Kurapika collapsed onto his couch with a long sigh.

Woble was adorable; always has been, always will be. However, being an only child, Kurapika's knowledge about the "Terrible Twos" was limited to whatever he heard in passing conversations. When he first started his babysitting gig with Miss Oito, Woble was barely an infant; her body was practically the length of his forearm. Blessedly, she hardly ever cried, even when she was tired or hungry. The first time Kurapika heard her shrill wail, Leorio was trying to coax out a giggle by making absurd faces.

The blond chuckled at the memory. One glare from him was enough to stop Leorio from ever attempting that again.

His gaze suddenly slipped to the broken TV remote on the floor, and just like that, the smile on his lips disappeared. Kurapika still loved Woble like the sister he never had, but today was just—

Kurapika picked up the mangled piece of plastic with a frown. Today was nothing short of a nightmare.

First, it was the coffee shop. Then, he ran into the second-to-last person he ever wanted to see at the grocery store, and when he came home, said person thought it would be a splendid idea to gift him enough milk to sustain a small country. The Kurta idly wondered if Chrollo had paid for all of it, but then he decided it didn't matter because thanks to him, half of his living space was occupied by fifty fucking cartons of milk.

In the end, Kurapika had spent his two hours of free time gifting each of his neighbors a minimum of one container. Hanzo, bless his heart, had taken three off his hands for his cats. His landlord, Melody, took two, but Kurapika suspected it was because she pitied the desperate glint in his eyes. Fifty had slowly dwindled to eight, and by then, it was almost time for Miss Oito's work shift. Kurapika had to remove a considerable amount from his fridge to squeeze the remaining cartons inside.

When he knocked on Miss Oito's door, he was greeted by a grinning Woble, her hands raised expectantly in the air. The mere sight of her bright gaze pulled Kurapika's thoughts away from maiming a certain smug thief, and when he swept her into his arms, things finally felt like they would be okay.

The blond placed a pot full of water on the stove and grimaced when his hand brushed against a piece of playdough that was wedged between two cabinet doors. Maybe he should just accept that he's total shit at being optimistic.

Unbeknownst to him at the time, Woble had hid a couple crayons and a small blob of red playdough in her diaper. Kurapika had felt the odd lumps on her bum when he carried her, but when he brought out Miss Oito's diaper bag, Woble had insisted that she could change it herself. Poor, innocent Kurapika didn't see the mischievous sparkle in her dark orbs as he led her to his bathroom. With a proud pat on the head, Kurapika closed the door and went to the kitchen to fix up her snack.

Upon his return, the bowl in his hand had dropped to the floor, spilling apple crackers around his feet.

Somehow, Woble had managed to hoist herself up onto the counter, where she was doodling an odd chicken-giraffe hybrid on his mirror with a blue crayon. Kurapika could only gape at her because one, the counter was at least twice her height, and two, she was butt-naked from the waist down. The blond had coughed loudly to gain her attention, crossing his arms with clear disdain. When Woble gave him a small, apologetic simper, Kurapika nearly caved on the spot. Maybe she would have gotten away with it if it weren't for the fact that she was still finishing the tail on her chimera.

Once she was properly dressed, Woble had asked – or rather, demanded – for her afternoon snack. Kurapika cleaned up the mess on the ground before heading back to fetch more, and when he handed her a new bowl—

"Not blueberry," Woble had murmured, pushing it away from her. Flabbergasted, Kurapika tried again, only for her to whine softly and turn her head defiantly.

After a couple more failed attempts, Kurapika had no choice but to accept that Woble's new favorite flavor was blueberry, not apple. This wasn't too big of a problem, since toddlers tended to be fickle anyway. But Woble was getting anxious; her glowing cheeks and grabby fingers were both signs of imminent doom. It didn't help that Kurapika's current stockpile of baby snacks were catered to her previous preferences, and he really wasn't in the mood to go shopping again.

It went about as well as he expected. With a mighty heave, Woble had unleashed the mother of all tantrums, and Kurapika was sure his eardrums were a few decibels away from bursting. Sweet, angelic Woble had turned into a banshee from hell within the blink of an eye. After a few minutes of her screeching, Kurapika wasn't sure if he was crying with her.

He tried rocking her gently, but Woble simply smacked him away with surprising strength. When he heated up a bottle of milk, she chucked it to the other side of the apartment like a javelin. Kurapika's options were wearing thin, and he was afraid the neighbors would start to complain about the racket. With great reluctance, he was forced to resort to the one activity he had vowed to never do with her:

The Kurta turned on the TV.

