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A Score To Be Settled ~ Chapter 3 Welcome to the Gala

Hi everyone! Here’s Chapter 3 of A Score to Be Settled. It took me a while to write because I really wanted to make sure I got it right and didn’t rush through it. So far, this is my favorite chapter—but as always, I’d love to hear your thoughts! Thank you so much for reading and for all your support—it means a lot!

Chapter 3 Sneak View:

The gala was dazzling. Gowns shimmered under the kaleidoscope of lights, masks cloaked identities, and secrets clung to every smile. Chrollo Lucilfer moved through the crowd like a phantom—flashing charm, hunting for opportunity.

But he wasn’t the only predator.

When champagne "accidentally" spills, and a person with a familiar mask steps out from the shadows, the game begins. Names are spoken that should remain unspoken. Eyes meet, bloodlust simmers, and a single whispered challenge changes everything.

"Dance with me… and we’ll talk more, friend."

And just like that, every Spider in the room turned to watch.

Content Warning: This piece contains murder, death, and manipulation. Reader discretion is advised.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

Word Count: 5099

York New Central District (Reader) 

The gala was only a few days away, and all the last-minute preparations were set in motion. You were currently waiting in the rented hotel room for Illumi to arrive. Not only did he have your tickets for the event, but he also had the dress you were going to wear. Just the thought of how much that dress must have cost made you nervous, especially considering the delicate balance you had to maintain with Illumi.

The deal you had with the Zoldycks was simple: you provided them with intelligence about the troupe, and in return, they gave you the resources to continue your “research.” However, you weren’t entirely sure how important this arrangement was to them. The only Zoldyck you communicated with was Illumi, and he always seemed disinterested in the intel you provided, though he never failed to pay what was owed.

There had been a few occasions when your information wasn’t enough or didn’t meet his standards. In those times, he reminded you of the many disposal methods available for handling loose ends. The cold, terrifying aura Illumi exuded made it clear he wasn’t making idle threats—he would do exactly what he said.

Three knocks at the door signaled his arrival, punctual as always. As you approached, you could feel the ominous aura seep beneath the door—there was no mistaking it, it was definitely Illumi. You opened the door to be greeted by those doll-like eyes and his expressionless face. Today, however, Illumi was dressed more casually than usual. He wore a simple forest-green turtleneck with a black jacket layered over it, paired with black slacks and pristine black shoes. While his attire was more laid-back, you knew each piece was from a designer brand, evident from the flawless stitching in the fabric.

“Y/N,” Illumi said, his voice as disinterested as always.

“Illumi, please come in,” you replied, stepping aside to let him enter. You watched as he walked in, surveying the room with his usual cold gaze. He also carried a small cardboard box, which you assumed contained the dress for the gala.

“This room is... meager. You couldn’t have picked a better place to meet? It looks improper for a Zoldyck to be seen in such an establishment,” he said flatly, clearly displeased.

“I’m staying here for now. It’s close to the gala and near enough to keep tabs on the troupe. It also helps throw them off—makes them think their enemy is a high roller,” you said, a snicker escaping your lips.

“I see,” was all he said, placing the box on a small table in the room. He looked at you briefly before glancing back at the box. “Make sure the dress meets your specifications. We paid a lot for it.”

His statement served two purposes: first, to remind you of the debt you owed the Zoldycks, a debt that was only growing with each favor they granted; second, Hisoka had informed him that the dress was specially designed to attract Chrollo’s attention. If it would help Illumi obtain the information his father wanted, he would make sure it was perfect.

You walked over to the table, preparing to lift the lid off the box and inspect the dress. It was exactly what you had requested, and you couldn’t hide your awe at how stunning it was. A black, floor-length, strapless satin gown with a high thigh slit—it was breathtaking. But what truly made it a masterpiece were the decals: red ruby gems embedded in various sizes, forming an intricate design of spider lily flowers that trailed from the bodice, around the waist, and up to the left side of the sweetheart neckline. The stems of the lilies were stitched with golden thread, adding an elegant shimmer. The dress looked like a piece of wearable art, something fit for the wealthy or elite.

Yet, it was you who would wear it—with the matching mask—to the upcoming gala.

Your awestruck expression didn’t go unnoticed by Illumi.

“I got it right, didn’t I?” he said, observing your reaction. “I’ll admit, I was surprised you picked something so... elegant. And expensive.”

Typical Illumi—always with the backhanded comments. It was his way of reminding you that while he might think the dress was nice, it was costing him and his family. You’d better make it worth it.

“I’ll make sure to take extra care of it and return it once the gala concludes,” you replied, running your hand over the smooth fabric.

Illumi raised an eyebrow and scoffed. “No need. Keep the dress. It’s not my mother’s style, nor her size. Just pay for it by delivering the intel you were hired to gather.”

“I always deliver,” you said with confidence.

“I would hope so, considering the time and resources you’ve been given. The clown, however, seems certain you’ll come through.”

With that, the atmosphere shifted. The room suddenly felt heavier, the tension creeping into your skin like a chill. Illumi’s presence alone was unsettling, his aura a silent threat. It was a not-so-subtle reminder that your success wasn’t optional—your life depended on it. You had no desire to be at the mercy of either Hisoka or Illumi. Both were terrifying in their own right.

As he saw your reaction, his oppressive aura eased. You had gotten the message.

“Well, if that’s everything, I have a job to attend to. The tickets are in the box with the dress. Y/N, make sure you deliver what’s owed—or you’ll be at the mercy of the Zoldyck family.”

“Understood,” you stammered, your voice tinged with genuine nervousness. Illumi was one of the few who could pierce through your cold, calculated demeanor. You feared him—and what he would do if you failed.

With a hum of acknowledgment, he turned and left, leaving you alone with your thoughts and preparations.

Three Hours before the Gala (The Troupe) 

It was right after the meeting about the heist, where everyone’s roles had been assigned, and now the final preparations were underway. All members were getting into position. Shalnark and Kortopi were on surveillance duty, already en route to the security room. Shalnark was practically buzzing with excitement about the upcoming heist, while Kortopi seemed more interested in keeping things quiet and efficient.

Shalnark almost skipped down the hallway, eager to take control of the cameras and communications for the gala. With a priceless artifact on display and the elite of society gathering for the debut of the Beso de la Muerte, security was bound to be tight—something they’d planned for extensively.

But for Shalnark, this was child's play, especially with his Black Voice Nen ability. He and Kortopi approached the security room, which, to their surprise, was unguarded from the outside—likely because they had arrived three hours early. Less hassle, less risk.

Shalnark knocked on the door, and after a few seconds, a very confused guard opened it.

“Sir, guests are prohibited from entering this part of the manor—” the guard began, but didn’t get to finish.

In a flash, Shalnark jabbed his needle into the back of the guard’s neck, turning him into a puppet with practiced precision. Inside the room, the second guard turned at the sound of his colleague’s voice cutting off—but before he could react, Shalnark’s new puppet moved swiftly, delivering a precise chop to the neck of his fellow guard, knocking him out cold. With both guards dealt with, the security room was now under their control.

Shalnark turned to Kortopi with a wide grin. “Alright, we’re in! This should be an interesting gala, don’t you think?”

Kortopi didn’t respond verbally—just nodded in agreement. Shalnark pouted at the lack of conversation but quickly got over it as he moved to the security panel. With ease, he hacked into the system. The Spiders now had full control of the gala’s cameras and communication lines.

To check in, Shalnark texted Chrollo: "Boss, we got eyes and ears."

A few minutes later, Chrollo replied: "Good. Keep an eye out for anyone suspicious."

Smirking, Shalnark texted back: "Will do, Boss."

He was practically buzzing with anticipation. He’d never seen anyone rattle Chrollo before—and he was eager to meet the person responsible.

Elsewhere in the manor, Feitan and Phinks were handling a different task: eliminating the guards near the artifact and extracting information about the vault’s location and security measures. Both were well-suited for the job—lethal, efficient, and, in Feitan’s case, particularly persuasive.

Blood splattered across the wall as the head of a bound guard was severed cleanly from his shoulders. Feitan clicked his tongue in annoyance, wiping the blood from his fingers onto the hem of his overcoat.

Phinks chuckled as he glanced over. “No info again?”

Feitan scowled. “Information, yes. Useless.”

Phinks stepped closer to the remaining three guards tied up in the corner. They looked terrified—one even vomited after witnessing the beheading.

