Author's Notes:

RELATIONSHIPS: Neon Nostrade/Kurapika, Kurapika/Leorio Paladiknight

RATING: Mature

NOTE: Azzy and Cherry provided illustrations. To view the images, check out the uncensored version on Archive of Our Own (AO3 username: lemonpika).


Chapter 5: Bleeding by Design

Neon is gone.

Since Kurapika didn't bring back a body to bury, the remaining members of the Nostrade mafia family direct their prayers to a miniature urn of sand.

Grieving and guilt-ridden, Kurapika immerses himself in his business as Nostrade's official new boss as soon as the funeral rites have concluded.

Throughout the day, he works and works so that he has no space in his brain to think about anything else. When he can no longer keep himself upright and has to crash in Light's refurbished quarters, often after the dawn has already broken, recurring nightmares of his clan, of the Spider, and of Neon plague his mind.

He smokes cigarettes to cope. This morning mourning ritual involves rising from sweat-soaked sheets, extracting a cigarette from the pack on the nightstand, igniting the tip with a matchstick, pressing the filter to his lips, inhaling bitter smoke into his expectant lungs, and watching as flames progressively eat up the paper.

He should've done the same to the counterfeit fortune. He should've tossed it into the fire instead of presenting it to Neon and watching from the sidelines as she burned her life down. Some small part of him might've even derived a sense of schadenfreude as his plans fell perfectly into place.

She was right — he was ruthless with her. Perhaps he's always been heartless. Why is it that he always wriggled away from his mother's embraces and slapped away his father's hand during fond attempts to pet his head? Now his parents' bodies are cold and motionless and encased in earth. Never again will they reach out and enfold him in their warmth.

And neither will Neon. She loved him more than anybody. Of course, he had to go and destroy her and rob her of everything she valued. At the end of the day, is he any different from those Spiders he despises? Is he worse than the worst of them? Those savages, at least, protected their own.

As thoughts like these assault his every waking moment, he burns through one cigarette, then through another, then through another. His lungs protest against his new chain-smoking habit, but his hunger to repent through fire and fumes is greater.


In the haze of mafia dealings, each monotonous day bleeds into the next. The world welcomes a new millennium.

Two weeks after what would've been Neon's nineteenth birthday, Kurapika receives a lengthy voicemail from the ever-persistent Leorio. Through this message, Kurapika learns about the mysterious vanishing of the Black Whale, a vessel bearing a contingent of professional and provisional Hunters, royalty, and civilians participating in the Dark Continent expedition, extensively discussed both in the media and in the mafia territories he frequents.

Though he's been too preoccupied with business to pay attention to an expedition which, on its face, has nothing to do with him, the Black Whale's disappearance sparks renewed discussion among mafia circles.

It's then when a damning discovery comes to light — the Black Whale's passengers include not only the Phantom Troupe but also Tserriednich, fourth prince of the Kakin empire. Although unsavory rumors tended to emerge wherever the prince wandered, his documented taste for collecting flesh only receives wide circulation following his presumed death.

Kurapika drops everything to book a private airship to Kakin so that he can personally interrogate what remains of the fourth prince's camp using his Dowsing and Judgment Chains. Yes, Prince Tserriednich possessed a sizable batch of scarlet eyes, his men confirm. Yes, the prince also kept the preserved head of a twelve-year-old boy with maroon eyes in a box made of ballistic glass. Yes, the prince took his prized collection along with him on the voyage.

If several search teams of Hunters have failed to locate the lost vessel thus far, what chance does Kurapika have of doing so on his own, even with the aid of his Dowsing Chain?

He now fears he'll never be able to accomplish his two-fold mission of avenging his clan and retrieving all their eyes before he dies. He'll never be reunited with Pairo, his beloved childhood friend, whom he last encountered as a shriveled, headless corpse amidst the ashes of the village where they grew up together.

This devastating epiphany triggers the third-worst depressive episode of Kurapika's existence — the first transpired after he was orphaned at the age of twelve, and the second hit after he lost Neon.

He feels so directionless now. He's going through the motions and waiting to die, just like Neon did before him.


