation. Swallowing hard, he turned away. “Neon and I were just… arguing. Nothing new. Continue to update me.” Melody, after a moment, agreed.

Kurapika closed his eyes. He sucked in deep breaths through his nose, then released them through his mouth. Just as his father had taught him. One always needed to be calm during a hunting mission. I won’t let my past ruin this night. I need to focus on the present.

With fresh eyes, Kurapika scanned the ballroom. Of the hundred plus guests invited to celebrate the wedding, only a handful joined the waltz. The colorful array of doublets and jerkins, leather jackets, and exotic robes with feathered headdresses showed how the guests represented the leaders of the world’s businesses, crime syndicates, and religions. Much to his satisfaction, many clients had not shown up thanks to Kurapika’s intervention.

As promised, Kurapika persuaded Mr. Nostrade to strike clients from the guest list who had been too handsy with Neon. Melody and the others uncovered the clients’ skeletons in the closet to sway Mr. Nostrade while keeping him in ignorance. Governor Slimar had sent a missive, shortly after the attack on the manor, saying he was too busy with prepares for the auction to attend. Neon was safe from all enemies. Except for one which had stayed in the manor this past month.

Salvestro was dancing with Neon. Salvestro, who had disappeared the last two weeks, had emerged to strut around like a he owned the place. While pouring some punch, Kurapika watched them. The sconces light gleamed off the metals of Salvestro’s military jacket and the gold dust in Neon’s hair. They bore matching smiles and flushed cheeks. Jaw set, Kurapika gripped his glass. Any stranger would have mistaken them to be the star-crossed lovers marrying tomorrow.

He sipped the drink, only to crunch up his nose. Orange. I hate oranges. Frowning, Kurapika continued to drink, watching them over the rim of the glass. It was hard to swallow. A bad taste was left in his mouth.

The bodyguard was about to turn away when Salvestro raised Neon onto his shoulder and spun. The punch nearly shot out of Kurapika’s nose. The Kurta could only stare as Salvestro spun, Neon flying high above him. When he set her down, Salvestro tugged his jacket sleeve down to cover his wrist.

A vision flashed before Kurapika’s eyes. Shirtless, Salvestro sat up in his hospital bed. Dozens of scars crisscrossed his body like a spider’s web. Kurapika recalled several distinct scars near his wrists. All self-inflicted because his father ordered him. My parents would have never have asked me to do something so painful.

Is that so? Kurapika’s inner voice hissed. Avenging them isn’t painful? The healing cut above his eye burned.

Kurapika flinched. After shaking his head, he resumed his vigil of the dancing pair. Salvestro circled Neon. Pressed his forehead against her. Whispered in her ear.

The edges of Kurapika’s vision turned red. Manhandling the target with malicious intent is sufficient reason for a bodyguard to intervene. Kurapika chugged his punch in a few gulps, set it on the table, and stepped forward.

Over the music voices drifted to his ears.

“…cake is really fantastic…”

“…so then all the TVs show him training all sweaty like…”

“…almost gooot it…”

CRASH!

Kurapika whipped around, hand instinctively going to his bokken. He gasped.

To a table to his right, Leorio leaned heavily on the table. A young girl dressed in shrine maiden clothes was reaching for a vase of flowers. A large plate of dishes lay broken at her feet; she must have knocked them off. By the girl’s side, gorging themselves on cake, were two young male Hunters, Gon and Killua.

Gon inhaled a massive slice of cake. Still chewing, he asked in a loud voice, “Getting married in a month is really soon. Has he made a man of himself?”

Killua shrugged. With a fork, he scrapped all the cake crumbs into his mouth. “Well, marrying the daughter of your boss does takes a heavy pair of yo-yos.”

“As if!” Leorio waved a hand and nearly lost his balance. “He’s barely spoke to any woman, far as I know. I bet he doesn’t even know how to!”

Their brash laughter echoed throughout the room, drawing everyone’s attention.

Kurapika’s face reddened. Grinding his teeth, he stamped over to them. Smiling widely, Gon waved. “Kurapika! It’s so great to see you again.”

The Kurta thrust his finger at them. But his jaw was clamped too tightly to speak. Eyebrows raised, the boys glanced at each other. “That cake.”

Gon raised his fork, about to eat another piece. “It tastes out of this world! Want some?”

Scowling, Kurapika snatched the plate away. “That’s the wedding cake!”

“Oh.” Killua poked at the dishes shards at the ground. “Well, we ate about half already.”

Feeling someone pushing him, Kurapika looked down. The young black-haired girl stared up at him, still reaching for the flower vase. “I want you to mov—”

“No!” Eyes wide, Killua elbowed Kurapika away, grabbed the vase, and shoved it into her chest. Smiling, the girl began placing flowers the in her hair. The boy sighed. “That was close. Oh, hey, Kurapika, this is my younger sister, Alluka. Don’t worry, she’s hasn’t… she’s not an assassin. Alluka, this is Kurapika, my friend. You remember me telling you about him, right?”

Alluka gazed at the Kurta with new eyes. “Ohhh, so that’s my brother’s friend. The one getting married. I thought he was that guy.” The girl pointed to the couple standing in the center of the dancefloor. To Salvestro. Kurapika winced.

“Yeah, who is he?” asked Killua, chewing on cake. “Leorio was just telling me all the stupid pranks you two were playing on each other the past two weeks. Something about spray paint and all the TVs showing videos of you. Sounded interesting. But Leorio didn’t mention some third wheel. What’s he doing with your bride?”

Kurapika’s angry stare could have melted two holes into the table. “It’s complicated.”

Leorio wrapped an arm around the bodyguard’s shoulders. The stench of alcohol assailed him. A hot, heavy breath spoke into his ear. “Why are you sitting on the fence?”

“I-I’m not. I was just about to speak to Salvestro.”

Leorio’s brown eyes bore at him with strikingly sober gaze. “A real fiancé would have kicked Salvestro out of the manor a long time ago. But you haven’t. The way I see it, you have two options. Either happily marry her or back off and let her find happiness without you. Don’t marry her, planning to divorce her if she’s uncooperative.”

Gon and Killua watched Kurapika in silence. Their clinking silverware stilled.

Leorio continued, “Look, I know deep down you don’t love her. But prove me wrong. Now tell me. What were you going to say to Salvestro, again?”

Kurapika balled his hands at his sides. On second thought, the matter was really quite simple.

Kurapika slammed his fist into Leorio’s gut. Gon cried out. Making strangled sounds, Leorio fell back against the table. Plates of appetites knocked onto the floor with a crash. The student covered his mouth with a hand. Stumbling for a purchase, he tipped over glasses of wine, staining the white tablecloth. He turned around and retched into the punch bowl. The bowl’s contents overflowed. While the former assassin whistled, Gon scrambled for napkins. Alluka oohed.

The music screeched to a stop. Dancers halted. All conversations hushed. Everyone stared not at Leorio but at Kurapika. The only sounds in the room were Leorio spluttering and Kurapika’s deep breathing. The guests’ faces twisted with disgust. Women hid their horror-stricken expressions behind their fans. Gang members pocketed their hands—checking on their weapons—and sized him up with narrowed eyes.

A high-pitched laughter bubbled up like a sweet tasting wine. Fanning herself, Neon strode towards Kurapika’s table. Salvestro was nowhere in sight. “I know you’re celebrating and having fun, but you shouldn’t drink so much.” Smiling, she patted Leorio on the back. He groaned. She giggled. “Really, now, this isn’t an apple bobbing contest.”

Leorio, leaning heavily on the table, tried to gather his feet underneath him. Gon rushed to his aid. The student looked over his shoulder at Kurapika. Punch and salvia and trailed down his face. Coughing, he asked, “Why… why did you punch me?”

“You punched him?!” Neon gasped. Her back must have been turned during the incident. “Why?”

“Leorio deserved it. He—I…” Time stretched on. Although everyone waited, Kurapika didn’t speak. I didn’t—don’t know what to do.

A spurned potential husband came forward. “This farce is outrageous! I won’t stand for this any longer!”

A fork dinged against a glass several times, gaining everyone’s attention. Mr. Nostrade raised the glass slightly in acknowledgement. Even Kurapika turned to him, welcoming the distraction.

“Thank you, everyone, for coming here tonight,” Master Nostrade began. “I appreciate your patience as my daughter’s union is a sudden surprise. And I have another surprise for you as well. For tonight only, all of Neon’s future predictions will be half the price.”

All of the color drained from Neon’s face. Impressed murmurs and awed exclamations echoed throughout the ballroom.

“Half price? We’ll save millions of Jenny!”

“First sensible thing that occurred all night.”

“Should I have my fortune told now and miss the appetizers or later and miss out on the gambling?”

Neon hung her head. “Papa, aren’t I…? Aren’t I worth more to you than half price?” Her gaze fell on her open fan, the dance card. Two dozen names were squeezed into it. “Light Nostrade” was not there.

Her grip cracked the fan’s sticks. Chin raised, Neon proclaimed, “Guests of my wedding.”

Everyone continued to mingling among themselves.

“Guests of my wedding!”

The fortune teller’s shout echoed off the walls. Stunned, her clients stared at her. “I refuse to serve you the night before my marriage. I may do your prediction afterwards. If I feel like it. In the meantime you can attempt to persuade me to do your fortune at a discount. But for now I wanna make something crystal clear.” Neon ripped the paper fan over and over, tearing into it with ferocity of a lion. She dropped the pieces to the ground only to jump on them. She twisted her feet, grinding the fan into dust. Then, grinning broadly, Neon dipped in a deep curtsy.

Silence.

Mr. Nostrade’s face purpled.

Humming, Neon skipped over to Kurapika’s side. Her bun had come partly undone, letting her hair frame her face. Her cheeks were flushed, but excitement radiated off of her in waves. “All want is to spend time with Kurapika.”

Eyes burning, Kurapika smiled.

“…my groom!”

An ice spear lanced through his heart. Kurapika winced.

Neon tilted her head to the side. “So, so what happens now? Let’s all forgive and forget so we can all play something together!”

Eyes downcast, Kurapika broke away. “Neon, I…”

Suddenly, the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. Kurapika whipped his head over his shoulder. There, in the shadow of the hallway, was Pairo. Blood ran down from his empty eye sockets. His head floated a centimeter above his neck, having been beheaded. Kurapika lifted a foot, about to step backwards. Something metal rattled. He looked down. Gasped.

Wrapped around his ankles were thick-banded anklets with chains attached. The chains led to Pairo.

Grinning, the dead boy raised a hand and curled his fingers in. Beckoning. He pointed deeper into the darkness.

“You what?” Neon frowned.

Unmoving, Kurapika stared at Pairo.

“Feh. Figures.” Leorio strolled up to Kurapika, blocking his view. “A man accepts responsibility for his actions.” He spat vomit at Kurapika’s feet. “You’re just a coward.”

Gon bit his lip. Killua stood back, eating cake like he was enjoying popcorn at a move theater. Laughing, Alluka pounded the soaked table with napkins.

“You always run away. It’s what you’re best—”

Kurapika shoved Leorio aside. Pairo was gone. A chill ran down Kurapika’s spine. He stepped closer, something clinking. The chains. He’s still there!

“Hey, what the hell?”

“Kurapika, wait!”

Kurapika bolted down the hall, chains rattling, and disappeared into the darkness.

Chapter Text

Kurapika flew through the hallways. Doors and silver and gold drapes blurred past. The chains at his feet clanged and clattered, blocking out the sounds of the party. Turning a corner, Kurapika nearly tripped. He shook off the excess chains around his leg and began to run again. Like a trail of breadcrumbs, Kurapika followed the chains through the mansion. Who or what they were attached to on the other end Kurapika didn’t know. But they were his best bet in finding Pairo again.

Kurapika stopped at a four-way intersection. Panting heavily, he circled slowly. A faint, breathy voice laughed. The Kurta turned around. Pairo stood in the distance, down a hallway. The dead boy had led Kurapika into the south wing of the manor, the oldest and seldom used section. Servants hadn’t bothered to decorate it. Spiderwebs hung from the ceiling’s dark corners. Without any light from windows, Kurapika could only just make out Pairo’s wide smile. He floated backwards through a closed door. The chains outlined the stained red carpet to the door. Kurapika swallowed. His feet shuffled to the door. The chains rattled dully.

The Kurta stopped in front of the door. An ordinary wooden door. Inconspicuous. Except for the lack of dust on the doorknob. The chains led underneath the door into the room. He glanced behind him. No one was there. Using his lockpicks in his suit’s belt, he unlocked it. After swallowing, Kurapika opened the door.

The smell of must assailed him. The temperature dropped at least ten degrees. After closing the door behind him, Kurapika waited for his eyes to adjust to the near darkness. Under the glow of the windowsill candle were dozens of boxes. Large crates were stacked in the corners. Dust danced in the light’s rays. Smaller packages stood in neat piles on the few fold-out tables scattered across the room. His eyes scanned the room once more. No Pairo.

He stepped closer to a box. His fingers swept across a glossy, smooth material. Wrapping paper.

His chains stirred. Someone had brushed into them.  

Reaching for his bokken, Kurapika fell into a fighting stance. “Who’s there?” To his right was only a covered mannequin. Sighing, Kurapika began to relax. From the mannequin the apparition of his mother’s corpse arose. She was eyeless. Kurapika sucked in a breath. She scowled. A cold draft off air poured off her. He shivered. Body shaking, his mother pointed a finger at him. Her lips moved. No sound emitted. Face twisting with rage, she tried to take a step. Instead, her head hung forward. Only a few sinews keeping it from dropping to the floor.

Breathing heavily, Kurapika gripped his bokken tighter. It trembled.

Behind him something moaned. He spun around, shielding himself with his bokken. “Wh-What was that?”

Groaning, his father emerged from a cabinet. A blackened arm swatted at his other arm’s stump. Melted skin dropped to the floor like a wax candle.

“What do you want?”

Moaning louder, his father raised his charred arm higher. Pointing at something. Swallowing, Kurapika turned towards the far wall of the room.

Laughing like a jackal, Pairo raced to a table. His floating, decapitated head trailed just behind his speeding body. The manacles rattled furiously. On the table, one package was placed by itself, separated from the others. The boy placed bloody hands onto it. Empty eye sockets gazed at the bodyguard.

Kurapika tried to lift his foot. The chains became as heavy as lead. Frowning, he bent down, examining the metal anklets. They were sealed shut. No keyhole. When the chains shook, Kurapika glanced up. The shackles were tethered, not to an object in the room, but to his family’s ankles. Kurapika gasped. “What? Why?” Hands shaking, he dropped his bokken. “Why are you doing this to me?”

Pairo tilted his beheaded head to the side. Waited.

Hanging his head, Kurapika sighed. He left his bokken on the ground. Chains scrapping the floorboards, the Kurta dragged his feet forward. The box was wrapped in sliver paper with a gold bow, the wedding’s colors. The silver paper reflected his flat gray eyes. He dropped a hand onto the box.

If this is a wedding gift from a client then why is it all the way out here in a storeroom? Why would this be kept hidden from me? Unless… no. No, it can’t be. It isn’t.

Pairo laughed.

Something creaked behind him. Footsteps.

“Kurapika! There you are! Why did you take off like that? What’s wrong?”

Pairo vanished. Keeping one hand on the box, Kurapika turned to face the door.

Frowning, Neon studied him, slightly breathless. “Are you all right? You have that strange look on your face again.”

Kurapika’s eyes darted around the room—the boxes, the cabinet, the mannequin—but they were gone. Kurapika lifted his foot. The chains and anklet had also vanished. He circled his foot. Without the weight it felt fifteen pounds lighter. A fog lifted from his mind. “I… I’m fine.”

With busy fingers, Neon fiddled with the scarf around her neck. “It’s okay, Kurapika. I won’t ask you to tell me what’s bothering you anymore. I get it. It’s gotta be hard. But that doesn’t mean you can’t rely on me.” Neon flashed him a smile. “You can always trust I’ll be there for you.” She threaded her hand through her hair, undoing her bun. Her blue hair cascaded down. Sighing, she ran her hand down her bare shoulder. “The stars know I’ve been relying on you all this time.”

Kurapika watched her, drinking in the sight. His stance relaxed.

Her sky-blue eyes gazed into the distance. “I’m sorry for depending on you so much. It’s just that for the first time there’s someone who understands, you know?” laughed Neon. She stepped forward. “Someone who, unlike Papa, Sal, and my clients, never pressured me to be something I’m not. Who even encouraged me to stand up for myself.” She took another step. “Someone else who also hid their pain behind a mask.” She strode forward, closing the distance between them. Her hair undulated like the ocean’s waves. “Someone else who, despite being fired…” Neon cupped Kurapika’s face, her fingertips brushing his bangs. She exhaled, he breathed in. He breathed out, she inhaled. “…is still here.”

Sighing contentedly, Neon wrapped her arms around him. “So I’ve been meaning to thank you, Kurapika.” She pressed her face against his chest. Her body heat ceased his shivers. He could feel the slow rhythm of her chest falling and rising against his own. “I wanted to let you know how happy you’ve made me.” He breathed in her sweet jasmine scent. “To tell you…” She lifted her head, chin resting on his sternum. Only an inch separated them. Cloudless sky-blue eyes filled his vision.

“How much I love you.”

She closed her eyes. Kurapika couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, as she closed the distance. Something warm and slightly wet pressed itself at the corner of his mouth. A… kiss? Neon worked her way up his jawline, her lips trailing fire. She’s… she’s kissing me. Her warm breath blew over his flushed face. Eyelashes tickled his skin, teasing him. But the present. I have to know.

In a low voice, Kurapika whispered, “Ne—”

Neon kissed the hallow below his ear. The words died on his lips. A shiver ran down his spine. He felt feverish. Neon tried kissing behind his ear but couldn’t reach. Closing his eyes, Kurapika turned his head to side. The gift… Grabbing his collar, she pulled herself up onto tip toes. The first two buttons of his button-up came undone. His tie fell to the floor. I have to… Her body pressed against the length of his. Every inch of him touched by Neon crackled with energy.

