#phinks

Chrollo Lucilfer

Lowkey thought you were just... vibes. Like a pet cat with Nen. He had no idea why he let you into the Troupe except the aura you give off felt wrong in a way that interested him.

He’s unnerved by how still you are. You don’t ask for orders, don’t chatter, don’t offer opinions. You just… stand there like a decorative cursed doll.

Then, one day during a fight, he sees it.

You touch the guy once. Your Nen seeps into them like ink soaking cloth. And suddenly they’re screaming- falling into a loop of death that resets just before it ends.

Chrollo is fascinated. He wants your ability. He NEEDS it. You terrify him and he wants to keep you.

He’s weirdly polite to you from then on. Always says please and thank you. Never raises his voice. Never turns his back.

Pakunoda

She tried to read your memories out of curiosity, because you were so quiet and strange.

But she got nothing but swirling, non-linear fragments- your ability distorts even your own timeline. That shouldn’t be possible.

She looks at you completely differently afterward. You're unreadable, uncontrollable, and unkillable. That scares her, but she hides it well.

Becomes super protective of you even though she’s scared. Will absolutely shoot someone with a memory bullet for you on instinct now.

Machi 

She used to lowkey roll her eyes when you were just standing around. Machi was like, “You better not expect me to babysit the mute weirdo.”

But then you casually erased someone from existence mid-fight by flicking your wrist and whispering something under your breath.

Machi saw them rip apart, reassemble, and die again on loop while screaming.

Afterward, she blinked at you and was like “…Huh.”

Never questioned you again. Always throws a thread your way mid-fight, just in case. Kinda looks at you like a cat watching a washing machine- wary but obsessed.

Nobunaga

Was the most vocal about not trusting you. “You’re not a fighter. You don’t even carry a weapon. You just stand there all creepy.”

He found out the hard way. Saw your ability activate and had a whole existential crisis. “What the hell is THAT?? That’s not even Nen anymore!!”

Now thinks you’re cursed. Refuses to spar with you and is visibly nervous if you’re behind him.

Will NOT let you touch him. He dodges like his life depends on it (it does).

Phinks

Always lowkey picked on you. Not mean, but annoying. Thought you were just some weird mascot.

Then you hit a Chimera Ant with your ability and Phinks watched it die ten times in the span of three seconds- screaming for mercy between loops.

“...What the actual hell?”

Stares at you differently now. Like you’re a loaded gun with no safety.

Gives you headpats when you’re not looking, though. You scare him but he’s weirdly proud of you?? “That’s our creepy little freak. Don’t touch ‘em, they bite.”

Shalnark

Thought your Nen had to be stealth or manipulation-based. Ran some tests. Tried observing your aura when you weren’t paying attention.

It gave him a nosebleed.

After witnessing the loop effect, he sat down and just muttered “That shouldn’t even be real. Nen shouldn’t do that. That’s like- beyond causality.”

He’s both fascinated and terrified. Wants to study you, but from a distance, like a bomb in a box.

Keeps logs on your energy fluctuations. Swears you might be from the Dark Continent.

Feitan 

Immediately obsessed.

You give off “don’t touch me or I’ll consume your soul” energy, and he LOVES that.

After seeing you use your ability, he just looked at you and whispered, “More.”

Thinks your power is beautiful. Wants to work with you during tortures. Genuinely calls you “artistic.”

The only one who doesn’t flinch when you activate it. Stands right next to you and grins. Unhinged duo energy.

Uvogin

Was like “You’re so quiet. Come spar!!”

You declined.

Later, Uvo watched you toss someone into a time-splintered death vortex and his soul left his body.

He was like “……………..alright, I ain’t sparring you actually.” Still likes you, though. Thinks you’re cool.

Tries to high-five you. You never respond.

Franklin

He’s calm and level-headed, but even he was like, “What in the actual hell is their ability…?”

Thinks you’re the ultimate failsafe. As long as you’re around, the Troupe can never be completely cornered.

Talks to you more than the others. Knows you’re quiet but not dumb. Tries to include you in tactical conversations, just to show he respects you.

Genuinely trusts you with his back. You scare him in a good way.

Kortopi

He’s a little weird and unhinged too, so he felt oddly drawn to you even before your reveal.

After seeing your ability in action, he kept glancing at you and whispering, “Repeat. Repeat. Loop. Copy of time… endless…”

Doesn’t speak often, but when he does, it’s usually to you.

Bonolenov 

He sensed something unnatural about you before anyone else. 

After witnessing your power, he believes you are cursed- or blessed- by a god of infinite return.

Treats you with reverence. Like a priest to a cryptid. He never disrespects you, never jokes around. Thinks you walk between life and death.

Occasionally plays music in your presence without being asked. Quiet melodies, like a protective chant.

Shizuku 

She just thought you were boring at first. She was like “Oh they’re just like me. Head empty.”

Then she watched you trap a person in a death loop where they feel their body split open over and over again, and she just stood there blinking.

“Huh. That’s cool.”

Becomes obsessed with watching you do it. Doesn’t even care if it’s enemies or test subjects. She’s just like “Do the spin thing again.”

“Alright, kid. Lady at the store said this was good for babies.” Uvo holds up a bag of mixed vegetables. “Personally I prefer meat and beer, but I don’t know how many teeth you have yet, and most people say babies can’t have alcohol.” That’s a shame, considering his fridge is mostly beer.

You don’t really reply to him, but that’s because you’re so focused on colouring in pictures. Maybe Uvo shouldn’t have left you alone, but whatever. You seem okay. You usually cry if he’s not around though. Then again, you’re probably really hungry. Uvogin has decided kids are useless, because you don’t eat any of the food he does. He tried to give you beef jerky and you spat it out, much to his annoyance.