“Which of you knows the most about the artifact?” Phinks asked, voice calm but chilling. “If two of you point to the same person, we might let you go.”

The guards looked at each other in panic, the fear of being chosen nearly as bad as the fate awaiting them. Predictably, they each pointed at someone else.

Phinks sighed and turned to Feitan. “Which one do you think’s the most helpful?”

In the blink of an eye, Feitan was beside the hostages, examining them with eerie precision. All three flinched at his sudden appearance, but one caught his eye—a man sweating profusely, eyes darting around with barely contained panic. More telling, his uniform was slightly different from the others.

“You. Next,” Feitan said flatly.

The man immediately began to cry, begging for his life, but Feitan was already dragging him toward his makeshift interrogation station. The duo once again proved themselves not just efficient—but terrifyingly effective.

Shizuku and Uvogin had slipped into the manor through the basement, knocking out two waiters and taking their uniforms to assume their roles for the night. Posing as servers, their main objective was to keep an eye out for anyone suspicious on the gala floor. However, they were quickly becoming a headache for the head waiter in charge.

Every five minutes, Shizuku would ask him what she was supposed to do with the tiny hors d'oeuvres on her tray, and Uvogin had already devoured his third tray of them.

“For the last time,” the head waiter snapped, exasperated, “you’re supposed to carry the hors d'oeuvres around and offer them to the guests! It’s not that hard to understand—I swear, they must be hiring people off the street these days!”

Shizuku just stared at him blankly, clearly already having forgotten everything he said.

“You know what? Just go upstairs. If the guests want something, they’ll come to you,” he muttered, turning—only to catch Uvogin tilting his tray and shoveling the rest of the food into his mouth.

That was the last straw.

The head waiter charged toward him, trying to rip the tray out of his hands. “YOU CANNOT EAT THE FOOD! IT’S FOR THE GUESTS, NOT YOU! IF YOU DO THAT AGAIN, I WILL CHARGE YOU!”

Uvogin burst into booming laughter, effortlessly holding the tray out of the man’s reach. “Alright, alright, fine! I couldn’t help it—they’re just too good! I’ll go grab some more.”

As Uvogin headed back toward the kitchen, the head waiter turned—only to see Shizuku heading down into the basement instead of the gala hall, still carrying her untouched tray of hors d'oeuvres. With a weary sigh, he took off after her to explain the job yet again.

It was going to be a long night for him.

Though Shizuku and Uvogin might have been the worst waiters imaginable, they made excellent muscle and backup if things went south during the gala. And being nearby when the action started was exactly the point.

Machi and Pakunoda, on the other hand, were assigned to be plants inside the event. They were currently getting ready in one of the two hotel rooms the Troupe had rented to carry out their operations. Their role for the evening was to pose as a power couple—Mrs. and Mrs. Clove.

Their mission was simple: mingle with the crowd of high-rollers and gather information about the problem at hand—you. Machi and Pakunoda were two of Chrollo’s most trusted comrades, going all the way back to their days in Meteor city. Any order from their boss was taken seriously, but this one even more so. Whoever was behind the trouble—they were going to find out.

Their cover story was that they were a loving couple running a brand-new fashion startup out of Yorknew. The business, supposedly funded by their wealthy families from the tropical paradise of Agrena, painted them as golden children destined for success. Naturally, Agrena’s brand would be introducing the peak fashion trends for the summer, making them instant celebrities among the wives of the rich and powerful, all eager to get their hands on the latest styles.

This alias served two purposes. First, it would make the Cloves highly desirable connections for the socialites, as everyone wanted a first look at the next big fashion wave. Friendships would be formed, and with friendship came gossip—and valuable information. Second, the high-rollers themselves would view the Cloves as easy targets: two young women with a "new business" and "daddy’s money." They would circle like sharks, thinking they could exploit them without effort.

Of course, they were all fools—putty in Machi and Pakunoda’s hands. Manipulation came easy to them, and even easier with Pakunoda’s ability. Every handshake activated her psychometry Nen power, allowing her to access a person’s memories with just a simple question.

The icing on the cake? Their "designer outfits" for the evening were actually thrifted from a bargain store in Meteor City. Throughout the night, the guests would fawn over their looks, desperate to get a piece of their supposed "exclusive" style—all while Machi and Pakunoda smiled, wolves in sheep’s clothing.

Meanwhile, Nobunaga and Bonolenov were patrolling the outskirts of the manor, responsible for keeping watch and preparing transportation for when it was time to leave. As they walked the perimeter of the estate, they carefully noted the locations of guards and security cameras. From their vantage point, they could also observe all incoming guests, keeping an eye out for anyone who seemed suspicious.

Nobunaga leaned against a tree, casually watching as an unmarked, black-tinted car rolled to a stop nearby. His hand instinctively rested on the hilt of his katana, ready to draw at the first sign of trouble. However, the car simply parked and shut off without incident.

Stepping out of the vehicle was none other than Chrollo Lucilfer. For the occasion, he was dressed to the nines—wearing a freshly pressed black suit and gleaming black dress shoes. His ensemble was completed by his hair worn loose and a mask, perfectly fitting the masquerade theme. The mask covered only the upper half of his face, hiding his tattoo but leaving his piercing steel-gray eyes visible. He casually tossed the car keys toward Nobunaga, who caught them without missing a beat.

"Boss, you're a bit early. Eager to get to the spoils today?" Nobunaga asked, raising an eyebrow as he glanced at his watch.

"No, actually," Chrollo replied, his gaze shifting toward the manor. "I just wanted to take a look. Quite lovely, isn't it? Did you know they imported white roses specifically for the gala to match the theme of the ball?"

"Sounds like rich people nonsense to me," Nobunaga muttered with an eye roll.

Chrollo chuckled softly. "Ah, but you see, Nobunaga—cater to a crowd, and soon enough, the crowd will be eating out of your hand."

With a smirk, Chrollo turned and made his way toward the manor, ready for the night’s games to begin.

York New Central District the Gala (Chrollo) 

Chrollo strode across the gala floor, exuding effortless charm, his confident smile catching the eye of many. This event was truly a spectacular stage for a heist—one of a kind, really. The manor’s entrance hall had been transformed to match the theme of a grand masquerade ball. The marble floors gleamed to perfection, and golden curtains cascaded from the ceiling, sectioning off different parts of the gala: the entryway, dining space, dance floor, and, of course, the artifact display, which was heavily guarded and cordoned off.

The entry and dining halls were lined with tables covered in heavy white linen tablecloths, each adorned with white roses as the centerpiece. The tablecloths themselves were embroidered with intricate gold detailing along the edges, completing the air of luxury.

Yet, more fascinating than the venue were the guests. Oh, how the rich adored a themed party. Nearly everyone followed the dress code, with a few daring outliers. The women wore extravagant, floor-length gowns in shades of white, taupe, and cream—princess-like dresses encrusted with jewels. They looked lovely, but there was little variation, nothing truly unique.

The men, much like Chrollo, were dressed in tailored black suits and polished slacks, blending seamlessly into the monochromatic sea of elegance.

As always, Chrollo melted into the crowd with ease, making his way toward the check-in line at the reception table. As the guest ahead of him in line finished checking in and eagerly made their way toward the event, Chrollo smoothly slipped over to the table.

It wasn’t hard to notice that the woman managing guest check-in had her eyes on him. She was clearly checking him out, albeit with a poor attempt to disguise it by glancing down at the guest list. Chrollo recognized the opportunity and decided to take advantage of it. Flashing his most charming smile, he stepped closer to her.

“Good evening, Miss. How’s your night going so far?” he asked, his voice sweet, feigning genuine interest. It was one of his usual manipulation tactics—appearing attentive to encourage people to open up about themselves.

“Oh, it’s going really well! Everyone looks so lovely tonight. I’m just happy I get to see all the beautiful outfits,” she responded eagerly, taking the bait without hesitation.

“But my dear, you should be looking at yourself—you look absolutely stunning this evening,” he said, maintaining steady eye contact and keeping his disarming smile in place.

She blushed, her expression turning dreamy. “How can I help you tonight, sir? Do you need to check in?”

He chuckled. “Oh, no need. I've already checked in—you’ll find me listed under Mr. Lucilfer.” She glanced at the list and confirmed his name was there, now puzzled as to why he’d approached.

“Oh, I see. Then how can I help you, Mr. Lucilfer?” she asked with a warm smile.

