The air was filled with the smell of char.
This might have been a delusion, as the fire had occurred several days ago. The completely destroyed floor-to-ceiling windows now formed a large square opening, allowing for unprecedented ventilation. Sunlight and rain alike passed through this opening without obstruction, leaving their traces indoors.
When she saw the missed call from her private chef, Moirs had anticipated various unexpected events, but upon confirming the outcome, a sense of absurdity still welled up in her chest.
It was a fire, again.
According to official reports, the owner of the house, a young man living alone, perished in the blaze. The deceased's family had all died in fires the previous year. Police suggested suicide as a strong possibility, while also not ruling out an accident.
With the person involved deceased, compensation or legal responsibility were out of the question. Moreover, there were no particularly sensational details, so this piece of social news occupied only a small corner on a newspaper page one day, quickly swallowed by the currents of time. Apart from the unfortunate individuals affected by the fire, no one would remember this accident, unrelated to them, the next day.
Moirs ducked under the yellow "keep out" caution tape at the entrance and stepped inside.
The fire had burned thoroughly. As far as the eye could see, everything was a charred, ash-grey black. It was difficult to discern the original layout of the house, with only the basic framework remaining.
Walking to the center of the house, Moirs didn't try to recall the house's original appearance. Instead, she remembered an earlier fire.
At that time, she had stood in a burning house, protected from the flames by "Nen."
Inside, there were two adults and a little girl, struggling to survive in the inferno.
She stood silently in a place they couldn't see, not intending to save them, nor intending to kill them. Otherwise, they would never have had the chance to be rescued by the firefighters.
After rescue efforts, only the little girl survived.
It was fine; it was enough that someone survived.
Disasters might not destroy a family, but the exorbitant medical expenses that followed could cripple an ordinary one.
Yes, this restaurant would cease to exist, so Moirs had torn out an unfinished page – she had no need to record a non-existent restaurant on her "Gourmet Map."
Even in the seemingly annihilated ruins, Moirs habitually conducted a thorough search.
For a "player," a "thorough search" meant stepping on every single tile on the map. If a flash or a prompt box appeared, it indicated a collectible item.
Moirs moved at a leisurely pace; she had ample time to investigate the place.
The Phantom Troupe's rare full-member gathering, concluding with a wrist-wrestling competition, had ended successfully. Everyone dispersed once more, and no one paid attention to the deceased members during the event. Their vacancies were filled by Hisoka anyway. The spiders remained thirteen in number, so the Troupe suffered no losses.
The ground, covered in grey-black sediment, occasionally crunched underfoot.
Nothing was left, huh?
Why had it turned out this way?
Was it because the method was too simple and crude?
Moirs stopped staring at the ground or walls and turned her gaze to the sky beyond the broken opening.
The sky was clear, the sun bright, excessively so. It was perfect weather for drying laundry, utterly unsuited to the post-disaster ruins filled with deathly energy.
Indeed, humans were small and insignificant. The world did not revolve around humanity.
As she reached a corner in one of the rooms, a prompt box appeared before Moirs:
[Pick Up]
Selecting [Pick Up]:
[Tattered Notebook x1]
[Taking] this newly acquired item from her "game backpack," Moirs found herself holding a notebook whose four corners were scorched. The cover and back were completely burned away, turning into ash. Moirs blew away the dust, revealing pages that had been baked to a yellowish-brown. If not handled carefully, the pages might crumble when turned.
Moirs focused on the content and handwriting of the first page.
This was... a recipe book?
Unlike common recipe books, it didn't use vague descriptions like "a little," "a dash," or "to taste." Instead, it resembled a rigorous chemical experiment guide, precisely measuring ingredients and timings, and noting the effects of certain procedures.
"..."
"..."
"..."
What was this?
So strange.
Placing the notebook back into her "game backpack," Moirs didn't retrace her steps. She walked to where the balcony used to be in the ruins and leaped down.
To this day, Kurapika's "corpse" remained in her "game backpack."
According to the original character's settings, after the massacre, Kurapika was prone to impulsive actions related to the Kurta Clan. From the massacre to the start of the original story, how did a solitary, helpless 12-year-old boy survive for over five years? Moirs didn't know, as the original text provided no such narration.
Kurapika was a highly intelligent character, adept at learning and possessing extensive knowledge. Moirs wasn't concerned about his basic survival skills. The only thing to worry about was Kurapika's impulsive nature. His Scarlet Eyes would appear when he lost control of his emotions. If he were unlucky enough to be targeted by someone with ill intentions, it would be dangerous. Her rescue would have been in vain.