The effect was almost instant; the flashing colors and new sounds drew Woble in like a moth to a flame, and her crying ceased immediately. Kurapika had picked her up to set her on the couch so she didn't have to crane her neck to see the screen. Thank the Gods it was over, but the blond was still disappointed in himself. He didn't like the idea of exposing young children to technology so early-on in their development, and usually, Woble would go to his shelf to pick out a book for the both of them to read together.

Kurapika narrowed his eyes as she clapped along to the opening song of Dragon Hunter Z. He supposed it wouldn't hurt to let her watch for a few minutes. It, at least, gave him some time to whip up something she wouldn't toss with the vigor of a professional baseball player.

The rest of the afternoon had passed in a similar manner. Kurapika managed to feed her bits and pieces of a blueberry muffin he baked from a box mix, although he suspected she only opened her mouth because she didn't want to be disturbed from her program. The Kurta itched to turn off the wretched thing so they could do something productive, but his sanity screamed for him not to.

Not that it would have mattered, of course. As 7 o'clock rolled around and Kurapika readied her belongings, Woble had taken to sticking her playdough on various surfaces around the apartment. When he scolded her, the toddler had gotten so distraught, she slammed his TV remote against the coffee table with enough force to remove the batteries. And that, to his dismay, was only the beginning. Woble continued to ravage the poor device with a speed that should be impossible for a 2-year-old, and by the time Kurapika managed to rip it from her grasp, it was mauled to the point of no return.

Kurapika tried to tell Woble that destroying another person's property was not okay, but when her bottom lip began to quiver, he couldn't help but sigh and hug her tightly. It was Miss Oito's job to discipline her, not his. Although, he's been with her for so long, it was becoming increasingly difficult to act like he was just a babysitter.

When he dropped her off, Woble gave him her usual peck on the cheek before running into Miss Oito's arms. Her mother took one look at Kurapika's haggard appearance and asked if she behaved. The blond had paused for a moment, but then Woble smiled and waved, and Kurapika simply told Miss Oito that she was as great as always.

Kurapika dropped the potatoes he cut into the boiling water. Ah, well – despite today's mishaps, Woble was still a well-behaved girl in-general. Even if she got worse, Kurapika suspected it was much too late for him to adore her any less. It wasn't like he was subject to her terrors on a daily basis, anyway; Miss Oito was probably the closest one could get to a modern-day saint.

Still, the blond couldn't shake off this peculiar feeling at the back of his skull. Kurapika dug his phone out of his pocket and unlocked it. He was met with the contact page he had set for Chrollo, who Kurapika had affectionately nicknamed, "Bastard". Stirring the contents of the pot with a ladle, he glared at his phone as if it were responsible for ruining his life. In a way, it was; Chrollo had stolen a beloved relic from his childhood, and for whatever reason, he had the audacity to give his victim his cell phone number, as if Kurapika needed even more salt poured into his wounds. The Kurta still couldn't explain why he felt the urge to save it, either, but if Chrollo could be tracked this way, he supposed he could take one for the team.

Kurapika also couldn't explain why his thumb lingered over the call button. Did he really want to do this right now? What if it was a trap, and the device in his hand was set to explode after the second ring? He stood there for a second, contemplating whether his blood pressure could handle a conversation with the Life Ruiner himself. But before he knew it, the potatoes were done boiling, and his phone was pressed up against his ear.

It rang, and rang, and rang.

"I didn't expect you to call so soon. Miss me already?"

A violent wave of ire racked through his body; Kurapika nearly dropped the pot in his hands. Closing his eyes, he inhaled and exhaled slowly. "Do you really have that much confidence in yourself, or are you just stupid?"

Chrollo hummed – even through the phone, his voice was collected and low. Kurapika told himself that the faint tremors in his fingers were a result of pure hatred. "It's not a word I'd use to describe myself, so no," he replied, and the blond absolutely loathed how he managed to relay it so smoothly. Did anything ever phase him?

"Your phone," Kurapika muttered as he began to mash the potatoes with a fork. "You do know how easy it is to track someone's location using nothing but their number, right?"

"But of course," Chrollo countered self-assuredly; Kurapika could imagine a semi-dramatic look of offense on his face. "I like to think you're respectful enough to not try anything unsavory, though."

'Who does this guy think he is?' "Well, you thought wrong," the blond shot back without missing a beat. "There's nothing I want more than to throw your sorry behind into the nearest jail cell."