“Well, you see, I couldn’t pass up the chance to speak to such a stunning woman. It’s not every day I come across someone so captivating. What’s your name?” His words were smooth, calculated—and she fell for it completely, her cheeks turning a deeper shade of red.

“O-Oh, my name is Aria,” she replied, smiling.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Aria. How about I grab us some drinks? But before I go, I need a quick favor. I’ve been trying to find Ms. Shino—I need to let her know I am here, we're good friends.”

The request slipped seamlessly into the charm offensive.

“Oh, that would be lovely! She’s actually right over there,” Aria said, pointing toward a bubbly woman in the crowd.

Target acquired. Chrollo flashed her a dazzling smile, keeping his gaze locked on hers, making her all but melt in place.

“Thank you, dear. I’ll be right back with our drinks so we can get to know each other better,” he said with a wink, turning to head toward Ms. Shino.

Chrollo’s job was simple: flirt with the girl to gather intel about the artifact—and, as a little personal challenge, see what he could learn about her family’s fortune. Child’s play for someone like him. It was almost ridiculous how far charm and good manners could get you.

As he strode confidently toward his next mark, the gala doors opened. Instantly, he became acutely aware of a familiar aura. Turning toward the entrance, he spotted his least favorite magician walking in—Hisoka. But it wasn’t just Hisoka that caught his attention; it was the woman clinging to his arm.

Who is she? Chrollo wondered. He made a mental note to get a better look at her later—perhaps even strike up a conversation. For now, though, he had a target to charm.

The Gala (Reader)

You clung to Hisoka’s arm as the two of you entered the event venue. The last thing you wanted was to be Hisoka’s eye candy for the evening, but this was his idea of how you could make up for the button incident.

The moment you stepped over the threshold, you felt an intense gaze settle on you both. It was none other than Chrollo Lucilfer—and you couldn’t suppress the surge of bloodlust that rose within you at the sight of him.

Almost immediately, Hisoka yanked you tightly against his side, leaning down to whisper in your ear. “Ah, ah, dear. Keep that bloodlust in check, or he’ll notice you right away. Though… maybe that would make things more fun. I’d love to see just how deep that bloodlust of yours goes.”

The brush of his lips against your ear sent a shiver down your spine, but his words did the trick—you reined your bloodlust back in. Still, you caught Chrollo watching. That same enigmatic look he’d worn all those years ago was back—utterly unreadable. And just as quickly as you noticed him, he vanished, effortlessly melting into the crowd.

You kept your arm linked with Hisoka’s as he led you deeper into the venue after checking in. Your eyes scanned the surroundings in awe—never had you seen an event like this.

From the ceiling hung sweeping black and gold curtains. The black ones shimmered with embedded crystals, mimicking stars scattered across a night sky. They fell elegantly to the floor, forming a crescent shape around the main stage. Dangling from the fabric were strands of colored glass shaped like tiny teardrops, each one catching the light from the balcony above.

As the lights hit the glass, they cast a kaleidoscope of gradient hues across the floor, reminiscent of sunlight pouring through stained glass windows. Colors danced across the sea of guests, reflecting off gem-encrusted gowns and shimmering fabrics. The event staff, all dressed in black, moved seamlessly through the crowd—some offering hors d'oeuvres on silver trays, others stationed along the venue's edge, waiting attentively for instructions.

Most intriguing was the ocean of masks, casting an air of anonymity over the gathering. Each one was distinct, either perfectly tailored to the wearer’s outfit or carefully coordinated with their partner’s. It was the perfect setting for a dramatic debut.

Hisoka guided you toward the crowd, his path seemingly set on a woman with striking pink hair. She looked up the moment he approached, her gaze flicking from Hisoka to you. The way she sized you up with a single glance made it feel like she was analyzing every inch of you.

“Machi, darling—you look absolutely stunning in that ensemble,” Hisoka purred with a smirk, deliberately nudging you forward on his arm.

You could have cursed him then and there. This was his idea of entertainment—throwing you into a den of wolves just to see if you’d survive. And, of course, your role was the unassuming lamb, blissfully unaware of the danger around you.

Machi, still practically shooting daggers at you with her eyes, finally shifted her attention to Hisoka.

"You're late."

"Consider it fashionably late, my dear," he said with a wink, then turned his attention to you. "Allow me to introduce my date—Y/n. Isn’t she just ravishing?"

As Machi got a closer look at you, her expression shifted. She immediately flagged you as suspicious. The very first thing Machi noticed was your mask—the embedded cross on the forehead almost perfectly mirrored Chrollo’s. That was no coincidence. She immediately had a hunch you were going to be a problem. Secondly, you were Hisoka’s date. He only ever pursued people who piqued his interest, which made you someone to watch closely. Still, she was on a job and had a role to play. You’d be considered a secondary threat—for now.

“Y/n, hmm… I’ll remember that. Nice to meet you,” Machi said with a tone that made it clear you’d been marked.

Sensing danger, you tried to diffuse the situation by slipping into the role of a bubbly, airheaded companion—fortunately, Pakunoda was still engaged in conversation with other guests.

“Oh, it’s so nice to meet you, Machi! I absolutely love your dress—what designer is it from?” you asked in a bright, cheerful tone.

“Actually, my wife and I designed it,” she replied, eyes never leaving you.

You played along with exaggerated enthusiasm. “No way! That’s the most gorgeous outfit I’ve seen—you and your wife must be design geniuses!”

Machi’s smile was sharp—she saw this as an opportunity to assess you further. “I’d love to tell you more about it. Why don’t you come over and chat with my wife, Pakunoda? She can even read the lines on your hand to find the perfect style match for you.”

“Oh, that sounds—” you began, but Hisoka smoothly cut in.

“Y/n, why don’t you go get us some drinks? That way we can continue our conversation with Machi and her wife.”

What a cheeky little caveat. It was both a graceful exit and a clear warning—they're already suspicious.

“Oh, of course, dear,” you said, flashing a smile before melting into the crowd, scanning your surroundings.

You were looking for him. It didn’t take long. There he was, that familiar sweet smile on his face as he spoke to a beautiful woman. You recognized her from your research: Ms. Shino, daughter of the mansion’s owner—and host of the event. Smart of him to cozy up to her. She likely had direct knowledge about the artifact. 

Now was the perfect opportunity to make your first interception. Effortlessly, you wove through the crowd, plucking two flutes of champagne from a passing server’s tray—your eyes never leaving your target. You blended in smoothly, moving with grace, and activated your Zetsu to mask your presence. There was no room for error; he couldn’t sense you approaching.

You spotted him chatting with the woman in front of him, smiling in that charming way of his. He even reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, and she was clearly falling for it.

You’d have to act quickly—and precisely—if you were going to break this up. It wasn’t the cleanest method, but it would do the trick.

Closing the distance, you approached under the guise of greeting Ms. Shino like an old friend. In a carefully timed misstep, you "tripped" forward, sending the champagne splashing all over Chrollo.

“Oh my! I’m so sorry—I’m such a klutz,” you stammered, feigning embarrassment as he turned to face you.

“Here, let me grab some towels to help clean that up—”

But before he could speak, Ms. Shino jumped in, just as you’d predicted.

“Oh, please, don’t worry about such trivial things! I’ll be right back with some towels.”

And just like that, she was gone—whisking herself away in a flustered rush. The poor girl was far too kind for her own good. Of course, she thought this handsome, mysterious man was genuinely interested in her. She wanted to impress him—by showing how thoughtful and different she was.

Now, it was just the two of you. Alone.

Chrollo watched as Ms. Shino disappeared into the crowd, then slowly turned to face whoever had spilled a drink on him. But as his eyes met yours, he didn’t say a word. He simply stared, unreadable. There were plenty of reasons why he might be sizing you up—from your demeanor to your ensemble—but the silence spoke volumes.

“Oh my, sir, I’m so sorry. I really didn’t mean to spill my champagne on you,” you said, feigning sweet, wide-eyed innocence.

Chrollo matched your tone with a polite, practiced smile. “Oh, it’s no problem. Nothing that can’t be washed. Still… it’s a shame Ms. Shino left so quickly. After all, you were the one who caused the spill.”

“Seems a bit too late for that—she’s already gone,” you replied with a casual shrug, then added, “If you don’t mind me asking, I noticed you’ve been talking with Ms. Shino for a while. I’m curious what captured your interest?”

You stepped closer—a daring move.

“I don’t see how that’s any of your concern, miss,” he replied smoothly. “But since we’re asking questions… I must say, your ensemble is quite stunning. Though, wouldn’t you agree it’s a little strange?”