In a fit of misplaced fury, Kurapika responds to Leorio's voicemail about the Black Whale a month late. He warns Leorio to never even think of contacting him again. He rants that Leorio's constant calls have brought him nothing but stress, fatigue, and misery.

He's prepared to block Leorio's number, once and for all, if he tries calling again. But Leorio respects his wishes, as expressed in his vicious voicemail, and leaves him alone from that point forward.


Two years later, Kurapika runs into Leorio at a Hunter Association function spearheaded by Biscuit Krueger, who's serving as acting chairman in Cheadle Yorkshire's absence.

In unison, four brown eyes grow wide as their bodies bump into each other at the back of the auditorium in the association's headquarters.

"Nice outfit," Leorio blurts out, of all possible things.

They're both dressed in male formalwear — Kurapika's crisp and black, and Leorio's rumpled and sporting an antiseptic stain on its patterned tie.

"You like it?" Kurapika's voice, all of a sudden, sounds far away and disconnected from his body, at least to his own ears.

Leorio flashes a gorgeous grin, which certainly doesn't help Kurapika's attempts to claw his way back to earth. "Sure do! I've got to admit I miss your tabard, though. You feel most at home in your clan's cultural attire, don't you?"

Kurapika silently agrees with Leorio's assessment.

"Know what else I miss?" Leorio goes on. "That tight little lavender number you wore on the backseat of a car I once drove, complete with juicy cherry lipstick —"

"Oh, shut up." But Kurapika is smirking as he says it. He may not relish the memory of that day, which involved the abduction of his mortal enemy, but Leorio's crucial role in that mission is one he'll never regret.

"Listen, I was thinking of sitting in the back row so I can doze off whenever I want. Had a long day at med school. You know how it is. How about you? You got somebody to sit with? I heard from Gon and Killua they weren't attending."

Kurapika shakes his head. He doesn't mention that Melody, Basho, and Linssen came ahead and already saved him a seat. As soon as he and Leorio have claimed adjacent chairs in the back row, he surreptitiously sends Melody a message to say he'll regroup with them later at the hotel.

Kurapika slips his phone back into his trousers pocket. "Hey, I wanted to ask you something."

Leorio visibly stiffens in his seat. "Yeah? Shoot."

They're having a cordial conversation after years of icy silence between them. Kurapika has no plans of derailing their renewed closeness with heavy subjects just yet. "Why didn't you put your name forward when candidates were being considered for the association's acting chairman? You almost won the chairman title before, after all."

"You, uh, you know about that?"

"How can I not? Basho, one of my subordinates at Nostrade, showed me the viral video of your chairman election speech at the earliest opportunity. He swore the two of you would be best friends someday. He said something about resonating with your spirit. I should introduce you two after the function has finished, come to think of it."

Leorio is scratching his nape, his face beet-red. "You can tell the guy thanks, but I'm not accepting best friend applications currently. I already have a best friend. He can be a pain in the ass sometimes, but he really is the best." He stares into Kurapika's eyes, perhaps wondering if there'll be objections to this implication, but no objections come. "Look, my near-victory during the chairman election was a total fluke. Just like how I passed the Hunter Exam. All my successes are thanks to a mixture of luck and support from friends. Without you or Gon or Killua, who knows where I'd be?"

"That can't be true. None of your friends pushed you to that podium or coached you through your speech, right? The electorate must've seen something special in you. Strength. Passion. Courage. Charisma. And a good heart, above all. If I was present at the time, I would've voted for you in a heartbeat, you know? I would've campaigned for you to anyone who'd listen."

Leorio's face goes up in flames as Kurapika compliments him with no sign of stopping. Kurapika only ceases once Acting Chairman Krueger prances across the stage with a microphone.

As the lights in the auditorium dim and as the crowd hushes for Biscuit's slideshow presentation, Kurapika is forced to accept that Neon's speculations about his sexuality during their road trip were accurate. As much as he's tried since puberty to push away his increasingly alarming thoughts about men and the beauty of their bodies, all it takes is one conversation with Leorio for all his repressed feelings for his best friend to blossom.


That evening, after the event has wrapped up, Kurapika and Leorio have dinner at a restaurant in the lobby of a nearby hotel. It's not the same one where his Nostrade associates are staying. Kurapika would rather die than be caught in a date, or anything that can pass as a date. He's already dreading having to field Melody's questions about the tender cadence of his heartbeat since this afternoon.