Kurapika imagined running his hands up her figure. Twining his fingers through her wavy hair. Capturing her lips with his. Would she be warm? Soft? He ached to know.  

I have to know.

Kurapika shoved her away. Crying out, Neon stumbled backwards. “Stop!” Hands outstretched, he gulped in air. “W-Wait.” Neon stared at him incredulously, face flushed. Red lipstick smeared across her cheek. “I.” He swallowed hard. “First, before we… I have to know.”

Neon blinked. “H-Huh? What are you talking about?”

“That box!” yelled the Hunter, pointing to wrapped gift on the table behind him. “What is in that present?”

Frowning, Neon looked at the gift. Her lips parted. Eyes widening, she stepped back. “I…” 

“Tell me!”

Neon bowed her head.

Kurapika’s voice softened. “Please, Neon. You promised to tell me the truth.”

A minute passed, the only sounds were their heavy breathing. Finally, Neon muttered, “I was going to tell you my plan tomorrow…”

His blood turned to ice. Growling, he gripped the box so hard his fingers tore holes into it. His shoulders shook. Be able to meet my parents’ gaze doesn’t matter. There’s only one promise, only one vow which matters.

“Never mind. There’s no need to tell me.” He whispered in a hollow voice. “I already know what it is.”

All other promises are meaningless.

Kurapika ripped the wrapping paper of the wooden box. He tore off the crate’s slates, although the splinters pierced his hands. A nail sliced open his palm. Blood flowed out of the cut. He threw aside the last slate.

Laid bare was a jar with a pair of glowing, scarlet eyes. A wedding gift from a client.

My vow for revenge.

The sight of his brethren’s remains set Kurapika’s eyes crimson. His vision awashed with red. Gasping, Neon covered her mouth with her hands. “So you really are a Kurta…”

Eyes narrowed, he intoned, “And just how did you know that?”

“Uh—” Neon’s eyes widened. Curling her arms into her chest, she began, “I just—I didn’t…” Cracking his knuckles, Kurapika strolled towards her. She retreated. “Hold on. Wait, please—Aah!” Neon stepped on a bokken and crashed to the floor.

Kurapika towered over her. His eyes pinned her like a dead insect to a corkboard.

Sweat dripped down Neon’s forehead. Eyes on the floor, she babbled. “Your strange clothes. You acting weird after buying the eyes at Yorknew Auction. Then I ran into Zenji. He told me how after the auction your eyes changed.”

Zenji. The Mafia boss who punched Light Nostrade out of jealousy. Who attempted to outbid Kurapika during the auction for the Scarlet Eyes. Who Kurapika threatened to kill, inadvertently revealing his secret ethnicity. Kurapika’s stomach curled. She knew all along. Kurapika bent his knees, leveling his face with hers. “You sneaky bitch.”  

Neon sucked in a breath. “But I didn’t know for sure until I rescued you! In the garden maze after the attack! Your eyes were red.”

Kurapika placed a hand closer to Neon, starting to crawl towards her. The wooden floorboards were cold to the touch. Neon scooted backwards. “Why would you want a Kurta as your bodyguard?” he demanded.

“I-I needed protection.” The Hunter planted his other hand down, trapping the prey between his hands. Whimpering, Neon backpedaled more. Her back hit the door. Being so close, he could feel her body heat beneath him. Smell her salty sweat. Taste her fear. In halting breaths, she whispered, “Because I’ve been lying to my clients. To Papa. To everyone.”

Kurapika fist flew forward. “Answer the question!”

Neon flinched, closing her eyes. After a moment, she opened an eye. Kurapika had punched a hole into the wall centimeters from her head. She swallowed. “I’ve been writing unrequested predictions of my clients.”

“Why.”

“For information on them. To use against them in case they try something funny. Like not pay their bills. Stop them from touching me like Slimar. And to, and to…” Biting her lip, Neon gazed at the ground.

Growling, Kurapika clamped his hand on her forehead. He jerked her head up, banging it on to the door. Pulsing crimson eyes met pale blue ones. The blood from Kurapika’s cut palm dripped onto her face. It slid down her cheek from the corner of her eye. “To get more body parts for my collection.”

A numbing coldness seized his core. “That’s why…” he breathed. “I’d be the Ten Don and you… You’re marrying me to get more Scarlet Eyes.”

Neon lifted her chin. Her blue eyes hardened into steel. Shone with pride. “I am.”

The room’s darkness pulsed in time with his racing heartbeat. Smirking, Kurapika shook his head. “Fortune teller Neon. Nothing upsets you more than your father and clients using you.” A chuckle, which tasted like vomit, bubbled up his throat. “You thought it justifiable to exploit my secrets.” Ice spread through his veins. “To use me as a tool.” A chill so cold it burned. Glowing scarlet eyes cast her pale face in the color of blood. “To say you love me.” His hands reached out. He grasped her neck.

“HOW DARE YOU?!”

Snarling, Kurapika slammed Neon into the door. She made a gurgling sound. Grimacing, she clawed her nails into his hands. But his grip was ironclad. “My reason for living is to obtain my family’s eyes. To avenge their deaths.” He breathed in toxic air of sweat, blood—and jasmine. Beneath his fingers, her muscles contracted. Fighting against him. Her neck was slick. Hot.

“For years I trained to become a Blacklist Hunter.” Neon spluttered and coughed. Red-faced, she kicked at his knee. Shin. Thigh. He absorbed the blows like a stone wall.

“I have lied, cheated, and stole.” Her jugular arteries bulged beneath his hands. Pumping blood up to her brain. Keeping her alive. Kurapika grit his teeth. Although he squeezed, the arteries would not be blocked.

“Pushed my friends away.” Kurapika shifted his grip. Dug his thumbs into her windpipe. Eyes flying open, Neon gave a strangled gasp.

“I have killed.” Neon exhaled once, a warm pant. Flared her nose. But she couldn’t inhale. Her face purpled. “And you.” Narrowing his red eyes, Kurapika leaned closer. Every pore of her skin was visible. He bared his teeth, spittle trailing from his canines. “You’re just another name on my hit list.”

Neon cracked open her eyes. Her fingers stilled. Blood red lips moved, mouthing words.

A jolt of electricity shot through Kurapika’s spine. His fingers lost their grip. Gasping, Neon collapsed to the ground. Her tiny form racked with coughs. The room echoed her dry heaves. Reeling, Kurapika stumbled backwards. The movement of her lips replayed over and over in his mind. Spelling out two words.

Kill me.

Heaving for air, Neon lifted her head up. Sweat pasted her hair to her face. Bruises the shape of fingerprints marred her ivory neck. Spit trailed from her mouth. “Scarlet Eyes… everything I… collected. Unrequested fortunes… too. Behind lobby family portrait. Vault.”

She bowed her head. “If you want… to kill me, go ahead.” Her white gown clung to her heaving chest. The voice coming from her lips was throaty and raw. Alien. “If avenging your family is your reason for living…”

Chains rattled behind him. Kurapika froze. His mother’s voice hissed, “How could you have forgotten? You survived so we could be avenged.”

Trembling, Kurapika clutched his head. L-Leave me alone.

Neon’s fist balled up her gown. Broken nails ripped tares into the fabric. “If you’ll earn your family’s forgiveness…”

Father growled, “You would marry the witch who collects our eyes? You spit on our memory.”

Gritting his teeth, Kurapika tore out his hair in clumps. GO. AWAY.

Neon raised her head. Opened her arms wide. Smiled. “If it’ll stop your family from haunting you… Give you peace, then go ahead. I’d be happy to die.”

A memory flashed before him. Sitting in his grave dug by his hands, knife in hand. Trying to summon the courage to dig out his eyes and slit his throat. “To… die…” Kurapika intoned.

A cold presence materialled by side. Kurapika could almost make out a form of a small boy in the corner of his eye. Pairo.

“Come on, Kurapika. Your fun adventure is waiting to begin.”

Kurapika bit his lip. The familiar metallic tang of blood washed over his tongue. The room began to sway. Darkness slowly tainted his scarlet vision.

Kurapika’s mother shouted, “Rip her arms out of their sockets!”

The Hunter staggered backwards. Clumsy fingers reached for his belt. Gripped his knife’s handle.

“Gorge out her eyes!” bellowed his father.

Panting, Kurapika tried to step forward. He collapsed onto his knees. Something cried out in alarm. A vulture. Kurapika unsheathed his knife and raised it before him.

Pairo howled, “Kill her!”

Through his messy bangs, Kurapika gazed forward. The six-inch blade reflected his sweaty, blazing red-eyed face. Beyond the knife was Neon, face pale with terror. His heart pounded like a gong. 

“Kill her! Kill her! Kill her! Kill her! Kill her! Kill her! Kill her!”

The wooden handle of his knife was polished. Smooth. Unlike the splintered handle from last time. Frowning, Neon lowered her outstretched arms slightly. Her pale wrists were exposed. Breathing heavily, Kurapika tightened his grip.

“Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill!”

Warm blood pooled between his fingers. His hand nearly slipped. Growling, he adjusted his grip. He could slash across her bruised neck. Cut the muscles and sinews. Slice open her wind pipe.

“KILL! KILL! KILL!”

Kurapika placed a hand on Neon’s sternum. His cold fingers felt her heart beat. Kurapika’s knife hand trembled. Tears pooled in Neon’s eyes. But she still smiled.

“KIIIIIIIIIIIIIILL!!!”

Kurapika reversed his grip. Raised the knife above his head.

STAB.

The blade sunk into flesh. Neon screamed. Blood gushed forth, blocking his vision. In one smooth, practiced move, he cleanly slid the knife out. Neon jerked. She slumped back against the door. She stilled. 

The bloody knife clattered to the ground. Strength spent, Kurapika’s head and arms drooped. His shoulder trembled. A strange, choked noise escaped his lips. He threw his head back and laughed.

“Isn’t that what you wanted?” Kurapika called. “Well?!”

No one answered.

Growling irritably, Leorio drummed his fingers on his bedroom desk. “I can’t believe Kurapika punched me! Who does he think he is?” He hiccupped. Mumbling under his breath, he wiped at his flushed face with a hand.

Gon, standing by the bedpost, placed a hand behind his head. “Shouldn’t we go check on him? I know Neon went after him, but I’m still worried. It’s been a while.”

Killua leaned against the pale blue wall. Sighing, he glanced past the heavy curtains to the night outside. Alluka lay on her stomach drawing something on a napkin, humming. “I’m more concerned about this other guy, Salvestro. There’s something about him.”

“Why don’t you care?” Leorio shoved his desk chair back. His coffee cup shook, nearly toppling over. “Kurapika’s marrying a woman he doesn’t love!”

“Well, yeah.” Killua picked his ear “It’s obvious. He wants to be a Ten Don. Get more Scarlet Eyes. As for Neon, she doing this to get more body parts I figure. All she ever seemed to care about. But why Salvestro’s here… I don’t know enough about him to make a guess. Do you know?”

Gritting his teeth, Leorio cast his eyes down on the carpet. “I… No. I’m sure Kurapika investigated him, but he never shared anything with me. Too busy to be bothered.” Leorio closed his eyes. Too focused on living out his mission: collecting the Scarlet Eyes. No, to fulfill his vengeance. And his friends couldn’t mean anything less to him.

Leorio grit his teeth. Kurapika, a grim reaper groom.

Alluka rolled onto her back, lifting her drawing into the air. “All done! Lookie, brother!”

Chuckling, Gon passed it to Killua. “What cute thing did you draw for him?”

The medical student breathed heavily. The innocent laughter of a murderer.

Accepting the paper, Killua smiled. Leorio’s heart pounded a mile a minute. A child assassin.

He examined it. A rope looped into a circle. Killua frowned. “Alluka. This is a noose. What have I told you about such things?”

“But I like it…” pouted Alluka. “Oh, I know! It’s a necklace.”

Leorio slammed his fists into the desk. His coffee cup toppled, soaking his open textbook. “What the hell is wrong with all of you?!”

Silence. Everyone stared at the student. Lower lip trembling, Alluka glanced between her brother and Leorio. She pulled on the roots of her hair. “I’m a bad girl. Sorry… Sorry, sorry.”

Killua placed a hand on her shoulder while glaring at his friend. “Ignore him, Alluka. What he says doesn’t matter. I’ll draw with you.” After a moment the only noise in the room was the sound of pencils scribbling.

“What’s wrong, guys?” Gon asked. “Why aren’t we getting along?” After a minute, Gon sighed. From their murmurs it sounded like Gon had joined the Zoldyck siblings in drawing.

Leorio kneed the base of his palms into his eyes. All he saw was darkness. What’s wrong with me?

The door burst open. Everyone jumped. Melody appeared in the doorway, panting. Sweat coated her face. “Have… Have you seen Lady Neon?”

The men and Alluka rose slowly. “No,” the student answered. “I haven’t. Not since we left the ballroom. And that was, what? Twenty minutes? A half hour ago?” Melody paled. Leorio studied her. Even when they faced the Phantom Troupe, he had never seen her so agitated. Spooked.

“No, no this can’t be…” Melody murmured. She ran down the corridor.

Everyone shared a glance. Leorio raced after her. The boys and Alluka were right on his heels.

The scenery blurred by as they flew through the hallways. The guests’ laughter and merrymaking had ceased. As they grew closer to the back of the mansion, they could hear gasps and wails like the dead were rolling in their graves.

Upon seeing two clients up ahead, Leorio slowed down. Behind her red fan, one guest complained to the other. “We’ve come all this way and for what? Some cheap food? Being taunted with a sale on predictions?”

The man beside her shook his head with a sneer. “Agreed. This has been a colossal waste of time. If someone had intended to end her all along, they should have done so before we arrived.”

The medical student drew to a halt. He raised a hand toward them, calling, “Wait—”

A raw scream pierced the air. All his muscles drew tighter than a bowstring. Leorio bolted around the corner. A crowd of Kurapika and Neon’s wedding guests stood around an open doorway. Frowning, they murmured to each other, casting furtive glances at the scene indoors. Leorio pushed his way through. At the front Mr. Nostrade stood and stared forward, his mouth hanging open. He sweated so much it appears as though his skin was melting. His lips moved, but only a moan escaped.

“No, this isn’t happening! Nooo!”

Eliza, red faced and tear streaked, was being held back by a grim Basho and Linssen. When struggling proved futile, she sagged in their grip. She babbled, “Squala… and now her…”

Tigris, hands plastered over her mouth, was bowled over. She appeared to be moments away from spilling her guts. Tears streaked down her face.

Melody’s feather soft voice whispered, “I was too late. How could such a vibrant heart’s music end in tragedy?” Confused, Leorio followed her gaze.

Only then did Leorio take in enough of his surrounding to realize they were in some sort of old storage room. Wrapped presents had been knocked over. As if someone had bumped into them in haste as they fled. A pair of red eyes bobbed behind glass tubes. The shredded remains of a wooden crate and wrapping paper surrounded it.

Leorio sucked in a breath. “Scarlet Eyes…” When he stepped closer, he noticed a shadow near the ground by the far wall. He side stepped the fold out table. “Neon, is that you? Oh gods, no.”

Neon sat on the ground, leaning against the wall. Her vibrant blue eyes stared into the distance, vacant. Leorio needn’t have medical training to assess her condition. Once glance at the large pool of blood staining her gown’s front was enough. Neon was dead. Killed.

Leorio’s stomach churned like the choppy stormy ocean waves. He whirled around. “How did this happen? When did it? Who? Why?!”

Gon stared, slack jawed. Closing his eyes, Killua shook his head. Alluka, frowning, looked around at everyone. The guests refused to meet anyone’s eyes. Mr. Nostrade moaned.

“Tch. I’ll find out myself.” Leorio crouched down. He touched Neon’s wrist. No pulse. It wasn’t warm; nor was it completely frozen cold. Although it was hard to determine to because of the blood, she appeared to have been stabbed in the chest. And that’s all I can conclude. Exhaling irritability, Leorio ran a hand through his black hair. I’m a doctor, not a forensic scientist.

The clients’ murmurs died. A lone set of footsteps walked across the creaking wooden floorboards. They stopped alongside Leorio. The student gazed up from the black leather shoes, up to the dress slacks to a suit jacket and white button up. Up to the face with messy blond bangs and dull red eyes.

“K-Kurapika!” exclaimed Leorio, standing up and stepping backwards. “Where did—?” He glanced behind him. A path was cleared among the crowd. The guests backed against the far wall like Kurapika carried the plague. Women peered out from behind fans. The men didn’t dare reach for their weapons. Their whispers carried through the room.

“Scarlet eyes. He has scarlet eyes.”

“They say those with red eyes are monsters.”

“Is he going to kill us all?”

Leorio swallowed. “H-Hey, man. Do you know what happened?”

Kurapika’s empty red eyes gazed at the body. No hint of any expression showed on his face.

Leorio stretched out a trembling hand to his friend’s shoulder. “Are you all right—?”

Something seized his wrist. Kurapika’s hand. Still facing the body, Kurapika tried to remove Leorio’s hand off of his shoulder. Leorio froze, fingers digging into the Hunter’s shoulder. Blood. There is blood on Kurapika’s hand. Dried blood.

The bodyguard squeezed. Leorio could feel his bones rub against each other. Leorio sucked in a sharp breath. Whose? Whose blood is it?

Beyond Kurapika, Neon’s body lay. Her sightless eyes no longer stared in the distance, but at her bodyguard. Leorio’s chest tightened. He could barely breathe. “Is this…” he choked. “Is this the result of your vengeance?”

Kurapika grabbed one of Leorio’s fingers. He bent it back, breaking it. But Leorio refused to let go of Kurapika’s shoulder. “No. Tell me it ain’t true.”