“And I gotta stop calling you kid,” he says to himself. He walks over to you and gets down on his knees to seem less intimidating, though you’ve not seemed to mind that yet. “What’s your name?”

You pause and then hold up your teddy bear. “Bear.”

Uvo pulls a face. “No, that’s not - I mean your name.” Your last connection to your clan, apart from your eyes.

“Bear bear!” you happily say, passing him your bear like it means anything. Uvo sighs. This won’t get him anywhere.

“Do you know what a name is? Naaameee.” He points at himself and then at you. “I’m Uvogin. Who are you?”

Nothing in your expression changes. Uvo thinks it’s for the better though. He wouldn’t want to remember your old life anyway. “Okay, kid. This isn’t working. So I’m just gonna call you…” He doesn’t know if he can call you Sarasa actually. He doesn’t want that to drive him mad. Or madder.

Uvo thinks for a moment. “Eh, Gremlin will do. You’re a gremlin anyway.”

“Gremlin!” you repeat. Uvo nods. Yeah, this’ll work.

Nobunaga knocks at the door. Uvo should be home, even if this is a surprise visit. He just fancied going to a bar and drinking like always. When there’s no response, he shrugs and just uses his key to open the door. Not like there’s anything he hasn’t seen anyway.

“Uvo! Hey, Uvo?” Nobunaga makes it two steps before seeing you, sat on Uvo’s ratty old couch and drawing what looks like an awful interpretation of Uvogin.

Nobunaga’s soul all but leaves his body. What the fuck? He doesn’t remember Uvo having a kid. Sure, he’s drunk most of the time he hangs out with his best friend, but Nobunaga thinks he’d remember that.

“Uvo!” The man in question finally comes into the living room, hair damp. “Uvo.”

“Yeah?”

“Uvo?” Nobunaga repeats for a third time.

“What?”

“Why do you have a child?!” You don’t even look like Uvogin! You look - Nobunaga sees it. Not as strongly as Uvo does, but enough to see Sarasa in your face as the light catches it.

Uvo just shrugs. “I dunno. I guess I’m her older brother.”

That breaks Nobunaga’s stare, and he focuses on Uvogin again. “When did this happen?”

“A few weeks ago.”

“A few weeks? Uvo, that’s a toddler! It takes more than a few weeks to make a-”

“She’s not related to me!” Uvo says. Well, Nobunaga can clearly see that.

“Okay. Then where’d you get her from?” He looks at you again. And realises. “Uvo… Uvo, is that a - that’s a Kurta?”

Uvogin shrugs again. “Relax. She doesn’t remember any of it, and she’s mine now anyway.”

Nobunaga runs his hand through his hair. This can’t be happening. “Oh my god. She’s a Kurta. She’s going to grow up, see Scarlet Eyes, and murder us.”

Uvo laughs like that’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard. “She’s not a Kurta anymore. I told you. She’s mine.” He crouches slightly and faces you. “Hey, kid. Come meet Nobunaga.” You put your crayon down and shuffle towards him. Uvo catches you when you stumble and puts you in an unwilling Nobunaga’s arms.

You squint up at him like you’re trying to make sense of him. “No… Nobu… Noba…”

“Nobunaga,” Nobunaga says.

You try for a bit longer and then point at him. “Nobu.”

Nobunaga’s heart might have just melted. “Yeah, I’m Nobu. That’s right. Well done, kiddo.”

Uvo grins in the most little shit way possible. “Knew you’d like her.”

“I didn’t want to like her! I came here for drinks! And now I’d…” You gently touch his hair without pulling it.

Yeah, Nobunaga is pretty sure he’d die for you.

Nobunaga visits often, teaching you how to hold a stick like it’s a sword. You don’t seem that interested though, as you just keep hitting him in the knees with it. Uvo encourages that.

It’ll be strange seeing Uvo without you today, but as the Spiders are all on a mission, Nobunaga assumes you’ll be left at home. Not great for you mentally, but what can he do?

His assumption is very wrong.

Uvo is uncharacteristically late, which already gets the troupe’s attention, but when little footsteps echo down the hallway, everyone goes from concerned do confused.

No. No, he wouldn’t. He didn’t. He couldn’t.

Nobunaga’s jaw goes slack as you make your way slowly into the base, Uvogin, your 8ft 6 protector, strolling behind you.

“Sorry I’m late,” he bluntly says. “She wanted to stop for crackers.” There’s a clatter and a thump, and Nobunaga sees Feitan and Chrollo have respectively dropped their sword and book.

“Uvo!” Nobunaga yells. “Uvo! What did we talk about? Why is she here?” You run over to him laughing and happy to see your ‘Nobu’.

“She cries when I leave her alone for long,” Uvo explains. “I mean, she’s a baby.”

The murmurs go quiet as Chrollo stands up and makes his way to you. Nobunaga doesn’t miss the way Uvo keeps his eyes on you. Half pride and half worry that Chrollo will try see if you have your family’s eyes.

Chrollo stops just before you. “Uvo. Why is there a baby here?” He sounds so calm. How is he calm about this?

“Oh. She’s my sister. Can’t call her my daughter cause I don’t know anything about being a dad, so I’m her brother.”

“Ah,” is all Chrollo says. A nice leader-like way to process this.

Then you finally look at Chrollo. The boss pales, if only slightly. His hands twitch before he controls them.

“She looks like her.” Not everyone knows who he’s talking about, but those who do understand perfectly. Phinks goes as far as to do a double take.

“I know,” Uvo says. “That’s why I forgot to kill her. And, uh, can’t really do that anymore.” His gaze hardens. “And before any of you get any ideas, if her eyes turn red and you try taking them, I’ll tear you apart.”

So he’s basically shoved the fact you’re a Kurta out into the open air. There’s silence for a minute.

