The problem with reincarnation—in Nonon's humble opinion at least—is that there is only a certain finite number of things she can recall from her previous life. She can remember some things in great clarity; an old name, an ugly cat, an intolerable day job, a thankless cyclic existence—and then some more things she wishes she hadn't carried up to her new life.

But somehow, her memory fails when it comes to providing a comprehensive knowledge on this strange new world that she finds herself in.

She remembers having read about the trials and tribulations of a young boy in pursuit of his father, she remembers her own bitter disappointment at the kind of person Ging had turned out to be, she remembers longing for the unconditional positive regard that Mito had in abundance for Gon, and she remembers the characters—no, the people—who were made as if for the sole purpose of dying.

And although she tries very hard to recall everything about the world and herself—she doesn't want to forget that person's warmth or smile—the memories soon slip from her mind like the wisps of a fading dream, leaving a yearning that seeps deep into her pores.

But even if there are things that Nonon can't remember, she is certain of two things at least.

First, Nonon Nostrade is an existence that by rights shouldn't exist but exists, nonetheless.

Second, there is absolutely no reason for Illumi Zoldyck to be acquainted with said Nonon Nostrade.

But—

"Lunch, huh?"

—somehow—

"What good timing. I was just about to grab a bite."

—here they are.

"Where should we go?"

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.

.

Even on his best behavior, Illumi inspires terror in people's hearts.

Nonon is no exception. She is terrified of him.

But for some reason, he still chooses to eat with her.

"This place has an excellent wine selection," begins Nonon by way of conversation. She flicks an uneasy glance at him over the thick card stock of the restaurant's menu, her knees jerking underneath the table at every slight movement of his.

Illumi says nothing. He hasn't looked up from his own menu in the last five minutes and even at the sound of her voice, his eyes are still intent on the glossy paper in his hand.

And Nonon truly wouldn't have minded so much—she's long been accustomed to the Zoldyck eccentricity—had his other hand not been occupied with juggling her deceased accountant's kidney in the air. It lands with a sick wet squelch every so often that Nonon finds difficult to ignore.

She feels the concerned gaze of the waiting staff burning a hole at the back of her head.

Finally having had enough, but mostly because she had no desire to spend more time with Illumi than was strictly necessary, she puts her menu down primly and asks, "Why—Whydo you still have my accountant's kidney?"

The squelching comes to halt and Illumi finally looks up at her. He pauses for a moment, staring at her unblinkingly before eyeing the raw bloody kidney he has grasped. Then, without so much as a warning, he throws the thing with alarming accuracy inside a champagne pail. There's a subsequent wail of surprise from a poor waitress and a resounding crash that pierces her ears.

Nonon mourns the inevitable break-up she'll have with her favorite restaurant.

Meanwhile, Illumi is unrepentant.

"I heard you retired from the business," Illumi finally says at last, his eyes still trained on the menu. It is the first substantial thing he has said in the half hour they've been together.

"I'm on vacation." Nonon corrects him diplomatically as she tries very hard not to look at the doors that led to her freedom. Illumi angles his head at her and she quickly returns to perusing her menu. "Or was at least. But some troubles came up, you see, so I've been called back to—"

"If this is about the money troubles from the Nostrade-owned casinos, those are all on me." Illumi's voice cuts through her own.

Nonon has to blink twice before she can process the entirety of that statement.

"I'm sorry?"

"Booking a flight back was a pain. So I put your men under my control to get you to come here."

And just like that, everything snaps into clarity.

The sudden erratic behavior of the otherwise well-mannered employees when she'd been so certain that they'd been functional and loyal no more than three months ago.

The sudden disappearance of Lumiere's entire administrative staff in such a short span of time.

Illumi is toying with her.

Again.

From underneath the table, Nonon clenches her fists. She can feel her nails digging against the soft flesh of her palm and a mix of fear, resentment and nausea churns at her gut. She opens her mouth, a disapproving remark ready at the tip of her tongue, but she bites her lip at the last second.

She will not waltz to his caprices.

Calmly, she responds with, "Where are they?"

"I don't know. I told them to take a walk. They deserve a break, don't they?" Illumi replies with a rhythmic drum of his fingers and still, he does not look at her. "Who knows where they are right now?"

"And my accountant?"

"Someone had to make sure that things stayed afloat when the rest of the workers are away." He pauses, "But you took too long, so I got bored."

"…I see." She swallows thickly, "And may I ask what was so urgent that you felt it was necessary to put several of my men under your control?"

"You may," Illumi finally deigns her with his full attention, dark eyes mockingly boring into her form. Then, ever so indiscernibly, the corner of his lips twitch.

But he doesn't say anything more than that.

You little shit, Nonon wants to curse.