He broke another finger. Leorio’s fingers turned purple, swelling up to twice their normal size. Leorio grit his teeth. Gripped Kurapika’s shoulder tighter. 

As Kurapika broke a third finger, Leorio yelled, “Killing people won’t bring them back!”

Kurapika’s fingers stilled. His dried blood chafed against the student’s skin. Slowly, Kurapika turned his head to look over his shoulder. One eye flashed scarlet. The other was obscured by red flakes. Shocked, Leorio released Kurapika. Is his eye covered by blood? But how?

Kurapika’s eye burned scarlet fire. But his voice was as cold as ice. “I would never love a woman who collected body parts for fun.”

Kurapika strode to the door. Leorio blinked, letting him by.

Snarling, Eliza struggled against Linssen and Basho’s hold on her. She hurled herself at the bodyguard. The two burly men only barely reigned her in. “He just confessed! Arrest him!”

Leorio gasped. He spun around. Throwing his hand aside, he shouted, “How could you be so stupid? Do you really think they would want their son to be a murderer? Huh, do you?”

Kurapika didn’t pause in heading towards the door. With nervous titters, the guests pushed backwards, making way.

 Leorio’s breaths escaped his nose in angry bursts. Veins stood out on his temple. His entire body trembled. “Answer me!”

Kurapika passed through the doorway.

“Stop running away!”

He disappeared out of sight.

“Goddamn, you!!!”

Salvestro ran through the south wing’s halls, Falchion perched on his arm. Sensing the tense air, Falchion fluttered his wings nervously. For once, the bird wasn’t causing trouble. Wedding guests all but stampeded the other direction. A woman in a lab coat slammed into Salvestro on her way back. She didn’t pause. Salvestro fell against the wall. He nearly hit into the frame of a forest painting. Falchion squawked, indignant.

Strained voices emanated from down a hallway. Salvestro picked himself up and trudged forward. He paused at a four-way intersection. A door to the left was open. Salvestro, muscles tense at the ready, ambulated to the door. The stench of vomit and death assailed him.

“Eliza,” a choked voice murmured. “Please, let’s just go. It isn’t good for you to stay here.”

“I will never forgive that bastard. Never.”

Salvestro strode through the doorway, frowning, “What has occurred here? I heard something about Neon…”

The ladies-in-waiting, Tigris and Eliza, spun around, startled. Neither could meet his eyes. Tigris muttered, “I’m sorry, milord. We couldn’t protect our lady.”

Frowning, Salvestro cast his eyes across the room. “Neon? Is she here? I wish to speak with…” Wrapped presents were mixed with crates stakes around the dimly lit room. Several boxes had been knocked over. Under the glow of a windowsill candle, he saw a shadow of a strange shape. He stepped closer. Gasping, he fell to his knees.

A few strands of a blue hair rested on Neon’s face. Her skin, although previously ivory, was milky white. Her full tulip pink lips had faded into thin lines. They hung open slightly. She retained all her beauty like a flower bloom just cut off from its stem.

Falchion hopped off Salvestro’s arm. He poked her hand with his beak. He let out a sad careening. 

Mouth agape, he brushed his fingers across her cheek. She was freezing cold to the touch. For the first time in years tears blurred his vision.

A faint light shone in her eyes like a lighthouse during a stormy night. Salvestro’s gaze trailed down from her eyes to her full lips. He leaned closer. Breathed into her ear.

“Liar.”

Salvestro tucked a stray hair behind her ear. “I spent my last moments with you being selfish. At a time when you needed me the most.” Hanging his head, he let his cinnamon hair dangle limply in front of his eyes. “I am so sorry, my dear flower.”

 Eliza marched over to her master’s body. “Kurapika killed her.”

“Why?” Tigris, exasperated, asked. “Why would you think he’d do that?”

Eliza faced to her black-haired companion. Her face was a red as a volcano about to explode. “Didn’t you see? His eyes were scarlet. He’s a Kurta.”

“Kurta?” Salvestro repeated. The gears of his mind began to move.

Tigris clamped her hands over her mouth. “And Neon is a human body part collector. Oh gods.” She shuddered like last leaf on a tree branch. “If only we told him her true intentions…”

Screwing her eyes shut, Eliza murmured, “Now both Squala and Neon are gone forever.”

“No,” Salvestro avowed. “I can’t believe that.” Salvestro could not tear his eyes from Neon. “I refuse—I cannot believe my dear flower is dead.” The attendants stared at him dumbfounded. “She is far too clever to be outsmarted.” His emerald eyes smoldered. “While the mental state of the bodyguard can be called into question, no one can doubt Neon’s acting skills. Dozens, no hundreds, of clients have tried to manipulate her. Why would she believe Kurapika was different?”

“So you mean Neon was faking her affection for him, too?” Eliza murmured, “Of course.”

Salvestro arose slowly. The gears of his mind kicked into overdrive. “She realized she could not place her trust her bodyguard’s intentions or his ability to protect her. She left when the first opportunity presented itself and prepared a doppelganger body to conceal her disappearance.”

Tigris’ eyes shrunk to the size of pin heads. “Then you mean…”

“She is alive; I know she is. I can feel it in my bones. I am only unsure of where she has fled to.”

Eliza briefly closed her eyes. When she opened her eyes again, they were cleared of any signs of tears. Rather, they were sharpened weapons. “Make no mistake. Neon doesn’t love you.”

Salvestro winced. “Of, of course.” Eyes lowered to the ground, he smiled softly. “I knew such for a long time.”

“So we’re going only to ensure her safety. Nothing more.”

“‘We’?”

“Yes. We’re going with you. You can’t object—we’re the only ones who know how she’ll slip in. After last year we planned out our method of attack down to the last detail.”

“Very well,” Salvestro conceded with a sigh. As a politician in the making, Salvestro knew which people would not be swayed by words. “Then we must be off. There is not a second to waste.” Salvestro strode towards the door, pulling on his white gloves. He whistled. Flapping his wings, Falchion flew to his arm. “Assuredly, the Kurta bodyguard is tracking her down as we speak.”

“Why?” asked Tigris.

“Why?” Salvestro stopped at the doorway before turning around. The dim lighting cast shadows across his face. “To finish her off.” Falchion’s screech echoed off the walls.

Dozens of people passed her by, but no one noticed her. A gentle wind stirred her loose blue hair. She wrapped her sheer scarf not around her shoulders, but her neck. A heavy purse rested on her shoulder. She placed a hand on her thigh. Through the thin gown, she felt the handle of a weapon. A gun. After a deep breath, she strode forward, not looking back.

Neon entered the doors underneath a banner which read “Yorknew City Auction: Come One, Come All!”

Chapter Text

Head held high, Neon strode down a hallway of the Yorknew hotel. A heavily perfumed woman hanging off the arm of a suited man clipped down the opposite way. Neon fought against the urge to reach for her weapon. Aside from that couple heading to bed early, the bedroom wing was deserted. Most people were attending parties, wasting their money before the auction began in two days.

Neon peered around a corner. A guard stood sentry outside double doors, leading to another bedroom wing. A patrolling sentinel had his ID read by the security machine on the wall and passed through the doors. The guard stationed at the door was young. Male. Slumped shoulders. Yawning, he buttoned and unbuttoned his uniform’s collar. After the events of last year, he was likely a Nen user ordered to kill anyone suspicious on sight.

Neon swallowed. Her bruised neck throbbed with pain. Wincing, she loosened her knotted gold scarf. Sucking in deep breaths, the fortune teller wiped her sweaty palms on her gown. Before leaving the manor, Neon had changed into a pale rose flare dress and donned a brunette wig. A simple disguise, but effective. She sniffed her arm. Her nose wrinkled at the stench. Plastering on a large smile, she rounded the bend.

The blond guard jumped to attention. His hand strayed to his belt. Past his pairs of handcuffs. To his gun. A coms device rested in his ear.

“Aaah,” sighed Neon. She placed a foot down, then lurched forward a bit before regaining her stance. “Wheres the next partee?” she slurred. “Hey there, buddy. Could ya help me?”

The guard examined her tight-fitting gown. He relaxed his stance marginally and stepped forward. He dipped his hat. “You lost, ma’am?” All guards must have been instructed to treat the guests with the highest amount of respect. Didn’t want to lose any more business after last year. Eyebrows furrowed, the guard approached her side, outside the camera’s gaze. At their close distance, the security man undoubtedly could smell the alcohol and smoky scent Neon caught from the contagious guests. Blushing, Neon looked away and nodded. She fingered the end of her gown in-between her legs. The guard’s blue eyes lit up. “You should rest. I know an empty room where I can watch over you. I’ll take good care of you.”

After a moment, Neon nodded. The guard grabbed her elbow and dragged her to the nearest bedroom. He entered using his ID card. Seth Asmodeus was written next to his picture.

Neon’s gaze slid across the room. Tables unlettered with personal items or plates. A wooden desk rested against the wall, outfitted with a computer and printer. The navy-blue bedsheets were pulled back and wrinkled, but the room showed no signs of occupancy. Neon glanced behind her. Seth looked at his watch. “Five minutes until check in. Let’s see if I can break my record.”

Goosebumps crawled over every inch of her skin.

Frowning, he pushed her forward. “What are you waiting for? You should be on the bed already.”

Just as they reached the bed, the fortune teller stumbled. When Seth reached out to catch her, she seized his arm and tossed him onto the bed. He stared up at her, mouth open. She positioned herself over him. He smirked.

Humming to herself, Neon clawed open his uniform’s buttons. She threw the shirt aside. His six-pack showed through his sweaty muscle shirt. As his hands worked up her legs, pushing up her dress, Neon’s hands roamed his belt. Her fingers grazed cold metal. Two pairs of handcuffs dangled from her one finger. Seth raised an eyebrow. “Well, well, well.” She grinned.

Neon latched the handcuffs onto his roaming hands and to the bed post. He arched his back. Laughing, Neon stood up and walked away from the bed.

Blinking, Seth gaped at her. He pulled his trapped hands. His eyes widened. Neon snatched his com ear device. Deepening her voice, she reported, “All clear.” 

The security for the auction was a random haphazard mash of Nen users unfamiliar to each other. The person manning communications would not have recognized Seth’s voice. Smirking, Neon glanced at her watch. “Oh look. Two and a half minutes. A new record.”

Seth glared daggers at her. “You sneaky bitch!” Neon flinched at the familiar words.

He reared his foot back. Neon spun away, grabbed the tranquilizer dart from her thigh sheath, and shot a dart. He gasped.

Neon waited a few precious minutes to let the sleeping agent enter the guard’s bloodstream. Once he became sluggish, she stripped him of his pants. His uniform would be useful.

Seth slurred, “Hey now. At least lemme watch you change.”

Scowling, Neon lodged another tranquilizer dart into his chest.

Every guest who entered the Yorknew City hotel stared in awe of the splendor. Not a scruff mark disfigured the polished green marble floor. Three floors above their heads chandeliers hung, dripping with crystals. Suited attendants with cufflinks led guests toward the gold-plated elevators flanked by Hunters. Glass displays showcased popular auction items. Bidders crowed around the displays, their excitement sparking a buzz in the air. A long winding line stood in front of the three registration desks. Hunters maintained the line, ensuring operations ran smoothly.

Sighing, Neon sunk back into a couch. She scrolled through the messages on Seth’s phone. Earlier tonight he had texted, “What part of the hotel are u in? its not as fun w/out other guys”

His friend replied, “im not in the hotel. Tonite i got sector 12 one of em warehouses w/the goods”

Neon tsked. She wound a finger around a brown strand of hair. The auctions items are multiple warehouses across the city? It’ll take forever to find the right building on my own. Scowling, Neon dug through her purse to get her pink iPhone. She quickly scrolled through her contacts. She paused at one entry – Governor Slimar, mayor of Yorknew City. Neon gazed at his phone number. She smiled.  

Neon hummed a ditty as she returned her focus to Seth’s phone. She scrolled through images of dark bedrooms, discarded clothing, and skin. Seth and his friends had been quite busy in the week preceding the auction. Neon composed an email attached with as many pictures as the data limit would allow. She clicked “Send to All Contacts”. Everyone has secrets they don’t wanna reveal.

Just two minutes later a boom thudded from deeper in the hotel. Frowning, the visitors turned, looking for the sources. Seth’s com device buzzed in her ear. “All personnel go on alert. Multiple instances of guests fighting with each other throughout the hotel. I repeat all personnel…”

Neon’s fingers flew over the phone, sending email after email. Another crash sounded from a different direction from the first. Vibrations shook the ground. A few guests cried out.

“Requesting reinforcement in sector 3. Hunters have begun fighting with each other. Hurry, we need back—”

A blast detonated above the lobby. “Watch out!” Someone shouted.

A chandelier smashed into the ground, shattering upon contact. Crystal shards flew into the crowd. Neon jumped behind the couch, crouching down. “It’s the Phantom Troupe!”

Guests erupted in screams. They stampeded towards the entrance. Anyone who resisted the tide’s flow—Hunters and staff—were trampled underfoot. Opportunists smashed the glass display cases, stealing the goods. The mob swelled around the entrance. The four revolving doors could only admit so many people through at once. More vibrations and crashes in the distance only fueled their fire.

Neon smiled. She dashed off a text on her phone before joining the fleeing mob.

Governor Slimar. New deal. If you don’t cooperate with me, I’ll turn your city into ruins.

Head down, Neon walked down a quiet street. Although the factory had long since closed, men with oil-stained overalls stood by the doors, smoking. Their eyes followed her as she walked past. Thanks to her security guard uniform, they stayed away. Neon glanced down at her phone. Governor Slimar’s latest text read, “Learned of a warehouse unidentified to me. In the industrial district near the Toshen River. Here’s the address.”

From ahead the sound of tires squealed on concrete. Neon hid behind a flatbed truck loaded with steel car frames. She nearly gaged on the smell of exhaust and dirty water. Car doors slammed. Neon peeked through the truck window. The lanky six-foot frame of the governor and a few bodyguards stood off against a half-dozen uniformed Hunters.

Yawning, the Governor checked his gold wristwatch. “All right, boys. It’s late and I don’t have much time. Show me the Hunter IDs and citizenship papers of all the security here.” No one moved. Governor Slimar looked up. He raised a scraggly eyebrow. “What? Spending time in jail sounds better to you? I can think of several misdemeanors to lock you up for the night. Another dozen I can falsify which will lock you up much longer.”

A bare-chested Hunter stepped forward. Swirling tattoos flowed across his pecs and shoulders. “All IDs are on the Hunter and Yorknew Auction websites. So, what’s your game?”

Putting his hands behind his back, Slimar slowly walked forward. “If you do not cooperate, I cannot trust the goods have not been tampered with. As such, I will forbid the selling of these items. After last year’s attack, any complication will infuriate the bidders.” Governor Slimar glared down his hooked nose at the tattooed man. “And when they find who is responsible… Well, I hope you can rub together your two brain cells to imagine the result.” He tapped the guard’s chest. “I want your security IDs and to validate the authenticity of the goods. Now.”

The tattooed man stared at Slimar. Then, scowling, he touched his ear com. “All personnel report in person to the front of the warehouse. Bring Hunter ID and citizenship papers.”

Neon released a breath she’d been holding. Her phone buzzed. Curious, she looked at the text. Governor Slimar messaged, “These unrequested fortunes of your clients seem quite promising. But do not think I will rescind on our previous promise. You pledged to visit my mansion willingly. Although I suppose if you are coming after your wedding, the value of the deal has been lessened.”

Neon gripped her phone so hard it the case nearly cracked. She shoved her phone into her purse. Setting her jaw, Neon placed Seth’s guard hat on her head. Governor Slimar, Papa, all my clients… I swear you’ll get what’s coming to you.

Neon gazed at the giant overhead door. After sucking in a breath, she slipped in through the factory’s back doors. Half-finished cars hung from cranes above her head. Pipes in varying colors and width crisscrossed the factory. Conveyer belts carried cars waiting for tires. Neon’s eyes watered from the lingering exhaust in the air. The equipment creaked and groaned like a sinking ship.

Squinting in the dim light, Neon scanned her surroundings. Not a crate in sight. She retrieved the flashlight from Seth’s borrowed belt loop. As she walked, her shoes smacked against the concrete floor. The noise echoed through the vast area. They must be further in. Maybe inside an office? Or in adjacent building…

Something clicked behind her. A gun.

Neon froze.  

“Hey, man, I don’t want to skip out on work, but I don’t have my citizenship papers. If my cover’s blown, we all go down. So it’s better if you just let me go…”

He lowered the gun. Could it be…?  “Neon?”

Brows furrowed, Neon turned around. She gasped, “Sal!”

“Milady!” Eliza and Tigris rushed forward and crushed the fortune teller in a hug. “I was so worried about you,” continued Eliza. Releasing her, she cupped Neon’s cheek. Eliza’s smile shone through her tears. “Thank goodness we found you.”

Shaking his head, Salvestro returned the pistol to his belt. He straightened his military jacket. With nary a cry, Falchion landed on his proffered arm. “I am ashamed to admit I did not recognize you in that uniform. It appears your ladies-in-waiting were correct in guessing you would come to the Yorknew Auction. But why? Why would you place yourself in such danger?”

“I…” Turning away, Neon flipped up her collar. Sweat plastered her blue bangs to her forehead. A weapon sat waiting in her holster. Her blue eyes hardened into ice. “I have to reclaim the body parts.”

“That’s not worth risking your life for!” cried Tigris. “If you are dead, who will collect them then?”

“She is correct.” Salvestro placed a gloved hand on Neon’s shoulder. She looked up. “I swear to you, I will buy any auction item you wish. However, only if we leave immediately.”

Biting her lip, Neon lowered her gaze. “But I fought so hard. For so long. All on my own.” Exhaling, she screwed her eyes shut. Then she faintly smiled. “All right. I promise. I’m lucky I can count on you.”