“No,” Chrollo agrees as you put your tiny hand in his open one. “It’s a rule that Spider doesn’t harm its own.”

You quickly get curious about these strangers, and so Uvo lets you wander around. Feitan hisses when you get close, and you hiss in return. He nods in a way that might be acceptance of your new standing. Machi would swear blind that she’s not, but her eyes constantly follow you as you move around. She’d also swear she didn’t form a tear at the sight of your face, but that’s a lie too.

Eventually, you make your way to Chrollo, and the book that contains all the Nen abilities he’s taken. Uvo’s breath hitches. He doesn’t know how Chrollo would react to that.

You point at the book. “Book.”

Chrollo freezes, and when he looks at you, his eyes are in a different time. Then when he blinks and lowers the book, he softens. “Yes, little one. It is a book.” You pause and then run your hands over it gently, like you can practically tell it’s precious.

Uvo knows Chrollo is seeing the same thing as him. The same trust. The same innocence. The same bright presence.

You even flip through the pages. Chrollo doesn’t even flinch. He even looks away, towards Uvo.

“What’s her name, by the way?”

Uvo smiles with pride. “Gremlin.”

The entire Troupe explodes at that.

“Uvo!”

“Are you fu - freaking kidding me?” That’s Phinks, remembering he’s in the presence of a toddler.

“Have you met a child?”

“That’s not a name!”

“Name her something normal!” Machi yells.

“I think Gremlin is a nice name,” Shizuku offers.

“Name fits, in my opinion.” Uvogin would be mad at Feitan if he didn’t have a point.

“It doesn’t fit!” Nobunaga protests. “She only hits if she has a weapon!”

“She likes it!” Uvo defends.

“Gremlin!” They all go quiet at hearing you say your ‘name’.

“See?” Uvo laughs. “She likes it!”

Despite themselves, the Troupe end up adoring you, though not as much as Chrollo and Uvogin do. Five seconds after meeting you, Shalnark downloads tons of kids games, ones that are easy on the eyes for babies and not overstimulating.

However, he ends up liking them more than you do. Most of the time you’ll get bored and wander off, while he’s furiously tapping at the screen and trying to beat the levels.

“No, no, Gremlin! You need to catch all the apples! Look at what big brother Shalnark’s doing! No!”

Uvo finds him three hours later, still playing.

Chrollo is besotted by you. Utterly besotted. He will more often than not be found with you instead of the other Spiders, putting on some classical music for you (though you prefer the loud rock that Uvo blasts).

He also takes it upon himself to teach you how to read.

“Every child deserves literacy,” he argues.

Uvo scoffs. “She doesn’t need to know how to read, boss. Not gonna force her to go to school. Who the fuck needs to find the x in real life anyway?”

Despite these complaints, Chrollo buys you plenty of educational books, and begins teaching you the alphabet. Uvo suspects that Chrollo’s enjoying the teaching more than you enjoy learning.

“The letter S is shaped like this. S is for ‘Spider’.” He taps the pen to his chest and yours. “Spider is us, okay?”

You could draw scribbles and barely legible letters and he’ll praise you like you wrote a thesis. Chrollo ends up spending day after day lying on the floor with you, patiently teaching you until you have a reading ability far higher than your age. Yet no matter how much he says you need to be able to do these things yourself, he will read it to you.

He’s grateful for how Uvo never comments on the fact most times, Chrollo will slip up and call you Sarasa.

While others in the Troupe tend to baby you, Feitan doesn’t. Machi makes you clothes, and Phinks pretends you’ve beaten him in wrestling, but Feitan doesn’t do any of the sort. In fact, he acts almost tsundere towards you. He’d die for you, doubtlessly, but he’ll never let that show.

In fact, he has an odd little nickname for you. As you only called him Fei for the first year of knowing him, he retaliated and shortened ‘Gremlin’ to ‘Grim’. You could run up to him and happily start speaking about a new book or fighting move, and he will say ‘Hello, Grim’.

He did get you a smaller version of his umbrella for your third birthday (aka the day Uvo found you, because none of them know your birthday), and laughs when you ‘beat’ Phinks in a wrestling match though.

You’re six when they start planning to go to YorkNew.

And you’re the absolute spit of Uvo in personality. You’re half wild and strong and feisty, and nothing at all like what a Kurta ought to be. You haven’t killed before, but it’s only a matter of time. When you come of age, you’re going to be made into Spider 0. That was the conclusion Chrollo came to. You’re the next generation of the Spider. The blank slate. The new beginning. Their symbol.

Also much like Uvogin, you only listen to Chrollo and the other members of the Spider. The rest of the world could burn in your eyes. You’ve never known anything but them. You don’t want any other life.

They’ve already warned you that out there are scary people who might want to hurt you for your red eyes. People who wouldn’t care for who you are, or how much the Troupe love you. Because of that, Uvo taught you how to fight at a young age, and how do bite. You’ve inherited his volume and most of his personality, and his loyalty. Sometimes the Troupe genuinely forgets you’re not actually his sister, and you’re the last surviving Kurta.

Not that they’d ever tell you what a Kurta is. You were never meant to be with that clan anyway. They couldn’t even protect themselves, let alone you. You’re just aware that Uvogin took you in and your biological family were too weak to be fitting parental figures.

Uvo loves you more than anything in the world. You’re his legacy, and his kid. Maybe you started a a a replacement for Sarasa, but you’re a piece of him now too. He swears that he was meant to find you, and you were meant to be part of the Spider. Why else would you be born looking exactly like Sarasa?

He’ll still see her in you though. Especially when you trail after him and Chrollo with a fearless smile.

Uvo lost Sarasa. He’s not losing you.