"They're not your toys," Her words are measured and deliberate. It is tiring to have to constantly find the right words that do not bare her sentiments. But she must be careful—she needs to be. Because Illumi may have afforded her some modicum of mercy that's allowed her to survive thus far but that doesn't mean she has no reason to be cautious of him.

"Are you angry at me?" He asks.

There's this look that slides over Illumi's face—it is charged with neither tenderness nor wickedness—and Nonon is convinced that he is intentionally baiting her.

But she does not indulge him.

The seconds tick by.

Then, after what seems like an eternity, Illumi exhales, clearly uninterested in her reaction any longer. "How disappointing." He says. Then adds, "I liked you better when you were desperate."

Her smile grows strained. "I'm very sorry to disappoint."

"I am a very forgiving man."

"You are too kind to me," She replies conversationally. As if he hadn't just revealed that he'd killed a good number of people. Good people, that Nonon had liked. "But for you to seek my attention in such a roundabout way…Did Silva freeze your account again?"

As soon as the question leaves her lips, the drumming of fingers stops. Illumi's previously indifferent countenance fluctuates and his eyes narrow into dangerous slits. There's a distinct shift in the air that makes her skin crawl and her hands automatically reach for the side of her waist.

She watches him with bated breath.

"Don't treat me like a child." He says.

This is foolish, Nonon thinks. To provoke Illumi is utter madness but Nonon just wants to hurt him in small insignificant ways she can—in the only way she knows how. The words that spill from her mouth are inconsequential in the grand scheme of things, but they are just cutting enough for the fissures in his stone-cold mask to crack. Just enough to give her satisfaction—no matter how miniscule—that although she will always be too weak, her words can still incite something in him.

She shouldn't be playing this game with Illumi of all people, but whenever he's around, everything vile about her rears its ugly head.

"My mistake then." Her earrings clink pleasantly at the dip of her head. "It's just that the way you've been acting lately reminds me of how you used to be as a child."

The oppressive silence between them grows tense. Her eyes are resolutely fixed on his unmoving figure and Illumi's hollow eyes are wholly trained on her own. The background chatter that fills the room coalesces into an indistinct static and for a brief fraught second, it is as if they are the only people in there.

Her grip on her waist is cold and clammy.

But at the next moment, the searing tension that devastates the room is gone. Illumi merely crosses his legs from across her, surveying the delicate chandelier that hangs pretentiously above them in detachment. He makes no comment of her little barb and addresses another matter entirely, "I'm here for business. Get me a copy Greed Island before the week ends."

She drops her hand.

A bit dissatisfied, but also mostly relieved that he hadn't killed her yet, she closes her eyes in thought, "Videogames are not my expertise. I would think that you would have better luck with Milluki."

"That brother of mine is useless."

"Are those the words an older brother should be speaking?"

"Is it in the nature of The Broker to play with danger?" Illumi lazily asks.

Nonon hesitates, cautiously lifting her eyes before lowering them back to her lap, "…It's going to be expensive, Illumi. Far more than what it's actually worth."

"Money is of no concern. My client is willing to pay any amount."

Personally, Nonon feels it would have been far more efficient and pragmatic to have the assassination conducted outside of the game. But she supposes she'll never understand the reasoning of excessively wealthy middle-aged men that comprised the bulk of Illumi's clientele. So she says, "There's a reason why Greed Island is so infamous…Even with an inordinate amount of money, it's still a rare find."

"Nonon," The way Illumi murmurs her name makes her mouth go dry. It's as if all the air in her lungs has been knocked out. "Are you saying no to me?"

She stills.

"I—of course not." Her face is one of curious politeness but there's a flurry of emotions that stirs within her. "It's just…to obtain Greed Island within such short notice is impossible. I don't do bargains beyond the scope of my capabilities."

"You trade in possibilities." Illumi counters. "With Fortune Forecast, it shouldn't be too hard for you."

Nonon's shoulders tense. He is steering the conversation in a direction that she dreads. "My nen isn't omnipotent, it doesn't work that way."

"You're right. Let's do it this way then. Do me a favor, Nonon."

A pause.

"…What kind of favor?"

Illumi does not smile, but the way his lips stretch is a terrifying approximation of one. "Kiss me on the cheek."

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.

.

Fortune Forecast, in a manner of speaking, is an ability that controls the probability of fate. But it is not invincible and is governed by six strict conditions.

First, the probability of fate can only be changed when Nonon fulfills a favor equivalent to its value.

Second, the favor issued to Nonon must be one that she can do.

Third, Nonon must deliver the favor within an hour and likewise, the favor must be something that can be accomplished under an hour.

Fourth, failure to accomplish a favor will exact a consequence.