Salvestro released a breath of relief. “Then there is not a moment—”

Something banged behind them. Falchion fluttered his wings. The trio shared a glance. Salvestro turned Neon away from the back entrance. They strode deeper into the factory, searching for another exit.

“Falchion. Pattuglia.” Salvestro flung out his arm and the bird took flight. It disappeared into the darkness. When Neon threw him a confused look, Salvestro explained, “Patrol.” She nodded.

Salvestro constantly swept the area with his eyes, on the alert for any threats. Rows of raised conveyor belts stretched as far as the eye could see. A few belts had cars: some only the steel frames while others only missed the tires. Various machinery flanks the conveyor belts from cranes, to circular buzz saws, to lifts. Although the overhead fluorescent lighting cast strange shadows, there were no signs of people.

Salvestro whispered, “I am terribly sorry, Neon, but it is unsafe for you to return the manor. To cover your disappearance, Kurapika displayed a dead doll of you to your guests.”

Tigris and Eliza exchanged a confused look.

Neon halted. Face paling, she stared off into the distance. “What? No. Why would he…?”

Salvestro balled his hands into fists. “I can only presume to because he intends to kill you, but you escaped before he could at the manor. Your father and clients believe you are dead.” He nodded at Eliza. The attendant gently nudged Neon forward. After stumbling, Neon followed them.

 Salvestro ducked underneath a pipe. The pipe was so hot that if touched it would burn skin. “I am aware this may be hard to digest, but this is a golden opportunity. I have prepared IDs for you and your ladies-in-waiting as well as credit cards. You should stay in one of my safehouses for a time but following that you will be free to pursue any life you wish. I will not ask you to live in Roffet City.” Placing a hand on a forklift, he turned to Neon. He smiled. “Merely visit me from time to time. Just like when we were children.”

Neon’s eyes watered. “Sal…”

From ahead, someone screamed. Salvestro bolted. Neon and her attendants raced after him.

“No, please, don’t! Please!”

Salvestro drew to halt. He gaped at the sight of the factory entrance. A dozen uniformed Hunters were strewn on the ground, limbs hanging at odd angles. A tall man dressed in a suit crawled backwards on his hands and knees. Sweat ran down his warty face in rivulets. He raised a hand. “Look, I-I’m the mayor. So whatever you want I’ll get it. Just please don’t hurt—”

The man smashed the governor’s skull with a weapon. Slimar crumpled to the ground. He lay still.

Neon gasped. “Kurapika!”

Kurapika glanced up, his eye glowed scarlet. He flicked the blood off his bokken.

Salvestro pointed his gun at Kurapika’s heart. Kurapika didn’t move. In the factory’s sweltering heat, sweat trailed down Salvestro’s forehead. Unseen machines creaked and groaned.

Strangely, blood covered Kurapika’s one eye. His other red eye only watched Neon. Salvestro scowled. Glancing at Neon, he urged, “Neon, you need to leave with Eliza and Tigris im…”  

Eyes wide, Neon stared at Kurapika. Her fingers brushed her neck. Behind her collar, small ovals of purple blemished her ivory skin. Bruises. Bruises in the shape of fingers.

“You bastard!” Snarling, Salvestro fired his gun.

Neon screamed.

Kurapika stepped back. By the bodyguard’s feet a black hole smoked. His scarlet eye glared at Salvestro.

Salvestro breathed heavily through his nose. “A Kurta, huh? They say their Scarlet Eyes are one of the most beautiful treasures to behold. Perhaps I should sell your eyes in the Yorknew Auction instead of your heart.”

Gripping his bokken, Kurapika crouched into fighting stance. His eye blazed scarlet. “I would kill you first.”

Salvestro cocked his gun. “Although I suppose such a plan is unfeasible. The eyes of scum are worthless.”

Kurapika lunged.

“S-Salvestro!” Neon exclaimed. She raised a hand to his arm. “Wait—!”

With one hand Salvestro pushed Neon away, firing wildly with the other hand. The gunshots’ noise rang throughout the factory. Kurapika ducked into a roll. The bodyguard dove behind a conveyor belt. Salvestro rained bullets down at his cover. Bullets dinged off. Over the gunfire, he yelled, “Run!”

Biting her lip, Neon glanced at Kurapika’s hiding place. “But…”

Salvestro grabbed Neon’s shoulder and pulled her close. Her eyes grew wide. “He will kill you!”

Something moved out of the corner of his eye. Growling, Salvestro fired more.

Neon slowly backed up, shaking her head. “I… This can’t be happening…”

Waking out of her stupor, Eliza seized Neon’s hand. “Come on!” The attendants pulled Neon towards the back exit, disappearing into the darkness.

Kurapika slalomed past the machinery and bullets. He launched off a car frame towards Salvestro.

I swear I will protect you, Neon. Salvestro pulled out a second pistol. He aimed them at Kurapika’s chest. Even if I have to kill your groom. I just hope one day you will forgive me.

Chapter Text

I swear I will protect you, Neon. Salvestro pulled out a second pistol. He aimed them at Kurapika’s chest. Even if I have to kill your groom. I just hope one day you will forgive me.

Before Salvestro could fire, Kurapika swept at Salvestro’s legs. The politician slammed into the ground. Salvestro hooked his feet behind Kurapika’s ankle and twisted. Kurapika fell onto the floor. Rising, Salvestro fired at Kurapika. The bodyguard rolled away then stood. The two retreated in opposite directions.

Salvestro ducked behind a pile of crates. Sweat dripped down his face. His ears rang from the gunshots. He peered over the crate’s edge, thinking, Baiting him into switching targets from Neon to me is working.

Kurapika’s weapon of choice were meant for close combat. As long as Salvestro maintained distance between them, Salvestro could take his time picking Kurapika off with his guns. After retrieving ammo from his military jacket, Salvestro reloaded his pistols. He smirked. There is no doubt who will be the vict—

Something large and black and came swinging down on him. Salvestro ducked. Like a wrecking ball, a ceiling crane smashed into the crates, blasting them into pieces.

“Conniving little—” Salvestro raised his pistols. A figure darted away in the shadows before he could lock onto it.

A loud hiss pierced his ear drums. White hot steam billowed forth from a cut pipe. “Ugh!” Coughing, Salvestro covered his face with his elbow. The stream blanketed the factory in a thick fog. “Tsk.” A bead of sweat slid down Salvestro’s forehead. “A game of hide and seek, is it?” He gripped his pistols tighter. “Very well. I accept.” Cocking the hammers of his guns, Salvestro strolled into the fog.

Exhaling slowly, Leorio sank deeper in the bodyguard lounge’s couch. He stared at his left hand. The three broken fingers had swelled to twice their size. The ring finger hung downward at an unnatural angle. Splotches of purple and yellow colored his broken fingers. With every heartbeat they throbbed.

With his thumb, Leorio brushed off a red flake off from a broken finger. Blood. As Leorio closed his eyes, the night’s events replayed in his mind. Half-dried blood coated Kurapika’s fingers. His left eye. Nowhere else. Kurapika stiffening at the mention of his family. The grinding of Leorio’s bones as they snapped into two.

Sighing, Leorio opened his eyes. His fingers ached.

“We shouldn’t be waiting around here! We need to find him!”

Killua leaned against the wall by a window. Gazing out into night, he stated, “Melody and the others are doing their best to track him. Getting upset won’t help matters, Gon.”

Gon stopped pacing to glare at the former assassin. “You’re not helping anyone!”

Whimpering, Alluka hid her face behind a throw pillow.

“Nooo…” someone moaned. “It can’t…”

Leorio glanced up. Mr. Nostrade slumped heavily in an armchair. He stared vacantly in the distance. Tears ran down his face.

“Neon!” Mr. Nostrade launched out of the chair. Everyone jumped. “I have to find—!” He stepped forward, only to collapse.

Leorio rushed to his side.

Gon gasped. “Mr. Nostrade!”

“What’s wrong with him?” asked Killua.

“Give me some space, guys!” Leorio yelled. As he checked Mr. Nostrade’s pulse, the medical student ordered, “Gon, call the nurse in the manor’s infirmary. Killua, you get Melody.” As Killua ran out of the room, Gon began dialing.

Beneath Leorio’s fingers, Mr. Nostrade’s pulse beat like crazy. Frowning, Leorio pressed his free hand against Mr. Nostrade’s forehead. It was burning. Those weren’t tears, Leorio realized. It’s sweat! Mr. Nostrade’s unfocused eyes crossed. His lip began to turn blue.

Leorio drew in a sharp breath. “Oh my god. Gon, give me the phone!” Before Gon could, Leorio snatched it from him. “You have a team of nurses tonight, right?”

A woman on the phone said, “Yes, and a doctor—”

“Hurry your ass over here. Mr. Nostrade’s been poisoned!”

Salvestro landed onto a conveyor belt. His landing was swallowed by the thick fog. Hot clouds of steam obscured his vision of anything past five feet in front of him. Sweat fell into Salvestro’s eyes, making them sting.

Biting his lip, Salvestro considered the situation. On the ground my line of sight is hampered by machinery. Height’s advantage is rendered useless due to the fog; hot air rises. Salvestro turned slowly, taking in his surroundings. On the conveyor belt two tireless cars flanked his front and behind. Beyond was a world of white. How will I stop him?

The belt lurched with a bang. Salvestro fell to his knees. Whirling, the belt began to move forward. Salvestro cocked his pistols. Kurapika. Standing up, he looked around. “Where are you hid—?”

The grinding of gears was his only warning. Salvestro dropped to the ground. A machine arm smashed into the Sedan in front of him. Stunned, Salvestro stared at the wreckage. Two pongs had skewered the car. The prongs were roughly five feet long. Salvestro gulped.

A second grinding rang out. Salvestro jumped up onto the car’s trunk, then the roof, and over the hood. Another pronged machine arm impaled the car. Sparks flew through the air like fireworks. The Sedan was reduced to scrap metal. As more machinery groaned, Salvestro pelted down the conveyor belt, vaulting over cars.

A high-pitched screech pierced his eardrums. “Tsk. What now?” Behind him, two blade saws were cutting the cars in half horizontally. “Oh, sweet heavens.” Salvestro lengthened his strides, braced himself, and jumped onto a car’s roof. Just as the blade saw was about to reach his car, Salvestro backflipped off the roof. The saw passed beneath him.

Salvestro landed poorly. He winced in pain as his ankle snapped. The belt moving forward at a high speed had slipped his feet out from underneath him. Panting heavily, Salvestro felt his ankle. Already it was swelling. “Blazes! I am a sitting duck here.”

Something hissed. Three thin blow torches spewed fire. Salvestro covered his head with his military jacket. He lay facedown as the torches blazed above his head. Blisters popped open on his back. The smell of burning filled his nostrils. His jacket caught on fire. Salvestro rolled, only further spreading the fire. Grimacing, he shucked off the jacket and pounded on the fire until it sizzled out. After glancing around, he donned the jacket again.

“Bastard!” Salvestro shouted into the white fog. “You have the audacity to strangle Neon but you will not face me yourself?” 

The belt violently shook beneath his feet like an earthquake. Metal pieces flew at him. Salvestro covered his face with his hands. A shrapnel sliced open his cheek, drawing blood. A car further down the line had been flattened by a large hydraulic press. Three cars left until it reached Salvestro. “Blast, blast, blast.” He whipped his head around, searching, but everything was white.

Crunch! Two cars left.

After regaining his footing, Salvestro peered over the belt’s edge. Thanks to the fog it was impossible to determine how far below the ground was.

Crash! One car left.

Sweat slid down his face. His eyes darted through at the white fog. A lone shadow appeared ahead. As the conveyor belt moved forward, it came into view. A ceiling crane.

 Smash! Salvestro was next.

Salvestro hobbled to the other end of the belt. Sucking in a breath, he holstered his pistols. He ran as fast as he could and dived towards the crane, hands outstretched. His left hand missed. But his right hand latched onto the hook. Salvestro swung into the white depths. The politician closed his eyes against the fog’s watery sting. When the crane reached the lowest point of its swing, Salvestro let go. He rolled upon impact with the ground. Groaning, he spared a moment to catch his breath. His lungs greedily gulped in the cooler air.

Twin lights turned on. Salvestro briefly closed his eyes. Then he rose, reaching for his guns.

An SUV rumbled in the distance. Unlike the other cars, this vehicle had tires and a working engine. Behind the open driver’s door, Kurapika stood on the car’s step guard. “You said you wanted to cut out my eyes and sell them. I might be inclined to do the same to you.” Smirking, Kurapika hefted a brick in his hand. “But I wonder if there will be anything salvageable of you after this.”

“What…?” Salvestro muttered.

Kurapika ducked inside the vehicle, brick in hand. Then he jumped out of the car. The SUV launched forward, gaining speed. Salvestro gasped. Kurapika must have weighed down the gas pedal with the brick.

In a split second, Salvestro took in his environment. He was surrounded by stacks of tires. If he climbed them, they would tumble and fall. Conveyor belts flanked him, leaving too little room to dodge to the side. Too risky to attempt climbing and jumping over a speeding car. There was no escape.

Neon let Eliza pull her through the factory. Tigris ran along beside Eliza. They fumbled past pipes and conveyor belts. Creaks and groans emerged from the darkness’ depths. The reeking scent of oil and overheated air clung to her like a second skin. Neon wished she could free her hand from Eliza’s grasp to discard her sweaty uniform gloves. Neon gulped in air, but, with her throat still throbbing, she couldn’t breathe.

“Where…” gasped Neon. “Where are we going?”

Tigris ducked behind a loaded pallet jack. Eliza and Neon followed. “You heard Lord Salvestro. Anywhere but here,” Tigris hurriedly explained in a hushed whisper. She peered over the skids. A small red glow blinked in the dark. An exit. Beneath the smell of oil and grease, the faint salty tang of water prickled their noses.

Gunshots resounded from behind them. “Sal?” Neon cried. “Kurapika!”

“Come on!” Tigris sprinted towards the glowing sign, leaving them behind.

Eliza hauled her mistress to her feet. Scowling, Neon wrenched her arm free. Frowning, Eliza turned. She gasped. Neon was pointing her tranquilizer dart at her chest. “Milady, don’t—”

Just as Tigris was turning around, Neon tagged her with a second tranquilizer dart. One after the other, their bodies hit the floor with thuds.

Empty, Neon tossed the tranquilizer dart gun aside. “I’m sorry.” She turned around, towards the distant sounds of gunfight and groaning machinery. She unholstered Seth’s gun. It glinted in the red exit sign’s light. “But a promise is a promise.” Gun raised, Neon dashed into the steamy fog.

With the car speeding towards him, Salvestro was left with only one option. He raised his dual pistols. A machine gun’s worth of bullets barraged the vehicle. In an unholy blaze, the car exploded. The blast sent Salvestro flying backwards into the wall of tires. Ropes snapping, the tower of tires tumbled to the ground. For a moment all Salvestro saw was white.

Moaning, Salvestro opened his eyes. After blinking out the stars in his vision, he realized he was trapped in a small concave beneath tires. A high-pitched noise rung in his ears. A powerful smell of burning rubber permeated through the cave of tires.

Salvestro gathered his feet underneath him. His broken ankle throbbed. Bruised muscles groaned in protest. Such pain only felt like a crick in the neck; his father had ordered Salvestro to do far more harm to himself. But an exhaustion slowed his limbs; the draining effects of using Nen to conjure bullets.

Salvestro groped in the dark. His gloved hand found one pistol, but not the other. Holding it close, Salvestro kicked out at the tires. A few tires fell, but an opening emerged. He crawled through it.  

The steamy fog blanketing the factory had begun to dissipate. The smell of burning rubber intensified. In front of him lay the smoldering remains of the car. Charred, twisted pieces of metal stuck out of it like a slain beast. Distant creaks of machinery echoed like the groans of a dying man. No sign of Kurapika.

Salvestro hobbled over to one of the conveyor belts alongside the car and hauled himself onto it. Steel frames of cars sat on the belt. Salvestro whistled softly.

A dark shadow silently swooped out of the fog. Falchion landed on a metal stand next to conveyor belt. Scowling, Salvestro muttered, “Prometto a Dio, sarai morto.” The defiant bird was supposed to land on his arm, not wherever he fancied. 

Salvestro jumped off the conveyor belt, landing on his broken ankle without flinching. Agitated, the falcon ruffled his brown feathery wings. The bird stood on a metal podium of sorts, with levers and buttons. “A control panel? For what?” Salvestro gazed at the conveyor belt, peering through the mist. A flat metal circle was anchored by a crane above the belt. Salvestro grinned.

From a pocket of his military jacket, Salvestro produced a small bag of meat. At the sight of the treat, Falchion stilled. Salvestro tore off a strip of his black wrist cuff. Using it, he tied the meat to the lever. “Aspetti!” Salvestro ordered. “Wait.” Falchion fixed its large yellow eyes on the meat but left it alone.

Salvestro leapt up onto the conveyor belt. Shouting loudly in pain, Salvestro fell onto his behind. He grasped his swollen ankle.

From above a figure arose from the mist, welding a bokken. Kurapika. With surprising quickness, Salvestro rolled away.

Kurapika crouched down on the conveyer belt, twin bokken striking the ground. Before Kurapika could stand, Salvestro grabbed him from behind. The politician wrapped an arm around Kurapika’s neck, choking him. “Falchion,” Salvestro cried, “Adesso, mangia! Now, eat!”

Falchion snapped up the meat, flipping up the lever.

The giant metal circle roared to life, with a low buzzing. Salvestro felt it pulling on his metal gun. Meant to pick up cars, the giant magnet easily pulled the two men towards it. With a grunt, Salvestro and Kurapika crashed into the magnet.