"I've been meaning to apologize." Kurapika keeps his eyes on the bread that he's breaking with his fingers. "I lashed out at you over the phone when you did nothing wrong. The truth is I was going through a difficult year back then. The news about the Black Whale's disappearance only aggravated my troubles. However, I should've known better than to shoot the messenger, especially when that person is special to me."

Kurapika glances up at Leorio, whose cheeks are bulging with a baguette he hasn't bothered to tear into shreds. Upon seeing that an answer is expected of him, Leorio hastily swallows the bread. It goes down the wrong hatch and leaves him coughing and pounding on his pecs with his large fist.

Kurapika holds out a glass of water. "Are you okay? Take it easy."

Leorio downs the whole glass before venturing to speak. "Yeah, yeah. Thanks. I'm right as rain. This is just the way I am — running headlong from one embarrassing moment to the next. Bet you regret cutting ties with me now, huh? Imagine all these colorful capers you missed. Spend an hour with me and you'll have blackmail material for a century."

"I do regret enforcing a separation between us. I've missed you. Immensely."

Leorio averts his gaze. His cheeks are reddening again. "Um, look. I accept your apology. I get you've been going through a tough time. When that ship went missing, it affected everybody in the association, you and me included. It's been years, but we're still mourning that tragedy. We're still reeling from the aftershocks."

"Indeed. Thank you for being so understanding even though I don't deserve the magnitude of your empathy. At least let me pay for dinner as a small way to try and make it up to you."

"No need to make up for anything! I'm not even mad at you. What matters is we've patched things up. You're here now, having dinner with me. That's all I can ask for, really. I mean, fuck, Kurapika. I've missed you like crazy."

It's Kurapika's turn to drink his water as desperately as if he's been transported into a desert. He refills both his and Leorio's glasses with a pitcher then clears his throat. "It's too late to split the bill. I called the restaurant manager ahead of our arrival to ensure I'd cover our meal. As another way to repent for my antagonistic attitude toward you in the past, I'd also like to contribute to your medical school tuition fees and miscellaneous costs, if you'd let me."

Leorio grins wryly at him. "That's too much. You know, I'm losing track. Am I having dinner with my best friend, or did I walk into the wrong restaurant and somehow score myself a sugar daddy?"

"No reason you can't have both, right? There are enviable benefits to being in good favor with an up-and-coming mafia boss, you'll find."

"As tempting as it sounds to exploit your booming sources of cash flow, I think I'm good. Med school isn't cheap, but I make do."

Now that they've brought up the topic of medical school, Kurapika asks how it's going. Leorio says it's a difficult but rewarding field of study. He vastly prefers the practical work and exams over the academic aspects.

Leorio then switches up the conversation to inquire about what Kurapika has been doing for these past four years.

"I've collected all the scarlet eyes I can," Kurapika tells him. "Since my appointment as Nostrade's head three years ago, I've divided my focus between my efforts to retrieve my clan's remains and to rehabilitate Nostrade's reputation, such that it can conceivably compete in legitimate business circles."

Leorio is shaking his head over his bowl of tomato and basil penne. "I still can't believe you became the boss at age eighteen, especially when you'd only been with that mafia family for a year. I mean, it's not like I doubt your mad leadership skills, but how the hell did you spin something like that?"

Recalling all the steps he took and the lives he ruined to seize control of the family causes the old stormcloud to return to its usual spot over Kurapika's mindscape, where it sours his every mood and darkens his every thought.

Before Kurapika can spit out a clipped response, the expression in Leorio's face stills his tongue. His friend's brows are furrowed with concern. Leorio has noticed the shift that's internally taken place even though Kurapika has yet to utter a word.

Whilst gripping his cutlery, Kurapika screws his eyes shut and waits for the storminess to pass.

"You good?" Leorio asks when Kurapika opens his eyes again.

"I'm good." Kurapika smiles weakly. "I was just remembering something."

"Do I want to know?"

"Probably not."

