Chapter Text
The roar of success from a few, and the exasperated groans from the many, echoed through the vast kitchen facility. Menchi, though still stern, had, under Netero's guidance, given the applicants a second chance. The challenge this time was simpler, designed to test their basic culinary instincts rather than gourmet skills: boil a single egg.
[Firstname], meanwhile, stood slightly apart, having been excused to a waiting area almost immediately after her flawless presentation. Her success had been so quick, so absolute, that it seemed to stun even the examiners themselves.
As the frantic activity of the second chance boiled (quite literally) around her, a figure approached, his steps soft, almost unheard. Chairman Netero, the enigmatic leader of the Hunter Association, stood before her, a deceptively benign smile on his face.
"Applicant #407, Atinelle, was it?" he began, his voice surprisingly spry for his age. "A truly remarkable display. To capture the Great Stamp with such effortless precision, and then to present a dish of such exquisite quality... you have a discerning palate and a keen understanding of subtlety. You passed with flying colors, my dear. The first, and truly, the only one to perfectly satisfy Menchi's high standards today."
"Thank you, Chairman." [Firstname] offered a shallow bow, her expression remaining neutral. Internally, a flicker of something close to satisfaction bloomed, then withered. Praise from Netero, a man whose presence hummed with an undeniable power, meant little to the fundamental ache within her. It's not his approval I crave. Or fear. Yet, the thought that her skills, honed in such a brutal fashion, were undeniably effective, was a cold comfort.
She remained in the waiting area, observing the chaos of the second chance. Most applicants managed the boiled egg, though some still found a way to fail. Menchi's pronouncements were quicker now, though no less cutting. Leorio, she noted, with a grin and a proud flourish, presented a perfectly cooked egg alongside Gon and Kurapika. He had passed. The three of them looked exhausted but relieved.
Hours later, as the last of the successful applicants were ushered onto the airship, [Firstname] allowed herself to move towards the main cabin. The airship was a sanctuary of sorts, free from the physical trials, but the emotional and psychological pressures were just beginning. She found a quiet seat, observing.
A familiar voice called out, "Atinelle! You made it!"
It was Leorio, grinning, his briefcase slung over his shoulder. He was flanked by Gon and Kurapika, and beside them, a new face: a boy with spiky silver hair and sharp, blue eyes. Killua.
"You were amazing!" Gon chirped, his eyes shining. "Menchi was so shocked! How did you get the Great Stamp so easily? And your cooking smelled incredible!"
"Yeah, Netero himself was talking about you," Leorio added, puffing out his chest, seemingly having forgotten his previous embarrassment. "First one to pass, straight through!"
Kurapika offered a small, respectful nod. "It was impressive, Atinelle. Your technique was flawless."
[Firstname] felt the familiar, almost painful constriction in her chest at Kurapika's compliment. It was genuine, uncomplicated, and therefore, dangerous. She managed a slight inclination of her head. "Thank you."
Killua, meanwhile, had been studying her, his blue eyes sharp and assessing. He said nothing, merely watched, a quiet intensity that reminded her, unnervingly, of another Zoldyck.
Gon, oblivious, gestured to Killua. "Oh, this is Killua! He runs really fast and he's super strong!"
"Hi," Killua said, his voice flat, but his eyes never leaving her.
"Atinelle," she responded, maintaining the same flat tone. She could feel his gaze, dissecting her, searching for something. She made sure he found nothing.
The brief exchange was cut short as other applicants began to spread out, finding spots to rest. The quad—Gon, Kurapika, Leorio, and Killua—found seats nearby, their chatter a comforting murmur in the vast cabin. [Firstname] settled into her own silence, acutely aware of Killua's proximity, and the unspoken threat he represented if her true identity were ever revealed.
Then, a shift. Not in the airship's hum, but in the very fabric of the air itself. A profound, almost unnatural stillness began to permeate the space, like a vacuum slowly expanding, absorbing all sound and light, leaving behind only a chilling, heavy void. It was a sensation [Firstname] knew intimately, a presence that had haunted her nightmares and dictated her waking life.
Her breath hitched, painfully. Her lungs burned, starved of air. A cold wave of recognition, sharp as a blade, lanced through her. Her carefully constructed composure threatened to shatter. Her eyes, already scanning the room with practiced caution, locked onto a figure that had just entered the cabin from a side corridor.
Applicant #301. Gittarackur.
The sight was a grotesque affront to her senses, yet terrifyingly familiar. The elongated limbs, the contorted posture, the face riddled with pins that seemed to distort the very flesh, pulling it into a mask of perpetual agony. His gait was disjointed, his head often tilted at an unnatural angle. To anyone else, he was a bizarre, unsettling oddity in a crowd of oddities.
But to [Firstname], every single detail screamed a name that sent a jolt of icy terror straight to her core. The way the pins didn't quite obscure the precise, almost mathematical set of his jaw. The way his eyes, though obscured, held that particular, chilling emptiness that was unique to one person. The subtle, almost imperceptible hum of his aura, perfectly controlled, yet utterly distinct in its predatory stillness. And then, he made a sound—a slow, drawn-out 'hmmmmm' that was a guttural groan to others, but to her, it contained the undeniable rhythm of a voice that had once spoken promises and threats into her ear.
Illumi.
The name was a silent, desperate scream in her mind, a cold, hard truth that solidified all her fears, making her vision swim. He was here. Her worst nightmare, walking among them. Her blood ran cold, then roared in her ears. Her Nen, still sealed by the potion, felt like a throbbing phantom limb, a gaping wound. She was utterly defenseless against him. If he recognized her, if he saw through the disguise, she was finished. Her mission, Kurapika's safety, her own burgeoning hope for freedom—all would crumble into ash.
A primal terror urged her to bolt, to vanish into the crowd, but her training, years of rigid discipline, clamped down on the urge. She forced herself to breathe, slow and steady, every muscle in her body screaming for release, for flight. She kept her gaze from lingering, moving it past him as if he were just another oddity. Her external expression remained blank, 'Atinelle's' neutral mask firmly in place. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic bird desperate to escape its cage, yet unable to even tremble.
A wave of applicants began to clear from around Gittarackur's seat, heading towards a snack bar. The disguise was fully exposed now. He slowly turned his head, his pin-riddled eyes sweeping over the cabin.
They passed over Killua, paused for a fraction of a second on Leorio, then drifted to Gon. Then, they swept across Kurapika. For that horrifying, drawn-out moment, Illumi's head tilted infinitesimally, a subtle shift that sent a fresh spike of dread through [Firstname]. His gaze seemed to bore into Kurapika, a predatory assessment, a silent calculation. He's watching him. He's waiting. He's a threat to him. Her stomach twisted into knots.
Then, his unnerving gaze drifted. It passed over her, not stopping, not even a flicker of recognition. Just a vacant, unsettling stare that seemed to see nothing. Or so it seemed.
A tiny, almost imperceptible shudder ran through her, lost in the chaotic drumming of her own pulse. Had he seen? Had he known? Or was she simply another faceless applicant in his periphery? She couldn't tell. That was the terror of him. He gave nothing away unless he chose to. And the possibility that he did know, and was simply playing with her, was almost worse.
The hum of the airship's engines filled the silence that followed. The distant chatter of other applicants, the comfortable ease of Gon and his friends—it all seemed impossibly normal. But for [Firstname], the air had grown impossibly thin, stretched taut with a silent, terrifying game. She was now trapped in a confined space with the one person she had spent her life trying to escape, and the ones she was desperately trying to protect. The Hunter Exam had just become far more dangerous.