Salvestro’s left arm was wedged beneath Kurapika’s body. The other arm, still wrapped around Kurapika’s neck, held his gun. The magnet pulled on Salvestro’s gun, effectively pinning Kurapika with all the force of the magnet. Kurapika face reddened. He gasped for breath.

Salvestro smirked. “Got you.”

Kurapika glared at him with a Scarlet Eye.

Over the low humming, Salvestro shouted, “An appropriate punishment indeed for strangling Neon.”

Kurapika weakly tried to slash his bokken at Salvestro’s hand. Salvestro only gripped the gun tighter.

“Why would you commit such a horror? I heard about all the shenanigans you two engaged in.” Salvestro closed his eyes. Lowered his voice. “Even I had begun to think you…”

Kurapika wedged his bokken into Salvestro’s throat. Salvestro coughed up spittle. Kurapika dropped the bokken in his other hand. His free hand reached for Salvestro’s gun. The gun rested against the magnet, pointing downwards. At Falchion, stationed on the control panel.

“No,” gasped Salvestro.

Kurapika fired Salvestro gun, unloading all its ammo. The gunshots were deafening. Falchion’s cries were swallowed up by the control panel erupting into a ball of fire. The magnet shut off. Gravity reclaimed control. The conveyor belt rushed up to Salvestro.

He slammed into the belt with a crack. Salvestro slipped off the conveyor belt onto the ground. Ears ringing, Salvestro slowly sat up. He held his chest. Several ribs had fractured from the fall. His ankle smarted. Head aching, Salvestro peered through the evaporating steam.

The smoking car remains and pyramid of fallen tires blocked the route in front and behind. The conveyor belts walled him in from the sides. Falchion was no where to be seen; he must have been blown away from the blast.

My… weapons… Salvestro’s remaining pistol rested on the conveyor belt, out of reach. A half dozen knives lay scattered around the pistol along with two larger guns.

Kurapika stood on the belt. He calmly reclaimed his knives and bokken before sheathing them. “What’s this?” Kurapika picked up one of the large guns. He chuckled. “Of course.”

Kurapika launched off the conveyor belt. Gun loosely gripped, he strolled towards Salvestro. Grime had darkened Kurapika’s blond hair and pale face. His tabard, sliced and torn, was stained with grease. His Scarlet Eye glowed through the faint mist. He aimed the large gun at Salvestro. A six-inch long knife extended past the muffler. The blade nicked Salvestro’s throat.

Someone shouted in the distance.

“Killed by your rival using your gun.” Kurapika smiled, “To quote you ‘an appropriate punishment, indeed.’”

Salvestro glanced to the side. A charred metal rod from the car lay a few inches behind him. Its end was sharp as a knife. “Is that so?”

Something thudded to his right as though something fell.

Salvestro’s hand reached for the rod. “As someone who has cut himself dozens of times, forgive me if I am not intimidated by you.”

Out of the corner of his eye, a dark figure ran towards them. “Stop!”

Salvestro only glimpsed a strand of blue hair between them before he stabbed.

Neon jumped between them, pushing Kurapika’s gun aside. Someone grabbed Neon’s forearm and wrenched her onto the ground. “Ugh!” Metal clashed behind her.

Kurapika stood in front of her, blocking Salvestro’s pipe with the knife on the gun. With a twist of his wrist, Kurapika disarmed Salvestro of the pipe. It flew through the air, disappearing into the lingering mist.

Salvestro gaped at Kurapika. “You… you saved Neon?” Frowning, Salvestro’s eyes darted between the two of them. He kept his arms slightly raised, ready to fight. “Why? You strangled her!”

Neon rose, standing behind Kurapika. “Because I showed Kurapika the truth. The truth about our vow, Sal.” She pressed a hand to the guard uniform’s front. “To be better than my clients, Papa, and your father. To fulfill my end, I planned to gain information about my clients through unrequested fortunes and blackmail them into giving me body parts.”

“For your collection.” Salvestro crossed his arms. “Your little hobby.”

“No. To safeguard them. Return them to their surviving family.”

“What?” Brows furrowed, Salvestro cocked his head. “But… they’re dead.” He raised his arms to side, laughing, “Who cares? What difference does that make?”

“I care.” Kurapika pointed the gun towards Salvestro. “It makes all the difference to me.”

“Kurapika,” Neon murmured. Kurapika glanced back at her. Grime covered his face and matted his hair. His eye burned warmly, like a welcoming fireplace on a winter’s day.

Kurapika turned away from Neon, and lifted the gun higher. “And you. There must be more truth behind your vow as well. Explain yourself.” The light glinted off the six-inch knife extending past the gun’s barrel. “Or else I will.”

Salvestro briefly met gazes with Neon. He spat. His shoulders and arms trembled with barely contained rage. “My father,” he began, his voice low, “arranged for gangs to kill my mother. All to gain sympathy votes and become mayor. Seeking revenge, I developed my Nen.”

Nen? Neon thought. Salvestro has Nen? Teeth bared like a wolf, Salvestro tore off the sleeves of his military jacket. A sheath for a thin dagger was wrapped around his left wrist. In the dim lighting of glowing machines, Neon caught sight of white lines crisscrossing his arms. Scars. Gasping, Neon covered her mouth with her hands. Her stomach churned.

“My Nen is manipulation and conjuration. My manipulation power is quite weak; I only can learn of people’s fears. To enhance my stronger conjuration abilities even further, I forged a contract: to only use Nen while bleeding. Thus, I have gained the power to summon people’s nightmares. Wanting vengeance, I wielded my power on Father. However, the bastard felt no remorse. He had no nightmares. Father forced me to use my Nen—to cut myself—to interrogate his enemies: those who upheld the law. Thus, Roffet City has descended into lawlessness.”

Kurapika lowered the gun pointed at Salvestro slightly. His eyes widened with understanding. “All those crimes statistics Linssen found… Your father used you to perpetuate those crimes?”

Salvestro traced a scar on his arm. He smirked, but his green eyes only darkened. “Indeed. Every time Father ordered me to cut myself, he would remind he was smarter, stronger, and more ruthless than me. I despaired.” He opened his eyes. Green eyes stared directly into Neon. A chill ran down her spine. “Until I met Neon and we made a vow. To be better.”

The floor tilted beneath her, like a boat rocked by waves. Lightheaded, Neon’s vision went black. “No… No, Sal, that’s not what I meant!”

Grinning, Salvestro raised his hands to the side. “For five years, I have upheld our promise. I used my power to terrify Father’s allies, converting their loyalty unto me. I endeavored to best him by being elected mayor. There was little time to waste. The stupid fool was already dying.” Salvestro bowed, a hand to his cravat. “Then dear sweet Neon called me, asking for help, and the plan changed.

“I used my Nen on you, Neon, in secret and thus determined what was endangering you. Your greatest fear was the discovery of your clients’ unrequested fortunes! They would kill you if word was released. You needed protection. However, you lacked the ambition to understand. Utilizing such information would give you unlimited power. Rule the underworld. So, I remained at the manor, quietly searching for the fortunes’ location.”

Scarlet Eye blazing, Kurapika gripped the gun tighter. The barrel’s knife was perilously close to Salvestro chest. “You attacked the manor. Your Nen terrified the staff. Their panic was a perfect diversion as you searched for the fortunes in the maze garden statue. Plus, that flashback I had allowed you to escape.”

Neon plugged her ears. “Sal attacking the manor? No, he couldn’t—he wouldn’t!”

Salvestro’s ever melodious voice quieted. “I would have not to have frightened Neon so, however, with my father dying, I had little time.” Salvestro unsheathed a thin, but razor-sharp dagger from the left sleeve. “I failed to overpower you to retrieve the fortunes by force. I failed to outsmart Neon, to trick her into telling me fortunes’ location. Even to persuade her to come to Roffet with me.” He lightly held the dagger over his right wrist. “So I shall be ruthless.”

“Don’t!” Neon cried, rushing forward.

“Stay back!” Kurapika pushed her into the smoking car wreckage.

The pile of tires shifted. Machinery groaned as if coming to life. The hot oily smog pressed in, choking off Neon’s breath. Salvestro slit his wrist. Blood weld up from the cut. It dripped onto the floor. Salvestro grinned. “I conjured the dead body of Neon—Mr. Nostrade’s greatest fear. Then I poisoned him. He’ll most likely be dead in the morning. Now you have nowhere left to return to, Neon. No choice but to relinquish the unrequested fortunes.”

“No…” Neon fell to her knees. Her voice was as soft as a mouse. “How could you?”

Salvestro cocked his head, cinnamon waves brushing over his forehead. “Such is obvious, yes? Everything was for your safety. Your freedom.”

Kurapika undid the safety of the gun.

Sal threw his head back and laughed. It echoed throughout the expanse. “Go ahead. Shoot me! It will only strengthen my illusions.” Kurapika tsked. Smiling, Salvestro slashed his arm three more times. Blood ran like a river. The room darkened as his Nen activated. “The battle lines are drawn, my dear bodyguard.”

Kurapika whirled around. “Neon, run!” She sat frozen on the ground. Kurapika pulled at her arm, but Neon didn’t move.

Salvestro’s melodious voice rang out. “I am look forwarding to unleashing the terrors of hell upon you again, Kurapika. Only this time, the gates are shut behind you.”

Chapter Text

Kurapika pulled Neon to her feet then ducked behind the car wreckage for cover. “Be prepared for anything. We don’t know what Salvestro’s capable of.”

Neon’s arm felt cold and unnaturally heavy. Frowning, Kurapika glanced at her. “Neon?” Kurapika only held a pipe. “What the—?” He flung the rod away like it was smoking hot. Breathing heavily, he backed up into the car. However, his hand felt a wooden curved surface, not metal. Nen shifted in the air. Smoke stung his eyes and nostrils. He turned around.

Standing in place of the car remains was a dome shaped house of the Kurta tribe. Its roof was ablaze. In the open doorway Kurapika could see the splintered fragments of a table and chairs. Jars and knickknacks had been swept off a shelf by someone in a fit of rage. A charred blanket poked out of the fireplace. A dark shadow arose off the floor. Kurapika gasped. It took a step towards him. And another. Kurapika’s feet were rooted into the ground. The shadow stepped out of the house into the light of the raging fire.

The partially caved-in head of his village elder stared at him. His wrinkles cast dark shadows over his bloodied face. “You claim to desire vengeance for our sake, but your heart wavers.” He tossed a book into the mud at Kurapika’s feet. It flipped open to a page where a knight battled a dragon. D Hunter. “You desire adventure, not revenge.”

Scarlet eye blazing, Kurapika stepped forward, crushing the book. “I given up everything for you!”

 The Elder raised a gnarled finger. “And you hate us for it.”

“Wh-What?” Kurapika whispered. He backed up. “I don’t… That’s not…”

“Your punishment is gruesome torture. Death would be too kind.”

“This, this isn’t funny.” Kurapika stumbled backwards and fell on his behind. The Elder took a step forward. Crying out, Kurapika picked himself up and ran. A deep, throaty laugh followed him.

Kurapika’s feet pounded against the grass. A pebble had wormed its way into his slipper, causing pain with every step. Clouds of smoke rained soot from the fiery red sky. The igloo shaped houses of his tribe surrounded him at every turn. The fire’s crackling was nearly deafening. His lungs ached for air, but all he breathed in was smoke and ash. I have to get away from here. If I could just find the way out—!

Over the sound of his heavy breathing, something metal rattled. Kurapika stopped and looked down. Metal bands wrapped around his ankles weighed down by chains. The chains lead from the anklets into the shadows before him.

“No… no, no, no!” Kurapika whirled around, about to run.

Something pulled on the chains. Gasping, Kurapika landed face-first into the mud. He glanced over his shoulder. In the distance a something small and peach had burrowed out from underground. A hand. Several feet to the left, another blood streaked hand emerged from the dirt. It patted the ground around it as if getting its bearings. It brushed against Kurapika’s chain. It flexed its fingers in anticipation. Kurapika’s heart beat so fast he thought it would explode.

The hands pulled on the chains, dragging Kurapika closer. Kurapika gasped. He tugged on the chains, but they wrenched it from his grasp. His palms sliced open.

“You failed to even kill yourself. Proven yourself incapable of withstanding the same pain we experienced.”

Kurapika looked up. The charred remains of his house stood. Half of the roof was gone, exposing the burnt remains of the interior. In front of the house, his mother’s head had arisen from the ground. Wild-eyed, she grinned at him. Climbing the chains, she rose from the ground, freeing her shoulders. The movement caused her head to dangle to the side by a few sinews. Kurapika dry heaved. Her grin remained in place. “I thought you loved us enough to want to see us again in the afterlife.”

To her left was the half-melted head of his father. Gripping the chains, he rose, exposing his burned chest. “You are less than human, unworthy of freedom by death.”

Beyond his parents, Kurapika could see they were dragging him towards something. To a roughly rectangular hole between them.

Towards the empty grave Kurapika had intended for himself.

His father intoned, “Your punishment is to continue living, unable to escape your worthless existence.”

“No, don’t!” Kurapika clawed his fingers into the dirt. Finding no purchase, his fingers dug small trenches into the ground. Tears poured down his face. “I don’t hate you, I swear! I love you so much. So please—Please!”

Hands seized his shin. Fingers dug holes into his skin, drawing blood. Kurapika hissed in pain. He swatted at the hands, but their fingers were too deeply entrenched into his legs. His parents pulled harder. The young Hunter’s hips started to separate from their sockets. A bloodcurdling scream ripped from his lungs. He was being torn apart.

“We are hunting you.”

Kurapika raised his head. In the distance, dozens of Kurta tribe members walked towards him. The village elder led them. Backlit by the raging fire of houses, they appeared like animated shadows. The villagers approached, heedless of their half-burned, mud-caked, mutilated state. Some dropped a couple of limbs. Their moans filled the air. More hands clawed their way out of the dirt to join the parade.

Vultures descended from the burning sky. With a vrrrrph, they picked off the villager's flesh. Undeterred, the tribesmen continued plodding forward. Their scarlet eyes never wavered from their target. 

Kurapika’s vision pulsed black in time with his racing heartbeat. He closed his eyes, but the vision of them marching was seared into his mind. He couldn’t escape hearing the vulture’s joyous cries mixing with his clansmen’s moans.

“The chains meant for the Phantom Troupe are tying you down.”

“We will stab and gut and bleed you until your eyes turn scarlet.”

“Then we will tear your eyes out of your sockets.”

“Forever shall you live with us. This is the only redemption for a being such as you.”

Kurapika’s sweat dripped onto the ground, mixing with his tears. He let his head drop. His fingers loosened their grasp on the ground. His parents dragged him closer. The mud felt cool on his face; it wiped away his tears. Then his feet no longer felt dirt but air. Kurapika had reached his grave. The villagers cheered. Mother and Father renewed pulling their son with earnest. Only moments until he had fell into the grave.

“Kurapika!”

Kurapika snapped his head up. Beyond the three graves in front of Kurapika’s house stood Neon. Spying the scene before her, Neon gasped. She placed a hand on a charred beam for support. “What’s going on? This is madness!”

“There’s the witch with our eyes.”

Wide-eyed, Neon stared out into jeering crowd of villagers. She swallowed. “Oh my god.” She covered her mouth with a hand. “T-Those are Kurta clans people… This is a nightmare of your past…”

Their cries reached a feverish pitch. “Stab her! Burn her! Gorge out her eyes!”

A shadow appeared behind Neon. In the flickering firelight, Kurapika could see the eyeless Pairo standing behind her. He smiled.

Kurapika froze. No!

Hearing something, Neon began to turn around. Pairo pushed her into Kurapika’s grave. The firelight gleamed off the axe he held. “Isn’t this fun, Kurapika?” He swung the axe above his head. The axe was already splattered with dried blood.

Kurapika imagined shaking off his parent’s grip on him. He envisioned stepping into his grave. Blocking and parring the axe. Striking the monstrous facsimile of his friend. Fighting against everyone exacting their revenge.

Whimpering, Kurapika cringed. He let his parents drag him deeper into the grave. There was no way he could face his inner demons alone.

Neon screamed.

Suddenly, Pairo and his axe were blown backwards by a blast of Nen.

“Fun is watching a funny video of your friend tripping down stairs. Laughing at your friend as he’s being pelted with billiards balls. What’s really fun is joining your friends in a spray paint war!”

A blue-suited man turned around to give Kurapika a two-finger salute. “L-Leorio?” the Kurta's hoarse voice croaked.

To his right, blue electricity crackled the air. Hissing, his mother released her grip on Kurapika. Killua countered, “No parent would ever torture their child.” Behind him, Alluka stuck out her tongue at his mother.

Using his fishing pole, Gon ripped the father's hand away. “Your real parents wouldn’t drag you down; they raised you to be the man you are today!”

“That is correct.”

Kurapika looked forward to see Melody punching the village elder in the gut. “Although you cannot fathom it, this tragedy is not without reason: it brought you to us. I would not trade the joy and adventures I've had with you for the world.”

Behind her, Basho swung his fist into the face of a tribesmen. “He’s the most cunning / and capable man I know. / You chumps are nothing.”

“Indeed.” Linssen ducked beneath a swing and chopped at another clan’s gut. “I’d follow his lead anywhere, be it a store, a mission against the Troupe, or the depths of your nightmares.”

A fresh wave of tears swam in Kurapika’s eyes. Leorio rounded the grave to offer his hand to the fallen Kurta. “Sorry, man. I really underestimated how horrible your past was. So no matter what stupid shit you pull in the future, I promise I’m still gonna believe in you.”

Kurapika smiled. Pushing himself up, he reached toward the hand.

Something tackled Kurapika to the ground. Leorio was knocked back. The heavy weight crushed Kurapika’s body, choking off his breath. A hand pulled his hair out of its roots.

“Your friends cannot save you from us," his father hissed. A bit of his father’s melted face landed on Kurapika’s cheek. The smell of burnt, rotting flesh assailed Kurapika.

