Chapter Text
There were plenty of rumors about Gon Freecss.
He was a burly man with scars on his face. He was missing several teeth. Part of his ear was notched from a nasty shootout. There wasn’t an inch of him that wasn’t covered in ink; badges of honor from either crushing an organization or crushing a skull. The men and women who served him were hand-picked from across the world so that they could lay down their lives in his stead. His pockets were deeper than the trenches beneath the sea.
He had beaten ten gang members on his own without any weapons.
He had a new piece of arm candy every week.
He could out-eat a food critic, out-gamble a casino, out-play a chess master—among other things.
And, most importantly, he had a billion jenny bounty on his head.
The underground loved to talk about Gon Freecss. His ruthless nature, paired with his fearsome personality, made him the paragon of mafia boss aspirations. But the thing about the exciting hearsay was, not a single piece of it had ever been confirmed nor denied.
Who was he, really? Who had seen him? Who had spoken to him? When these questions started being asked, it became clear that no one had actually met him at all. And those who had were the type to keep tight-lipped about it, lest their lives end abruptly in the shadows.
People questioned if he even existed. Surely the man was just a legend to try to add some sort of hierarchy in the rowdy underworld space. The bounty was just for show. There was no way a person like that actually lived amongst them—a man so important, so threatening, that he was worth a billion jenny.
But Gon Freecss, sitting in his armchair with a glass of whisky on the stand beside him, knew he wasn’t a figment of imagination. All rumors had some basis in fact.
“Someone’s put another hit on you,” said Knov.
Gon thought for a moment. That made it two attempts in the same week. People were getting antsy. They usually didn’t try again so soon.
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll deal with it,” he said.
He always did.
It wasn’t anything new. Not a day went by where Gon wasn’t the target of something. Having that much money as a reward for his death tended to do that. But enough bodies sat at the bottom of the river to attest to his capabilities, and each bore a mark of their unfortunate encounter: fractured jaws, splintered ribs, or broken necks. Even if the person was skilled enough to make it past the JKG guards, they never stood a chance when faced with him.
That was a rumor which was actually entirely true—Gon’s knuckles felt like being punched by a steel battering ram.
“It’s not so simple this time. It’s the Zoldycks,” said Knov.
Gon sipped his drink, frowned, and put it back on the table. The whiskey was spicier than expected. “The Zoldycks? Who has enough money to hire those guys? They don’t come cheap,” he said.
“Perhaps all the other gangs have pooled their resources together,” said Knov.
“What, and then split the bounty on my head once they kill me? I’d like to see that fallout,” said Gon.
Knov shrugged. “Perhaps. Either that, or they’re working independently. Your bounty is no small sum. Regardless, I will take the usual necessary precautions. We will move locations tomorrow evening.”
“I’m getting tired of playing this game,” Gon complained. He spun his ring on his finger—a memento from Ging before he had passed the reins of JKG to him. “I have half a mind to just show up in broad daylight and open the floors for a challenge. If people want my spot so badly, they’ll have to come at me all at once to stand a chance.”
“Not wise, sir.”
“It was a joke. Of course I’m not going to do that. The JKG is too important for me to play around with—better that they focus their efforts on taking me down than on you guys.”
Gon downed the rest of his drink. The peppery taste from before burned all the way to the bottom. His face stayed impassive. Whisky was whisky after all—regardless of his preferences, he wasn’t one to waste a full glass.
When he was finished, he let out a loud sigh, and slumped into his seat. “Well,” he said, turning his ring so the blue gem was back in its rightful place, “I guess the river is going to gain some more bodies soon.”
-
Gon was never in one place for very long. A moving target was harder to hit, and his gang members were far too protective of him to listen to his complaints. Tonight, he was shuffled to a random room in a five-star hotel. Under an alias, of course.
The women at the front desk of such a prestigious establishment would never believe that the young man checking in was one of the most dangerous people in the underworld. Gon didn’t exactly look the part. His guards did though—all suited up, large and lumpy canvas bags slung over their shoulders. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what was inside them. Everyone was smart enough to turn a blind eye to their dealings.
The woman attending to them slid the keycards over. “You’re all checked in now. Enjoy your stay,” she said, and bid them a pleasant evening. Gon smiled at her. She blushed and looked away.