Kurapika sometimes hears stories about surviving clan members. All rumours, because he buried everyone who was said to survive.

Except one.

He never found you by your parents. Of course, he’s not foolish enough to think his baby sister is alive, but he hopes. He hopes so bitterly. He doesn’t know how you’re still alive, but logic evades him when it comes to you.

He’s got a reward on every Hunter website for your safe return to him. For there to be another Kurta, let alone it being his sister… he doesn’t know how he could ever let you out of his sight again.

The car goes hurtling down the street, and you yelp and dig your nails into Feitan’s arms.

“Grim!”

“Sorry, Fei-Fei!”

Shalnark brakes suddenly, and the car twists around. You look out the window for that split second. There’s a large group of people about, but no one’s that focused on Shalnark’s awful driving. You were meant to stay at the base until tonight, when the auction would be raided, but you’d so badly wanted ice cream. As soon as you’d mentioned it, Shalnark had the same craving, and so he, Phinks, and Feitan promised to take you.

Oh - someone is focused on the car. Some blonde boy.

Who’s staring at you.

It’s been four and a half years. The last time he saw you, you were barely able to walk. Your eyes hadn’t even turned scarlet.

And yet you’re here.

Impossibly, perfectly here.

Kurapika knows Leorio will call him insane. After all, he’s only seen you for less than a heartbeat, and it’s been so long.

But he knows. He knows because he’s your big brother, and the world is less terrible when he knows you’re alive. It will never erase the pain of the massacre, but to have you back. If Kurapika could’ve brought back anyone, it would be you.

Uncaring of anything else, he breaks away from Leorio and Gon. Killua briefly calls his name, but he can’t focus on that. All he can focus on is the fact you’re here. He doesn’t even notice who you’re with.

He can’t help switching into the Kurta tongue flawlessly despite how many years it’s been.

“Y/N! Y/N, it’s me! It’s Kurapika!”

The car races away and he can’t keep up with it. But he can hear you from where the window is down.

You look back to the weird blonde guy and frown before turning to Feitan.

“What was that language?”

Feitan shrugs. “Never heard it before. What’s a Y/N?”

You shrug too. “I don’t know. Can’t be anything to do with us. Now can we get ice cream?”

“Yeah,” Phinks adds, “before Shal murders us all.” You burst into laughter with your older brothers as Shalnark argues and protests and tells Phinks he can drive himself if it’s so awful.

“Where is she?” Kurapika asks. The chain is wrapped around Uvo’s heart. He’s so close to getting to you after so long. “I heard her say the name of your fellow Troupe member. Give her back to me and I’ll let you go free. I’ll let you all go free.”

Uvo laughs, and blood comes out of his mouth. “Go to hell, chain freak. Gremlin’s ours. Been like that since we found her.” Found her. As if they’d just encountered you randomly. As if they hadn’t killed your entire family.

Killed all but one. Kurapika tightens the chain.

“You think,” Uvo manages, ”I’m letting you drag my girl back to graves she doesn’t remember? She’s happier if she doesn’t know.” Kurapika knows he’s right about that. But damn it, your older brother needs you.

“You kept her alive all these years. Why? You killed others far younger than her.”

Uvogin grins. “She reminded me of someone. Couldn’t leave her. I got attached too quickly. I loved her the moment I saw her.”

No. That’s not true. Kurapika loved you the moment he saw you, the moment your mother placed you in his arms and told him to meet his new baby sister Y/N.

“You couldn’t leave her,” Kurapika repeats. “So you made her into one of you?”

“She wanted to be with us!” Uvo yells. The chain is too tight. He has to be using all of his strength for this. “She doesn’t know anything about you! Doesn’t even speak your language! Don’t waste your breath trying to remind her! The others will kill you before you get to her! She’s mine! Do you hear me? She’s my daugh-”

The chain crushes his heart. Kurapika supposes he should’ve asked for more information on the other Spiders. He doesn’t care though. Any mercy he had is gone now.

You sit up and blink, startled from your nap. Nobunaga notices and intentionally loses the game of cards he’s playing with Shalnark.

“Gremlin? You good?” He walks over to you. You frown. You feel fine. “Was it that ice cream? Shalnark, she’s six! You can’t just get her four scoops of ice cream. She’ll be sick.”

“No,” you interrupt. “I don’t feel sick. I just feel… weird. Like there was something in my chest.” A faint ember of scarlet blossoms in your eyes as you concentrate to recall the sharp feeling. Nobunaga doesn’t even bat an eye towards it, all of the Spider used to your eyes changing colour, and puts his hand on your forehead.

“You feel fine. No temperature.” He then laughs teasingly. “It’s just because Uvo’s not back yet, I bet. Jeez, you really don’t sleep well when he’s not around.”

He’s not back yet? You look around the hideout like he’ll appear.

“Nobu, when is he coming back?”

“I’m sure it’ll be soon, kiddo. Don’t you worry. Uvo would sooner die than miss telling you your favourite bedtime stories.” He ruffles your hair, but not like how Uvo does.

You partially relax as the other Spiders reassure you too.

There was a rare species of lily native to the region, nearly extinct, and you'd chosen it instinctively. Earlier, you'd noticed a bee—likely the exact one needed to pollinate the flower if you remembered the colouring correctly. It seemed fitting.

It hadn’t been a corpse in front of you, but rather a whole stack of documents that had been infused with nen to oppose fire, decay and brute force. Destroying them outright was perhaps impossible with your strength, but Chrollo had proposed a loophole. Your nen didn’t destroy so much as it reformed. Maybe the nen protecting the papers wouldn’t resist if the object was simply changing shape.

You doubted he cared much about the documents themselves—what he really wanted was to see if his hunch had been correct.

And then, the moment your pen grazed the packet of seeds, something clicked in your mind. A quiet, almost imperceptible snap—like a door opening somewhere far away.