His mother’s breath warmed his ear. “We will always be by your side. Our rage will never be satisfied. Nev—!”

Kurapika snatched his bokken beneath his tabard and, swinging, beheaded his mother. She collapsed. He stabbed his father through the chest. Gurgling, he crumpled away. “My mother and father who wanted me to fulfill my dream…” Freed, Kurapika arose.

Melody evaded the Elder's punch. Before she could retaliate, Kurapika threw a knife. It lodged between the Elder’s eyes. “The Chief who gave me permission to leave…”

Kurapika glimpsed something silver flying towards him from behind. He dodged. As it passed him, Kurapika snagged the axe out of the air, then whipped it backwards. The axe gutted Pairo. The blood spray covered Kurapika’s back. “My friend who cared more about me having fun than his health…”

The bodies and chains on his legs disappeared in a glimmer of light. Their blood on his clothes vanished. His eyes glowed scarlet, brighter than the surrounding raging fires. “They would not haunt me. They want me to live.” He thrust his bokken towards the tribesmen army. “And every time you fakes rise up, I’ll bury you. Deeper than six feet, all the way down to hell!”

Gon flashed a wide grin. Killua whooped. Behind him, Alluka clapped her hands. After waving good-bye, Gon and Zoldyck siblings ran towards the bodyguards’ melee. As Leorio passed, he patted Kurapika’s shoulder. “Coming?”

Kurapika shook his head. “There’s something important I need to do.”

Leorio nodded. Kurapika watched him join the bodyguards in combating the horde. The villagers refused to simply wither away and die. They retailed with a superhuman strength by biting, clawing, and using their broken limbs and bones as weapons. The clash of metals, battle cries, and breaking bones blocked out the vultures’ dirge.

Kurapika turned back towards his grave. He knelt by its edge. Six feet in, Neon was pulling herself into a kneeling position. “Ow. Witches’ breath.” Her eyes locked with his.

Kurapika held out his hand to her. “Come on. Take my hand.”

Neon reached out. Then, wincing, she paused. “Kurapika, I don’t… just what do you expect me to do? I can’t help you.”

Kurapika, laying on his stomach, leaned over the edge, reaching farther out to her. Several feet still separated them. “I won’t.”

“I mean…” Tears pricking her eyes, Neon let her hand drop. “You know very well I’ve been using you all along.”

Sweat dripping off his brow, Kurapika strained his fingers outwards. The ground beneath him crumbled away, nearly pitching him in. He dug his other hand into the dirt for purchase. “I won’t let…”

Hiccupping, Neon swiped at her eyes. “I can't help you overcome this nightmare. I’m just  stupid, lying fortune teller.” Bowing over, Neon shouted, “We have no future together!”

“I won’t let my past hurt you anymore!” screamed Kurapika. Startled, Neon looked up. Although his throat was as dry as the Sahara, he shouted over the fire’s crackling. “Listen to me. For the first time ever, I want to live. I don’t know what tomorrow will bring, but, if you’re with me, I can’t wait to find out. Because every day by your side is a fun adventure.” He chuckled. “No one knows that better than me.”

Neon studied his eyes, searching. Her tears stopped. Then she hung her head, blue bangs falling over her eyes. “That so?” She stood up and clasped his hand. Grasping her tightly, Kurapika pulled her out of his grave. Neon fell into his chest. She looked up at him.

“Fun adventures, huh? Well, I was planning something with firecrackers. Maybe throwing it in your room or while you were training, I dunno.”

Her eyes were a picture of clear blue sky. He could feel her body's warmth. She wore not an expensive name brand dress, but a mud stained security guard uniform.

She beamed. “But if you’re gonna to be on your guard, then I need to step up my game!”

Kurapika wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her closer. He pressed his lips over hers.

After a long moment, Kurapika drew back. He spun his bokken in his hand. Glanced towards the forest in the distance. “Ready?” Kurapika asked.

Neon shook her head slightly. “No. But I—we—can’t let things end like this between Sal and us.”

Kurapika offered his hand. “Then stay close to me.” Neon nodded.

The two ran into the darkness of the bordering forest.

Kurapika and Neon picked their way through the trees. Aside from the fighting behind them, the woods were completely silent. Still. No crickets, no bird calls. Like the calm before the storm. Thankfully, the forest had not yet caught on fire, but a low fog had rolled in. Kurapika knew the woods like the back of his hand so he could have raced to his destination if blindfolded. However, he slowed for Neon. They traversed the landscape together. Kurapika tightened his grip on her hand. She squeezed back.

When Kurapika stumbled, she asked, “Are you all right?”

Grimacing, Kurapika placed his free hand on his hip. It burned. The pain caused by his parents’ ghosts still lingered. Kurapika nodded to Neon. They walked the last few feet to the tree line. Peering through the fog, they could see they had arrived at the opening of an underground cave. Kurapika’s secret hideout. The place where Shelia recuperated from her injuries, where Kurapika and Pairo hid the dictionary and D Hunter and dreamed of traveling the outside world. The start of it all.

The fog parted slightly. Salvestro, bleeding heavily from multiple cuts, stood on top of the cave’s lip. He glared down at them. “Kurapika, you are an interloper. You are interfering in matters which do not concern a Kurta like you.”

“You’re right. This has nothing to do with my past.” Kurapika whipped out and spun his bokken before crouching in a fighting stance. “But she’s my future.”

Salvestro sneered. “I will send you back to your grave. Neon will be left with nothing.” His voice rang out across the expanse. “But together we can break away from our families’ chains and rule the world!” 

“You got it all wrong!” Neon shouted, stepping forward. “Our vow was to be better, honest people!”

Behind Salvestro the full moon became scarlet. Frowning, Salvestro raised his arms in front of him. He watched as small streams of blood flowed down his arms like a red waterfall. “So I endured all this suffering for nothing?” His low chuckling had a higher, crazed edge to it. “Everything I do is for you… All I want is to fulfill our vow.”

Under the tainted moonlight, Salvestro’s emerald eyes flashed crimson. His cinnamon waves changed into straight blond hair. His bloody and torn military uniform morphed into a stainless blue tabard. His left hand grasped his right forearm and raised it. Chains dangled from his right hand. Using his Nen, Salvestro had transformed into Kurapika’s doppelganger. Salvestro reeled his chained arm back.

“No,” gasped Kurapika. He pushed Neon back. Held up a bokken.

The chain slashed at his bokken. Kurapika nearly fell backwards at the blast. Dirt flew like a dust storm. On its way back, the chain sliced Kurapika’s arm. He hissed.

The chain bore down on them again. Blocking with a weakened arm would be suicide. “Retreat!” Kurapika and Neon fled towards the trees behind them.

A long chain struck the ground where they previously stood. It sliced a sharp groove into the earth. Salvestro whipped the chains back.

Kurapika and Neon raced through the silent forest. The forest, though lacking in animal life, was wildly overgrown. Thorny shrubs pricked his thighs as he ran. Tree roots nearly tripped him. Out of the darkness, tree branches reached out its long, sharp fingers for him. Smoke hung in the air.

Neon ducked under a tree branch. “What was that? Sal transformed into you? And chains?”

“Yes, chains are my Nen.” Kurapika stopped to glance over his shoulder. Nothing but the trees shadows rising from the ground like tombstones. He rested against a trunk. “Chain Jail. To strengthen it, I formed a contract. I can only use it to fight the Phantom Troupe. Or else I’ll die.”

Neon’s eyes widened. “Then what about Sal?”

“I’m guessing Salvestro, who made no contract and is using illusions, can fight with chains without consequence. But I,” Kurapika shook his head, frustrated. “I can’t.” He grimaced. How do I fight a copy of myself who has my full abilities when I am limited?

Kurapika had only his bokken, six knives, and stun gun. Kurapika glanced at Neon. “What weapons do you have?”

After a moment’s hesitation, Neon retrieved a pistol from the security guard’s belt. “I only have this.”

Something sped towards them. “Get down!” Neon cried, tackling Kurapika. With a mighty crack, the chain cut a half dozen trees in half like a saw. Groaning, a nearby tree started to fall. Neon cried in alarm. Holding her close, Kurapika rolled away. The ground violently shook.

Only a few trees separated them from the cave’s clearing. From his perch on the cave’s lip, the clone Kurapika waved. The chain slinked back.

Pulling on Neon’s arm, Kurapika began to run. “Come on, we need to go.”

A sharp ripping noise sounded from behind them. Kurapika made the mistake of glancing back. A large tree, wrapped in chains, bore down on them. It was moments from crushing them like a club. “Watch out!” He pushed Neon away then jumped to the side.

The tree’s impact on the ground blew them backwards like an explosion’s blast. Kurapika smacked into a tree trunk. Stars danced in his vision.

The chains pulled at the tree in vain; its branches had tangled in the brush and the trunk sunk into the mud. Gritting his teeth, Kurapika turned on his stun gun. “I won’t let you!” He threw the stun gun at the chains. Electricity rippled up the metal chain. A scream tore through the air. The chains went slack.

Like static bursting on a television, the illusionary forest dropped. Trees were replaced with racks of oil barrels and conveyor belts. The tree the clone wielded as a club became a broken crane. Then, quicker than a blink, the forest returned.

Kurapika picked through the shrubbery. “Neon?”

“I-I’m fine,” a small voice answered. The fortune teller slowly stood up, brushing away spurs from her hair. Kurapika released a breath of relief. Neon worriedly glanced towards the cave. “His Nen—it stopped working for a second there. What happened?”

“Never mind that.” After turning to the tree, Kurapika began unraveling the chains from the trunk. “Help, quickly.” Nodding, Neon rushed to his aid. Kurapika wrapped the chain up and down his left arm.

Eyes burning red, Kurapika activated Emperor Time. Although Kurapika could not use Chain Jail or Healing Thumb, Emperor Time could always be used. Whenever his eyes turned crimson, Kurapika became 100% efficient in all other Nen categories like Emission and Enhancement. Kurapika Enhanced his chained arm, protecting it with his aura. “Now stay here.”

“Huh?” Neon frowned. “What are you…?”

The chains jerked, then pulled Kurapika towards the cave’s roof. Kurapika flew through the air like Superman. The surrounding forest blurred past. Kurapika only glimpsed his double’s Scarlet Eyes widen before punching the clone in the face.

Kurapika’s momentum sent both sprawling. Grunting, the clone slipped off the edge of the cave’s top, dragging Kurapika along with him. The Kurta landed softly on his feet in front of the cave’s entrance.

His doppelganger slowly rose to his knees. He spat blood. Scowling, he glared at Kurapika. Purple bloomed around one eye.   

Kurapika smirked. “You may be my double.” He fisted the chain linking them. With his Enhanced strength, Kurapika cracked the chain like a whip. Dirt flew up like a geyser. “But you don’t have my skill!”

Kurapika swung Salvestro in a circle like the hammer toss sport. The look-a-like bashed through tree after tree. Tree trunk ear splittingly splintered at the impact. “I’ve studied chains, smelled them, listened to their rattling, and created thousands of drawings.” With a flick of the wrist, Kurapika flung the double straight up into the air. With a vicious yank, Kurapika slammed Salvestro down onto the cave’s ceiling. “I am the master of chains!” The cave’s ceiling crumbled. Boulders tumbled down on top of Salvestro like a cave-in.

Gritting his teeth, Kurapika hauled Salvestro towards him out of the collapsed rock. When Salvestro drew close, Kurapika raised a dagger in his free hand. If Kurapika cut off Salvestro’s hand, Kurapika’s victory would be assured. Kurapika’s eyes burned Scarlet. “Nothing will chain me down again.”

Time slowed. Kurapika could feel the dagger’s leather handle made slick from mud. The pungent acid smell of smoke. The dull throbbing of his hips. Every muscle growing taunt like a bowstring. Salvestro’s slender, pale wrist beneath the chains. Summoning the iron will not to flinch when amputating Salvestro’s hand.

Neon screamed. Out of the corner of his eye, Kurapika spied Neon running towards him. She lifted the gun.

Kurapika froze. The moment to act passed. Salvestro slammed into him, sending them both to the ground.

Against his will the chains loosened around Kurapika’s arm. “No!” Kurapika rose, diving after the chain’s end, but it slipped form his grasp. As quick as a snake, the chain sped towards him again. Kurapika parried with his bokken.

Something sliced his leg. Kurapika glanced down. A metal chain had pierced his abdomen. After Kurapika had blocked it, the chain had curved around and impaled him from behind. Kurapika’s heart skipped a beat. No… No, please don’t—The chain slashed across his stomach, then, with a vicious twist, pulled itself out. Kurapika collapsed.

“Kurapika!” Neon cried, rushing towards him. She knelt by his side. “Are you all right?”

Kurapika sucked in shuddering breaths. Sweat dripped of his forehead. His arms, which held him up, shook. His eyes flickered red, then returned his normal gray. His energy to maintain his Emperor Time left with his heavy blood flow. 

“I’m so sorry,” Neon whispered. “I just don’t want either of you to die. Or to kill.”

The Nen in the air shifted again. Kurapika glanced up. Giant steel frames of cars lay smoldering on the ground, toppled from conveyor belts. The giant pyramid of tires—the cave—had been deformed inwards. After a few seconds the forest and cave supplanted the factory.

In Kurapika’s voice, the clone spoke, “Well, well, well.” Blood from a deep gash covered half of his face. His tabard was shredded with oozing cuts. Holding an arm to his chest, the clone stooped over. “It appears you have more abilities than first assumed.” He held up his chained right hand. “Does each finger have a separate ability?” A chain with a cross on the end materialized, dangling from his thumb. The chain wrapped itself around his waist. Healing green light stitched a wound closed. Although he still bled from other wounds so the illusionary world remain intact, his vigor had been restored. Smirking, the Kurapika clone towered over them.

Kurapika grimaced. If Salvestro wrapped Chain Jail around him, Kurapika wouldn’t be able to summon Nen. Kurapika would be as good as dead. The pinky’s Judgment Chain could force Kurapika into a contract: obey my command or die. With the ability to heal, Salvestro was invincible.

Grinning, the Kurapika clone lifted his hand, about to strike. “Your Scarlet Eyes are the source of your power, yes?”

If I can’t summon Emperor Time, then I’m forced to rely on my basic conjuration Nen. Normally, Kurapika could only manifested chains due to studying them for so long. What else do I know so thoroughly, so intimately that I could summon it?

The shadows behind the clone shifted. Kurapika gasped.

The charred, bleeding forms of his parents and Pairo stood. His father wrapped a burned stump on his mother’s shoulder. Pairo rocked on the balls of his feet like a giddy child.

Which is more important, Kurapika thought, collecting the Scarlet Eyes in this life or being able to look them in the eye in the next life?

Smiling, his mother placed her hands on her hips. “You can do better than this. I believe in you.”

If I kill my fiancé’s friend… if I descend to the Phantom Troupe’s level by killing the Spiders…

His father held Pairo’s shoulder with his other hand and gave the boy a little shake. He chuckled, “Make me proud, son.”

“Yeah!” Pairo chimed in, clapping his hands. “That’s the only way to fulfil your promise to me and have a fun adventure!”

Kurapika fisted a trembling hand. Would I be able to look them in the eye?

And yet, visions of them had materialized time and time again, voicing Kurapika’s inner doubts and thoughts. Kurapika’s eyes widened. That’s it!

Salvestro smiled. “Goodbye, Kurapika.” He flicked his wrist; the chain flew towards Kurapika’s eye.

Kurapika thrust out a hand. Screamed a command.  

The ground trembled, then roared. Something was answering his call.

Chapter Text

Salvestro, through Kurapika’s guise, studied the pair before him. Kurapika held an arm to his abdomen, which bled profusely. His eyes flickered between a weakly glowing red and his natural gray. Hand on his shoulder, Neon knelt by Kurapika. She gaped at Salvestro, face pale with terror.

Salvestro briefly closed his eyes. His arms burned from the cuts. They trembled under the weight of holding up the chain. He had to end this quickly. Then he smiled. “Goodbye, Kurapika.” He flicked his wrist; the chain flew towards Kurapika’s eye.

Kurapika thrust out a hand. “Arise!”

The ground trembled, then roared. A dark figure arose from the earth between them. Salvestro felt the chain connect. But there was no splattering of blood. No screams.

The shadow raised his head. A young boy with a chestnut mop top and dirty tabard stood before him. His skin had deathly pallor. His head hovered a centimeter above his neck. The chain had pierced between his eyes—or rather between the empty, but bloody, eye sockets. He smiled.

Salvestro stood frozen. The boy, still smiling, hugged him. Something heavy encircled his waist. Crying out, Salvestro pushed the boy and stepped back. The ghost had locked in a metal band around his waist. Chains connected Salvestro from his waist to the boy’s ankles. Horrified, Salvestro cried out.

Hand outstretched, Kurapika rose from the ground. “Nen is one’s mind force. Conjuration, as you no doubt know, can only be used to summon objects which are thoroughly known to the user.”

Salvestro strained to rip off the band. “Get off of me…!” Blood made the metal slippery. There was no seam to pick at or lock for a key. Even if there were a seam, his tired arms wouldn’t have had the strength to tear it apart.

The ground began to quake again. Frowning, Salvestro glanced around, searching for the source.

Kurapika continued to coolly regard him. “For the past month, I have seen visions of my parents and Pairo telling me to harm myself or others. I thought them to be hallucinations.”

Hands erupted from the earth like the dead rising form their graves. Arms, followed, then shoulders. They encircled him. Summoning the last of his strength, Salvestro ordered the conjured limbs to disperse. Only more heads rose to the surface. Salvestro broke out into a cold sweat; he was not summoning them.

“They are not—they are conjurations, my growing self-doubt and guilt made manifest. Thanks to my nightmares, I know the corpses of my tribe well enough to conjure them.”

