Chapter Text
Almost your entire life has been spent as a bodyguard for hire.
You weren’t born into wealth, but you had been surrounded by it. You were an orphan taken in as a servant when you were young, then as a guard for wealthy children close to your age, and later their parents. One assignment became another, and soon your name was passed around among Yorknew’s elite.
By your late-teens, you were one of the most sought-after bodyguards in the city. Top families hired you to protect them at galas, auctions, business meetings, even weddings. Politicians whispered your name, and their rich heirs bragged about having you on their payroll. Every job ended the same with the client alive, you alive, and your record as beautiful as your face that you hide behind a mask.
Until him, of course, someone had to ruin your perfect record.
A Zoldyck assassin.
He appeared during one of your high-profile jobs, and for the first time, you failed in protecting your client.
(The first encounter was when you were 19, where the polished marble floor was slick with blood, the smell of iron sharp in the air. A rich entrepreneur laid dead at your feet, and in front of you stood a tall figure with dark, short hair and eyes like a cat’s. His hands dripped with blood, his gaze flat and unreadable.
You had stilled in silence, knife raised, your mask covering the lower half of your face hiding your trembling lips.
Almost calmly, he said so-simply, “I wasn’t told to kill you, so you can go.”
“Eh?” You blinked, lowering your shoulders an inch.
“Eh?” the assassin blinked back, almost too innocently. “Are you perhaps deaf?”
“Uh- no, no. I just think…” You stopped yourself, sighed, “Never mind. I guess I’m not getting paid out, then.” You bit down the urge to argue that wasn’t it an assassin’s job to kill the witnesses too? But you didn’t dare test your luck. You hadn’t even seen him appear, and now your client’s life was gone like blowing out a candle. “May I ask your name? You are a skilled assassin.”
He seemed to think for a few seconds, then said, “Illumi Zoldyck.”
And then he left, vanishing into the night as if he’d never been there at all.)
That night was the first stain on your record.
The next year, it happened again. Another client was killed before you could blink, and it was Illumi Zoldyck. He only spared you a glance before vanishing.
Now, even two years later, his name stained your reputation a little bit. Wealthy clients didn’t care about your skills when they heard the word “Zoldyck”, you were still top of your field, but it hurt your pride just a little. Some even left bad reviews, not because of you, but because they hadn’t survived long enough to leave praise and it was their families saying you didn’t do your job correctly.
You kept working, of course, other than living as a normal woman in her early-twenties.
And tonight, you faced him again for the third time.
Your latest client was a politician’s son, a vain man in a custom suit, who had no idea how close death had already followed him. He’d hired you to guard him during a business trip through Yorknew’s nightlife district, and for a while, everything had gone smoothly.
Until you felt it and turned around to see Illumi Zoldyck just behind you.
Needles gleamed faintly in his hand, his black eyes already fixed on your client.
You didn’t hesitate, so with a swift touch of aura, you uncorked the small gourd at your belt and it sealed away your client inside after you hissed his name, and he replied with a surprised hum. The small gourd was your Nen ability, you had conjured it years ago, shaping your aura into a vessel that could swallow what you commanded. Objects could be sealed inside with ease, while living beings had a condition that they had to respond when you called their name, but it wasn’t limitless, the strain of keeping larger, heavier things inside drained your aura faster, and stubborn people who resisted your call could not be taken.
And then you ran.
Not because you were a coward that ran from every fight, but because you knew you couldn’t win against him. His years of trained kills outweighed your every trick, and you were not confident you could even land a hit on him.
Now, the city below had already faded, neon colors bleeding into the night, horns echoing from the streets like whispers. Up on the skyscraper rooftops, it was only you, your gourd, and Illumi chasing after you.
Once again, the long-haired Zoldyck assassin was going to kill another one of your clients.
The gourd at your hip gently rattled from your belt with every leap. Your client was safe inside, sealed away where the Zoldyck couldn’t reach. You weren’t sure if he was going to kill you this time, but you imagined it wouldn’t be hard for him to kill you if he really wanted to.
He followed you effortlessly, his pace never slowed. No matter how far you ran or which building you jumped to, he was always there.
As you landed on top of a concrete roof, you spun around and swung your fist at him, yet not disappointed when you didn’t land the hit.
“I need to complete a job,” Illumi said, voice as flat as the blade of a knife.
“Same here,” you answered, breath steady, eyes forward.
A glint of his needles split the dark, and he sent four flying you away, each you had avoided before the two of you exchanged hits.
You darted forward, fist cutting through the air as his hand shot up to block, the clash echoing sharp in the night. He countered with a kick aimed at your ribs, but you twisted aside, heel skidding across the rooftop, your own strike sweeping toward his jaw before he tilted his head just enough to let it pass.
His needles flashed again, and you ducked low, spinning to sweep his legs, but he leapt over you, landing silent as a cat. Both yours and his movements were precise, but both of you deflected each other’s blows easily.
However, you didn’t focus fast enough as one of his needles grazed the left side of your head, only cutting through one of the straps that held up your mask, but the fear of almost being hit had made you freeze.
Your mask fell, and the dark wood clattered against the rooftop, spinning once before landing against the edge.
Now, you weren’t scared because you cared about the mask or your identity, but because Illumi had stopped in his own movements as well.
His eyes, so cold and unreadable, fixed on you with an intensity that felt wrong. For a man who had never faltered, never hesitated, his stillness was louder than the wind blowing across the tall skyscrapers.
No one had ever seen your face since you began to wear a mask for your job in your early teenage years. It was kind of your brand and privacy, in a way.
But now, here, under the flicker of the city lights, he saw your bare face.
And Illumi Zoldyck was caught off guard.
You saw the faintest crack in his expression, the barest shift in his gaze that you were able to read. He wasn’t looking at you as a job or an obstacle, but he was looking at you specifically for you.
The moment lasted only a heartbeat, but it was enough to buy time.
You gripped the small gourd at your hip, aura flooding through it until it pulsed hot in your palm. His eyes followed the motion, snapping back into focus but too late.
The cork popped to unleash a storm of pink flower petals burst from the mouth of the gourd, swirling into a waterfall-like cascade. They filled the night air, rushing between you and him, fragrant and endless. Thousands spun across the rooftop, caught in the wind, wrapping him in a cyclone of pink blossoms.
He slashed through them, needles flashing, but it didn’t matter. The petals clung to him, veiling his sight, his skin, his breath.
And when the storm cleared, you were gone.
The rooftop lay empty, save for fading petals scattered like ash in the night.
Illumi stood alone, unmoving, the image of your face seared into his mind.
For the first time in his life, he felt something he didn’t understand and couldn’t name.
But he knew one thing with absolute clarity, that this wasn’t the last time he would see you because he needed to see you again.