Chrollo tsked. "You'd have to get in line. There are a lot of people out there who want me behind bars." Kurapika laughed sardonically at this because he could tell the man was being completely truthful. Before he could retort, Chrollo continued. "And let's say you manage to alert the authorities. You tell them you have the phone number of the elusive Chrollo Lucilfer. What makes you think they'll believe you?"

Kurapika's grip tightened as his cheeks flushed with anger. Unconsciously, his mashing became rather violent, and the blond had to count to three to stop himself from seeing red.

"Furthermore, I'm sure you're aware that we've been at this for a very long time. Who's to say I don't have multiple phones? How do you know I don't scramble my lines?"

"Although it's only one clue, it's a clue, nonetheless," Kurapika answered after a minute, and damn, he didn't mean to sound so hesitant. "Everyone has to start somewhere. You, unknowingly, gave me the first step I needed to take you down."

Chrollo could've been a hundred miles away, but the blond could still picture him smiling like the weirdo he is. It irritated him beyond belief how the man never took him seriously. Sure, Kurapika had paused for a moment, but he hardly ever stuttered, and Bill said he had a pretty good poker-face when the occasion called for one. There was a bit of shuffling on Chrollo's end before he spoke. "Sorry, just wanted to get comfortable." –Kurapika swore he felt his blood pressure spike.

"If I were you, I'd drop whatever you're scheming in that pretty little head of yours," he said as Kurapika seethed silently. "You may think you have the upper hand, but trust me, there's nothing I haven't thought of before." His words maintained a careful steadiness, but they dripped with dangerous implications. "I will admit, you strike me as a very intelligent person, but I'm sorry to say that you don't have what it takes to outsmart—"

Nope, that was it. Kurapika immediately hung up the call and forcefully shoved his phone back into his pocket. His head spun from the sheer rage that coursed through his veins. How dare he! How dare he! The potatoes were practically goo now, but all he could think about was mashing Chrollo's stupid, annoying face into a sandpaper wall.

Chrollo heard a quick 'beep' before his home screen appeared. Well, it couldn't be helped. He placed his phone on the bedside table and sat up from his bed.

Truthfully, leaving the blond his contact information had been a last-minute decision. Hell, running into him at all wasn't something he planned on, either. Chrollo had other matters to attend to, places to be, sights to see – an irate law student was hardly a priority, even if he was threatening to turn them in. He shook his head bemusedly. Although the odds were clearly against the younger man, Kurapika continued to carry himself with a stalwart certitude that hid his uncertainty exceptionally well. It was refreshing to see someone with a bit of backbone. Chrollo had robbed too many people who gave in at the slightest hint of danger.

He's not complaining, though. Easier targets meant he could conserve more energy for issues that truly deserved his attention. Sniveling, haughty socialites and corrupt politicians were barely worthy of a disinterested glance.

Kurapika, however, was an unusual case.

Something inexplicable curled in his gut whenever he thought of the obdurate blond. It most definitely wasn't attraction, nor was it anger. The night their gazes met, Chrollo was momentarily struck by a maelstrom of emotions, the most prominent one being an intense, unpleasant uneasiness.

He couldn't quite understand why, but his instincts were telling him that Kurapika was dangerous. Chrollo fared best when he knew all the rules and players of the game, but the blond was a new, unfamiliar variable. A variable that deserved to be watched very closely, if only to satisfy the nagging urge that refused to dissipate.

Chrollo's stare hardened. Hisoka must have known something like this would happen. Why else would he try to orchestrate the encounter?

Grey irises fell on a familiar felt bag, and Chrollo willed himself to relax. At the very least, the book was worth getting pepper-sprayed for. He carefully pulled the pamphlet out and fingered its worn, yellowed pages. Chrollo lamented its poor condition, but it didn't really matter if it was the only copy available. Out of curiosity, he flipped to the first page, hoping to see Sheila's signature for himself.

Chrollo froze.

The signature was definitely there, but—

Surrounding her messy cursive, various doodles of random, childish things took up nearly every inch of blank space. Wordlessly, Chrollo scanned the other pages in hopes that the same didn't apply to the rest of the book. Large, misshapen birds were scribbled everywhere – in the margins, between paragraphs, no page was left untouched. If he looked closely, there were also curious symbols next to each sentence, along with some Common penned with a wobbly hand.

Had Chrollo been in a better mood, the discovery might have piqued his interest.