His eyes traced the lines of your outfit before settling on the cross embedded in your mask.

“Oh, do you like it?” you said, voice sweet and steady. “You see, I wanted an old friend to be able to find me easily in the crowd. One has to get creative for a masquerade ball, after all.”

That sly smirk returned to his lips. “Honestly, I’d say you’re the belle of the ball. So striking among the sea of beige and white gowns. But to arrive on Hisoka’s arm? It does make me wonder—just who are you?”

You were already gambling by being this close to him. But if you were going to take a risk, you might as well raise the stakes.

“Wouldn’t you like to know, Mr. Lucilfer… or should I say, Chrollo?” you replied, your tone dripping with syrupy charm.

Now, you had his full attention. His body tensed the moment you said his name. In a blink, he seized your hand and pulled you in close. You froze for just a moment—you hadn’t expected him to move so fast. But you had said his name like it meant nothing. That alone was enough to spark alarm.

Leaning in, his lips nearly grazed your ear as he whispered, “I’ll ask again, dear—just who might you be? And I suggest you start speaking quickly. The others are already watching.”

You met his challenge, leaning in just as close to whisper back, “Dance with me… and we’ll talk more, friend.”

A gleam of interest flickered in his eyes as he smirked. “Why, of course. I’d love to dance with the belle of the ball. You seem like someone I shouldn’t let out of my sight.”

With that, he led you toward the dance floor—every pair of the Spiders eyes locked on the two of you.

[noc1818]

A Score to be Settled - Chrollo X Reader Fanfic

Hey everyone! I’m so excited to be back with Chapter Two of A Score to be Settled! I truly appreciate all the love—your hearts, comments, and reblogs on the first chapter mean the world to me. You’re all so incredibly kind, and I can’t wait to share more of this story with you!

This chapter really builds up to the long-awaited reunion between Chrollo and the reader, leaning heavily into that enemies-to-lovers tension. I hope you enjoy the dynamic unfolding! As always, I’d love to hear your thoughts, and I’m already looking forward to working on Chapter Three!

Sneak view of Chapter 2: The Stage:

In the outskirts of York New City, 1996, the Phantom Troupe faces an invisible adversary, their meticulously planned heists crumbling before an unknown force. Chrollo, ever composed yet vexed, gathers his Spiders to unearth the mole—or the mastermind pulling the strings. Suspicion flickers between Hisoka and an external informant, leading to a tense confrontation.

Elsewhere, a hidden player watches from the shadows. You, an elusive figure with a personal vendetta against Chrollo, have been manipulating the Troupe from afar. But now, Hisoka has forced your hand—you must step into the game. The upcoming masquerade heist is no longer just about treasure; it's about a reckoning. With identities concealed behind masks and betrayals lurking in every glance, the stage is set for a deadly dance where every move could be your last.

Will Chrollo uncover the truth before it's too late? Or will you bring the Phantom Troupe to its knees from within?

The hunt has begun.

A few warnings for this piece: Angst, implications of murder, theft

Enjoy

Chapter Two: The Stage

Word Count: 3537

York New – Outskirts, 1996 -

As the phone call ended, Chrollo snapped his flip phone shut, the movement abrupt and careless. His free hand drummed steadily on the leather armrest of the chair. His eyes remained fixed on the blueprint and the detailed plans spread out in front of him. Everything had been meticulously prepared, every angle accounted for. So how had the heist gone wrong?

His gaze moved back over the details, searching for something he might have missed. There had to be an oversight, right? The target was the Verosian Art Museum, where the troupe had planned to steal a rare collection of works by the late artist Gilan Lamone. Rumor had it that Lamone’s collection, titled Compulsione degli Amanti, had a strange effect on those who viewed it. Reports suggested that the art would provoke an overwhelming sense of infatuation in the viewer toward the person closest to them.

Couples from all over the world flocked to see Lamone’s work, hoping it would strengthen their bond. But it also attracted those with less honorable intentions—people who sought to manipulate emotions or, in some cases, individuals desperate enough to try and forge a romantic connection, no matter the cost.

Chrollo, of course, knew the truth behind the phenomenon: the art was infused with nen. Lamone, a transmuter, had woven his own emotions into each brushstroke, amplifying the effect of the work. This strategy, while unusual, had been brilliant. It had made his pieces extraordinarily valuable, as they invoked such powerful feelings in those who viewed them. To the public, Lamone’s work seemed like nothing short of genius.

It was a shame, really, that Lamone had recently been found murdered in his own home—some even said he had been killed by his own paintbrush. Chrollo looked up from his desk at the half-finished canvas before him. The shades of gray blended beautifully, forming what would have been another masterpiece. Now, however, the monochrome was marred by a stunning crimson splatter, streaking across both the painted portion of the canvas and the untouched white space.

What a shame, he mused, that this piece would never be seen by the art world. But no matter—he would keep it for his personal collection. After all, what kind of thief would he be if he didn’t take such a lovely souvenir?

His expression twisted slightly. As striking as the painting was, it also served as a bitter reminder of yet another failed heist. The troupe had successfully completed the first part of the job—eliminating Lamone, ensuring that his artwork would skyrocket in value. Everyone knew that when an artist died, their pieces sold for ten times their original worth. They had even secured a client particularly enamored with the Compulsione degli Amanti collection, willing to pay millions of jenny for it before. Now, with Lamone’s untimely demise, the value had soared into the billions.

And yet, when they were poised to steal the collection from the museum, they discovered the pieces had been moved at the last minute. Someone had tipped off the museum.

A scowl darkened Chrollo’s usually impassive face. How? Who could have warned them? More importantly—who would dare? 

Truly, it had been a headache of a situation. They arrived expecting to find priceless paintings, only to be met by a small militia—assassins, hitmen, and ex-military operatives. Foolish of them to think such resistance could stop the Phantom Troupe.

Predictably, it turned into a bloodbath. But for all the effort, there was nothing to show for it. No spoils, no reward, just another wasted mission. This was the third heist they had intercepted. The third time their plans had been thwarted. The third unshakable failure in a row.

And that fact bothered Chrollo the most. He had lost—three times now—to the same unknown force. That was unacceptable. Whoever was behind this, he would find them. And when he did, they would be brought before him.

In some ways, he was impressed. Whoever this person—or group—was, they had managed to uncover his plans not once, not twice, but three times. They had connections, resources, and enough nerve to act on their information. That took a certain level of intellect. Yet what stood out the most was their ability to vanish without a trace. The Troupe had found no leads, no evidence—nothing. It was as if their enemy were a ghost.

Chrollo was perplexed. Annoyed. Perhaps even a little impressed.Not emotions he was accustomed to. Nor ones he particularly welcomed.

Today, he had called a special meeting. Every Troupe member was expected to attend. They would discuss the recent failures and, more importantly, the unknown threat lurking in the shadows. Glancing at the sleek black-and-gold watch on his wrist, he noted the time. Fifteen minutes until the meeting.

The Troupe’s current hideout was an abandoned office building—worn with age but ideal for their purposes. It provided easy access to Yorknew City and, more importantly, the upcoming gala where the rare artifact, Beso De La Muerte, would be unveiled.That artifact was their next target and this time, there would be no interference. 

He rose from his chair, making his way down the hall toward the lobby where the meeting was set to take place. As he rounded the corner, all the spiders’ eyes fell on him, their conversations and laughter ceasing instantly upon his entry.

Despite the usual lighthearted banter the troupe shared before meetings, today, there was a clear underlying tension in the air.

Chrollo walked toward a slab of collapsed concrete and took a seat, conjuring his book into his hand with nen. He flipped to a page, studying one of the many stolen abilities in his collection, waiting for the last member of the troupe to arrive—Hisoka.

Ten minutes later, the clown finally appeared, a grin stretching across his face as he casually shuffled a deck of playing cards. Chrollo watched as Hisoka leaned against the wall, amused.

Snapping his book shut, Chrollo slowly lifted his gaze to his troupe members. The spiders' eyes immediately locked onto him.

“I assume everyone here is aware of our recent heist failure?”

Tension thickened in the room at his words. No one spoke until Chrollo continued.

“This is becoming a problem, and it needs to be resolved. Shalnark, were you able to find any intel on our rat?”

“No, Boss. It’s actually quite impressive. I’ve found no bugs, taps, or crypto trails. It’s unlikely they’re gathering intel on us through technological surveillance,” Shalnark stated in his usual upbeat tone.