Fifth, a favor issued cannot be refused.

And sixth, Nonon cannot avert her own fate.

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.

.

It is only when Illumi exits the restaurant at last that Nonon lets go of the bread knife she has tucked inside the waistband of her skirt. When she moves to stand, it falls to the marbled floor with a harsh clang, drawing the curious gaze of wealthy restaurant patrons. But her guards are quick to conceal her from wandering eyes.

They stand by her in solemn silence, shifting uncomfortably at the empty seat in front of her.

"Boss," Dalzallone says, stepping forward. His face is severe and his brows are furrowed. Something akin to concern flickers through his features. His lips part, perhaps to offer some consolation to her, but she is swift and leaves no room for his thoughts.

"Tomorrow, we will attend the Yenrai Family's charity ball." She announces. They nod their heads at her.

Dalzallone frowns. Her chest is rising in a quick and uneven rhythm and her hands are balled into tight fists behind her back. She looks as if she's about to—it is a thought he doesn't dare entertain. He stretches an arm to place a comforting hand by her shoulder but holds himself back at the last second.

His hands remain limp by his sides.

"…Boss, are you—are you okay?" He asks quietly, just out of earshot.

For a moment, when Nonon angles her head at him, an expression of surprise flits across her features. There is something familiar about it, something nostalgic. It draws to mind a memory from so many years ago. Wide powder blue eyes piercing through his lies. A lock of hair tumbling messily above a pair of delicate ears. Blood spilling across the cracks of concrete. An oath of indomitable loyalty.

It is the memory of their first meeting.

("Will you swear me the truth until the day you die?"

"Yes. Yes. As you wish.")

He wonders if she still remembers his vow to her.

"Of course I am." The lie leaves her lips so effortlessly that it is almost mistaken as the truth. But Dalzallone knows better.

She smiles. And there is something cold and distant about it and he hates how whenever someone reaches for her, she always always takes a step back.

His jaw tightens.

"But you're—"

"Dalzallone."

He jerks at her tone.

"Yes?"

"Would you be a dear and make funeral arrangements?"

"…Yes, Boss. As you wish."

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.

.

The night arrives far too soon.

Nonon drapes herself across a cream-colored settee with a tablet tucked in one hand. There is a harsh blue light that emanates from the damn thing and she has to squint to abate the telltale signs of an incoming headache. Tears prick at the corner of her eyes. She can barely make sense of the rows and rows of numbers entered into the spreadsheet.

She sighs. The glasses perched on her nose slide down a little.

Illumi may be an assassin extraordinaire but clearly, his ability to math is just as dismal as anyone else.

She doesn't know why she expects better from him.

A singular click echoes from somewhere behind her and warm orange light illuminates the room. She raises her head. A pair of bodyguards step into her room dressed in ironed suits and lustrous oxfords. Between them is a trolley filled with sweet meats, spiced cakes and a bottle of what looks to be champagne. The one who enters last—a woman with wild red hair—closes the door behind her quietly.

"It's time to eat," says the older of the two. Her gray hair is pulled back into a severe bun, highlighting the sharp contours of her face. She looks very much like the villainous matrons from Neon's afternoon soaps. Then, as if to reinforce the similarity, she lifts a sharp nose to the air, sniffing. "I hope you don't mind but I took the liberty in picking out your dinner. In consideration of your absentmindedness, of course."

"Oh," Nonon's eyes fly to the clock on her tablet. It is half past ten in the evening. "You're right. Thank you, Dada. I hadn't realized it had gotten this late."

Eduarda Fontana or Dada as she is fondly known in the Nostrade household is a stern woman of indeterminate age. She is competent in many ways that even the most seasoned of bodyguards cannot hope to be. And she has served the Nostrade family for so long that Nonon cannot recall of an instance where the woman had not been a critical part of her childhood.

But even so, her loyalty has always been for the famiglia. Not to Nonon.

"It is no problem," Dada dips her head. A beat passes, then, "I hadn't realized you still maintained close relations with the Zoldyck scion."

"He's not the Zoldyck heir anymore." Nonon immediately says. She regrets it at the next moment. The haste at which she replies is all the answer that Dada needs.

The corner of Dada's eyes crinkles, her shrewd gaze straying towards the tablet she has in her hands. "Oh? But you seem to be cleaning up after his mess."

"I'm just doing a cursory review of accounts."

"The very same that was handled by that poor accountant your friend killed?"

"He's not my friend,"

"In that case, you would have no problem if I reported this matter to the Boss?" Dada says in reply. Her expression is solemn, and she gives the impression of a loyal and dutiful guard. But Nonon can detect the undertones of disapproval that is almost perpetual to her. She wears it like a second skin. As if her existence is solely defined by her severity.