Instead, he cursed under his breath.

A week had passed since Kurapika's disastrous encounter with the Demon Lord. Thankfully, Chrollo hadn't attempted to contact him at all. He expected to be pestered relentlessly, but to the thief's credit, not a single one of Kurapika's notifications had his name on it. Not that the blond received a lot of texts, anyway – Bill accused him of taking twenty years to respond to a simple "wyd". But point is, Chrollo was leaving him alone, and Kurapika was perfectly fine with that.

He watched as Woble attempted to spin a wooden rope koma on the floor. After last Saturday, Kurapika thought it would be best to purchase a few toys for Woble to occupy herself with. Unfortunately, none of the toys at the mall had satisfied him; they were all ridiculously flashy, too high-tech for someone of her age. When he scoured the internet for ideas, several articles told him that the best way to get a toddler to behave was by shoving a tablet into their hands. Kurapika was thankful for the chance to leave Lukso and experience the outside world, but perhaps the one thing he could never grow accustomed to was capitalism.

Luckily, Hanzo had given him his old koma from his days in Jappon, and Woble instantly loved it. Kurapika had attempted to compensate him, but the other man simply said that he would accept payment in the form of new mangas. Kurapika just gave him more milk, and that was that.

A quick succession of light knocks pulled the blond out of his musings, and he stood up to open the door.

"Kurapika!" Gon moved in to hug the Kurta, who laughed and responded in kind. Behind him, Killua gave Kurapika a small salute and smirked.

"Gon," Kurapika managed to say despite the teen's playful attempts to squeeze the life out of him. "You're acting like we haven't seen each other in years."

Gon huffed and released him from his arms. "I mean, that's practically the case, right? You don't tutor me anymore, so I only get to see you once in a while!" Kurapika shook his head and ushered the two inside.

It was almost surreal, how Gon and Killua were nearly halfway done with their senior year of high school. Kurapika first met them when they were barely thirteen, back when the blond was a freshman in college. His degree plan called for hundreds of volunteer hours, and Kurapika had chosen to work with kids at a local middle school. Gon introduced himself first, starry-eyed and all smiles. Then, he ushered over his silver-haired friend, who scowled at Kurapika's outstretched hand. Only the former had been assigned to Kurapika, but Killua stuck to his side like they were glued to the hip. It didn't take long for the three to form a formidable bond, one that continued to stay strong to this day.

The two teens removed their shoes and promptly made their way to the living room. Woble looked up from her toy and grinned. "Kil! Gon!" she exclaimed, waving her chubby hands excitedly. Killua swiftly lifted her up and hoisted her into the air, causing the toddler to giggle uncontrollably.

"Hey, Wobs! Look at you! You're so big now!" Killua remarked as he spun her around gently. When Kurapika turned to look at Gon, his eyes shone with unadulterated adoration. The blond smiled.

"Would you two like anything to drink? Or maybe something to eat?" Kurapika called out, already making his way to the kitchen. Unsurprisingly, Gon nodded excitedly before taking Woble from Killua. The silver-haired teen turned to look at Kurapika.

"Sounds good. Got any soda?"

Taupe irises narrowed. "Soda is unhealthy, Killua."

He groaned dramatically before crashing onto the couch. "Come on, Kurapika, you're not my mom," Killua said, pointedly ignoring the blond's weak glower. "Besides, you don't have room to talk, Mr. I-Drink-Ten-Cups-Of-Coffee-A-Day."

Kurapika exhaled sharply before disappearing into the kitchen. "That's not going to work on me, mister. It's milk or water, take it or leave it."

"Milk? Seriously, not even juice?" Killua made a face. When Kurapika didn't answer, he sighed. "Fine, fine. Can I have some water, please?"

Kurapika had already prepared him a glass of water, knowing that he would reject the other option. For all the time he's known him, not once has Kurapika seen Killua drink plain milk. Gon downed whatever he deemed edible, but Killua was slightly pickier. The blond would have pushed him, but being a picky eater himself, it seemed like a hypocritical thing to do.

When he returned, Gon and Killua were lounging on the couch, with Woble sitting quietly on the latter's lap. Kurapika set the drinks on the coffee table.

"How do you do it?" Kurapika found himself asking as he stared at Killua in awe. He shrugged.

"I've had a lot of practice, I guess." Makes sense. Kurapika's never had the pleasure of meeting his entire family, but Alluka and Kalluto seemed like good kids.