Leorio reaches for Kurapika's fist, which is still curled around a knife, and rubs it as a gesture of comfort. "Hey, I'm here, okay? If you ever feel like opening up about anything, no matter what it is, I'm always down to listen. No judgment."

But Kurapika doesn't feel like talking anymore. What he craves more than anything is closeness with another human being after disregarding his desire for proximity for so long. Everyone he's ever embraced is dead now.

Kurapika bends over his bowl to shovel his mushroom ravioli into his mouth as swiftly as possible. The sooner they finish their meals, the sooner they can get out of here.


Once Kurapika confirms the restaurant bill, inclusive of a generous tip, has been charged to his platinum card, they relocate to the hotel bar for drinks. Kurapika orders a dirty martini, while Leorio asks for a whiskey on the rocks.

Kurapika slaps some Jenny on the countertop before Leorio can even reach for his wallet.

Leorio has just perched on a barstool and taken a sip when Kurapika suggests they transfer to the glassed-in smoking area of the bar. This drinking establishment isn't entertaining many patrons in the first place, and the smoking area is even more private, which aligns with Kurapika's ulterior motives.

If they do become intimate in the course of the night, as Kurapika hopes they do, he guesses Leorio would prefer for it to happen in privacy. Since Leorio always seems to front himself as a ladies' man, being witnessed in an illicit entanglement with another man likely isn't ideal.

They settle on the black leather sofas at a corner booth of the smoking area. Kurapika reaches into his pocket for some hard candy, which he unwraps and pops into his mouth. Leorio declines a piece when offered.

Leorio raises his eyebrows. "I thought we sat here so you could smoke?"

"No, I've been trying to quit. I was up to around two packs of cigarettes a day. Twice that for migraine-inducing days. I was starting to wheeze whenever I went up the stairs, which was a hassle. Now I'm clinging to my candy and my nicotine patches and hoping for the best."

"The stress must be eating at you, huh? Those successive promotions within Nostrade's ranks couldn't have been easy."

Well, to be accurate, it only took a single promotion to turn Kurapika's life upside down. But he just rolls the candy in his mouth and doesn't issue a correction. "I know it doesn't make sense, but lately I've gotten a kick out of staring at people smoking and reminding myself repeatedly that I'm not like them. Not anymore."

"Hey, as an aspiring doctor, I support whatever you need to do to break that harmful habit."

"You don't smoke yourself?"

Leorio sips his whiskey. "Only socially. I prefer weed over tobacco, actually. But I don't have a regular dealer anymore. I used to when I was a premed student."

Kurapika nods, his eyes steady on the swinging door of the smoking area. Just as the fruit-flavored candy finishes melting in his mouth, he observes as the only other patrons in the vicinity walk out.

Before he can lose his nerve, Kurapika drains his martini and gets up. "Hey, can I show you something?"

"Eh? Where are we going?"

"Finish your drink and come."

Kurapika leads Leorio into the shadow of a massive potted plant. Kurapika backs against the wall and waits for Leorio to step closer. Before Leorio can ask any questions, Kurapika yanks him in by his necktie for a kiss.

Kurapika braces himself for the possibility of Leorio pushing him away. Kurapika could've succumbed to wishful thinking, could've misread all the signals.

But Leorio throws himself into the kiss as if he's been waiting for it all night.

Perhaps he was, a small voice in Kurapika's head suggests.

Not a chance, another imaginary voice scoffs. This one is much louder. Leorio is just dying to get laid, and you happen to be the warm body closest to him.

Leorio licks his own lips when they pause for air. "Damn, you taste like cherries. You might not believe me now, but whenever I thought about kissing you before, I always imagined you'd taste this way. Sweet and tart."

"Because I used cherry-colored lipstick that one time?" Kurapika's tone is teasing even though deep down he's freaking out. Leorio has thought about kissing him in the past? Was he so deprived of female attention that he had to stoop so low in his daydreams?

"Not just that. Cherry is my favorite flavor, you see."

Before Kurapika can say anything else, Leorio's mouth is on his again. Leorio's lips are more insistent than before, and his hands are wandering all over Kurapika's body. He hooks Kurapika's legs around his waist so that they don't need to keep straining their necks to bridge their considerable height difference. His broad palms alternate between squeezing Kurapika's bottom and caressing Kurapika's bare back — when exactly was Kurapika's belt unbuckled and his shirt untucked?