Immediately, Nobunaga spoke up, loud as always, his grip tightening on his katana.

“Well, that means one of us is a traitor! Someone is feeding information to our enemies. And it just so happens that this all started right when the clown joined us.”

Closing the distance, hand still on his katana, Nobunaga stepped toward Hisoka.

Hisoka, smirking, remained leaning against the wall, shuffling his cards effortlessly.

“Oh, Nobunaga, how you wound me,” he said, feigning offense. “I prefer my games to be more... direct.”

That was all it took to ignite Nobunaga’s already short fuse. He unsheathed his katana and lunged at Hisoka, blade aimed at his side. But before his weapon could connect, Nobunaga was suddenly teleported across the room, stumbling as he struggled to regain his balance.

“Enough.”

Chrollo’s voice cut through the tension like a blade.

“Nobunaga, you know there is no fighting among troupe members.”

The sharp snap of Chrollo’s book echoed in the room, a clear sign of his growing irritation.

"Turning against one another is foolish and will yield no results. What do we know about them so far?"

Machi spoke up with a strictly analytical approach. "Whoever it is has connections—good ones at that. They managed to tip off the Verosian Museum, which is known for prioritizing input from the upper class and frequent donors. If the informant were a nobody, the museum wouldn’t have given their tip a second thought."

Everyone considered this for a moment before Feitan spoke up.

"Underlings know nothing. Just cry for help, say no one knows who tip off."

Chrollo sat in thought, his expression unreadable, but it was clear he was processing the information carefully.

"Shalnark, check the museum’s records for important customers and recent donors. Also, look into recent donations and see if there are any correlations. Feitan, Phinks—get the museum director. Feitan, make him talk. I want this matter resolved."

With a grin, Shalnark pulled out his computer and started hacking into the museum’s database. "On it, Boss. If there’s anything there, I’ll find it."

Phinks stood up, smirking. "We’ll bring him in, Boss. Hear that, Feitan? You’re gonna lose our bet. You can’t take the curator’s tongue if he can’t speak."

Feitan rolled his eyes with an annoyed "tch." "Make talk, then take tongue. If no talk, force to write—after few broken fingers."

Machi chimed in again, something clearly bothering her. "Boss, have we checked ourselves? Our belongings?"

Hisoka’s voice, dripping with intrigue, cut in. "Oh~ Machi, dear, are you suggesting one of us may be the traitor without even knowing it? If so, this game just became so much more exciting. I can't wait to meet its curator."

With an annoyed sigh and an eyeroll, Machi continued her train of thought as Chrollo listened intently.

"It’s just a hunch, but someone has tipped off our targets three times now—each time for a different heist. They have all the details in advance, enough to alert the targets. That would typically indicate a traitor among us feeding information to the enemy. However, we’ve all been together on missions recently. No one has had the time to leak intel without getting caught. The only common factor in each of these instances is the people involved in carrying out the jobs."

A collective realization settled over the troupe. The possibility made sense.

Chrollo picked up where Machi left off. "That would explain why Shalnark found no bugs or tracking devices in our hideouts. We never thought to check ourselves. Whoever is behind this is clearly out for revenge—targeting our heists directly. It would also make sense for them to sow doubt among us, making it seem like we have a traitor when, in reality, there isn’t one."

He paused, deep in thought, clearly intrigued by their enemy’s tactics.

Then, with finality, he issued his next command.

"Everyone, check yourselves and your belongings for anything out of place."

The troupe obeyed immediately, inspecting their clothing and belongings for anything unusual. Chrollo ran his hands over his garments, meticulously checking every inch for bugs or listening devices.

A low, amused chuckle echoed through the hideout, drawing every Spider’s gaze toward the clown. Hisoka smirked, plucking a small red button from his shirt and holding it up between his fingers.

“Well, well~ would you look at that,” he mused.

The troupe stared at the object in confusion. It looked like an ordinary button—nothing more, nothing less. But Chrollo’s sharp eyes caught the faint traces of Nen radiating from it, a detail nearly impossible to detect unless one was specifically looking. On a powerful Nen user like Hisoka, whose aura naturally masked such subtleties, it was an impressive deception.

Hisoka twirled the button between his fingers as Chrollo regarded him with suspicion. “Our new friend keeps getting more interesting. They must have planted this on me at some point,” he mused.

Shizuku tilted her head, as confused as ever. “Isn’t that just a button?”

“Use your Gyo and look closely,” Chrollo instructed.

They did as told, activating their enhanced vision. Almost instantly, the button’s faint aura became visible.

Nobunaga’s expression darkened, and in an instant, he was on the move, his hand gripping the hilt of his katana. “You knew it was there! You’re working with the rat—I know it!”

As amused as ever, Hisoka chuckled. “Can’t say that I am~ as entertaining as that would be. Besides, none of you noticed it either.”

Nobunaga faltered, stammering. “Well, uh… it was on you, so… I guess you’re not wrong.”

Chrollo’s eyes remained fixed on the button. “Hisoka, let me examine it. I want to analyze the aura.”

But before he could take a step, Hisoka grinned deviously and crushed the button between his fingers, the aura dissipating into nothing.

“Oh~ my bad. Didn’t realize my own strength,” he purred.

A wave of irritation washed over the room. Many of the troupe members looked outright furious, but Chrollo remained composed, though his gaze lingered on Hisoka’s hand, scrutinizing his every move.

Uvogin’s boisterous laughter filled the space. “Well, guess we’ll just have to find them directly then! Boss, what’s the plan?” He rubbed his hands together eagerly, awaiting orders.

Chrollo, still lost in thought, found the situation more troubling than ever. It was clear to him now—Hisoka was involved. No one could get close enough to plant something on the clown without him noticing. That would be far too risky. Which meant their enemy had to have been nearby at all times, skillfully blending into the crowd around the troupe, their presence undetected.

Whoever they were, they were dangerous.

And they had just personally outmaneuvered Chrollo with their little button trick.

This person either knew Nen or was affiliated with someone who did—especially if Hisoka was covering for them. Hisoka had confirmed Chrollo’s suspicion by destroying the button. That meant there was something traceable on it, something Hisoka had a reason to eliminate. Which also meant their enemy was bold—brazen enough to be lurking close by, watching, waiting, challenging.

Chrollo’s expression darkened, but a small smirk played on his lips.

“It’s simple,” he declared. “We wait. They’ll come to us.”

York New Central District

A loud ring echoed throughout the typically silent room. You glanced down at your phone to check the caller ID—Hisoka. With a sigh, you reached for the device and picked up.

You were never particularly fond of Hisoka; he was a bit too much for your liking. However, you were well aware that he had his uses.

“Ah~ Y/N, what have you been up to?” he asked, his voice laced with amusement.

“Nothing that concerns you, Hisoka. What do you want?” Your tone remained cold, betraying nothing.

“Ah, but dear, it does concern me when you plant a device on me. Not very nice of you not to tell me. After all, it almost caused a fight.”

Even through the phone, you could hear the interest in his voice and almost feel his bloodlust at the mere mention of a “fight.”

“Oh, but we both know you love it. Besides, telling you would have ruined the fun—and the surprise.” You picked up a small button, tossing it idly in your free hand.

A chuckle drifted through the receiver as he replied, “Well, you're lucky I destroyed that button before they could trace the nen. I mean, after all, one of your favorite toys—I mean friends—might have been at risk.”

“That would have been an inconvenience. Toro’s surveillance buttons do have their benefits. But everyone is expendable to a degree. I suppose you’re going to tell me I owe you now?”

“How did you know~?” His voice practically purred with amusement before he continued. “Well, what I want is a rather delicious little idea.”

You remained silent as he let his words sink in.

“Our good friend figured out that you’ve been in range and is expecting you to be at our next heist. You see, that is exactly what I want to see.”

“Why would I make such a careless move?” You were blunt as always, but Hisoka only seemed to grow more excited.

“Well, in this case, you don’t have a choice. It’s quite simple, really, sweetheart—you will be at our next job. And do make it entertaining. I want some direct interaction. That will settle our little debt.”

His voice lowered, dripping with honeyed amusement. “And if you don’t… well, there are so many possibilities. But I must admit, I’m leaning towards keeping you for myself. Especially after that last little stunt. You’re starting to catch my eye.”

Beneath his playful tone, the underlying threat was clear—an attempt to shake you.