You caught yourself just before scoffing aloud. A joke had nearly slipped out, something offhanded and dry. But you bit your tongue. You both knew too well how humor could be misread- taken as a sign you were in a better mood (you weren’t), or worse, interpreted literally. That would have been the more dangerous misunderstanding.

Still, as you stood waiting for the sprinkler to finish filling, the joke kept looping in your mind. Harmless at first. Just a mental echo to pass the time. But with each repetition, it grew heavier. Less like a throwaway thought, and more like a seed itself.

When you poured the water over the documents, the nen inside the paper immediately expanded for a brief moment, during which you felt Chrollo bristle and step closer to you. Usually it took a while to take root, but the water was sucked up by the nen like a sponge.

For a split second, you thought your hatsu had failed. Maybe there was something in the protective layer that repelled your ability. Some condition or counterforce you hadn’t accounted for.

But then it happened.

The defensive nen withdrew. And yours surged in.

Ivory lilies exploded from the document without warning. No slow bloom, no curling vines easing out, just fully-grown flowers tearing through each page like shrapnel. One launched straight at your face, and you had to jerk back to avoid getting skewered by a stem.

The room went wild. Pages split open with violent force, spitting out blossoms at every angle. Chrollo grabbed your arm and yanked you toward the door, nearly getting his leg caught as a wave of flowers surged past. Thick stems and petals slammed against the walls, bending the wood inward like the whole cabin was breathing too fast.

You stumbled out just ahead of the crush. Behind you, the cabin groaned under the pressure. Lilies burst through the floorboards, cracked through the windows, and split the roof open like wet paper. Within seconds, the entire clearing was buried in flowers, thick and fast and still spreading, swallowing everything in their path.

And they weren’t stopping.

Chrollo didn’t say anything at first. He stood still at the edge of the field, chest rising and falling, eyes fixed on the cabin as it disappeared under the spreading mass of lilies.

The wood cracked again, louder this time, then collapsed inward. The roof caved in completely. Petals and splinters shot up like a geyser. Chrollo lifted his coat to block the debris, but didn’t step back. His stare was intrigued as he wolf whistled at the destruction.

You glanced at him, still catching your breath, realizing you felt your nen expand even further, with no trace of the original nen. “That wasn’t supposed to happen.”

Before he could say anything, see any more, you grabbed the edge of his coat and tugged on it in the direction away from the cabin. “It’s dangerous to stay here. The nen on the documents must’ve had some trap built in on it.”

Instead, he stepped forward, brushing a lily aside with the back of his hand. His fingers hovered just above the flower, but didn’t touch it again.

“It did not bypass the nen,” he said, more to himself than to you. “It exorcised it.”

You felt a chill crawl up your spine. He’d noticed. “That isn’t possible. I did not-”

“It was my nen on those documents. I felt it,” he continued. “I thought your ability restructured matter, but this-”

He turned toward you now, eyes sharp.

“You could purge nen.”

You shook your head and like a broken record when talking about your own ability, you fearfully muttered. “That’s not what it’s for.”

“But it could be.”

You hated how interested he sounded. Like he was already weighing the options on how to use your ability. This was a problem. At least he’d discarded your ability as useless at first, but this was dangerous. He’d steal and use your precious ability for even more horrendous things, not just to hurt you, but because your ability made it possible to begin with.

Behind you, the lilies kept spreading. The ground cracked as roots pushed deeper. Something groaned beneath the soil, like the earth itself was struggling to breathe.

The feeling you had while standing there, watching it slowly get drowned by previously extinct lilies, until the foundation of the cabin could no longer support the pressure and the flowers made wood splinter everywhere, made you certain. 

Chrollo had done this to experiment with you, to see how your ability worked to the finest details. But the possibility- the opportunity that had arisen within you as a joke by mere chance. He did not know about that. He didn’t. And even without experimentation you knew.

It’d work

…

Chrollo looked back at the wreckage. His expression was unreadable.

“We should leave,” he said finally.

You followed, but couldn’t stop looking over your shoulder to see the growing mountain of blue. The cabin was gone. The forest edge was next.

– X -

The calendar loses a precious component.

 The remaining months gather to mourn.

 The mourners play a melody

 While the eleventh moon quietly rises.

The chrysanthemum withers and falls,

 To lie on the ground beside bloody Scarlet Eyes.                

But you will remain supreme

 Even after losing half your limbs.

Enjoy the interlude.

 Search out new allies.

 East is the direction to go.

 To find help and chase the pollen

– X-

The calendar loses a precious component.

The remaining months gather to mourn.

Do not detest the silence

Your companionship will be sought

A door appears, silent and unmoving.

To pass through it is to hold yourself in stasis

To refuse is to dissolve into something else

True progress lies in the surrender of what was.

Be wary of those who wish you well

The fangs extend not out of need,

You will face the moon from a place of shadow,

 and in your bloom, the seeds of your kingdom will scatter.

– X -

Then came Nobunaga’s voice, low and unusually quiet: “There is someone.”

All eyes shifted. Slowly. Toward you.

You knew it before he said it. Felt it in your gut.

“You.” His words hit like a quiet gunshot. “Boss mentioned you could purge nen. Could you get rid of it specifically?”

Your mouth opened, but no words came. Your stomach flipped.

“I—no?,” you tried. “I still don’t think that’s what happened, and the boss would have to die first. I can’t fix whatever the chain user did.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Pakunoda interrupted, arms folded tight. “We can experiment with it a little beforehand. plenty of items here have nen, we can see what happens when you target nen specifically. If it doesn’t work, we’ll know then.

And there it was.

You froze.

