The wind was perfect. You were perched on the edge of a building, stooped in a low crouch as you scoped out your target, a few hundred meters below.

There. He was on a balcony of the hotel opposite, leaning over the railing as he typed furiously on his phone. He was certainly hard to miss in his pale lilac attire, blonde hair swept low over his eyes as the breeze tangled with each strand. You conjured your bow, the arch of the weapon shimmering into existence from thin air as your fingers wrapped around it, checking on the bowstring before pulling your quiver from the threads of your Nen.

The Phantom Troupe wasn’t an easy target. You’d know. Over the last year, you’d attempted to kill almost all of them - multiple times. None successful. This would be different. It had to be. The wind was perfect. He was right there. Distracted and unaware of the impending threat. You drew an arrow from the quiver strapped to your back, and carefully nocked it on the string, pulling back. Your hands were steady as you held the draw, one eye closed as you verified your aim. Headshot.

Inhale. Exhale. Loose the arrow.

It whistled through the air, fixed dead on the target as it approached-

He looked up. Straight at you. A foreign pang of fear bolted down your spine as he winked at you.

And then disappeared.

The arrow sank into the wall behind where he should have been standing, and you blinked.

You let your hands drop, grip on your bow loosening as you studied the balcony. The glass doors back to the room were still closed, and there was no way he could’ve jumped… Where did he go?

“You’re getting bolder, you know.”

Behind you.

You pivoted on the spot, still low to the ground as you met his gaze, cold and calculating and amused. Only a member of the Phantom Troupe could still be smiling after a near scrape with death.

“Still, kinda rude to shoot at someone when they’re off the clock, y’know?”