The dead tribesmen surrounded him. The stench of burning flesh assailed him. Many had as many stabs wounds as holes in a sponge. Some had limbs amputated. A few faces were mutilated beyond recognition. But all had no eyes and carried metal bands with chains.

Kurapika clenched his fist. “And bend them to my will.” As of one accord, they shuffled forward. Their unholy moaning sent shivers down Salvestro’s spine.

Gritting his teeth, Salvestro lashed out the Chain Jail, swinging it in an arc. The first few cadavers crumpled into dust. However, those further down in line bodily dropped onto the chain, pinning it down. “Rrgh!” More hands unearthed and latched on the chain.

Beads of sweat pooled on his forehead. He was bleeding too fast and with it his strength drained. All he could manage was to tug on the chain. The surroundings flickered, changing between the forest and the factory like switching channels on a TV.

Kurapika and Pairo pulled on chain connected to Salvestro’s metal band. “This is how I will best the clone of past self: by mastering my fears!”

With Kurapika pulling in one direction and the bodies pinning the Chain Jail in the other, Salvestro couldn’t move. His body began to shake uncontrollably. “You have me trapped me so call them off!”

Neon cast Kurapika a worried look. “Please, Kurapika, that’s enough.”

“No, not yet.”

The corpses reached Salvestro. They attached metal bands to his limbs, pawned at his face, tore his clothes, dug nails and teeth into his skin. Chains rattled so loud, Salvestro couldn’t hear his panicked breathing. The smell of rot suffocated him. The bodies gave off no heat, but a numbing cold. He couldn’t feel his arms or legs.

With the blood loss, Salvestro’s head felt heavy. Darkness crept in the corners of his vision. Salvestro’s stomach churned with nausea. If he passed out, the illusion would disperse. Salvestro would have nothing left.

Despite himself, Salvestro smiled. Just as I predicted, I failed to capture my father’s queen. My rook, Neon, left me on her own campaign. I, the king, have always been the least powerful piece. Salvestro’s muscles loosened, giving into his own exhaustion. He stopped struggling.

Neon cried, “The rook is still on the board!”

After the animated cadavers attached their chains, they retreated and pulled on them in a large circle. A few still fumbled to bind Salvestro, but between them he could see Kurapika and Neon. Together they pulled on Pairo’s chain connected to Salvestro’s waist. Kurapika stated, “Seeking revenge because of your parents, protecting Neon, being haunted by your past…”

Salvestro froze. Half of his face showed the clean, blond hair, malevolent Scarlet Eyes, and thin lips of Kurapika. The other showed his true cinnamon waves, green eyes, and pale, bloodied face. 

Kurapika smiled softly. “You’re me.” He ground his feet into the mud and pulled harder. Veins emerged on his neck. “So fight! Face your nightmares and break free from these chains!”

 “What…?” Salvestro murmured. “My nightmares? I do not—I do not have such fears!”

“Please, Sal,” Neon smiled through her tears. “I wanna visit Roffet City with you.”

“I…”

The sound of a female crying caught Salvestro’s attention. He turned around to look. A corpse stepped forward from the circle by Kurapika and Neon. A woman with chains cuffed to her wrist and ankles approached. Tears slipped down beneath her blindfold. Sweat stuck her cropped short brown hair to her forehead and grimy tank top to her chest. Dozens of needles poked her back, oozing blood.

Salvestro gasped. She was one of his many victims of his Nen; a woman who defied his criminal father. After being captured, his father forced Salvestro to discover her greatest fear, needles, to interrogate her.

Salvestro’s blood ran cold. She wants revenge. He stepped back. Rattling, the chains resisted him, pulling him in a dozen directions. Nowhere to run. His stomach churned. Crying, the woman crept closer. She ripped a needle out of her back. Raised it in the air. Blood dripped off its point, striking the ground a few inches from his shoe.

“I did not… I did not wish to use my Nen on you. On any of you!”

The woman paused. She lowered the needle slightly.

“If I did not, Father would have killed Neon. Tortured her as I watched. I was, I was too cowardly to defy him.”

The chains holding him grew slack.

The female prisoner undid her blindfold. Startling sky-blue eyes stared at him. Graying lavender hair stuck to a pasty forehead. Wrinkles covered the man’s face. The woman had transformed into Light Nostrade. Sweat coated his brow—a fever from poisoning. A trembling hand reached towards him.

Salvestro nearly tried to twist away, then he stopped. Gaze downcast, he whispered. “I could not bring myself to fatally poison you. Doing so would have irrevocably ruined Neon’s relationship with me. I failed at being ruthless.”

The moaning of the dead Kurta silenced. The acrid smell of smoke vanished. The distant cries of fighting faded away to nothing.

The sweaty, trembling hand gripped Salvestro’s neck with surprising strength. Attached to the hand was an arm wearing a tabard. Kurapika stood before him, eyes crimson.

Salvestro stood tall. Gazed directly into Kurapika’s Scarlet Eyes. Although being strangled, his voice rang throughout the expanse. “I have no personal quarrel with you. I have only been concerned about your ignorance of what Neon endured with her clients.” Salvestro glanced beyond the illusionary Kurapika to the bodyguard and Neon pulling on the chain. “However, you are able to protect her from your nightmare.” Tears welled up in his eyes. Throat burning, he laughed once without mirth. “She chose not a life with me in Roffet. But to stand by her engagement to you. Because being here made her happier.”

The forest transformed back into conveyor belts, the rubble of the cave’s entrance into a pile of tires. Salvestro didn’t notice. He held his stared at the Kurapika clone as if in a trace.

The hand released his neck. Salvestro breathed a sigh of relief. Then something struck Salvestro’s cheek. Reeling, Salvestro staggered back. 

A tall, thin man towered over him. He shook out a hand before running it through his graying hair. Coal black eyes numbed him with cold.

Salvestro gathered his feet beneath him. Spat blood. His brown hair limply dangled in front of his eyes. Chuckling, he grinned. “Mayor Sandro Acerbi. How I have waited for this.” His eyes hardened into emeralds. “I am smarter than you because I realized how special Neon is.” His hand lashed out, seizing a chain. “I am stronger than you for I am facing my nightmare.” Bracing himself, Salvestro ground his feet. “And although I am not as ruthless as you…” He whipped the chain around before striking his father. “I will govern Roffet City better than you could ever dream!”

Salvestro stood tall, watching the mayor dissipate into colored balls of lights. “That is how I will exact my revenge.”

One by one, chains slipped off of him. The metal bands which suffocated him split into two. They hit the ground with a thud. With every bondage broken, Salvestro felt lighter. The conveyor belts, the pile of tires, the blood-soaked tiles lost its color, becoming white. The outlines faded away, leaving nothing but a world of white.

A female laughed breathily. Neon stood before him. Like a socialite she wore a floor-length maroon dress with a low V-neck. Her blue curls done up in a messy bun. She held herself up with her shoulders back and spine rim rod straight.

Salvestro’s breath was stolen away.

Neon smirked, showing off her ruby lipstick. She glided forward, red wine barely moving in its glass. Being this close, Salvestro could smell her vanilla perfume. Smiling, she brushed a satin glove against his cheek.

Salvestro’s teeth tore into his lip. He closed his eyes briefly. A quiet, slightly hoarse voice rang out through the empty world. “Neon, you are an illusion.” Salvestro smiled, his eyes burning. “An illusion I created because I was weak.”

As she disappeared the ghost Neon smiled.

The distant echoes of machinery silenced like the reverent hush before a clergy’s sermon. Tendrils of steam lingered in air, all but dissipated. The smell of oil was overtaken by blood’s metallic stench.

With the dispelling of his conjures, Salvestro’s ears popped then cleared. Nen still aroused, his vision’s acuity sharpened. Head bowed, he gazed at his bleeding forearms. Five slices on each arm—farther than he had ever gone before. His slender, pale forearms trembled with the effort of being raised. Veins bulged beneath the surface, magnifying old scars. Blood oozed onto his filthy slacks. The cuts didn’t hurt. Nor his fractured ribs and punctured lung, or other various scrapes and bruises. After enduring self-harm for years, Salvestro was immune to most physical pain. Why then? Salvestro thought. Why do I feel this dull emptiness, an ache in my chest?

A small hand rested on his forearm. Salvestro looked up. A girl dressed in shrine maiden clothes stood over him. Like a theater mask, her face was complete white with black holes for eyes and a thick line for a mouth. For a moment he wondered if he was still trapped in an illusion. “I want to heal you,” a normal girl’s voice spoke. Its dark line of a mouth stretched into a smile.

Speechless, Salvestro stared at her.

“You have to fulfill Alluka’s wishes.”

A young teenager with spiky white hair approached them. He walked with an easy, confident stride, but his footsteps were silent. Grinning, he laid a hand on the girl’s shoulder. “Otherwise, bad things will happen. Like being squished to death, or your liver ripped out, or all the people you spend the most time with dying in a horrible, exploding fashion.”

Speechless, Salvestro stared at him.

Behind the pair, a small crowd was gathering. Melody, Basho, and Linssen, leaped over a conveyor belt to join them. Leorio, the inane medical student, brushed cinders off his blue suit. Grumbling about money, he spun in a circle, attempting to examine his backside for damage. Another young boy with black hair and a green jacket laughed at Leorio’s display. Although her security guard uniform was dirtied and torn, Neon appeared to be unharmed. Beside her, Kurapika stood. His tattered and bloodstained kurta hung on him. The deep slice to his abdomen was closed as if miraculously healed.

“Accept her healing you.” Kurapika gazed at Salvestro with steely gray eyes. “Killing yourself is the coward’s way out.” Eyes cloudy, Kurapika fingered a spot above his left eye. The cut was gone. “A knife pointed at another for revenge only cuts yourself.”

Salvestro dipped his head. The truth of his statements rang deep. After a moment, he whispered, “Why are you giving me consideration?”

Alluka laughed. “Because you’re a friend of one of Killua’s friends.”

Salvestro shook his head. “I am a friend to no one. Not even Neon. I did not misinterpret our vow. But I was a coward and could not bring myself to face Father. Or face Neon after acting as Father’s puppet for so long. After all the suffering I caused… how could I possibly hope to become an honest person to fulfill our vow?”

A strange aura emanated from the girl. Salvestro felt like a thousand ants were crawling on his skin. “What are you—?” Salvestro gasped.

The dozens of scars crisscrossing his arms like a spiderweb—gone. All gone.  

“What…? No, this—This cannot be…”

He barely registered the sound of approaching footsteps. Kurapika gazed down at him. “You can be the person you want to be if you face your fears.” He dipped his head. “Thank you for helping me face mine.”

“I…”

Exhaling a laugh, Neon knelt before Salvestro. Although her eyes were puffy, she smiled gently. She held out her pinky. Salvestro frowned. “There’s another promise we made when we first met. A promise which was never broken. Remember?”

The memory rushed at him with such force it stole his breath away.

Salvestro watched his father leave the drawing room. The blue-suited man, Mr. Light Nostrade, laughed loudly, clapping his father’s back. Had Salvestro copied the gesture, Mayor Sandro would have snapped his wrist. Frowning, he rubbed a gloved hand across his forearm.

“You and your papa are here for my fortunes, right?” He turned his attention back onto the young girl sitting across from him. Sighing, the prepubescent girl fetched a paper and pen from the table. She laid it on her orange skirt and purple tights. “What’s your blood type?”

Salvestro froze. He gripped the sleeve of waistcoat. Blood from last night’s cutting seeped through. Am I so obvious? He wondered. Father will behead me if anyone so much as guesses at my Nen…

She raised an eyebrow. “What are you freaking out for? I want it for your fortune.”

“My fortune? Now? My, how generous. You are saving me a hundred thousand Jenny.”

“What?” Lady Nostrade gasped. The pen slipped from her fingers. “Omigosh, that’s a craaazy amount of money! Man, I could get a thousand autographs and lifetime supply of pecan pie!”

At the girl’s screeching, Salvestro leaned back. “You have no idea how much your father is charging for your predictions?” She shook her head. “What of your clients’ identities?”

“Who cares? Making Papa happy s’all that matters.” Smiling, she rocked in place. Her bright sky-blue eyes caught his gaze. “I mean, that’s why you’re studying to be politician, too.”

Mouth parted, Salvestro stared at her. He could feel blood trickling down his arm. Green eyes blazing, Salvestro sat on the couch’s edge. In his rush, his accent thickened. “I know how to satisfy people. I can teach you how to make your clients happy to ensure their return for more predictions. Your father’s affections are assured. You will never need to fear if he—you do not need to be scared.”

Neon blinked. Then she frowned. “Is this one of your political alliances or treaties? What do you want from me? My fortunes for free or something?”

Biting his lip, Salvestro hung his head. “I do not care about my future. It is already been decided for me. Nor do I desire money. I have all I need. I do not expect you to believe me, but…” Jaw set, Salvestro clamped down on his arm. He held her gaze. “I only wish for you to be… successful.”

“Huh.” After a long moment, Neon tossed the paper behind her. “You’re not a client.” Grinning, she thrust out her pinky. “You’re a friend. Let’s promise to be best friends forever!”

Salvestro blinked. Then, chuckling, he linked pinkies with her. “I promise.”

A tear slipped down Salvestro’s cheek. Followed by another. And another. Breathing hitching, Salvestro doubled over. “Forgive me.” His tears hit the concrete. “I have been so very blind…”

Smiling, Kurapika watched Neon comfort Salvestro. He inhaled deeply, breathing in the smell of oil. His mind still played tricks on him; what that more corpses hiding in the shadows? That crane actually a tree? That pile of machinery in the distance a burning hut?

A hand rested on his shoulder. Kurapika jumped. Behind him Leorio smiled. “Good job.”

Kurapika exhaled in relief. “Thanks.” He frowned at the sight of Leorio’s torn, expensive suit. “I’m sorry for never replying to your texts. For punching you during the dance. And breaking your fingers.” Gon tapped his broken fishing pole against his shoulder. “For not being there when you were hospitalized, Gon.” Killua joined them, holding Alluka’s hand. “Not helping you keep your sister safe from the other Zoldycks.” Kurapika turned around to address Melody, Basho, and Linssen. “And for treating you poorly.”

Killua waved a hand. “You’ll just need to go on a trip with us sometime. Get to know Alluka better.”

Gon flashed a grin and a thumbs-up. “It’ll be great if you help me study under Aunt Mito!”

“Keep in touch!” Leorio chimed in.

Linssen threaded a hand through his mousy brown hair. “So long as you aren’t as demanding as Lady Neon can be, I think we’ll be all right.”

Basho’s beloved leather vest had been ripped to shreds. Even so, with hands on his hips, he laughed heartedly. “Don’t care who work for/only if paid enough to/retreat to nude beach.”

Melody smiled. Her buck teeth had chipped slightly during the fight. “No matter how tumultuous and dissonant the music of your heart is, I will listen until the melody’s end.”

Laughing sheepishly, Kurapika dipped his head. “Seems I need friends after all.”

“Nah, not as much. You got Neon now.”

The bodyguard turned to look where Leorio gestured. Neon and Salvestro were helping each other stand. They stood close to each other, talking in low voices.

“You can’t keep anything from me!” Leorio threw an arm around Kurapika’s neck and, hunching forward, squeezed. “I heard your conversation with Neon back in the illusion. Keep me abreast of all the developments and discoveries between you two.”

Kurapika’s face burned. “W-What? I—No, never!”

“They’re over here!” An unfamiliar voice cried.

Everyone froze. It must have been Yorknew Auction’s security. If they discovered trespassers in a warehouse of the auction goods, best case scenario would be they shoot now and ask questions later.

Salvestro cut a glance to Kurapika. “Are you able to dissuade them?”

Kurapika shook his head. “I only just learned I could—that I have been—conjuring my parents and Pairo. Plus I don’t know the Troupe’s faces well enough.”

He offered a hand. “A knife then, if you would.”

Kurapika patted his belt. All his weapons had been trapped by the giant magnet earlier. He looked behind him. On the conveyor belt alongside them, the weapons lay discarded below the magnet. “Linssen, knife please.” After hesitating, Linssen tossed the knife to Kurapika who handed it to Salvestro.

Closing his eyes, Salvestro hovered the knife’s edge over his wrist. “This shall be the last.”

Neon squeezed his arm. “Wait—don’t!”

Salvestro smiled faintly. “One scar should remain. As a reminder.”

“Time to tear ya into bloody bits!”

Two guards burst onto the scene. A pink spikey haired Hunter held a glowing whip. The other was a large man with hands massive enough to crush a head. Swirling tattoos covered his bare chest. “Come on out, wherever you—”

Before them stood the nightmare incarnate of all Hunters patrolling the auction.

The man with pink hair dropped his whip. “It’s the Phantom Troupe!” Screaming, they fled the scene.

A dark, flying shadow swooped down at them. Crying out, they batted it away.

Eyes wide, Salvestro stepped forward. “Falchion?”

Squawking, the falcon landed on Salvestro’s extended arm. His yellow tipped brown feathers were in disarray; he looked like a puffed-up porcupine. One leg was broken at an angle. Seeing it, Salvestro sucked in a sharp breath. “Stupido uccello.” Salvestro brushed his fingers through its feathers. “You stupid bird.”

For a moment Kurapika stood silent, watching them. Then the words slipped past his mouth. “Do you wish to make that contract binding?”

Confused, Salvestro frowned. Then his green eyes alit with realization. “I see. Another one of your chains abilities, yes? Under penalty of death, I am sure.” He turned to face the Hunter completely. “Yes. Please do so.”

Neon glanced between the two of them. Then she shook her head. “Sal, you don’t need to do this. What if you’re in danger? You need to be able to protect yourself.”

“I am a politician. I shall use my words and actions to defend myself. Nen is no longer necessary.”