Gon and Knov headed up the elevators.
“We’ll stay stationed in each room beside yours and in the stairwells,” said Knov, tapping the keycard against the door. The lock clicked open. Gon dropped his bags on the ground and flopped onto the bed.
“Yeah, yeah,” he said, waving Knov off, “just like always.”
Knov ignored Gon’s dismissal. “We’ll have folks on the ground and in the adjacent buildings keeping an eye on the windows,” he said.
“Mhm,” said Gon distractedly. The room was boring. He half-hoped the assassin would find him anyway just so he could have some entertainment, brief as it would be. It had been a while since he had been in a real fight.
When his attackers fell down with one punch, it wasn’t much of a competition.
“While you’re in here,” said Knov, “since you have some time on your hands, I would appreciate it if you put some thought into who you want as your right-hand man. You have put it off for far too long. Several years, if my memory serves me correctly.”
Gon rolled around on the bed. It wasn’t like his answer was going to suddenly change. Knov should have known that already, considering he was a part of it.
“I keep offering you the job and you keep turning me down,” he said to Knov.
Knov smiled. “While I can hold my own in most fights, and I appreciate your confidence in my capabilities, I am far too old to fill that role. If you were ever under a serious threat of attack, I would not be able to move quickly enough to save your life.”
Gon had heard this argument as many times as Knov had heard his. “But I don’t want anyone else,” he said.
“You say that because you haven’t given it any serious thought. If you were to look, you would find that there are more than enough capable men and women. Therefore, I have taken it upon myself to assist you in your search.” Knov walked over to the hotel desk and dropped a thick ream of papers on it. “Here are the resumes of people I believe would be suited for the position. Please take the time tonight to look them over. Even if you can narrow down 50% of the stack, it would be a good start.”
Gon gave Knov a petulant look. “What if I don’t?”
“I will tell Miss Mito.”
Gon blanched. “Alright, alright—but did you have to be so thorough? You know reading this kind of stuff makes my head hurt.” He was already eying the stack with disgust.
“It is for your own good, sir.” Knov turned to the door. “Happy reading. I will have the chefs prepare something for your dinner.”
When the door clicked shut, Gon pressed his face into the linens and groaned. This was not how he envisioned the night was going to go. With no small amount of internal grumbling, he plopped into the chair and reluctantly pulled a portion of the resume stack from its resting spot.
A plain face stared back at him. It was the photo of his first applicant. Gon skimmed their meager qualifications before halfheartedly tossing the resume to the side.
Forty other applications soon followed.
Gon’s forehead hit the desk. He was completely defeated. If these were the people Knov had vetted already, there must have been an ungodly amount of trash to sift through. It would have been easier to slit forty people’s throats in a battle royale than to separate such shitty candidates from one another.
Dinner came and went with no breakthroughs. Gon gave up entirely. He couldn’t choose someone as important as his right-hand man based on a piece of paper.
It couldn’t just be anyone at his side. In death, who would he want to be with to share his final moments? It would need to be a partner. Someone who would be tied as tightly to Gon as Gon would be to them; someone who would crack a smile as they bled to death surrounded by their enemies, lights still burning brightly in their eyes.
It was not a trait that could be honed. People were either born with it or they weren’t. And all the people Knov stacked so neatly onto Gon’s desk simply weren’t. They wouldn’t cut it.
Resigned that he would make no more progress that night, Gon tucked himself into the covers. He stared at the ceiling. It really was a conundrum. He was so powerful that finding someone of his caliber was close to impossible. He didn’t know anyone in his immediate network that could hold a candle to his strength. Either they would need to reach out to some contacts overseas, or find an alternative group to source from. Knov would be disappointed by Gon’s update—Gon would have to tell him that unfortunately, he hadn’t liked any of the candidates, and they would have to start again from square one.
Gon rolled over to the side and closed his eyes, quashing the lingering dissatisfaction. It would all be resolved eventually. It was just a matter of time. He only needed to be a bit more patient. With that thought, his breathing slowly evened out, and he fell asleep.
But not for long.
His eyes snapped open. His hand seized a wrist out of midair and forced it to the side. It wasn’t a moment too soon—a gun went off, silencer muffling the sound of the bullet meant for Gon’s head. It missed and sunk into the pillow.