Perhaps, years ago, it would have worked. But you had been in this game long enough to know how to keep the upper hand. Still, Hisoka’s interest in you was not something you wanted to encourage.

So, you would play along—let him think he had thrown you off your game for now. 

"Guess I don’t have a choice then," you muttered.

Hisoka chirped, "So glad we’re on the same page! Plus, isn’t it so much more entertaining to interact with him directly anyway?"

"The details, Hisoka," you said, irritation clear in your tone.

"Ah, no fun as always. All business and advantages... just like him."

Those words set you off. How dare Hisoka imply you were anything like that selfish monster—Chrollo.

"I am nothing like him, and I never will be. Chrollo Lucilfer is a monster. He deserves to suffer, and I will make sure he does."

You could practically envision the smirk spreading across Hisoka’s face.

"Ah~ there you are, Y/N. I can practically taste your bloodlust for him. Oh, and it really gets me going. But I do wonder… what exactly did he do to make you hate him so?"

"The. Details. Hisoka."

Your fuming tone made it obvious—you weren’t playing around anymore.

"Fine~" he drawled. "Two weeks from now, there will be a grand masquerade ball to unveil a new artifact. The Troupe will be there of course, to steal it. But I’m sure you already knew that, didn’t you?"

"I’ll be there." you stated. 

Some chatter in the distance started to echo through the receiver, followed by Hisoka’s teasing voice.

"Well then, Y/N, be there. I’ll have Lumi get you a ticket, of course. I do look forward to our next encounter."

With that, the line went dead, leaving you alone once again in your room, still rolling the button between your fingers.

God, you really hated that clown. He did nothing but get under your skin, always knowing exactly which buttons to push. Still, having him as an ally made gathering intel a lot easier. The deal you had struck wasn’t so bad either. But whether he would betray you or not… that remained to be seen.

One thing was certain—you sure as hell didn’t trust him. And that was the smart decision.

You made your way across the room toward your dresser, where a white box sat atop. But it wasn’t the box itself that held your attention—it was what lay inside.

A custom masquerade mask, meticulously crafted for the upcoming ball.

It was a beautiful piece. The base gleamed with golden swirls that highlighted the eyes and lips, while a striking golden cross sat perfectly at the center, red gems embedded at each of its points. At any ordinary masquerade, this mask would have drawn attention. But at this event, it was certain to catch his eye.

You had everything planned. You would attend the ball, and you would finally make your debut to Chrollo. You wanted to see his face when you pointed out just how many times he had lost—how, despite all his efforts, he had been outmaneuvered at every turn. If he was already expecting you, why not make a grand entrance? It would only make the sting of another failed heist even worse.

A chuckle escaped your lips. What a fun game this was.

Thanks to Toro, you had been watching the Troupe for a while now, observing just how much these repeated failures were affecting them. The growing distrust, the tension—it was everything you had wanted. But the true prize was how it was affecting Chrollo.

He might have looked impassive, his expression unreadable, but his actions told another story. He was reviewing his plans over and over, searching for the moment where things had gone wrong. Scouring records and security footage of past heists. Asking himself the same question, again and again—what was the mistake?

That was the feeling you wanted to instill in him. That doubt. That uncertainty. That creeping sense of incompetence—the very same he had once made you feel.

You wanted him—and his Troupe, his so-called family—to suffer. Just like they had made you and Sumi suffer.

And now, the consequences of your actions were beginning to ripple outward. Whispers in the underground had begun to surface, questioning the Troupe’s strength, their competence. It was tempting to let it get to your head—to get cocky. But you knew better than to act recklessly.

A masquerade ball, though? How could you pass up the perfect opportunity to reintroduce yourself to your old enemy? Every detail had been accounted for. Every piece of the setup was perfect.

You were well aware of how dangerous Chrollo was. Being in his vicinity, even for a moment, carried a risk. But you still had your trump card—your Nen ability. And in the worst-case scenario? If you were to die there and then? As long as your plan came to fruition— You would die with a smile.

The stage was set, and the game was about to begin—one that neither of you would ever forget.

[noc1818]

So excited love your stories! Congratulations on almost 20k!

On the way to 20k raffle

Hello everyone! I’ve been on tumblr for nearly a year in May, and I’m nearly at 20k followers! I’m so grateful for all of your support, so I wanted to host a small raffle. It’ll end once I hit 20k followers.

Prizes

1st place: 1.5k word fic

2nd place: 1k word fic

3rd place: 500 word fic

Rules to enter:

1. You must have your age in your bio!

2. You have to either reblog or comment that you’re entering!

3. You must follow me!

Notes: I will only be writing monster x reader requests for this raffle. I won’t write anything that makes me personally uncomfortable. You will receive your prize after I finish my commissions and kofi requests.

[noc1818]

A Score to be Settled - Chrollo X Reader Fanfic

Hey everyone! I've had this idea for a Chrollo fic swirling around in my head for a while now, where Chrollo wrongs the reader, who's also from Meteor City, during their childhood. This event impacts them so deeply that they’re willing to go to any lengths to seek revenge and settle the score. This chapter is just the backstory leading up to the main plot. If you're interested in reading more, let me know—I’m really enjoying writing it and have a lot more I want to explore! Plus, it’s a fun project to help me get back into writing again. I truly appreciate any support!

Also, this is mostly unedited because I was too excited to share, so feel free to let me know if anything needs fixing!

A few warnings for this piece: Dark themes, death, angst, and intense struggles for survival.

Chapter 2

Chapter One: The Debt

Meteor City - Residential Area, 1984

Digging through the scrap was a common occurrence in Meteor City. It was the only way to survive. It always astonished you that people would just throw out and dump some of this stuff without a second thought. Had they never had to scavenge for food or clothes? The idea of having a roof over your head and some form of food security felt like a distant daydream. But that was not your reality. Even at such a young age, the harsh truth of Meteor City was ingrained in your very being.

This had always been the case, at least since you could remember. Your first true memory was when you were five years old, hiding in a broken refrigerator with your little sister, Sumi, who was only two at the time, from some less-than-favorable characters searching the area. That was the reality for all the kids in Meteor City—except for Sumi. She was always a ray of light. Even in the darkest moments, she could spin a positive outlook, which, while uplifting, was sometimes a bit overwhelming.

Recently, she’d been going on and on about a group of kids, she’d met who performed shows for anyone willing to watch. Every day, she came back excited, telling you all about the latest show and its colorful cast of characters. You had promised her that one day you’d go with her to check out the performances. But the reality was that most of your days—hell, your entire childhood—had been spent scavenging and trying to make the best shelter you could for Sumi and yourself.

Still, if you were honest with yourself, your efforts were starting to pay off. You had gathered enough food and non-perishable goods to start a stockpile for the coming winter.

Not only had you been gathering food, but you had been saving Jenny, hoping to accumulate enough to get you and your sister out of the city. At thriteen years old, hidden in your makeshift shack and buried deep within an old metal tea kettle, you had quite a bit saved up. The reality was that it wasn’t much, but to a child with nothing, a hundred Jenny could change a life. Soon, you and Sumi would leave this scrap heap behind and start a real life. You’d be able to give her a solid foundation and a secure future.

As if on cue, scrambling down the narrow paths between the trash heaps, Sumi appeared. She ran toward you in her oversized pink sweater, patched and worn where the fabric had torn over time. She wore frayed blue shorts and dirty old sneakers. As she approached, you noticed her shoes were untied again and made a note to try to teach her how to tie them properly.

Upon seeing you, Sumi immediately called out, “Big Sis!”

Looking up, you gave her a warm smile and a wave. “Sumi, be careful running like that! You might fall!”

Hearing your call, she slowed down and made her way to your makeshift shelter. You had found a space between two scrap heaps, covered with metal sheets that mostly kept the rain out during downpours. You’d draped a cloth over the outside to help keep out the cold and block prying eyes from seeing inside.

Sumi walked over with a big smile, immediately hugging you tightly. “Big Sis, the show today was so cool! They were doing a musical.”

You hummed in acknowledgment of her excited ramblings. Your focus was more on her worn shoes and thinking how you might be able to get her a new pair. But Sumi bright, attentive eyes and her soft call of your name brought your attention back to the present.

“Y/N, are you listening?” she asked, tilting her head with a playful smile.

You nodded, ruffling her hair as you gave her your full attention. “Yes, I’m listening. Tell me all about the play. You said it was a musical, right?”

Sumi’s face lit up as she started rambling in detail about the play, the songs they sang, and the performances. It made you happy to know she had found something that made her so happy and allowed her to still be a kid.