After all, it was widely believed in fan fiction that the mortality rate in this world was extremely high. No matter how smart Kurapika was, he was just a child of a minority ethnic group, with limited abilities and no backing. Coupled with the butterfly effect Moirs had caused, it was difficult to determine if Kurapika could survive safely until the original story's events.
Even if he survived safely until the age of 17 when the original story began, there was another issue: if he took the Hunter Exam in the wrong year, not in 1999, he would not meet the other three main protagonists of the original story. The plot of the original story would become unrecognizable, and the future would be even more unpredictable.
A truly unpleasant feeling.
The renowned supporting character Kalluto Zoldyck was gone. If one of the protagonists, Kurapika, was also gone...
Moirs sighed.
Then she would stop meddling with the original plot. Let the story develop freely, however it wanted.
Saving the world was a job for young people. She was old.
She was tired.
This would be the last troublesome endeavor. Once the situation stabilized, she would first try to look after Kurapika for a while, ensure his safety, and guide him to follow the timeline of events from the original story.
She had dealt with the Troupe; now she had to deal with the Zoldycks.
The part of her brain that the Zoldycks had surgically removed was restored by Chrollo. When she reported back to Kukuro Mountain, she needed to conceal this fact and act as if the surgery's effects were still present.
Facial emotion management was a skill taught by the Zoldycks since childhood, so maintaining a poker face was not difficult for Moirs.
However, she was still uneasy. Before disembarking the airship, she repeatedly looked in the mirror, confirming that she was no different from when she last reported.
Initially, everything went smoothly. But when she returned to the main mansion and sat down for tea with Kikyo, a seemingly casual question during Kikyo's one-sided chatter set off an alarm in Moirs's mind.
"Moir, your eyes... they seem a bit different than before?" Kikyo said.
Even though her electronic eyes blocked Kikyo's gaze, Moirs could feel Kikyo's scrutinizing stare – this was likely not a delusion.
The key question was why Kikyo could ask such a thing.
Had Kikyo received prior intelligence?
As far as Moirs knew, among the living, only Chrollo and Illumi knew that Moirs had replaced her Scarlet Eyes.
The former likely had no interaction with Kikyo. As for the latter... was he trustworthy? The recent mid-transaction change of reward was reprehensible, but he had ultimately obtained Moirs's consent. Otherwise, the transaction would have proceeded as originally agreed.
There was no alternative. The deed was done. Rather than beating him up in anger and still paying as agreed, losing the wife and sacrificing the soldiers was too disgusting. It was better to accept the loss and go with the flow. After all, it was just a skin, and it wouldn't cost her a limb. She could even waive the payment.
Unlike the reward, "confidentiality of transaction content" was the most basic rule of transaction. Moirs had explicitly instructed Illumi not to disclose the transaction to anyone in any way, including his "family."
Illumi had also clearly stated that he would keep his mouth shut. Whether it was his mother, his father the Zoldyck family head, or any other Zoldyck elder, let alone outsiders, he would keep it secret no matter who asked.
If an outstanding graduate of the Zoldyck interrogation division was willing to keep a secret, even torture wouldn't make him speak, would it?
The point was whether he was sincere, given his knack for sophistry.
"Sister," Illumi had expressed confusion about Moirs's suspicion during their phone conversation about the transaction, "If you can't trust me, why are you asking for my help?"
"I trust others even less," Moirs replied truthfully.
"There's something you probably don't know, Sister," Illumi said over the phone. "Before your brain surgery, Father spoke with me. He specifically ordered me not to approach you again unless I had his permission. Do you understand what that means?"
What did it mean? Was the Zoldyck family secretly repelling her? Did they not want her to have a negative influence on the pillar of labor for the younger generation of the family?
Moirs recalled the feeling of being watched when she visited Killua at the Sky Arena. Combined with Illumi's statement, perhaps those watchful eyes also contained a degree of caution towards her.
Yes, she was a "madwoman," which was why the Zoldycks performed brain surgery on her. Now that it had come to this, she should stop harboring any侥幸心理 (jiǎoxìng xīnlǐ - wishful thinking).
It was all fake.
The Zoldycks appeared friendly on the surface, but who knew what they were thinking?
It was all fake.
Wait, if it was all fake, then was Illumi's statement true?
He was also a scoundrel not worth trusting.
Likely sensing that Moirs had finished her thoughts, Illumi continued on the phone, "Father probably knows what I did to you. So, my discussing private transactions with you now is a provocation to Father."
"That's all?" Moirs didn't believe Illumi would fear his father.
Moirs had never seen Illumi afraid of anyone. The reason he obeyed his father's orders was simply due to insufficient strength.