Leorio checks in once to ask if he's going too far, too fast. But Kurapika, whose arms are wrapped around Leorio's neck, leans in and whispers into Leorio's ear that he only wants more. Faster.

Kurapika barely has any points of comparison, but he knows in his bones that Leorio is an excellent kisser. Half of his mind wants to pin Leorio down on a sofa and rip off all his clothes, while the other half can't bear to interrupt this electric current between them for even a split-second.

It takes all Kurapika's willpower to extricate his limbs from around Leorio's solid frame and shove him away by the chest. Not only is Kurapika trying to preserve their dignity in front of the stranger who's just entered the smoking area, but he's also trying to save his own skin. He seriously feels like he might spontaneously combust if Leorio keeps sucking on his tongue like that. He struggles to maintain his composure as he zips up and buttons his trousers and rebuckles his belt.

Leorio, who's prodigiously skilled at progressively undressing his partner while they remain none the wiser, doesn't seem to notice or care that somebody could spy on them. He licks his lips again and stares intently at Kurapika's. He appears to be waiting impatiently for the go-ahead so that they can resume their steamy make-out session.

"Do you want to spend the night together?" Kurapika suggests before Leorio's fraying self-control can snap.

Leorio answers yes before Kurapika even finishes asking the question.


They manage to keep their hands off each other on the way to the lobby, where Kurapika forks over his platinum card and books a double room. Their fingers brush — with an unmistakable crackle of electricity — in the elevator. In the hallway leading to their room, Leorio can't resist groping Kurapika's ass once, twice.

As soon as the door locks automatically behind them, Leorio seizes Kurapika by the waist, hauls him across the room, and throws him down on the bed.


(There is a deleted scene here.)


Leorio falls fast asleep after their second round. His rigorous medical studies, alongside his vigorous physical activities tonight, must've drained him.

In the afterglow, Kurapika simply lies there and stares at Leorio's unconscious form. Kurapika etches every feature — Leorio's tanned and sculpted physique, his toasty warmth, the serene sound of his breathing — into every compartment of his heart, into the gray matter of his brain. Kurapika feels like he can look at Leorio's face forever.

But then Leorio interrupts this endeavor by turning around in his sleep. His back is now facing Kurapika.

This is a prime opportunity to snuggle up to Leorio as the big spoon. Kurapika guesses that, with his height, most partners wouldn't welcome this preference. But his current partner is asleep now and can't protest.

Kurapika wraps his arms around Leorio's waist and presses his face against Leorio's back. Leorio's skin emits such a masculine, delectable smell. Aftershave and aloe vera. Leorio's body, so large and so gangly, somehow fits perfectly within his arms. This configuration of their bodies shouldn't work, and yet it does.

Feeling more comfortable than he can ever remember feeling in years — or perhaps even decades — Kurapika drifts off.


In an achromatic seaside locale, scarlet is threatening to spread.

The spider lily he laid over the chest of his dearly departed is blossoming in the dead of night. The violent color is staining her summer dress. It's painting her pallid lips. It's leaking from the corners of her mouth to her chin.

With the same shovel he used for a prior solitary burial, he heaps sand over the motionless form of this woman he loved and lost. A proper send-off shall restore the grayness, or so he prays.

Eyes clouded with sorrow, he stumbles toward the water to cleanse his shovel. It's now gritted with sand and stinking of rust.

He gazes into the unnaturally glassy surface of what should be frothing waves. Eyes like rubies stare back.

He falls to his knees. His stomach heaves. His arms pitch forward to obscure this reflection he sees. As he does so, however, the crimson he belatedly realizes is coating his hands and his wrists poisons the water with alarming rapidity.

In seconds, the sea is saltwater no longer. The sea is composed entirely of blood.

He tilts his face toward the full moon, perhaps to call upon any curative effects its gravitational pull may exact upon the tides. But the satellite gleams as scarlet as the sea.

Without warning, a tsunami of blood envelops everything in the vicinity and dislodges the shallow grave he's dug. For a moment, he can see and hear and taste and smell and feel nothing except the all-encompassing crimson.