Meanwhile, Gon's sights were darting around the apartment suspiciously, almost as if he was looking for something out of place. Kurapika coughed lightly to gain his attention.

"Is there something wrong?" The blond had a hunch, but he wanted to hear him say it. Gon laughed sheepishly and rubbed the back of his neck.

"Oh, ah—No," he replied, now avoiding Kurapika's piercing gaze. The oldest didn't push any further. Gon was a notoriously bad liar; all he had to do was wait a few moments before he caved. One second, a bead of sweat rolled down his cheek. Two seconds, his fingers started to fiddle with the hem of his jacket. Exactly three seconds later, the teen grimaced; jig's up. "Well, Leorio mentioned that something happened to you last week…"

Kurapika rolled his eyes. Of course it was Leorio. "What did he tell you?"

"Nothing bad, really! He just said that someone broke in, and you were really sad because you lost something important to you…" Gon trailed off, a hint of shame and worry lacing his voice. "He asked us to check on you because you don't answer his texts—"

"Oi, Gon," Killua hissed, bonking the back of the other's head. "That's enough. You don't have to go that far—"

"Yes, he does." Kurapika interjected with an icy glare. Killua shrunk back slightly and grumbled something unintelligible. He knew they were caught red-handed, and fighting back any further was futile when Kurapika had that face on.

Gon gulped. "We just wanted to make sure you're okay," he admitted, now more determined than a second ago. "You're strong, and I know you definitely kicked butt, but you do tend to keep things bottled up…" When Kurapika looked at Killua, he nodded in affirmation.

"Yeah, what he said." Killua lightly bounced Woble on his lap. "We're friends, right? So, stop being so fu—"

"Killua."

"—fudging stubborn and talk to us," the silver-haired teen finished with a shit-eating grin, and the blond's furrowed eyebrows slackened.

…Well, now he just felt like a jerk. Gon and Killua always had his best interests at heart, and pushing them away was incredibly unfair. Kurapika stared at the two teens affectionately and smiled.

"Thank you. I really appreciate it," the blond said gently with an appreciative bow of his head. Gon beamed back happily while Killua's features reddened ever-so-slightly.

"You don't have to be so serious. It's just common sense," Killua muttered with a quick roll of his eyes. "But anyway, are you cool with telling us what happened?"

Kurapika glanced at Woble, who had taken to fiddling with the shiny zipper on Killua's shirt. "Yeah," he breathed out, nodding to himself. The two teens immediately leaned in, ears open and ready. It seemed like Woble was curious too, for her large, unblinking irises were now trained directly on him. "So, it was Friday, right?"

"To what do I owe the pleasure, Boss?"

Chrollo entered the dingy room without so much of a glance at Hisoka's wry grin. Meteor City was hardly the epitome of cleanliness, but the redhead sure loved to pick the weirdest meeting spots. This time, he told Chrollo to go to an abandoned meat packaging factory. He was accustomed to atrocious smells, but he hoped he didn't have to breathe the repugnant stench of decades-old, rotten innards for too long. If he didn't know any better, Chrollo would have assumed this was some sort of sick attempt at foreshadowing.

He walked towards what seemed to be a giant refrigerator, nestled cozily between two rusting meat grinders. Hisoka was casually swinging his legs over the edge, looking down at his leader with a wicked glint in his gaze. "I'm not playing around, Number 4," Chrollo warned. Hisoka clicked his tongue; this was serious. "Did you know about the book's condition before you gave me the target's information?"

Hisoka shifted to lie down on the cool metal. "Sorry, you've got to be clearer than that."

Chrollo continued to stand there, still as a rock, but those who knew him well always referred to his eyes if they wanted to know what he was thinking. Right now, they were suggesting that Hisoka should choose his next words very carefully. "The book's worthless. Its former owner treated it like a kid's menu from Menchi's."

"Moi? How could I have known?" Hisoka exclaimed, acting every bit like someone who had just heard the most scandalous piece of gossip. "But that is quite unfortunate," he eventually admitted with a mocking pout of pity. Chrollo could count the number of times he's lost his temper on one hand, but Hisoka held the record number of offenses by far.

Chrollo searched Hisoka's features dubiously before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a box of cigarettes. Without breaking eye contact, he lit one and puffed out a single cloud of smoke. "What exactly did Illumi tell you?"

"Enough to lead you straight to your goal," the redhead answered with a shrug. "Why so skeptical, hm—?"

"What did he tell you, Hisoka?" The silence afterwards was almost deafening.