Nen was a highly personal energy, and you couldn’t form a hatsu if you weren’t highly attuned to its properties. It was how you felt that something had changed with your hatsu recently, how you instantly recognized your own actions as a purging nen and it was how you could tell that their idea would actually work. It’d cost something, but it’d work.

Not that you wanted it to.

But it would.

You felt like a doe in headlights, everyone’s eyes suddenly pointed at you. The sudden full-attention of the group was intense, and you could do little but shy away, knowing deep within that there was no way in hell.

“I’m not going to do that.” You said softly, looking down at your feet. “Even if it does work, I won’t give back his nen.”

Feitan hissed something in his native tongue that you knew basically meant ‘moron’ and Phinks moved in at the same time. Too fast. You didn’t even flinch before his arm was around your waist. He hauled you up like you were nothing, a sack of nerves and regret, and carried you out of the main room without a word. The others didn’t stop them. They just watched in silence.

Pakunoda and Franklin exchanged a glance. Neither spoke.

You were dropped, none too gently, outside the door. Feitan followed, eyes sharp as blades. He flicked you in the forehead, hard.

“Stupid,” he spat. “Stupid, stupid.”

You stumbled back, hands raised instinctively. “I’m not stupid! Giving him his nen back would be the stupid thing! It’d be suicide for me—you know that!”

“Suicide?” Feitan scoffed. “Boss helps you. Don’t spit on his affection for you.”

You paled with anger. “His affection? Mind-controlling me, kidnapping me, stealing my ability?” 

There was more you wanted to say. About the frilly outfits he sometimes made you wear, or the incessant ways he touched you. Only Pakunoda knew about that, because you’d loudly screamed the memories at her when she’d braided your hair once. She’d let go and hadn’t mentioned it once. 

“You don’t get it,” Phinks snapped. “You really don’t get it.”

His face was flushed with frustration, fists clenched like he was holding back from shaking you. “You think we won’t force you? You want to see what that looks like? Do you want us to flip a damn coin on it?”

“Do not do this.” Fei said, eyes intense, pleading with you not to go down this path. Immediately, you realized the extent of his question. Don’t make us do this. “Using Shalnark’s ability would break the rules. You have to do it.”

You stared at them.

The realization sank in slowly, like cold water seeping into your lungs. For a moment, you had clung to the desperate hope that this was just pressure, just tension, just a show of force to scare you into compliance. That they were bluffing. That maybe, just maybe, there was still some line they wouldn’t cross when it came to you.

But there wasn’t.

They didn’t want to hurt you.

But they would.

They’d do it without blinking, if it meant bringing Chrollo back.

You looked at them. Feitan, barely containing something sharp and venomous under the surface, and Phinks, with his jaw clenched too tightly, fists twitching like he hated what he had to do. Like he wished it could be any other way.

But not enough to stop.

And that’s when it hit you: these people, this group of thieves and murderers, this family, the only one you’d ever had... they must be dead inside. Not metaphorically. Not poetically.

Truly.

Utterly.

Because if these men, who’d grown up alongside you, who you’d fed and taken care of and loved for years and years and years, could look at you, and still weigh your pain against someone else’s nen and choose that?

Then what else could they be but hollow?

“Oh, wow,” you said, voice almost dazed, eyes flicking between Feitan and Phinks. “You two really mean it, huh.”

For Chrollo.

Always for Chrollo.

Phinks opened his mouth, and for a second his voice betrayed him, there was something raw, something reaching. “Please-”

But you were already smiling.

Not a real one. Not even close.

It was the kind of smile that made people flinch, made both men instinctively take half a step back. Like it physically hurt to see that expression on your face.

“Well,” you said, blinking fast, keeping the tears from falling by sheer force of will. Your eyes shone anyway, too bright, too full. “If my life’s taught me anything, it’s that-”

Your voice cracked. Just once.

“-you don’t always get what you want.”

–X-

The stone beneath you is cold. It seeps into your skin like it's trying to erase you.

You shift, barely, and pain lights up your body in white-hot streaks. Your wrists throb. Your ribs ache with every shallow breath. There’s blood dried into the lace of your sleeves, crusted into the delicate frills that once made the dress feel silly, excessive. Now it just feels obscene.

That’s a lie.

It’d felt obscene for a while now.

Ever since Chrollo took you in and turned your style into a way to appease you, a concession in the mountain of things he took from you. Even then, he chose what you wore, he chose when you wore it, and he chose when you’d take it off. 

You blink hard. Your vision swims. The dim basement around you blurs, tilts. Shadows flicker along the stone walls. Someone must’ve left a single bulb on above the stairs- barely enough to see by. It casts a long, lonely circle of light that doesn't quite reach you.

Your dress is torn at the hem. One shoe is missing. You’re not sure how long you’ve been here, but your legs feel like they belong to someone else. You try to sit up.

Bad idea.

They’d really tried.

Soft words at first. Promises whispered like lullabies: It’ll stop the moment you agree. Cold strategies followed- detached discussions about alternatives. Other ways. Mercenaries who could escort you. Tools that might “make it easier.” It all unraveled into one barren truth: if you refused, they couldn’t force you.

And that made everything worse.

Feitan had taken it hardest. The failure, the powerlessness. He hadn’t said anything when he tore the nail off your finger- just stared at it afterward, as if expecting it to hold some kind of answer. It hadn’t. After a moment, he turned and walked out without a word.

Phinks had surprised you. He didn’t touch you. Not once. But he stayed the longest.

He just watched.

Watched while you trembled. Watched while you bled. Watched while the silence filled every crevice of the room until it pressed on your ribs like another weight.

You heard voices above you, muffled through floorboards and walls. Heated. Familiar. Then violent. The air cracked thick with killing intent – sudden and suffocating–when one of the newer members offered to “take care of it.”

Tried to, anyway.