Sumi’s gaze then shifted to the bread rations you’d found and set out for the two of you. She eagerly sat down on the dirt, ready to eat.

“Also, Big Sis, my friend from the play... Can she come over to eat sometime?” she asked, her brown eyes filled with hope.

Typically, you would say no. It was hard enough to feed just the two of you. But this was another kid—another kid from Meteor City—and she made your little sister happier than anyone else could. So, with a reluctant sigh, you nodded, saying, “Sure, but just her, okay?”

Sumi’s eyes widened, and she beamed. “Oh, good! She’ll be so excited when she gets back!”

That last part caught your attention—when she gets back. You wondered what Sumi meant by that, but rather than ask, you focused on the task at hand: getting something to eat. Hunger was often your main drive, having never truly been full your entire life. The two of you ate your bread and chatted the night away until it was time to sleep. You shared a torn-up mattress you’d found one day.

As your sister fell asleep the moment her head hit the pillow, you found yourself wide awake as always. The night was especially cold, even with the cloth covering the sides of your shelter. The cold air still billowed in, leaving you shivering to your core. Unable to sleep, you quietly got up and made your way outside.

Despite the chill, it was a beautiful night. The full moon illuminated the ruins of the city, casting a soft light on the heaps of metal scrap. The sky was clear—a rare sight since the smog usually made it nearly impossible to see the stars. But tonight, they shone bright and radiant, lighting up the darkness.

Little did you know, that on such a peaceful night, your life would change forever because of one mistake.

The sound of scrap being knocked over in the distance caught your attention. Despite your maturity for your age, your curiosity got the better of you. You crept toward the sound, the noise growing louder with each step. Expecting to find an adult out to cause trouble, you peeked cautiously around a corner. To your surprise, there stood a boy, slightly older than you.

He had his back to you, but you could make out his raven-like hair, which ended just above his ears. He wore a yellow-striped shirt and grey shorts, his sneakers as worn out as those of the other kids in the city. You also noticed his pale complexion. But it wasn’t just his appearance that caught your attention—it was the palpable anger radiating from him.

The boy was frantically searching every crevice in the piles of trash, looking for something—or perhaps someone. When a spot didn’t reveal what he was searching for, he would kick and throw things, sending the scrap tumbling down. But it wasn’t just his actions that struck you. There was an energy about him, an intense, almost suffocating wave of anger and despair that filled the air, making it feel heavy and thick with emotion.

You stood frozen, unsure of what to do. You had never encountered such a crushing presence before. The weight of his emotions was almost too much to bear. It took him a while before he realized someone else was there.

He turned toward you, taking a moment to process your presence. Even at his young age, it seemed like he was studying you, trying to figure out who you were. His expression was unreadable, but your silence seemed to provoke him. Without a hint of fear or caution, he started walking toward you. You weren’t surprised—after all, what could a bone-thin girl like you possibly do to a boy older than you?

As he drew closer, you noticed something you would never forget—his eyes. Steely grey, cold as steel, eyes that no child should have. They held a depth of pain, rage, and fear. It was as though his gaze could pierce through you, reading your every thought. The emptiness in them was unsettling, yet beneath that emptiness was an ocean of raw, unspoken emotion.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. His gaze remained locked on yours, unflinching. Then, in a voice that matched the indifference in his expression, he asked, “Why are you out here?”

You hesitated for a moment, processing his question. Finally, you answered in your quiet, almost inaudible voice, “I couldn’t sleep... it’s freezing.”

He listened, his eyes still fixed on yours, and after a brief pause, he nodded slightly. His tone remained flat, as if unaffected by the cold, the silence, or even the raw emotions swirling between you. “I suppose it is quite cold tonight,” he said.

You ask him the same question in return. “Why are you out here?”

Without hesitation, he responds, “I’m looking for someone.”

You raise an eyebrow, puzzled. Why would he be out here, so late, searching for someone? And what’s more, he’s dressed lightly, yet he doesn’t seem bothered by the cold. Curiosity laces your voice as you ask, “Wouldn’t it be smarter to search in the morning, when there’s daylight?”

A flicker of annoyance crosses his face, as if that option simply isn’t available. “Not possible. I’ll find her tonight.”

Normally, you would’ve dismissed him, turned away, and continued with your own business. But he’s another Metor City kid, and something in the back of your mind nags at you. He’s not dressed appropriately for the cold, and if he stays out here like this, he’ll get sick. You remember finding a man’s jacket a while back, one that was too big for you or your sister, and you think maybe it’s time to put it to good use.

“You’re going to catch a cold out here like that,” you say, a note of concern in your voice. “Come with me for two seconds, and I can give you a spare coat we have.”

Your tone is free of malice, just genuine care, and that catches his attention. He gives you a curious glance, eyebrows furrowing as if trying to decipher your intentions. Every kid in this city knows that nothing comes without a price, that nothing is truly free. So when he speaks, his words are cautious.

“I don’t need the jacket.”

His dismissal stings more than you expect, and you sigh, visibly irked. You take a few steps toward him, frustration settling into your voice. “Just take it. We don’t need it.”

At the word “we,” he raises an eyebrow. He’s perceptive, you realize. He takes a step closer, and you suddenly feel the suspicion radiating off him. “You have others with you?”

The question catches you off guard for a moment, but you recover quickly. “Yeah, my little sister, Sum.”

He pauses, his face unreadable, before asking, “You’re Sumi’s older sister? You must be Y/N, then.”

Your eyes widen in surprise. How does he know your name? You raise an eyebrow, and he chuckles, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“Ah, my apologies. Sumi talks about you a lot. She’s always at shows with me and the others.”

That explains it. He must be one of the performer kids Sumi has befriended. You smile, relieved to understand the connection. “Oh! You’re one of Sumi’s friends. She never stops talking about all the shows you all put on. I hear about it all the time.”

“I’m glad she enjoys them so much,” he says with a chuckle. “My name’s Chrollo, by the way. It’s nice to officially meet you, Y/N.”

You extend a hand to him, offering a handshake. “Nice to meet you too, Chrollo.”

As you both shake hands, the conversation continues, and you press him once more to take the spare jacket. He doesn’t seem to trust easily, but the fact that you’re Sumi’s sister seems to put him at ease enough to accept the offer. You can’t let one of your sister’s friends freeze, after all. In your world, you cherish the small acts of kindness, especially when life is so unforgiving.

When you lead Chrollo into your home, you notice his gaze lingering on Sumi, who’s still fast asleep despite the chilly draft in the room.

“She sleeps like a rock,” you say with a smile, reassuring him. “Don’t worry, we won’t wake her up.”

Chrollo raises an eyebrow, then shifts his attention back to you. “Really? She always seems so happy, so it’s not surprising.”

“She’s always been that way,” you reply, a fondness in your tone. “She’s able to find the bright side of things. I’ve always admired her for that.”

“That’s an admirable trait, but a bit naïve,” he remarks, his eyes scanning the room. “And you, Y/N? Which side do you find yourself on?” His intense gaze meets yours, as if he already knows the answer, as if he’s searching for something more.

You hesitate before answering, taking a moment to collect your thoughts. “While I’d like to see things in the best light, it’s not always something I can afford to do. Life is tough, especially in the city. I’m sure you know that. I guess, if anything, I’m just realistic.”

Your words hang in the air, and you meet his gaze. Life hasn’t been kind, not forgiving, and you’ve learned to take things as they are—even if that means accepting a certain darkness. It’s how you survive. It’s how you cope.

Chrollo watches you as you pull the coat from the cooler you’ve repurposed as a storage bin. You turn to hand it to him, but before you can react, he’s right there, standing so close that you nearly jump in surprise.

“Oh, my—” you start, startled. “You surprised me, Chrollo.”

He chuckles lightly. “My apologies. It wasn’t intentional.” He accepts the jacket with a graceful nod. “Thank you for this.”

You watch him pull the coat on. It’s a bit oversized now, but in a few years, it will fit him perfectly. The jacket is a unique shade of royal purple, with white fur lining the neck and sleeve ends—definitely a one-of-a-kind piece.

“Well, Y/N, I have a search to continue,” he says, turning to leave. But before he pulls the sheet up to shield himself from the cold, he pauses and looks back at you.

“I’m also a realist,” he says, his voice quieter now, almost contemplative. “But there’s something so lovely about dreaming, isn’t there? I look at this life from both spectrums. Sometimes, I even think those dreams we chase so desperately can become our reality—if we push hard enough. Just something to think about.”