Then the wave recedes. Flailing over blood-drenched sand, he witnesses the excavated corpse barreling straight toward him. He has no hope whatsoever of avoiding its impact.

The icy arms of the cadaver imprison his body with leaden weight. Its slimy mouth gushes blood into his.


Kurapika is crying hard when he wakes. Panic-stricken sobs. He immediately withdraws his arms from around Leorio's waist before he can taint the immaculate expanse of Leorio's back with tears or something even worse.

Upon this separation, every atom of Kurapika's body yearns at once to return to Leorio's warmth. He wishes he could wake up Leorio and harangue him with the details of his latest dream. Leorio will hug him and rub his back and keep all the horrors of his nightmares at bay, won't he?

Kurapika's hand is an inch away from shaking Leorio's shoulder when it freezes.

Kurapika smacks his own face with his palm instead. What in the world is he thinking? Why is he considering interrupting the precious few hours of a medical student's sleep for something as insignificant as his woes?

To ensure he won't be tempted, Kurapika crawls toward the far edge of the bed. He curls up and shudders as silent sobs wrack his body. His crying fit makes his chest ache and his face puff up. But this will end eventually, he knows. His tear ducts aren't bottomless.

As soon as his moment of weakness passes, Kurapika rises, yanks his necktie from where it's looped around a bedpost, picks up the rest of his clothes from where Leorio hastily discarded them on the floor, and gets dressed. Kurapika winces as the cotton of his shirt ghosts over the crescent-shaped wounds Leorio's fingernails have left on his back.

Kurapika searches his trousers pockets, but they only contain his contact lens case, his phone, and his wallet. He's out of nicotine patches, out of cherry-flavored candy.

God, he's dying for a cigarette. After a nightmare like that one, doesn't he deserve this much?

Pocketing the card key, he hurries out of the room to hunt for the nearest vending machine. Without hesitating, he punches the buttons to purchase a lighter and a pack of smokes. They're menthols rather than his favorite rose-scented cigarettes. But beggars can't be choosers.

Upon returning to their hotel room, he steps out to the balcony for a smoke. His hands are still trembling from the sheer force of his breakdown earlier. It takes several tries to ignite the tip of his cancer stick.

Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale.

The relief of being reunited with his favorite stimulant spreads all the way to the tips of his fingers and toes.

He's on his second cigarette soon enough. He stares at it smoldering in his hand. The regret of giving in to his urges is setting in. As if he needs something beyond Emperor Time to chip away at his lifespan.

Wait, why is he even dwelling on this right now? He's always done whatever he needed to do to attain his goals. Eventually, he'll reap all the consequences for his deplorable actions over the years. His past is irreversible, and his future is hopeless.

More than the damage his body has sustained and the years of his life he's squandered, what he should really regret is all the collateral damage he's caused.

He knows he's a monster for what he did to Neon. And she's not the only casualty, not the only life lost or jeopardized or altered for the worse in his eternal quest to achieve his two-fold mission.

The best thing Kurapika can do at this point is protect Leorio from himself. Leorio, with his bright future and his best intentions, deserves so much more than to be dragged into the inferno of Kurapika's cursed existence.

Kurapika crushes out his cigarette on the balcony railing and flicks it into the trash can before returning to the room where Leorio is still peacefully sleeping.

Kurapika tucks his pistol back into its holster and puts on his blazer. He then casts a last, lingering glance at Leorio's handsome face. Wordlessly, he wills Leorio to wake up and pull him back to bed.

But Leorio stays sound asleep. He's snoring, drool trickling from the corner of his mouth.

Kurapika turns away and leaves.


After their one-night stand, Kurapika contemplates calling Leorio to apologize or to explain why he left without a word in the middle of the night.

But Kurapika always winds up changing his mind at the last second. None of the phrases or sentences swirling around his skull sound anywhere close to acceptable.

Besides, it's not like Leorio is waiting by the phone for Kurapika to grace him with a call. Leorio is used to radio silence from Kurapika by now.

Leorio never calls Kurapika either. This doesn't surprise Kurapika at all. As expected, Kurapika is simply the most recent in Leorio's long list of conquests. Forgettable. Insignificant. Chances are Leorio has slept with another half-dozen women since their tryst.

