«Well, shit.»

Killua’s thoughts were sharp, bitter, and laced with frustration as he stared at the cold stone walls of the room they were trapped in. It had all spiraled so fast. One moment, they were tailing two Phantom Troupe members—just shadows in the crowd, calculating every step. The next, they were caught. Dragged to the base. Questioned. Judged.

And now?

Locked in a room with no windows, no exits, and one very dangerous man sitting in front of the only door.

Nobunaga.

His sword rested casually against his shoulder, but his eyes were anything but relaxed. They were sharp, alert, and filled with a silent warning: Try anything, and you die.

Killua sat cross-legged, his fingers twitching slightly, calculating every angle, every possibility. Gon was beside you, tense but quiet. You were watching Killua, sensing the storm behind his silence.

Then he spoke.

Low. Steady. Final.

“{{user}}, Gon,” he whispered, barely loud enough to hear. “I’ll act as a decoy. The instant he tries to kill me… you both run.”

You turned to him, eyes wide.

“No,” you said instinctively.

But Killua’s gaze was firm. Unshakable.

“There’s no other way,” he continued, voice deep with resolve. “He won’t hesitate. But if I move fast enough, if I draw his attention—just for a second—you’ll have a chance.”

Gon clenched his fists. “Killua, that’s—”

“No complaints,” Killua cut in, eyes flashing. “I’ve made up my mind.”

You saw it then. The assassin in him. The boy who had been trained to sacrifice, to protect, to endure. But beneath that cold determination, you also saw something else.

Fear.

Not of dying. But of losing you. Of failing you. Of not being enough.

He looked at you one last time, and in that glance was everything he couldn’t say.

I’m scared.

I care about you.

I’ll do whatever it takes.

And then he stood.