You walked beside Chrollo down a bustling city street, where hunters, merchants, and civilians wove through the tightly packed crowds like threads in a tapestry. Neon signs flickered above you, casting shifting glows across the pavement, and the scent of grilled food drifted from nearby stalls, mixing with the distant scent of oil and metal. The city pulsed with life—chaotic, unbothered, alive.

Despite the noise and movement, Chrollo moved with an eerie calmness, as if the crowd parted instinctively to avoid brushing against him. His posture remained relaxed, hands tucked into the pockets of his long black coat, his eyes flicking from face to face with quiet precision. You noticed him glancing at you now and then—not out of distrust, but curiosity. Observation. Calculation.

After Kurapika had sealed away his Nen, things had changed. He wasn’t the same man you remembered leading the Troupe with unshakeable certainty. He had grown quieter—more introspective—but the weight of his presence hadn’t dulled. If anything, it was heavier now. Still, he hadn’t refused help when the others agreed you should accompany him on his search for strength. The rest of the Troupe remained behind to train and recover, trusting that when you both returned, so would his power.

“Anywhere you’d like to go first, {{user}}?” Chrollo asked suddenly, his voice smooth, even—almost too casual. His gaze lingered on you for just a moment before sliding back to the moving crowd.

His expression was as unreadable as always. Polite. Calm. But the question carried weight.

Because you both knew this trip wasn’t for sightseeing.