Leorio might've dubbed Kurapika as his best friend more than once. However, Leorio surely won't hesitate to toss Kurapika aside now that the trivial mysteries of how Kurapika tastes and how easy Kurapika is to seduce have been answered.


At twenty-seven years old, Kurapika is working in his office at Nostrade's headquarters in a high-rise building. They relocated their base of operations to Yorknew City a couple of years ago since it's closer to the cluster of casinos Nostrade now runs.

Things have been going smoothly since Kurapika fully pivoted Nostrade's focus from its beginnings in organized crime to its legitimate business ventures in the gambling and private security industries.

Knuckles rap against the door. Linssen, his caporegime, enters the penthouse office. He's here to hand in a folder containing intelligence he collated at Kurapika's instructions.

"Thank you, Linssen. I'll call you if I have any questions."

Linssen bows his head and leaves. He snaps the door shut behind him.

Kurapika does appreciate Linssen's no-nonsense attitude. But a part of him misses having Melody, his underboss, and Basho, his second capo, around to balance out Linssen's flawless professionalism. A year earlier, the two of them took leaves to assist with the development of the beta version of Greed Island's reboot.

Back when they were working at Nostrade, Melody and Basho frequently fussed over Kurapika and inundated him with social invitations he habitually rejected. Despite their pushiness, or perhaps because of it, Kurapika considers those two his intimate associates, if not outright friends. He's not sure he can say the same about Linssen.

Of course, there's one person above all that Kurapika misses so much it aches. But Kurapika tries not to think about that person at all if he can help it.

Leaning back on his chair now, Kurapika opens the folder and flips through its contents. Linssen has delivered commendable research as always. These documents provide evidentiary support for a rumor Kurapika has been hearing.

The rumor states that, within Greed Island's beta, a few testers have reported sightings of a rarely-encountered non-player character described in the game's files as a modern reincarnation of Nostradamus. Upon fulfilling certain conditions, this NPC will grant the player a fortune. A ghostly green entity will possess her arm and write predictions for the player's future on her behalf.


As soon as Kurapika secures the necessary approvals to gain access to Greed Island's beta, he'll take his own leave from work and appoint Linssen as temporary head of Nostrade in his stead.

Kurapika intends to contact Melody and Basho once he enters the beta. With the information he gathers from them, he hopes to form ideas of where to begin tracking down potential sources of the fortune-telling rumors.

He can't help but suspect that the missing Light Nostrade is secretly involved in the beta's development. Why else would a character in the game be blatantly designed after Neon? She had admirers in the mafia, to be sure. But Kurapika doubts just anybody would dare bastardize her memory this way when the Nostrade family is still active and thriving. If somebody other than Light himself is indeed responsible, Kurapika would love to give them a piece of his mind.

The best-case scenario, obviously, is for Kurapika to score an opportunity to confront Light after all these years. He's ready to rage at Neon's father and make him pay for abandoning her at her lowest point and for permitting her to disappear without her family by her side.

Of course, Kurapika is acutely aware that Leorio is also working on the beta in the lucrative role of medical technical advisor.

Melody was the one who recruited Leorio to the development support team. She was watching Kurapika's face carefully as she relayed this news before her departure for the beta. Kurapika managed to retain a neutral expression as she spoke. Not a flicker of emotion marred his face.

Kurapika's heartbeat, though, would've given away his helpless yearning for one last encounter with Leorio. Before Kurapika dies, he longs to see Leorio's lovely bronze skin, to feel his warm arms embracing him, and to listen to the steady rhythm of his breathing.

Leorio is turning thirty soon, isn't he? His birthday is only days away.

Kurapika attempts in vain to convince himself he only wants to visit Greed Island to see Neon — or at least her pixel-constructed likeness — as well as the father who left her for dead.

When he's unable to deny his ulterior motives for securing entry into the beta, Kurapika has to remind himself that his excessive use of Emperor Time for various purposes over the years has substantially shortened his lifespan. As hellish as his life has been, it's a strange comfort to remember his days are numbered.

This isn't the first time he's dealing with a countdown to death. At this point, maintaining a calculated distance from everyone he loves is doing them a kindness, isn't it?