The elderly woman may have some affection for Nonon but she has never failed to make it clear just who exactly it is she's working for.

I am loyal to The Nostrades, Dada's face seems to say, not to you.

It goes unspoken. But Nonon knows. She always has.

However it is not something she will hold against Dada. Not when she had so kindly and patiently braided her hair when her father had forgotten about her. Not when she had been so patient with tending to the scratches on her knees caused by Mafiosi children who had denied Nonon at every turn.

Not when Dada is the closest approximation Nonon ever had to a mother figure as a lonely child.

She's just doing her job, Nonon comforts herself. Suspicion is in her nature.

Besides, Nonon has long been used to being doubted.

Nonon slides off the settee as she moves towards the tray of delicacies. In her experience, deflection by way of stuffing her mouth full had never failed her.

"Do as you wish." She replies as she thoughtlessly tosses her tablet with one hand. It doesn't land on the couch as she had intended. Instead, it bounces once, twice, before careening towards the floor. But a red blur shoots past her and a pair of hands scrambles to catch it.

It's the red-haired woman with the tablet caught in between her deft hands. Warm honey eyes blink back at Nonon in relief.

Nonon wonders if they've met before.

But she only entertains the thought for a moment, until the woman moves to the desk, only to painfully and loudly trip at the last second. Stacks of paper are sent flying into the air and the decorative bedside lamp shatters into tiny crystals.

Nonon spares her an incredulous look.

The woman is thankfully unharmed but Nonon genuinely wonders how she got hired in the first place.

"Lavinia." Dada peers at her with censure, taking great offense at her blatant display of incompetence. Her eyes are alight with fury.

"Eep! I'm sorry!" Lavinia stammers. She jumps away from the desk, waving her arms wildly. Her arm knocks into another bedside lamp but Dada makes a grab for it before it can meet its untimely demise.

"Lavinia," Dada sighs and they seem to understand each other with just that one utterance. They both bow to Nonon with a promise to call for room service.

Lavinia's shoulders are sloped in despondence as they exit the room.

Oh, poor girl.

Nonon's heart swells in pity for Lavinia. But she'd rather the woman receive the full brunt of Dada's attentions rather than herself. She's in no mood to be grilled about her associations with Illumi, not after that disastrous confrontation between the two of them.

And not when she has better things to do.

From across the room, Nonon can see the smooth plastic of her luggage bag peeking from underneath her bed.

She looks up and down, left and right. Then, when she is absolutely certain that she is alone, she retrieves a tattered notebook from inside and flips through its yellowing pages.

Year 19XX.

The Greed Island Arc will likely occur at some point in September and will conclude at March of the following year.

Some points of interest;

Gon and Killua are hired to enter the game. They meet Biscuit and she mentors them in Nen. At some point later, they ally themselves with Hisoka to win against Razor in a game of dodgeball Nen. (Note: Hisoka is bad, bad man! Avoid at all costs! Danger, Danger!)

(Is Hisoka there to find Chrollo an exorcist?)

(Yes. Definitely there for the exorcist!)

Members of the Phantom Troupe also enter the game. They end up being deterred by Razor, only to return once more. They start killing people. (Why should I even be surprised by this?)

Killua leaves to retake the Hunter Exam and passes. Before reentering the game, he has Milluki forge him yo-yos.

The Bomber is defeated and Gon, Killua and Biscuit leave the island. They meet Kite, kickstarting The Chimera Ant Arc.

She shuts the notebook close and clutches it against her chest.

Averting fate is no easy task.

It isn't as if she expected it to be like taking a walk in the park, but she also hadn't expected that it would involve this monumental amount of pressure. Everytime she has to make a decision, it feels as if she is walking on a tightrope without the end in sight. Teetering closely to the edge with every breath she takes. She had assumed, incorrectly and perhaps naively, that her involvement with the major players of her new world would come to a halt simply because she had taken a step back from the center stage. No matter how brief her role was.

But every action leaves a ripple.

And Nonon must face the consequences of her own.

"Shit," Her eyes slip shut. She can hear the hustle and bustle of Parsii's night life from beyond her open balcony window. The beeping of cars, the passage of aircrafts, the dull but vibrant currents of life.

She suddenly feels very small and very alone.

Worse, Nonon isn't even entirely certain if Illumi had ever been a part of The Greed Island Arc.

Wooot! Thank you so so much for the faves and follows! I didn't expect people to be interested in this that much! Anyways, late update is late. I wanted to update at least once or twice a month but real life got in the way. I just started a new job a few months ago so I'm still learning the ropes and stuff. I hope to get the next update, which is hopefully longer than this, out sometime before Christmas!

As usual, please let me know what you think! I'd love to hear more from you guys!