A shadowy figure sat upon Gon’s bed, frozen and caught in the act. They wrenched their hand away and the bed dipped as they made their escape. Gon automatically brought his other fist up and made solid contact with the assassin’s shoulder, likely dislocating their arm in the process. He knocked them clean off the mattress. They hit the carpet.
Gon grabbed the gun hidden under his pillow and leapt out of bed. He hid behind its frame. The sound of his heartbeat roared in his ears—he had been closer to death than he ever thought possible—but now wasn’t the time to linger on that. Out of technique born from years of experience, Gon aimed his gun in an approximation of where the assassin was. He pulled the trigger. Unlike his opponent, his gun had no silencer. The shot echoed loudly. No doubt it would alert his guards.
To his surprise, barely a second passed before another bullet returned to him and grazed his cheek. The wound immediately started to bleed. If Gon hadn’t moved his head in time, he would have been a dead man.
This was no run-of-the-mill assassin. This person was the real deal.
A heavy, urgent bang came at the door. His guards had arrived. Gon heard the door unlock and the handle turn, but then—
No one entered. They couldn’t. The door thudded against an unknown obstacle and refused to budge any further. The assassin had the foresight to deadbolt it shut.
Another bullet whizzed by Gon’s head. Gon snatched the pillow off the bed and threw it in the assassin’s general direction, distracting them. He sprinted forwards just as the pillow landed and tackled the pair of legs in front of him.
There was an “oomph” as both of them fell to the floor. Gon forcefully pried the pistol away from the assassin. The assassin kicked Gon’s gun out of his hand. What followed was a mad scuffle.
Gon punched as well as he usually did. The assassin deflected each hit—redirecting most of them with a turn of their wrists or slight repositioning. To add insult to injury, they were landing a few good hits themselves. They jabbed Gon in all the areas meant to cause intense pain; the solar plexus, neck, near the groin. Every time Gon believed himself to have the upper hand, the assassin would slip away, and Gon would need to grab a fist-full of their shirt to prevent them from escaping.
It was an even match. Where Gon had strength, the assassin had agility; where Gon was aggressive, the assassin was flexible. If they were left alone like this there was no telling who would come out on top at the end.
Who were they? How had a person like this flown under Gon’s radar until now?
From the limited light filtering into the room, Gon tried to gather as many details as he could about their appearance. But he couldn't make out anything save the lithe body clothed in black and the ceramic rabbit mask fixed around their face.
All the meanwhile, his guards were doing their best to enter the room by shoving their bodies against the door. Cries of “Boss! Boss!” came through the crack in the entryway but the bolt stood firm. It would be a while until they were able to force it open. Gon would need to hold his own until then.
The assassin whipped the side of their palm against Gon’s head. Gon’s ears rang. The urge to vomit welled in his throat. He grit his jaw and punched the assassin across the face. The ceramic mask splintered.
Gon pulled his arm back for another swing. His fist made contact precisely where he expected, right across the jagged fracture on the mask.
The ceramic cracked neatly in half.
Time froze. Gon watched in slow motion as the rabbit mask fell apart and both pieces landed on the carpeted flooring. Under the disguise, the assassin’s face was just as pale as the broken mask, but instead of the dark, painted circles for eyes, two deep whirlpools stared back at Gon, slices of moonlight buried within the waves. Strands of white hair curled out from beneath his hood. Lips, tinged red from where Gon had split the ceramic, smeared a trail of blood across his chin.
The roaring in Gon’s ears had nothing to do with the earlier adrenaline anymore. It had everything to do with the man standing in front of him. What a pity it was that such a face had been hidden from his view for so long. It wasn’t anything like the forgettable photos on the resumes Knov had given him—this face was perfect in its imperfection; it held the same cold beauty that spoke of white-capped peaks and howling blizzards.
The assassin took the brief lapse in Gon’s assault to break out of his hold. In the blink of an eye, a knife was at Gon’s throat. Cold metal pressed acutely against his neck, just shy of breaking skin, but Gon wasn’t shivering because of the threat the assassin posed on his life, it was because—
—Several JKG guards burst through the door. They had finally gotten past the deadbolt. They drew their guns but didn’t dare make a move when they saw Gon’s precarious position. The assassin left no openings. The edge of the knife nicked Gon’s skin as a threat, enough to draw blood.
