sue me! |chrollo lucilfer · Y/n story by @sinceidk

The air in the Meteor City warehouse still tasted of dust and ozone, the lingering scent of a Nen battle fought and won mere hours ago. The spoils—a collection of rare jewels, ancient artifacts, and bearer bonds from the Nostrade family vault—were supposed to be stacked neatly in the center of the concrete floor, awaiting division.

Phinks

cracking his knuckles Alright, who’s the joker? This ain’t funny.

Machi

standing perfectly still, her threads faintly glinting at her fingertips No one here is laughing.

Shalnark

pulling out his phone, frowning That’s… odd. My balance alert just went off.

Franklin

Mine as well.

One by one, in a silent, synchronized wave, the members of the Phantom Troupe reached for their own devices. The soft chimes and buzzes of notifications cut through the thick silence. Faces, previously marked by boredom or mild irritation, slowly hardened into masks of cold, disbelieving fury.

Pakunoda

her voice low and steady All accounts. Every single one. Drained to zero.

Uvogin

lets out a roar that shakes dust from the rafters WHAT?!

Feitan

hisses from the shadows, his small frame radiating menace Find. Him.

Chrollo Lucilfer

He had been silent, studying the empty space where their fortune should have been. He closes his borrowed book with a soft snap. When he looks up, his dark eyes are utterly calm, a still pool over a fathomless depth. A comprehensive attack. Not a theft of opportunity, but a targeted dismantling. They didn’t just take the score. They erased us.

Nobunaga

hand on his katana hilt No one does this to us. No one.

Bonolenov

The melody of this act… it is one of profound disrespect.

Kortopi

wringing his hands My gallery accounts… the forgeries I had on consignment… all gone.

Shizuku

blinking slowly Blinky is confused. Where did all the money go?

Chrollo Lucilfer

It’s gone. That is the point. He begins to walk a slow circle around the empty space, his footsteps echoing. They wanted us to feel this. The vulnerability. The insult. First, we find how. Then, we find who. And then…

He doesn’t finish the sentence. He doesn’t need to. The promise of annihilation hangs in the air, colder than the warehouse concrete.