You remember fragments.

Phinks shouting. A crash, loud and final, like a table thrown across the room. Feitan’s silence, more vicious than anything he could’ve said. The ring of something hitting the wall.

Then quiet.

You don’t know how long it lasted, but you remember Phinks stepping back from you, hands twitching. His face had gone pale.

“She’s not going to do it,” he’d muttered.

“She will,” someone else said. “It’ll just take… a bit longer.”

“Then I can’t look at her right now.”

That was the last thing you heard before footsteps left the room. The door stayed closed. You were left here, discarded for now– because hurting you wasn’t working. Not yet.

Your fingers twitch against the stone. You pull them closer, tucking your hands to your chest. A curl of ribbon from your dress is stuck to your palm, soaked dark. It used to be pink.

You don’t know if you’re crying. You think maybe you already were.

Even if you survive this. If you crawl out, breathe fresh air again. It won’t matter.

You’re done.

You can feel it in your bones, deep in the marrow. There’s nothing left to give. Your body is broken. Your mind is splintered.

 A part of you wants to give in, save Chrollo and just continue the impasse as it had been. Some part of you wants to fake it all and try and escape mid-way, to run and run until there’s no place they’ll ever find you. It’s a fun little mindgame, but that would mean giving up on your dream. It would mean living on when your heart is torn between such intense hatred and sorrow towards the only family you’d ever known.

It’d mean living on in exhaustion.

The poem repeats in your mind. This is the end of the line, and some quiet part of you accepts it.

Your hand trembles as you raise it. It takes everything you have to summon your hatsu.

It appears in your palm, but the weight is too much now. You can’t even lift it properly. Doesn’t matter. You’re not using it the usual way.

You can barely read through the blur, through the haze clouding your mind, but you don’t need to. You know the shape of what you're doing.

The seed packets appear, edges crumpled from the blood you’ve already smeared across them. You don’t have ink. You don’t need it.

You bite into the tip of your finger, fresh pain blooming. The blood wells up fast.

You write your name.

It’s shaky. Almost illegible.

You stare at it with a strange sort of detachment. A signature on your own grave.

They wouldn’t let you bleed out. They took a break, just as much for their sake as for yours, but you know they'll be back with Machi, who’ll beg and plead you to give up and save their precious boss. 

If you’re going to die down here, you’ll leave something that outlives you. That’ll fulfil your purpose even when you failed in every single way. Something they can’t just burn and defile and turn into trash like everything else.

You flip the packet over with unsteady fingers. It sticks to your skin.

You press your finger to the paper and begin to scrawl. Each letter jerky and urgent, like your body knows it doesn’t have long.

WORLD TREE

Your vision pulses. The pain in your body dulls under something colder.

Whatever happens next… at least it’ll be yours. Not Chrollo’s. Not the Troupes.

Yours. You think as you wait for the watering can to fill. You reach for the watering can. The spout gurgles to life with that usual violet flow. It’s luminous, heavy with Nen. It surges faster than it should, as if it, too, understands time is short.

Your arms tremble. The muscles threaten to give out. Footsteps echo, drawing closer, but they no longer matter. You grip the handle, dragging the can toward you. With a last effort, you tip it forward, letting the water rush over your body, saturating your skin, your wounds, your will.

There is no pain now. There’s only a rising haze, a thick, slow confusion as your body falls back. Your breath catches. A tremor moves through your gut. Then–

It breaks through.

A sapling, small, impossibly green, pushes free from the center of you, its roots already threading down, as if the earth itself were waiting beneath the floorboards.

You blink once, twice. Not in agony. In disbelief.

So soon?

Didn’t you have to kill yourself first? 

You weren’t even sure it would work.

Were you already gone?

You put your head back on the floor. It doesn’t matter now. Let them come. Let them find what you’ve left behind.

Let them remember what bloomed here,

-X-

You wake with soil in your mouth.

It’s cold, wet, packed around your limbs like a second skin. You can’t see. Everything is pitch black, your chest squeezed tight by the weight pressing down on it. The air is stale. You choke as you cannot breathe anything in.

Your arms move first. They are slow, aching, like they’re not yours. You push against the earth above, fingers clawing at compacted roots and stone. You don’t know where you are. Panic hits hard and fast. You thrash, kicking, scratching, forcing your body upward with brute instinct.

Fingers break through first. Then your wrist. Then your face. Light stabs your eyes, sharp and blinding, as you rip through the final layer of dirt with a hoarse gasp.

You tumble out onto the ground.

But it’s not ground.

It’s bark.

You lie there, chest heaving, sprawled at the gnarled base of a tree so large it takes your brain several long, confused seconds to even register what you’re looking at. The roots arch above you like ribs. The trunk stretches upward past the clouds, past the sky itself. You try to focus, but your head is spinning. You feel small- no, insignificant- beneath it.

Your hands press against the bark. It feels familiar. Too familiar.

You look down at your arms.

Your skin is wrong.

It’s your skin, but not. Coarse in places. Your fingertips are rough, like they’ve been dipped in sap and left to dry. Hair falls in front of your face as you lean forward, and you freeze when you see it. Vines twist through it. Soft blossoms are tangled in the strands, fresh and damp like they’ve just bloomed there.

You tear one out, and it grows back instantly.

Your heart hammers. Something has changed. Something is changing. You stare at the massive trunk again, and your mind flashes back. Roots, water, poems, Chrollo, the lilies. The last thing you remember is–

The tree shifts.

A groan vibrates through the ground…no, through you. Like it recognizes you. Like it remembers with you.

You take one step forward and stumble.

The bark underfoot is uneven, slick with moisture, and spongy like new growth. You catch yourself on a thick, knotted root the size of a car, your fingers pressing into its grooves. Your nails scrape over something smooth. Stone? No, concrete. A piece of a streetlight is tangled in the wood.