With those final words, he leaves before you can respond, disappearing into the night.

You stand there, staring at the door as his words linger in your mind. At first, you feel a sharp irritation. He didn’t ask for your opinion, so why did he offer unsolicited advice? And as for his belief that dreams could be turned into reality with enough force—that seemed utterly delusional, especially for kids like you, or anyone from Metor City. Hell, you’d be lucky just to make it to eighteen.

But something about what he said sticks with you, curling into your thoughts like a stubborn seed. You don’t dwell on it for long. You curl up next to Sumi, trying to shake the thoughts away, and drift into sleep. But as you do, you can’t help but wonder… what if, just for once, he was right?

 The next morning, you wake up to the sound of Sumi’s sobs, her distress pulling you from sleep. Instantly, you pull her into a tight hug.

“Shh, Sumi, it’s okay. Tell me what’s wrong. Are you hurt? What happened?” Your voice is steady and calm, a skill you’ve mastered over the years, both as her big sister and in moments of chaos. You’ve always had a knack for calming people in hysteria, and Sumi, in her younger days, gave you plenty of practice.

After a few minutes of reassurance and gentle prodding, she starts to calm down. She looks up at you, her eyes wide and teary, her lip trembling.

“Big sis, it’s… it’s all gone. Our food… our money… it’s all gone,” she says, before breaking into fresh sobs.

At those words, your heart drops. What does she mean? Gone? Your stomach twists with dread.

You pull away from Sumi for a moment, moving quickly to the cooler. There’s no way it could be empty. But when you lift the lid, your breath catches. The cooler is completely bare. All the food and supplies you had gathered for months—some even for years—are gone.

Frantically, you move the cooler aside, only to reveal an empty hole beneath it. The kettle where you kept all your jenny, your coins, your savings—also gone. There’s nothing left.

Panic rises in your chest. How could this happen? Who could have taken everything? Why didn’t you hear anything during the night? Your mind races with a hundred questions, each more frantic than the last. Beneath it all, though, a seething anger begins to bubble. How could anyone do this to kids who had nothing?

But then, Sumi’s sobs break through your clouded thoughts, pulling you back to reality. This is where you need to be the bigger sister. You need to calm her down, to give her the reassurance she needs, even if it means making false promises in the moment.

You pull her into another tight hug, patting her head in an attempt to soothe her. “Shh, Sumi. It’s going to be okay. I’ll figure it out. We’re going to be just fine, I promise.”

Your words, however, don’t seem to help. Sumi’s crying only intensifies, her distress deepening.

“No, Y/N, it’s not! It’s almost winter! I may be younger, but I’m not dumb. I knew it took you almost all year to gather what we had, and that was mostly lucky finds. This is my fault!” she says through ragged sobs, her nose sniffling.

“It’s no one’s fault, Sumi,” you reply, your own voice breaking slightly. You can feel the tears welling in your eyes, but you fight them back, continuing to hold it together. “We’re going to be okay. I’ll figure it out. Everything will be fine, I promise.”

But Sumi, seeing the tears in your eyes, crumbles further. “Big sis, you don’t understand. This is my fault! It was my friends at the play. They took our stuff. I shouldn’t have told Big Sis Sarasa where we live. She must’ve told the others. But I don’t know how—she’s been missing for a few days now!”

Your heart sinks, piecing together exactly what’s happened. It was Chrollo. He and his friends took everything. You allowed yourself to be blinded by the fact that he was another kid, someone you thought you could help. But instead, he took advantage of your kindness.

It takes everything in you to hide your shock. You can’t let Sumi see your own pain and disappointment. Instead, you swallow your anger and fear, and lie to her, thinking that protecting her from the truth is what’s best.

“Sumi,” you say, forcing a smile, trying to sound reassuring, “I bet your friends are just borrowing some food from us. Nothing to worry about. They’ll bring it back soon, okay?”

You can see the doubt in her eyes, but there’s a glimmer of hope there too. That spark—the same one she’s always had—begins to flicker. “Prove it, big sis. How do you know?”

You take a deep breath, hoping the lie doesn’t show in your eyes. “I just know, Sumi. I’ll make sure everything’s okay. I promise.”

Even though she doesn’t fully believe you, the fragile hope in her eyes is enough to make you cling to your own false reassurance. For her sake, you need to keep it together, even if it’s falling apart inside.

After Sumi had calmed down enough to be let go, you stood up, needing some space to think and to get some fresh air. You reached for the jacket you had thrown haphazardly over yourself the night before to stay warm, and as you put it on, a small white note fell from the pocket. Sumi, too absorbed in her tears, hadn’t noticed it before.

You hesitated for a moment, but your curiosity got the best of you. You unfolded the note, already knowing who it was from. It could only be one person—Chrollo.

The note read:

Y/N,I am sure you are angry, and rightfully so. It was nothing personal, of course—just my family needed it more than yours. Take this as a lesson and grow stronger from it. Never trust a stranger, no matter what they look like.Best of luck, and do take care of Sumi. Thanks again for your generosity.

As you read the words over again, the initial shock wore off, and a seething anger filled you. That bastard had taken everything—everything—because he could. And now he had the audacity to call it a lesson.

Your blood boiled. You would find him. You would make him pay.

In the midst of your fury, you didn’t notice Sumi, still sitting on the floor, glance over your shoulder and read the note with wide, curious eyes.

“Big sis? What does it say?” she asked, her head tilted, voice uncertain.

You froze for a moment, her question catching you off guard. Then, your mind raced. You knew Sumi couldn’t read—something that, under normal circumstances, would be a problem. But today, it was a relief. More than anything, you wanted to preserve that spark of joy in her eyes, to keep her from losing that innocence and hope.

With a forced smile, you turned to face her and lied through your teeth.

“Oh, it’s just a letter from your friends. They’re gathering more food and are going to bring it to share with us.”

At your words, Sumi’s face brightened. The sadness left her eyes, and joy returned to her expression as she beamed up at you. “Really, big sis? That’s great!”

You nodded, offering her a reassuring smile, though inside, your mind was still spinning with your plan for revenge. Sumi spent the rest of the day telling you about the shows and how amazing they were. You listened, but your thoughts were elsewhere, planning the next steps, knowing full well that your reality wasn’t one that relied on hopes and miracles. You would have to be ruthless to survive in this world—and you would.

Meteor City – Residential Area, 1995

Years later, you found yourself standing once again among the scraps of Meteor City, holding a small yellow daffodil. You gazed down at the modest grave, an unreadable expression on your face. Deep inside, though, the wound was still open and raw. The stone atop the grave was crudely carved with the name Sumi. Her grave was one of the few places in this wasteland where life seemed to thrive—a small patch of grass and flowers growing amidst the decay.

You offered a faint, sad smile, thinking that even in death, Sumi brought hope and life wherever she was.

Your mind wandered back to that brutal winter in 1984 when you lost your little sister. After the Phantom Troupe stole everything—your food, your money—you were left with nothing. For months, you scavenged, but it was never enough. The freezing nights and lack of food took a toll, and Sumi grew terribly ill. You searched high and low for medicine, anything that could save her, but the world wouldn’t help two poor kids from Meteor City. Every time you tried, you were chased away or kicked out.

As the weeks dragged on, one night Sumi’s fever spiked too high. You held her until she fell asleep, but then you heard it—those final, shallow breaths. That’s when you knew. Your sister was gone.

Now, standing over her grave, you reached into the satchel you carried and pulled out three items: a ticket to a masquerade ball, a key, and new identification papers. These were the tools you’d carefully acquired through a contact to forge a new identity—a whole new life in Yorknew City. They were your tickets to escape Meteor City, to avenge Sumi, and to strike at the heart of the Phantom Troupe. You couldn’t let them know who you truly were.

You had devoted your life to this, to rebuilding yourself and taking them down—especially Chrollo. He was the one responsible for her death. It was all for greed. But that was going to end now.

Looking once more at Sumi’s grave, you made a vow, your voice firm and steady.

“Sumi, I swear I’ll come back once the debt’s been repaid. After all, we’ve got a score to settle.”

With that, you turned away and walked towards the tinted car that waited to take you to the next step in your journey. The road ahead was long, but it was one you would walk with purpose. Chrollo Lucilfer—the leader of the Phantom Troupe—had no idea what was coming for him. You would make him pay, and you would not stop until you did.