"All right, all right. Sheesh." Hisoka held his hands up in surrender before jumping down to the ground. He landed gracefully right in front of his taciturn leader, who continued to look completely unimpressed. "He didn't give me a profile; I'm just as clueless as you are. However, I do know he's friends with one of the younger Zoldycks. You know, the one with the gorgeous eyes?"

When Chrollo gave him a blank stare, he sighed. "The silver-haired one," Hisoka continued, now frowning slightly. "You need to get out more."

Chrollo ignored the last statement to cross his arms in deep thought. What would Kurapika be doing with a family like the Zoldycks? The Phantom Troupe tried to avoid the mafia at all costs, but Illumi had somehow wormed his way into their business, anyway. It probably had to do with the fact that he was sleeping with Hisoka, but that wasn't something he was willing to discuss at-length any time soon. As he exhaled, faint wisps of residual smoke danced around him lazily. Maybe Kurapika had formed a temporary partnership with the Zoldycks to procure the book from an actual collector.

…But its condition suggested that Kurapika had owned it for quite some time. The book was sullied to the point where he wasn't even sure if he could sell it for fifty-grand.

Hisoka suddenly stepped forward and boldly plucked the still-burning cigarette straight from Chrollo's lips. Chrollo glared, but he didn't move to retrieve it from the redhead's pale, bony fingers. "I'm just gonna take an educated guess here," Hisoka murmured as he took a long drag. "You're not that upset about the book. Rather, you're perturbed by a certain, blond someone."

Was that what it was? He tried to think back to last Friday, before Kurapika had pepper-sprayed him at point-blank range. When he first entered the apartment, he was intrigued by how barren it was. Intrigued, yes, but not surprised. The blond's book collection was nothing to scoff at, either, but now that he thought about it, he wasn't particularly "amazed" by what he found, as if it was a new piece of information.

No. No, the feeling was more akin to… to the warm satisfaction of recalling a long-forgotten memory. He didn't know it at the time, but somehow, Chrollo knew that Kurapika kept an expansive personal library, and when he saw it, he felt sated, as if his brain simply wanted to confirm the fact. Of course, this wasn't a realization that came to him right off-the-bat. The moment he caught sight of Kurapika's large, cat-like eyes, something shifted at the back of his mind, and everything suddenly made sense. Chrollo had felt like he should have known it was Kurapika's home because the clues were so blatantly obvious.

But… how? They've never met before. Chrollo would have been able to recall someone who was brazen enough to talk back like he wasn't the leader of the world's most-feared band of criminals. Hisoka must have noticed how confused he looked, for he blew a puff of smoke directly at Chrollo's face.

"Stop fretting so much," Hisoka remarked, waving the cigarette in a small circle. "You'll get premature wrinkles if you keep frowning at the wall like that."

Chrollo glanced at Hisoka absent-mindedly and shoved his hands into his pockets. "You obviously know something that I don't," he said, leveling his gaze with Hisoka's. "How do you know Kurapika? Who is he?"

The redhead dropped his cigarette to the floor and snuffed it out with a quick stomp of his foot. Honestly, Chrollo wasn't sure why he even bothered asking. For all he knew, Hisoka was plotting to send him on a wild goose chase for shits and giggles. Even if he did end up offering a legitimate answer, Chrollo had no way of knowing if he was playing right into a trap.

The corners of Hisoka's lips curled upwards. "Try asking me again later," he suggested lightly as he strolled past Chrollo's stiff form. "But… if you decide to go ahead and find out for yourself, well, I certainly won't stop you." Hisoka's heels clacked against the cold concrete slowly, mockingly – he was daring Chrollo to wrench him back and demand a proper response.

—But he didn't. Chrollo allowed him to leave, and they both knew why.

Hisoka had just issued a challenge; one that Chrollo's pride wouldn't be able to deny.

Chapter 4 'Verse Notes:
-Since everyone is ~2 years older, Woble is going to be bigger, too
-Kurapika loves loves loves kids, but Killua's better at handling them sometimes lol
-I like to think that Killua doesn't like milk. Gon's grown slightly taller than him (like, barely half an inch), but no one ever points it out bc he hates it
-Menchi and Buhara have a cooking show! They also own a restaurant chain haha
-Hisoka does know Kurapika, but how? :')
-Dragon Hunter Z. Yes, I went there. Fight me
-Chrollo low-key hates the taste of tobacco, but he smokes on occasion to relieve stress

Thanks for reading!