You blink. A distant thump-thump-thump rattles your ears, low and steady. You tilt your head. It’s not the tree. Not this time.

Helicopters.

You look up, squinting through the shifting branches that cut through the sky. A black shape passes overhead, then another. Spotlights drag across the trunk. There's shouting, static in the wind, and something sharp and shrill. Sirens, maybe.

Your eyes drift down, finally seeing what lies beyond the roots.

The city is broken.

Buildings are split open like toys stepped on by a careless god. Roads are ruptured. Glass glitters across sidewalks like frost. Cars are crushed beneath the roots, some still smoking. In the distance, an entire skyscraper leans sideways, stopped only because the tree’s limbs have wrapped around it.

Fires burn in scattered clusters, too small to catch on the damp, growing wood, but bright enough to stab at your vision. You see people running. Tiny figures, far below, scrambling through the chaos.

A helicopter arcs lower. Through the spinning blades and flashing lights, someone shouts something through a speaker, but the words don’t reach you. All you hear is the wind, and the slow, almost thoughtful creaking of the tree as it shifts again.

Your head throbs.

You try to step off the root, but your legs buckle. The bark of your shin splints as you land hard. There’s no blood, just a sticky amber seep.

You stare at it.

You should feel fear. Pain. Something.

But your mind is foggy. Heavy. Like you're still dreaming. You try to speak, but the sound that comes out is hoarse and quiet. Not quite yours.

Another helicopter swings around, closer now, its spotlight locking onto you. You raise a hand, instinctively, as if to shield your eyes, but the vines in your hair move on their own, twisting upward.

The light flickers.

Then the tree groans again, louder this time.

You squint up.

The helicopter shifts, hovering just a little too close.

Then the tree moves.

A branch (no, a limb, thick as a train car) lashes downward, not fast, but with terrifying intent. The spotlight cuts out instantly. There's a flash of motion, then smoke, metal shrieking, and the sound of the helicopter being torn in half like paper. One half spins out of view, trailing fire. The other crashes into the side of the tree with a sickening crunch, where vines immediately wrap around it like a closing fist.

You stare, unmoving.

The tree is protecting you.

The realization settles like a stone in your gut. It’s not instinctive. Not wild. It knows you. It’s watching. You can feel it. A low hum beneath your feet, resonating in your ribs. The same hum in your blood, in the way your breath syncs with the swaying of the limbs above.

A groaning sound rumbles from deep inside the trunk, vibrating through your bones. Another root lifts behind you, arching high like a wall, shielding you from another spotlight that swings in from the east. Leaves unfold in the air like a curtain. The light never touches you.

From above, the helicopters hesitate. You hear voices again. Sharper now, alarmed. The spotlights begin pulling back, slowly, circling at a safer distance. You don’t know if they saw what happened to the first one or just felt the warning. Either way, they’re not getting closer.

The tree won’t let them.

You stare down at your arm. The bark-like texture has spread—rougher now, patterned like something between skin and wood. You run your fingers along it, tracing the grooves. Your fingertips come back sticky with amber. The wound on your leg has stopped bleeding. The sap has already sealed over it, cooling into a thin, glassy crust.

You reach out and touch a stray branch jutting from the trunk beside you. The moment your skin makes contact, buds pop open along its length, fast, blooming in a second, white petals peeling wide like they’ve been waiting.

You blink. Something about it is… familiar.

A picture drifts up, uninvited.

A place made of broken things. A sea of rusted metal, piles of forgotten lives, and children who called the trash heaps home. You can’t remember the name at first, but then it clicks, like a splinter under your skin.

Meteor City.

Your chest tightens. You remember dreaming of making it different. Making it softer. Safer. Not just for yourself, but for others. For the angry children who didn’t know how to stop fighting. For the hungry ones hidden beneath the metal. Names surface like echoes.

Phinks. Feitan. Pakunoda. Franklin. Shalnark. Uvogin. Machi.

Chrollo.

The memories don’t come all at once, but enough of them leak through to form a shape. A feeling.

You’d wanted to fix it. To make something beautiful from the ruin. A home that gave back in abundance, instead of taking. You remember the desire, how much you’d trained, how much you dreamed of making it a beautiful place. You had a responsibility to fix it.

You weren’t just anyone.

You were the princess of that place after all, weren’t you? Chrollo had asked you to be. You remember the lines, the dress you’d been given, the flowers you’d hid in your shelter, the memories of being so much more than hungry and cold.

And the moment the thought fully lands—I was the princess—the change begins.

Leaves unfurl from your ribs, soft and warm. Pale pink petals spread across your torso in overlapping layers, delicate as silk but impossibly strong. A corset of vines tightens around your waist, weaving with purpose. Frills bloom along your sleeves, puffed and sheer. Your body reforms itself to showcase this newfound knowledge.

You are beautiful.

You lift your eyes to the tree. It towers above everything now, monstrous and serene.

Still growing.

Its roots stretch through the city like veins, splitting pavement, swallowing steel. Flowers burst from the cracks. Vine-covered buildings groan as bark overtakes their walls. The chaos is softening into something stranger. Gentler. The city is still dying, but it’s also being remade.

And not into what it was.

Into what it should have been.

A place that protects.A place of abundance, of enough for everyone. Just like the tree protects you, you’re sure it will protect others too. Everyone that needs it.

Somewhere deep inside, beneath the dizziness, the soreness, the layered petals and the bark creeping across your arms, a quiet certainty takes root. If you work really hard, you can spread this joy anywhere. You can make the world a better place. You can make Meteor City into the perfect place. You can make sure Feitan and Phinks don’t go hungry anymore.

You’ll make it beautiful.