"Even I don't want to be punished again," Illumi said with a rather insincere laugh over the phone. "Wasting time in a prison cell isn't worth it."
Moirs remained skeptical about the truthfulness of Illumi's statement.
Regardless, Moirs currently had no better candidate. She shouldn't regret any consequences that might arise.
After Moirs successfully replaced her Scarlet Eyes and she and Illumi destroyed the entire research facility, Illumi handed Moirs a memory card.
"The surgery room recordings," he said. "With these recordings, Sister won't worry about me leaking anything, right?"
"..." Unsure of what Illumi was up to, Moirs didn't immediately accept, staring at him in silence.
"It records what I did on the operating table..." Illumi lowered his head, looking at Moirs. His slightly long bangs obscured his eyebrows, casting a shadow that hid the upper half of his face in darkness. He curved his lips, "Solid proof of my crime. My leverage. If I leak anything, you can give the recording to Father, and I believe he will make a fair judgment. This way, can you be at ease?"
Fair judgment? Would it really happen? Compared to protecting a "madwoman," this was merely the "excellent eldest son" making a "minor mistake" with no harm to the family, perhaps resulting in a minor punishment.
"Illumi, don't you know that only the dead don't talk nonsense?" Moirs found it difficult to trust Illumi.
To believe the despicable guy who took advantage of her on the operating table was surely a sign of a flooded brain.
"Since Sister thinks it's useless, I can keep it myself," Illumi slowly closed his fingers.
Just as he was about to cup the memory card in his palm, Moirs raised her hand and snatched it. "Is this the only one? No others? You didn't make a backup, did you?"
"No. Only this one," Illumi replied, then added, "Does Sister want me to back it up?"
Because of your previous words and actions, it's too similar to common tropes in certain restricted works from the "real world," Moirs grumbled inwardly.
"I can back it up," Illumi extended his hand to Moirs. "It'd be good for reviewing."
Reviewing? What did he want to review?
It was hard to imagine such slender, beautiful hands, like those of a pianist, being attached to shameless words and deeds that were perverted and oblivious.
At that time, Moirs hadn't met Chrollo yet, nor had the removed part of her brain been restored, so she didn't exhibit strong emotional fluctuations. She simply warned him coldly, "When we agreed on the transaction, I said that all traces must be destroyed."
The memory card in Moirs's palm was crushed into fragments. "Don't do anything unnecessary."
"Mm, I understand, sorry," Illumi did not intend to argue with Moirs, quickly apologizing, and raised his right hand, palm facing outward, making a gesture of guarantee. "Never again."
"..." Moirs felt even more uneasy.
[Taking] a handheld metal detector from her game backpack, she meticulously scanned Illumi from head to toe, finding no suspicious items.
She then suspected hidden non-metallic objects, such as paper documents.
So she held onto Illumi, demanding a more thorough inspection.
Slightly altered breathing, subtle movements, facial expressions – during her inspection, any reaction from Illumi would trigger her sensitive nerves. Her suspicious gaze seemed intent on drilling a hole through Illumi.
Her fingers ran through Illumi's hair, pressing down on his scalp inch by inch.
She pushed aside his hair, checking his ears.
"Moirs's Inspection."
"Sister," he tilted his head into Moirs's palm, his cheek pressing against her palm, and said with a sigh, "That memory card is truly the only and last one. If you need to continue the inspection, you may."
"I believe you," Moirs said, throwing his clothes back to Illumi.
This caused Illumi slight disappointment.
However, if the matter could conclude here, Illumi decided to accept it gracefully.
Returning to Moirs's meeting with Kikyo, Moirs remained calm and unflappable, meeting Kikyo's scrutiny directly without averting her gaze.
As expected, Kikyo wasn't asking casually. She stood up and approached Moirs, cupping Moirs's cheeks with both hands. Her tone was gentle but held a hint of stubbornness. "Mom hasn't looked at you closely in a long time. Moir, let Mom take a good look at you."
Moirs was unsure if Kikyo's suspicion stemmed from having received certain information or simply from her keen observational skills. Until she figured it out, Moirs, maintaining utmost composure, focused her gaze on the light of Kikyo's electronic eyes, deliberately emptying her mind to avoid revealing any unnatural tension.
With the absence of human voices, the rustling of leaves in the wind around the pavilion became even clearer.
Moirs's relaxation was successful. She felt a slight lethargy creeping up her spine in the gentle breeze, even having the illusion that she could take a nap lazily.
Until Kikyo spoke again.
"Moir," her voice trembled slightly. Rather than expressing forceful anger, it sounded more like a weak, sorrowful plea. "Do you have any dissatisfaction with Mom?"