Kurapika closed his eyes briefly. Upon opening them, they were Scarlet. “Judgment Chain!” He lifted his right hand, chains visible. An invisible chain shot forward, pierced Salvestro’s chest, and wrapped itself around his heart. “Under penalty of death will you not use your Nightmare Nen ability for personal gain.”

Salvestro gazed at the hole in his military jacket caused by the chain. No scar. He smiled.  

“I hate to interrupt.” Leorio clapped his hands twice. “I really do. But time’s ticking away. I may have said that I would rather die than study more but I’m seriously reconsidering my statement.”

“He’s right,” spoke Melody. She cupped her hands behind her ears. “They’re mobilizing their forces to attack again. They’ll be here within the hour. We must be out of the city by then.”

Jaw set, Neon balled her fist in front of her chest. “But if we don’t get them now, they’ll be gone…”

Kurapika placed a hand on her upper arm. Surprised, she looked up at him. He grinned. “Not if we take them first.”

Kurapika turned to his team. “Everyone, listen up! We have fifteen minutes to steal as many body parts as possible before we retreat.”

Kurapika’s Hunter friends glanced at each other before smiling. Leorio laughed, “Sounds fun! Sign me up.”

Killua cracked his neck and rolled his shoulders. Gon gave a thumbs up. “One more adventure!”

Salvestro placed a gloved hand on his hip. “If we are already impersonating thieves, let us don their modius operandi.” Falchion screeched a battle cry.

Melody smiled. “A fitting finale to this symphony. No—I suppose it’s only the beginning. An overture.”

Kurapika raised an arm in the air. “Our new mission…” He lowered it. “…Starts now!”

Neon and the others ran through the dark, twisted path through the factory. It felt like an out of body experience, running alongside Kurapika, bags of body parts on their back. She couldn’t smell the her sweat, the oil, or formaldehyde. She couldn’t feel her feet smacking against the concrete. She couldn’t hear their friends’ excited, but hushed whispers behind them. All she saw was Kurapika.

Kurapika caught her gaze. He smiled faintly before blushing and looking away. Neon’s heart soared.

Neon caught Tigris giving her a knowing smile. Neon, Kurapika, and the others had quickly found the attendants in a confused state, the effects of Neon’s tranquilizer wearing off. After explaining the situation, Tigris and Eliza hurriedly joined in on the banditry.

Someone moaned up ahead. Everyone drew to a halt. Before them lay the unconscious bodies of the Hunter bodyguards. Kurapika had been in the middle of disposing them when Salvestro and Neon first found the Kurta. One man, who was groaning, appeared familiar.

Neon knelt by Governor Slimar’s side. He craned his head up to look at her, his warty nose broken and bleeding. A thrill of pleasure ran through her. Last time they spoke, Governor Slimar forced her to promise to give herself willingly to him.

“Hm, hm, hm. My, what an unkempt gentleman.” She jabbed her finger into his mushy, acne-scarred cheek. “Why would I ever want to visit your mansion?” Neon fisted the front of his suit, lifted him up, and stared into his eyes. Slimar swallowed. “You ever threaten me or my friends again or mention anything you saw here… Well, I don’t think either of us would need my Lovely Ghostwriter to predict your future.”

Slimar squeaked. Smirking, Neon dropped him.

 “Way to go, girl!” Tigris cried.

Eliza breathed a sigh of relief. “You shall never have to worry about him again.”

Neon looked over her shoulder. Kurapika’s eyes flickered Scarlet. Salvestro’s smile was deadly. “Come on, guys. You’ve already learned it’s not worth it.”

The Hunters, bodyguards, and Salvestro ran ahead of her. Laughing, Neon joined them. She didn’t look back.

In the dead of night, the double doors of the Nostrade Manor opened. The visitors’ boisterous laughter echoed off the high ceiling, shaking the chandelier’s crystals. When the group stepped over the threshold they quieted; they were being watched. 

Mr. Nostrade sat on the steps of giant red staircase before them. A nurse hovered over him. Some pillows and a blanket were put aside. Pale, Mr. Nostrade breathed heavily. Sweat dotted his brow.

Upon seeing him, Neon froze. “Papa!”

Kurapika watched as she dashed up the steps and wrapped her arms around him. Sweat soaked his face. Salvestro told the illusionary corpses that he hadn’t fatally poisoned Mr. Nostrade. However, he must have been poisoned to some degree.

“My little girl.” Mr. Nostrade gripped her as tight as his trembling arms could. He released her slightly to study her face. He stroked her cheek. “I thought I lost you forever.”

Neon swallowed back a lump in her throat. “I’m here. Right here with you.”

“That’s all I want.” His mouth twisted, deepening his wrinkles. “That’s all I should have ever wanted. I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

She was about to hug him when a voice called from behind.

“Neon.”

The fortune teller turned around. Kurapika stood apart from the rest, gazing up at her. A strange sense of deja vu overtook him. Only this time their friends stood behind him. The very air stilled, as if holding its breath, too. Kurapika sucked in a breath, psyching himself up.

Kurapika went down on one knee.

Behind him everyone tittered. Leorio grinned. Gon pumped his fists up and down. Tigris jumped in place, covering her squeals with a hand over her mouth.

Kurapika suppressed a chuckle. Gray eyes focused on her, he asked her a question he had once before. “Will you marry me?”

Tears blurred her vision. Neon flew down the stairs and threw herself at Kurapika. “Yes,” she whispered in his ear. “Yes, I will.”

Cheers erupted. One by one their friends, the Hunters, bodyguards, and attendants, joined in on the hug. Tears, laughter, and shouts rang throughout the foyer, mixing in a cacophony of noise.

Kurapika clung to Neon tighter. Pressed his cheek against hers. He would never let her go again.

Chapter Text

The bright September sun shone down on all those gathered. A crisp breeze stirred up the scent of sweet grass. With not a cloud in sight, the sky was an endless expanse of blue. Kurapika closed his eyes. He could see himself heading off with his father to the forest on a day like this. As he hunted for deer Kurapika would capture insects, hoping to frighten his mother when they returned home.

Kurapika opened his eyes to see Neon standing before him, smiling.

She wore a stunning emerald green sarafan, trimmed with brown, styled after the Mother Earth. A small wreath of flowers encircled her wavy blue hair. Kurapika was dressed in a sky-blue knee length tabard trimmed with cloudy gray. As from Kurta tradition, brides were like Mother Earth, nurturing and the source of life, while the groom protected the family like the overarching sky.

After the spray paint incident, Neon made good on her offer to replace Kurapika’s ruined tabards. Kurapika took the opportunity to make outfits for him and Neon as well as the bridesmaids and groomsmen.

Beyond Neon stood her attendants and Melody. Kurapika met Eliza’s gaze. She nodded slightly, then cast her eyes to the ground. She explained her resentment of Kurapika stemmed from Squala’s death. However, Eliza agreed to try to move on for Neon’s sake.

Brows furrowed, Neon brushed her fingertips above Kurapika’s left eye. A healing pink cut throbbed beneath her fingers. “You didn’t have Alluka heal it.” she whispered, not wanting to interrupt the religious man’s sermon.

Kurapika smiled faintly. “One scar should remain. As a reminder.”

Neon retracted her hand. Her blue eyes misted over in memory. “Last night in the storehouse, you didn’t stab me, but yourself. Why?”

Swallowing, Kurapika lowered his gaze. “I was hearing—had been conjuring the bodies of my family. They taunted me into activating my Scarlet Eyes. When my eyes turn red, I lose all sense of reason. I… I stabbed myself to get them to stop.” He threaded his fingers with Neon’s fingers. “Because no matter how betrayed I felt by you, the thought of losing another person I loved hurt more.”

Blushing, Neon smiled. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes.

“Do you, Neon Nostrade, take Kurapika to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

“I do.”

“And do you, Kurapika, take Neon Nostrade, to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

Kurapika stared into the endless depth of Neon’s eyes. “I do.”

“You may now kiss the bride.”

Neon flung herself at Kurapika. Laughing, Kurapika braced himself, caught her, and joined his lips to hers.

Their family, friends, the bodyguards, and the servants erupted into cheers.

After Kurapika’s proposal, the servants worked throughout the night to prepare everything. They removed all decorations from the main lobby to the cobblestoned center the hedge maze as per the couple’s request. Silver and gold drapes lined the bushes. Potted flowers acted as centers for the tables in the back. Servants rushed back and forth from the kitchen, carrying away dirty dishes to the kitchen and restocking the food.

Initially such a small space was never considered. However, with the Yorknew Auction opening today, all of Neon’s clients had left. In their haste, no one cared to stay for the funeral of Neon’s presumed death. Their absence suited Kurapika and Neon just as well. Both would rather only have their family and close friends attend their wedding.  

“Hey, hey!” Leorio poked an elbow into Kurapika’s side. “Where are you two lovebirds going after this?”

Neon, who sat beside him, leaned over Kurapika and grinned. “The Alpine Trail. It’s one of the places Mama painted but never went. Plus, once we cross it, I’ve heard there’s some good private beaches!”

Killua whistled. Behind him, Alluka was twirling around, enjoying her new dress. “Aw,” Gon muttered. “I was hoping you’d come to Whale Island with me.”

Kurapika sipped the last of his punch and set it on the table. “Perhaps one day. But there’s a retired teacher rumored to collects body parts living somewhere on the trail. It’s possible he may have a pair of Scarlet Eyes.”

The men’s eyes flickered to Neon. Kurapika had shared with them Neon’s secret: writing unrequested predictions and recovering body parts to return them to their owners. It appeared they still required time to digest the thought.

“The real question is,” continued Kurapika, staring down into his glass, “what to do upon returning home. Currently Neon is presumed dead, but I don’t believe I could keep such a secret forever. Eventually everyone will know she is alive. Protecting her will be difficult. But the public knows of my Kurta heritage and my Scarlet Eyes. Hopefully that will make any enemies think twice before targeting her.” Kurapika ran a hand through his blond bangs. “In the meantime, with Neon not selling predictions, there’s no income to speak of.”

Neon waved a hand. “I haven’t sworn off predicting for good. Just wanna do it at my initiative. Plus, if it means we can recover more body parts, then I’m all for it.”

Someone stepped up from behind to refill Kurapika’s glass. “And when that times come, we will still be here to protect you, Lady Neon.”

“Melody!” Neon smiled, turning around in the Adirondack chair. “Thanks for playing beautiful flute music we danced to. It was so uplifting and fun! Did you compose it?”

Melody chuckled. “Milady, my Nen is hearing the music of people’s hearts, their emotions. I merely played the symphony I heard from both of your hearts.”

“T-Thanks, Melody,” blushed Kurapika.

“I don’t hear any thanks for my haiku recital!” Basho, his face red from drinking, staggered over to Kurapika and slung an arm around his chair. “They were literary masterpieces.”

“Hardly,” Linssen muttered under his breath. “But Melody is correct. I have no intentions of stopping being a bodyguard, even if that means protecting others on the side to make ends meet.”

“It’s not going to be that bad,” Neon assured. “I’m a great poker player, remember? If need be, I can win a fortune through gambling.”

Kurapika snapped his fingers. “That’s it!” Everyone stared at Kurapika. “If we formed some sort of bodyguard association then Neon’s old clients can hire bodyguards from us. We’ll be making money and keeping tabs on suspicious people at the same time.”

Linssen held his chin. “Many of the bodyguards we hired for yesterday’s dance were quite capable. And there are other Hunters I know who are looking for a job. Plus, if we use Neon’s gambling to finance the project… This might just work.”

Kurapika grinned. He happened to glance to his right. Amidst everyone’s cheers, Neon solemnly gazed out into the distance to Salvestro. He sat in the corner of the maze by himself, head down.

Kurapika laid a hand on her shoulder. Neon jumped. When Kurapika nodded, Neon flashed a smile and stood. Kurapika watched her head towards him.

Neon slowed her steps. Her brown ballet slippers barely made any noise against the cobblestones. She smoothed out the wrinkles in her silk sarafan. To think ever since the spray paint incident that Kurapika had been planning these outfits for their wedding. And after seeing Kurapika’s past with her own eyes, she couldn’t refuse dressing in the tribe’s traditional garb for their marriage.

Before her, Salvestro scrolled through the news on his phone, bottle green eyes lifeless. Neon sucked a breath, smelling the honeysuckles. “I’m glad to see you’ve stayed.”

Salvestro glanced up between his wavy cinnamon bangs. “Neon, my flow—Neon.” Swallowing, he pocketed his phone, stood, and straightened his military jacket. “Congratulations are in order.”

“Thank you.”

After a moment, Salvestro whispered, “I do hope you will be happy. You do understand that is what I desired most of all, yes?”

When Neon closed her eyes, she could see the scars lining Salvestro’s arms. How he didn’t flinch as he cut himself over and over. She shuddered. “I had no idea Mayor Acerbi kept you from contacting me these past five years. That he threatened to kill me if you had. If I had known… If we found a way to be together…!”

Salvestro tugged at his falconry gloves. “It only would have made matters more difficult for both of us.” He closed his eyes. “You would realize how horrifying my father was and fear your own. I would have watched you grow up, not into noblewoman, but a frivolous young woman given her to whims.” He gazed past Neon’s shoulder. “But he has the strength to see past illusions. To face them.”

Neon turned around. Leorio and Basho held up jugs of beer. Her attendants giggled over glasses of wine. Killua danced with Alluka. In the middle of it all Kurapika laughed.

“He sees you as you truly are.” Salvestro stepped alongside her. “And though it hurts to confess this, he will take better care of you than I ever could have. That will have to be enough.”

Something buzzed. Sighing, Salvestro glanced at his ringing phone. He shut it off.

“Something wrong in Roffet City?”

Salvestro looked at his reflection in the black phone screen. “Father… Father died last night. The cabinet is a mess with his vice president in charge. Winning the election against him will be as easy as breathing.” Salvestro sighed. “I suppose this highlights how meaningless my actions were.”

Neon gripped Salvestro’s arm. “I’m so sorry.”

“If nothing else, we couldn’t have stolen the body parts from the Yorknew Auction without your Nen.”

The pair looked up to see Kurapika strolling towards them, his sky-blue tabard billowing behind him. “So you haven’t give up your plans on becoming a politician.”

Salvestro crossed his arms. “I still fail to see the significance in recovering body parts of the dead. However, if you wish for my help in this endeavor, I can only do so if I become mayor.”

Kurapika reached for his waist, where his bokken normally rested. “As a Blacklist Hunter, I have half a mind to arrest you. But I have no evidence of crimes you’ve committed in Roffet or that you were behind the attack on the manor. And stealing from the Yorknew Auction was my idea.”

“Kurapika,” pleaded Neon.

“Even so…” Kurapika covered his mouth with a hand and studied the politician. “What would your first act as mayor be?”

Salvestro raised a brow. “My father’s drug rings affect every aspect of law enforcement from the police to judges. As such, I must reclaim control. If I secretly create a website where people could buy drugs and have it shipped to their address, a lot of violence will be avoided. In addition, I will know who is buying such contraband and monitor them for any further wrongdoing.” Salvestro bowed his head. “It is not what a ‘better, honest person’ would do. However, such criminality will always exist. Rather than fruitlessly try to extinguish it, I believe minimizing its effects to the better path.”

Kurapika rested a hand on his hip. “Not a bad idea. And your logic is sound. In the end, I suppose you’ll do more good being free than jailed. Good luck with your campaign.”

“So you’ll be returning to Roffet,” Neon began, taking Salvestro’s hand. “But this time, you won’t be alone.” She took Kurapika’s hand with her free one. “You have us. Three friends, working together to fulfill a promise.”

“To master our nightmares,” avowed Salvestro. 

Neon nodded, eyes flashing. “To break the chains holding us down.”

Kurapika closed his eyes, a smile forming on his lips. “And live a future of our choosing.”

A high-pitched shrieking startled them. Falchion descend into the wedding cake, spraying them. The bird snatched up a rib before taking off.

“Falchion!” Salvestro cried, flabbergasted. “You scarafaggio!”

Exhaling, Kurapika studied himself for damage. His tabard was covered in icing. After hours of designing it—ruined in a moment. A strange sense of deja vu enveloped him at the sight. He glanced up. Flinched.

Laughing, Neon held up a fistful of cake.

Kurapika raised a hand and stepped back. “No. Don’t. Don’t!”

“Food fight!” Neon screamed, flinging cake.

Kurapika ducked behind a table, avoiding a bowl of fruit. Squeals, smashing glass, and the splattering of food filled the air. Hunched over, Kurapika slunk forward behind cover, hunting for his target. He peered past a corner. There!

Having run out of cake, Neon threw cupcake missiles at anything that moved. She flinched when Salvestro doused her with punch. Giggling, she grounded two cupcakes into his face. Salvestro stumbled backwards, wiping at his eyes.

Kurapika braced himself, then pounced. He tackled Neon to the ground. They fell out of sight behind a table.

The table’s shade momentarily blocked the sun’s rays. The raucous laughter faded into the background. Kurapika could feel the sunbaked warmth from the cobblestones.

Kurapika gazed down upon his bride. Her sky-blue eyes sparkled with light. Dobs of white icing were sprinkled across her face. A blush bloomed across her ivory skin.

“You know,” Kurapika whispered. “A month ago, I thought marrying a crazy, selfish, and willful person like you was an impossible mission.” He tucked a strand of hair with icing behind her ear. She giggled at his touch. “And thirty days later, you are still the same crazy, selfish, and willful person.”

Neon quirked her head to the side. “So what changed?”

“Nothing.” Kurapika ducked his head and closed his eyes.

Something cold and stringy was smashed into his face. Coughing, Kurapika sat up, brushing his face. A plate of spaghetti clattered to the ground.   

Grinning madly, Neon ran away, her blue hair trailing after her. Kurapika rubbed sauce off his cheek, his eyes trained on her fleeing form. He never lost her from sight.

Laughing, Kurapika raced after her.