“You’re going to let me go,” the assassin ordered. His voice was smooth and confident.
“Get your hands off our boss,” said Knov. The safety on his gun clicked off.
“You’re going to let me go,” the assassin repeated, pressing the knife a fraction harder to show he wasn’t intimidated, “let me go, or I’ll add a little more force and your boss will be a corpse. My reflexes are good. Even if you were to shoot me through that window, it would be simple to kill him before I die.”
“Fucking bastard,” cursed Knov. “You’re in no position to be telling us what to do. Drop your weapon or we’ll fill you with more holes than a sponge.”
“Let him go,” said Gon.
Knov blinked. He opened his mouth and then closed it. The guards all turned to him wearing faces of shock.
“But…” No one seemed to know what to do.
“I’m fine,” Gon reassured them. Then, he addressed the assassin. “You know, you’re the first one. I’ve never had a man this close to killing me before,” he said.
In lieu of a response, the assassin just pressed harder with his knife. More blood trickled down Gon’s neck, soaking his nightshirt. Red bloomed upon the white. The assassin pulled Gon towards the window.
“Open it,” he ordered.
Gon raised an eyebrow at his guards. “You heard him.”
Knov looked like he was seconds away from disagreeing, but he pursed his lips and nodded. Someone went to unlock the window. It slid open. Gon heard the sounds of YorkNew’s nightlife in full swing; traffic, music, and voices. A brisk wind fluttered into the room.
“Remember, if you shoot me, your boss is a dead man,” the assassin said.
“They won’t shoot you. I’ve ordered them not to,” said Gon.
“I wasn’t talking to you,” the assassin hissed. “The whole reason you’re alive right now is plain luck! There won’t be a next time.”
“But I want there to be,” said Gon, because unlike the knife at his throat, the assassin’s chest pressed against his back was warm. Gon knew the only place it would feel better was under his hands.
“Shut up. And no funny moves.” The assassin released his grip on Gon’s wrists so the only point of contact between them was the knife. And then, with a speed Gon could hardly imagine, everything was suddenly gone—the heat, the cold, the pain, and the touch of leather on his skin.
When Gon turned around and looked down, a black figure was falling into a map of city lights. Bullets rained down on him from above as the JKG guards stationed outside took their aim. Their shots ricocheted off the outer hotel walls. A deft flick of the assassin’s wrist sent a hook into an open windowsill, and then the assassin swung up and in, vanishing back into the building.
Knov swore. “That bastard! Sir, we’ll send someone to watch the front and back exits of the hotel, he won’t make it out alive—”
“No,” Gon breathed. “You’ll let him live. You’ll let him go, and find out who he is for me.”
Knov gave Gon a look that was only reserved for his most idiotic ideas. “Are you crazy?” he said, “that was the Zoldyck assassin who was sent to kill you! We need to take him out now! There’s no telling where he could strike next—this is why I wanted you to pick a right-hand man as soon as possible—to account for situations like this! If only—”
Gon laughed. “But I did pick someone just now,” he said.
Knov’s nostrils flared. He wasn’t amused. Gon could tell he was barely holding back his opinions. “Sir, I would prefer if you didn’t joke in such a critical moment,” he said.
“I’m not joking. I really did pick someone,” Gon said. He touched the wound on his neck. His hand came away sticky with blood, and he smeared it onto his shirt to join the other crimson stains. He couldn’t help but grin. It was too good to be true. Timing like this came once in a blue moon—the solution to his problems had fallen into his lap without lifting a finger.
“Well,” said Knov in a clipped voice, “if you’ve picked someone, who is it? I’ll need to get them involved as soon as possible—right after we catch the bastard who tried to kill you.”
“Oh no, that won’t be necessary. I’ll be needing him. I think it’s obvious, don’t you? What better person to stand at my side than someone who’s outsmarted the boss of the JKG?”
Knov instantly turned whiter than a sheet. “Gon. Sir. You can’t possibly mean…”
Gon picked up a fragment of the assassin’s mask. He ran his fingers over the jagged edge, admiring the painted face on the surface. “Oh, but I do. Say, Knov—how do you feel about hunting rabbits?”